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Measure of Devotion II
by MJ Lee


Lying in bed listening to the storm rage outside, Skinner grimly planned what he was going to do to a certain lying, traitorous rat bastard, and an immediate future that would involve quite a bit of screaming and begging.

Tossing and turning, he blamed his restlessness and inability to sleep on anger and the strange bed, not the fact that for the first time in weeks he was alone there. Closing his eyes, trying in vain to relax, Skinner realized that the soft patter of rain against the windows meant the storm must have passed—unlike his anger.

In the end, admitting defeat, he got up and turned on the light, pulling on a pair of pants and shirt. Knowing he'd be unable to sleep until he'd had it out with Krycek once and for all he decided that—middle of the night or not—he was going to find the damned traitor right now and teach him a lesson he'd never forget!

Intent on finding Krycek he almost missed the faint groan that echoed through the dark hallway as he opened the door. But when the sound was repeated he froze.

Completely irrationally he somehow knew it was Krycek, although he could not for the life of him explain why he was so certain.

The next high thin sound, more a moan than a scream had him running down the corridor, heart pounding. Slamming the door open, the scene that met his stunned eyes was straight out of a B-horror movie.

Krycek was hanging, literally, from meat hooks that had been driven deep into his flesh. Electrodes liberally dotted skin sleeked with sweat— and water. The sickly sweet smell of burned flesh permeated the room, the result of the open blistering sores. In one corner a still glowing branding iron was thrown carelessly. Blood dripped down his back and thighs, mute evidence of other even more intimate punishment.

Walter Skinner tasted the sourness of vomit on his tongue before he swallowed it down. "Let him down." To his own surprise his voice was actually steady, unnaturally calm. And when no one moved to obey. "Did you hear me?! Let him down!"

"Please, Mr. Skinner, this does not concern you."

Skinner whirled, meeting the pale reptilian eyes of Mr. Smith, his own dark with fury. "Is he, or is he not mine?"

"That was the original agreement, yes, and you have my most sincere apologies for assigning such inferior material to you." He gave the body hanging from the ceiling a venomous look. "I can assure you, that his replacement will be far more suitable."

"I don't want a replacement," and that Skinner realized with a sickening certainty was nothing less than the truth. "I want Alex Krycek."

The old man looked at him steadily. "I am aware that he is most skillful in bed, but rest assured that his replacement will be even better. I will see to the matter personally.

Fury almost choked him, which was fortunate or the impetuous words would have spoiled his chance of getting Krycek away from the chamber of horrors. "I don't mean in bed you fool! You had no right to punish him without my agreement."

"But, Mr. Skinner, we did have your agreement."

A movement quickly stilled made him look up and for a moment he looked into dark green defenseless eyes, before Krycek turned his head away.

Skinner swallowed around something painful. "I never agreed to this," he growled.

"You agreed he needed punishment, Mr. Skinner."

He wanted to scream—Not this! A few punches, some yelling, ending as always in bed with the mutual giving and taking of pleasure. "Get him down," he repeated tensely.

Another endless pause, as they stared at each other, and then, the old man turned his head and nodded to the silent torturers, "Very well, lower him."

Skinner didn't even glance at the body at his feet, restraining his first impulse. His voice was hard and cold when he spoke again. "I want him in my room, now."

Another curt nod and Krycek was being hauled away, less than gently.

There was mild disapproval in Mr. Smith's voice when he looked at Skinner. "I only trust that you will not have cause to regret your generosity, sir."

Skinner met him stare for stare. "I can handle him."

He turned on his heel and left.

Pacing the length of the room, increasingly twitchy and wondering if he should go after Krycek, Skinner had plenty of time to think of what he should have done differently. Dammit! He if anyone knew just how ruthless the Consortium could be. He should have realized what Smith was capable of. On the verge of leaving to look for Krycek, there was a polite knock on the door and when he called out a curt welcome, it opened and Krycek was, in a déjè vu of the first time, dragged inside by two of the Consortium's faceless goons.

To his relief he realized that the younger man had been roughly cleaned and bandaged, the burns covered with a whitish ointment.

Standing very upright, as if facing an executioner, Krycek was pale as a ghost, the only color remaining in his face gathered into the brilliance of too bright green eyes.

They stared at each other in silence, and then Krycek grated, "Well, what's the verdict?"

Skinner gave him a cold, disgusted look. "Let's discuss it later, when you're not about to collapse in a heap at my feet."

He realized that Krycek was swaying slightly and before the younger man had a chance to protest Skinner simply marched over, picked him up and carrying him over to the bed, dumped him in the middle.

Sitting down on the mattress, pulling up the covers, he felt a hesitant touch on his arm. He raised an eyebrow in a question.

"Why?" Krycek whispered through cracked lips.

Skinner stroked some damp limp strands of hair from his forehead. "Because, you dumb fuck, you're mine." He realized that he was reverting to a vocabulary more suitable for the marine he had been than the FBI AD he was, but there was something in Krycek, in his reactions to the broken body in his arms that drew an elemental reaction that belonged to the jungle not the corridors of FBI HQ.

Whatever it was he'd said, it seemed to be right, because with a deep shuddering breath, hovering on the brink of a sob, Krycek relaxed looking as vulnerable as it was possible for a six-foot, one armed assassin.

A knock on the door made them both stiffen, but it was only a silent servant entered with a tray that he placed on the table beside the bed. A curt dismissive nod from Skinner and he left as quietly as he'd entered.

Removing the silver cover, Skinner picked up the bowl of soup and started to feed Krycek, ignoring the weak protests. "Shut up and eat," he ordered curtly.

Krycek wearily obeyed, looking drained and sick.

Finally the soup was finished and the bowl put aside. Then Skinner leaned forward, a hand on each side of the body in bed.

"Why did you do it, Krycek?"

"Does it matter?" A listless shrug. "I sold you out."

Skinner resisted the impulse to shake the man in bed until his teeth rattled and all his secrets spilled out.

"I know you did, but what I'd like to know is the reason."

Krycek closed his eyes dark lashes starkly prominent against the paleness of his skin. "I owed him."

"Owed him what?"

So softly, Skinner had to lean forward to hear the answer, Krycek said, "My life."

"Talk to me, Alex." Quietly coaxing confidence, not demanding answers.

"He saved my life once, in Berlin. Two, three years ago." Krycek opened his eyes, looked at Skinner. "Look, he got a really raw deal, he didn't deserve being sold out by his partners. I'm not saying he's a saint, far from it, but he's pretty small and he's stayed away from the really dirty stuff, running drugs, assassinations."

Skinner didn't lose his frown. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Krycek's tired grimace could with a little imagination be called a smile. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey this guy you're after, back off 'cause he once saved my life?' I don't think that would have gone over really well with your bosses."

"You idiot," Skinner felt suddenly furious. "I could have pulled the plug on the operation, the only reason we ever got involved was because of Halliwell. We could have found another way to get to him. Trust me, the DD would have been ecstatic to have a reason to back out."

Krycek stared at him blankly, green eyes still brilliant and then he suddenly started laughing ending in a hacking cough. "I never thought..."

"That's your problem, Alex. You never think." When Krycek tried to speak Skinner laid a finger across his lips. "Shhh... We'll talk about it tomorrow. You should try and sleep now."

Pushing a wave of dark hair from a still damp forehead, Skinner watched as the expressive eyes slowly slid shut, the breathing growing slow and even.

###

"Look, I'm telling you I can walk." Krycek said stubbornly the next morning.

Skinner hesitated Krycek did look much better this morning. "You sure?"

"Oh for god's sake, Skinner!" A sudden burst of impatience, "I'm not some debutante! How the hell do you think I escaped from the crazy peasants after they hacked off my arm?"

Skinner swallowed, not eager to think of what it must have been like; that desperate flight across Siberia in winter with the shock of an arm roughly cut off and bound in a few dirty rags. He leaned forward and brushed aside some dark hair. "All right, we're leaving as soon as I can arrange a car."

Still, he was unable to hover a little as he saw Krycek settled into the back of the car. To their mutual relief, Mr. Smith didn't appear.

Once the estate was out of sight, Skinner turned around and released the breath he'd unconsciously been holding. He glanced over at the man beside him, and from Krycek's wry smile, he knew they were thinking the same thing.

He saw Krycek settled in bed, ignoring the younger man's protests that he was fine as he efficiently stripped the battered body.

Skinner's hands stilled, horrified recognition in dark eyes at the sight of the raw and burned patches of skin marring the strong graceful back and thighs.

Twisting his head, Krycek quirked a look of inquiry. Realizing what Skinner was staring at, he murmured ironically, "Not very sophisticated, are they? For a moment I thought I was in a South American jail." He actually smiled a little twistedly, "cigarettes, just to make sure I was awake between rounds, you know?"

Skinner didn't answer, but his fingers were light as butterfly wings, as he bandaged the burns, before tucking the covers around the too thin body.

"I'm fine," Krycek told him belligerently.

"Shut up, Alex!" Skinner said almost absently.

Krycek glared weakly. "When did you turn into a mother hen?"

Skinner gave him a pithy look. "When it became blatantly obvious you're incompetent to tie your own shoes."

"Fuck off."

He sat down on the side of the bed, sticking a thermometer into Krycek's mouth effectively silencing the griping. Checking the time on his watch, Skinner said casually, "I never thought you'd be so dumb, Alex. Letting someone taking pictures of you with Cardenza? Hell, even the greenest agent knows better."

Once again he ignored the muffled furious protests, efficiently checking the temperature. "Okay, it doesn't look too bad," he said finally. "I don't think anything is infected. Stay in bed today and I'll bring back some antibiotics tonight."

Krycek had remained very still during the examination, only his eyes following Skinner, listening to the deep voice. As Skinner tucked the covers around him again, rising, a deep shudder ran through the length of his body. Eyes trained on the man looming over him, he whispered a single word, "Why?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Skinner said calmly, "Because it has to stop somewhere."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

###

Nodding his head, pretending interest in the never-ending droning of one of the FBI bean counters, complete with endless PowerPoint slides in bright colors, Skinner wished he could get the image of Krycek hanging from the meat hooks out of his mind. If he was honest, and he always tried to be, a large part of his edginess was the fact that he'd indulged in more than one fantasy that came uncomfortably close to the scene burned into his memory.

Yet, if there was one thing yesterday had made clear, it was the wide gap that existed between a vengeful fantasy dreamed up late at night after a half a bottle of scotch, and the ugliness of reality. What he had witnessed yesterday had shaken him to the core. Not just the casual brutality; his own reaction to seeing Krycek tortured and helpless.

Raw fury and rage hot enough to kill still consumed him at the memory. Krycek was his and his alone to use and abuse, and he'd kill anyone who dared object.

Cursing under his breath, it was an effort to pull his mind back to the accountant. Skinner was more than a little stunned by his own reaction. He was unable to point to the one moment where lust and possessiveness had gained the edge over hatred and bitterness. He was uncomfortably aware that his feelings had changed. He was equally certain that Krycek's had not.

Although—there had been times when he'd thought that... No. No, of course Krycek hated him, what man wouldn't after what Skinner had put him through? Besides, it wasn't as if he had ever been more than a routine assignment. Not for the first time Skinner wondered what Krycek had felt back then, when he'd first been ordered to whore himself to anyone connected with the X-Files who wanted him.

And why was it that he was even wondering what Krycek was feeling? That thought held his attention for the rest of the endless meeting.

Skinner was displeased but not really surprised when he returned in the evening to find Krycek up and dressed. Wearing jeans and an over-sized college shirt, with bare-feet, he looked more like a grad student than an assassin. Clearly subdued even as he helped Skinner unpack the Thai takeout and brought out the silverware and glasses, he moved a little stiffly but seemed otherwise no worse for wear, although Skinner made sure he swallowed the prescribed antibiotics.

Handling his chopsticks skillfully, Krycek concentrated on forking up his food, not saying anything, head bent. Skinner, after a long thoughtful glance did not break the silence until they'd finished.

"No, let me do that," he said when Krycek rose, taking his plate over to the sink. "You go rest on the sofa."

For a moment he thought Alex would refuse, protest, but after a brief hesitation, the younger man obeyed.

By the time Skinner was finished cleaning up, and went into the living room, he found Krycek stretched out on the sofa, deep asleep. With the wariness smoothed out by exhaustion, the restless eyes hidden by dark lashes, he looked absurdly young and vulnerable. Skinner smiled wryly, knowing it was an illusion. Alex Krycek was many things; innocent was not one of them.

Sitting down in the sofa, turning on the TV but keeping the sound low, only half his attention on the Knicks game, Skinner had plenty of time to think. When he had first made his offer, it had been pure impulse. Impulse, and the need for revenge. Since then he'd had plenty of time to wonder if his motives were not far more complex.

Lust was easily admitted to, other feelings less so.

Even now, glancing over at the sprawled body, his guts tightened with desire and something far less acceptable to a man like Walter Skinner. He had honestly believed that that was all there was, need and hatred. Only now was he dimly beginning to recognize the level of need, the complexity of his desire, the jumbled emotions of which hatred was only a small part.

His train of thoughts was broken off when Krycek stirred, stiffening, blind eyes going wide with pain and fear, before they veiled into their customary blankness.

"You look exhausted, Alex," there was genuine consideration in the deep voice, "Why don't you go to bed?"

Krycek blinked, uncertain. "What about you?"

"I'll be up in a little while."

When he walked into the bedroom Skinner found the lights still on, Krycek in bed, but awake, staring blindly at the wall opposite the bed. He didn't say anything, merely watched Skinner with unblinking eyes that could have been made out of glass for all the expression in them.

Going into the adjoining bathroom, Skinner returned with a white box. "Roll over," he ordered briskly, unscrewing the cap of a small tube.

Krycek stiffened, a flash of panic crossing his face, before it went blank and he obeyed, spreading his thighs wide. The only visible sign of distress was a strong hand opening and closing spasmodically.

Skinner frowned, noticing the tension but unsure of its cause. Somehow he doubted that Krycek was afraid of the pain or had experienced a sudden attack of modesty. With a mental shrug he dismissed the thought. "Raise your hips," he said, probing gently between two muscled ass cheeks.

"Skinner..."

He glanced up sharply at the strained whisper. "What?"

Krycek hesitated before he moved, twisting lithely until he was kneeling before Skinner on the bed. Looking up at the older man, his eyes for once were devoid of their usual mockery. Skinner watched as Krycek almost hesitantly ran his fingers along the strong jaw. Pressing a swift kiss there, he lingered, nibbling at the sensitive spot just beneath the ear, smiling at Skinner's sudden harsh breath. Moving closer, he lazily let his tongue sweep across smooth skin, moving lower, to gently suck in a hard nipple, chewing it exquisitely sensitive. His fingers meanwhile trailed across a the hard surface of a stomach corded with muscles, before moving lower, thumb gently tracing the sudden hardness pulsing beneath it.

Abruptly a strong hand closed around his wrist, stilling the movements and when he glanced in surprise at Skinner, the expression on the severe face was inscrutable.

"Alex, what are you doing?"

A quick tilt of the head. "If you have to ask, I'm obviously doing something wrong." He made another motion towards the hard cock, leaning down to slip it into his mouth.

Skinner gently but inexorably pushed him back on to the bed. Once again there was a swift shadow of something akin to fear before Krycek visibly forced himself to relax.

Raising himself on an elbow he hesitated. "Skinner..." There was something in the husky voice that caught the older man's attention.

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor?"

Skinner looked up. "What?"

"I'm pretty torn, use plenty of lube?"

Large hands stilled for a moment before automatically resuming their task of spreading antibiotic cream over the still raw wounds. Once he was finished, Skinner rose from the bed ignoring Krycek's puzzled look, going into the bathroom where he replaced the box in the cabinet and brushed his teeth. The prosaic tasks gave him the time to regain his composure and to think. Staring at himself in the mirror he saw stunned knowledge reflected in sickened eyes.

How the hell could Krycek even think that he was somehow required to fuck, when it was blindingly obvious that the last thing he wanted was sex?

Then again, why shouldn't he? Wasn't that the bargain—a part of Skinner reminded him caustically—they had made. No, that he had forced on Krycek. Be a whore. Take everything that an angry Skinner had thrown at him because it was that or be killed by the men who owned him.

Kill for me, boy.

Spread 'em, boy.

Closing his eyes in sudden pain, Skinner, turned the tap on full force spending a long time washing his hands, scrubbing them clean.

Coming back in, he undressed, all too aware of the wary silence of the man watching him intently. Naked, he slipped into bed and reached out to pull Krycek into his arms.

The younger man did not hesitate, fitting himself closely against the hard body spooning up behind, moving sinuously, obviously waiting for Skinner to claim what was his. All Skinner did however was to rest his chin against soft dark hair, strong arms going around the tense body. He almost smiled, all too aware of the suspicious, wary bafflement. Dropping a kiss on the dark head, he said deeply, "Sleep, Alex," curled around the long lean body, and promptly started snoring.

Krycek lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness.

###

Neither Skinner nor Krycek spoke much next morning at breakfast. Still, it was not an uncomfortable or strained silence, rather two men who found it unnecessary to use words to communicate.

Picking up his briefcase, Skinner said, "Stay here today as well, and since it's Friday you'll have the weekend to recover."

Krycek nodded, although his voice was more than a little wry. "You'll spoil me, Skinner. I'm okay."

Walter Skinner's smile was equally wry. "Yeah, I know. But, it's foolish not to take the chance to heal. You'll be no use to me if you catch an infection."

"You're all heart, Skinner." For the first time since Skinner had found him hanging from the meat hooks, there was a glimmer of the old Krycek edge.

Over the next week they established a different pattern from what had gone before. Despite Krycek's protests that he was fine, Skinner still insisted he stay at home and heal. Even after Krycek declared himself fit enough to return to guard—and night—duties, Skinner never touched him, except to gently clean the wounds each night, making sure they were healing properly and there was no infection.

Although neither man said anything, both knew instinctively that something had changed but into what, neither was sure.

###

Returning home the following Friday night, Skinner found that Krycek, as usual, had dinner ready. He'd revealed unexpected talents, and the casserole filling the air with a rich fragrance was merely the latest in his culinary offerings. Over a bottle of wine, the talk was desultory, but largely free of the tension and hostility that had colored most of their time before. He even went as far as sharing some pithy comments about some of the new agents assigned to his team.

Krycek wiped up the last of the gravy with a piece of bread. "Yeah, I bet you were pining for the good old days with Mulder making your life miserable and the smoker pulling your strings."

Skinner stilled, drinking deeply of the dark-red wine before replying. "He did, didn't he?" He chuckled softly, "I guess it's too easy to remember the past through rose-colored glasses."

Pushing back his chair, Krycek shrugged. "Not one of my problems." He still seemed subdued, the usual edgy mockery missing. Skinner found himself actually missing the sardonic humor and sharp ripostes that usually made any conversation with Krycek both exhilarating and frustrating.

The rest of the night was spent peacefully taking in a hockey game and Skinner's eyes were glued to the TV screen, where Joe Sakic had just scored a goal against the Capitals, when the phone rang shrilly. Picking it up, he growled, "Skinner here."

The voice on the other end of the line swiftly wiped all relaxation from his body. "Look, Mr. Smith, this is my problem, not yours." Skinner listened for a few moments, his face darkening. "Yes, I understand." He replaced the phone very gently, obviously controlling the impulse to simply slap it down.

"Who was that?" Krycek asked eyes narrowed in sudden wariness.

Skinner's frown deepened as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. "Your old friends are less than pleased that so far we haven't been able to catch Halliwell. Let's just say that Mr. Smith was regressing into old habits," his mouth twisted.

Krycek sat up abruptly, cursing. "Smith is a snake."

Skinner exhaled slowly. "So I'm discovering." He was about to add something else but instead closed his mouth with a snap.

Krycek smiled wryly, "Let me guess, he's still pissed that you kept me alive."

Skinner gave him a long look. "Do I want to know why he's got a grudge?"

For the first time in days mischief lit the expressive cat-eyes. "Get your mind out of the gutter, I never touched him, or he me. As far as I know he's 100% heterosexual and devoted to his wife." Krycek actually smiled, albeit ruefully, "It will sound so stupid."

Skinner merely lifted an eyebrow and Krycek sighed obeying the unspoken command, "This was years ago. Smith had a protégé whom he thought a lot of." He shrugged, "I guess you can even say the guy was as close to a son as you can get in the Consortium. He really did love that boy." Genuine regret crossed his face, was reflected in the soft voice. "I got pissed, especially since I was in a lot of trouble with the smoker at the time. Christian was naive as hell. It wasn't hard to convince him to come play some private games. We were discovered of course, but I'd covered my ass, Christian hadn't. Smith pulled the trigger himself. He could never prove I'd been behind it, but he was always suspicious. If I wasn't so damned useful I'd have been dead years ago."

Skinner was silent, unpleasantly reminded once again of the latent viciousness and deadly potential of Alex Krycek. "How old were you?" he asked aloud.

"Fourteen, fifteen."

That brought him up short. "Jesus, Alex, when did you start working for the Consortium?"

Another shrug. "There has never been a time I haven't." He smiled again, less pleasantly this time. "Let's just say that it made for an interesting childhood."

Skinner had to resist the sudden impulse to reach out and enfold Alex Krycek, rat bastard, traitor and killer in a hug. Instead he reached over and grabbed another handful of popcorn, eating it slowly.

He was aware that Krycek was once again watching him steadily. "And if there's one thing I learned it's that you don't get something for nothing. So level with me, Skinner, what do you want? I just don't get it, I would have thought after what I did you'd have been more than happy to see me feed my brother rats. Instead, you've twice over saved my life." The words were dramatic, the voice matter of fact. He hesitated then said softly, "I can never repay that debt, and so I guess whatever you want to do with me I'm yours." He shook his head, a swift smile flitting across his lips. "And not only for the Consortium."

Skinner looked for a long time at a man with too many titles: Assassin. Whore. Traitor.

Also, quite possibly the most dangerous man he had ever met. "Are you always this submissive?"

Krycek's smile was dry, filled with self-mockery. "Not by nature, no," he admitted huskily.

It came to him then with sudden bitter clarity that although he'd had the body, and would again, he had never possessed Alex Krycek. For a moment the temptation to simply take what Krycek would not give voluntarily burned like fire.

There was in him a want, rapidly turning into obsessive need, to have more of this man. More than the supple body, opened and vulnerable in surrender. More than the efficient deadly skills that guarded his back and kept him alive. More than the occasional flash of true desire he'd caught in smoky green mirrors, reflecting his own lust back when he was buried deep in the tight heat of Krycek's ass. He wanted everything. Everything that Mulder, that Scully, that none of the thousands of casual fucks Krycek must be mentally comparing him against hadn't had.

He wanted the key to the mind and heart and soul of Alex Krycek.

Not even when he was young, and his blood supposedly much hotter, had he been overly possessive or jealous, preferring to focus his intensity on matters he deemed more important than exclusive fucking rights to a body. It had once driven his wife into the arms of other men, to provoke from him some reaction, or so she'd thrown at him in one of the fights that had shadowed their life together.

Slowly eating the last of the popcorn in his hand, Skinner wondered if this was a none-too early mid-life crisis? Was he turning into a senile old man, grasping greedily for a youth he could no longer claim?

"You're thinking too much," a smoky voice whispered across his skin, wormed itself into his soul and heart.

He leaned back, felt the touch of lips on his skin, nibble lightly then move down his neck as a hand slid up beneath his shirt, teasing his nipples until they were hard points of flesh.

Finally, Krycek turned his head, licking the remaining salt off Skinner's lip, nipping none too gently at the light swell. Thrusting his tongue deep into the hot, sweet cavern repeatedly, his movements mimicked the deeper even more intimate possession that would come.

They were both breathing harder by the time they had to pull apart for air.

Skinner twisted, pulling the willing body around, over the backrest of the sofa so Krycek was on his back. "You," he said calmly, "are a tease."

Krycek grinned up at the man looming above him. "Not at all, a tease does just that, tease. I am perfectly willing and happy to follow through on anything you want." His smile widened as his legs sprawled open in blatant invitation.

Skinner bent down, tasting the willing lips, stroking them open with his tongue, enjoying the husky moans and wordless sounds of desire.

Lifting his head briefly to relish the sight of Krycek's surrender, Skinner murmured, "What I want you is you, Rat," whispered against the hot damp skin, swallowing the other word that hovered on his tongue.

An impatient hand pulled him down, as Krycek arched his back, rubbing against Skinner, as shameless as a cat in heat. "I want you too, now shut up and get over here."

"Tsk, tsk, such impatience," he was unable to resist mocking.

"You're driving me crazy!" The still battered body moved in unmistakable invitation, but Skinner who was carefully watching each fleeting expression crossing the striking face, was swift to note the flash of uneasiness before long dark lashes fell, effectively hiding leaf-green eyes.

He frowned. In the past sex had been dirty and hard. While Krycek was easily aroused, easily satisfied with a token stroke, a few rough caresses, before offering up his ass or mouth to be fucked, Skinner wanted tonight to be very different, he wanted tonight to be more than mutual. The smile that curled his mouth then was pure evil as he considered his options.

He sobered abruptly at the realization that, although Krycek had not spoken of the past, or of the more recent 'punishment' of torture and rape, something in the eyes, an occasional bitter twist of lips, the self-mockery of word and look, told Skinner of the dark memories haunting Krycek. Or perhaps it was merely that for the first time, he'd taken the time and trouble to look beyond the actions and taunting words Krycek used to keep the world at a distance.

These thoughts had taken no more than a moment and now he turned all his focus back to his fallen angel.

"Lie back, Alex," he instructed, voice dropping to a deep drawl then smiled at the sudden wariness flashing across Krycek's face before he obeyed. Leaning over the tense body laid out on the sofa, Skinner said softly. "Do you know what I'm going to do?"

A mute shake of a dark head was all the response Krycek allowed himself as Skinner toyed with the zipper of his jeans, running a finger along the seam, pressing lightly, watching with almost clinical interest the slow shudders. "I'm going to make you scream tonight, Alex."

A heavy hand on a well-muscled chest prevented Krycek from moving just before Skinner, with agonizing slowness, ran strong fingers down smooth flanks, lingering over the little hollow, bending his head and pressing a kiss right there, just above the curly dark hair revealed by the peeling back of the denim, enjoying the husky moan so much he did it again. Looking up, he caught his breath at the sight of dark-green eyes dilated with arousal, lips dark red and full. "Lift your hips," he said huskily, pulling off the well-worn jeans and dropping them on the floor beside the sofa.

Pausing briefly to survey the feast before his eyes, the tall sinewy body, narrow hips moving restlessly, the hard cock rising sharply from between strong muscular thighs, Skinner caught his breath, heart pounding hard. Faithful to his vow, he didn't act on the need that ran like fire through him.

Instead he ran his fingers along long legs, massaging lightly, using only fingertips when stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of the thighs. Rewarded by a muffled curse and still avoiding the now weeping cock begging to be touched, he knelt between the spread legs, tasting, licking, nibbling at the tempting expanse of smooth skin and corded muscles.

Krycek tried to sit up again, chest heaving, skin slicked with sweat. "Christ, will you just hurry up and fuck me?!?

"All in good time, Alex," Skinner growled, pushing him back down. A wicked light transformed the usually somber brown eyes. "I like you exactly where you are," he paused, "on your back."

Brilliant green eyes blinked and then to Skinner's delight, Krycek actually blushed, groaning as Skinner bent his head and fastened on one pink nipple, sucking the sensitive flesh into hardness.

"Ahhhh! Fuck, Skinner!" The words ended in another breathless moan as Skinner bit into the erect nub of flesh. Shaking from head to feet, hips thrusting helplessly, needing to rub against something, to find the friction that would relieve the unbearable tension centered in his cock and saturating every over-sensitive nerve-ending, Krycek once again tried to sit up and reach out, only to be gently but firmly pushed back down.

"No, lie still. Don't move." Lifting his head from where he was licking the crystal drops of sweat breaking from pale skin, Skinner smiled at the inarticulate sound that was all Krycek could make. Yet there was a sudden sting of sadness, as he silently marveled that so little could so easily arouse a man who had spent so much time in the beds of strangers.

Greedily watching the play of expressions; the flash of primal need followed by bewilderment, sudden anger bit deep. He wondered if any of the many men who had used the strong graceful body before him, had bothered with seduction, or even gentleness. It was swiftly followed by shame at the memory of fucking Krycek with no thought or consideration for anything but the fact that he possessed a hot mouth, skilled hands and tight ass.

He was not a gentle man by nature, or so Skinner had always thought. Tonight he discovered in himself the desire, more the need for gentleness, perhaps even tenderness.

Using hands and mouth and body he drove Krycek to the brink again and again until the naked writhing body beneath him was soaked and dripping in sweat, the husky voice hoarse from cursing and screaming.

Blinking back sweat, smiling fiercely, he captured lips already swollen and tender from the force of previous kisses. "Mine!" he gasped. "Say it."

"Yours..." Krycek whispered, pulling Skinner down over him, wrapping his legs around the other's back. He moaned, rubbing his bobbing cock against the roughness of a hairy chest. Then sighed in relief as Skinner's fingers closed around the deep purple head, thumb running along the distended vein on the underside of the throbbing hardness.

He screamed again, eyes rolling back at the sensation of lips closed around his cock, sucking, taking him deeply. Where the hell had Skinner learned how to blow someone? That was his last coherent thought before he erupted, coming until it felt like every last drop of come had been squeezed out of him.

Exhausted, panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, he only dimly felt Skinner stretch out behind him on the sofa, spooning up behind, their legs tangling, those tormenting hands began to wander across his body again. Although he would have sworn he was too satiated to get it up again, to his vague amazement, Krycek felt his body stirring into life again as Skinner stroked across the flat planes of his stomach, playing with dark red nipples, before moving lower, rolling the heavy balls, sheathed in surprisingly soft skin, hefting their weight in his hand.

Closing his eyes, lassitude weighing down his body, he shivered at the first touch of lips against the nape of his neck. Teeth scraped lightly, and he shivered again, moaning faintly. "You're killing me, Skinner."

The soft slurred words cut through the air with the force of a whiplash as Krycek stilled abruptly, waiting for the inevitable retribution.

Once again Skinner managed to confound him. A moment's silence and then the broad chest behind lifted and fell as a soft chuckle rumbled through the tense silence. "You'll have to admit my way is more pleasant than yours."

Slowly relaxing again, still bewildered by Skinner's unexpected behavior, Krycek's reaction was pure instinct. When in doubt, act. Raising himself slightly, he allowed his hand to slide down a broad back, briefly cup a hard ass cheek squeezing gently before curling around the hardness of arousal, fingertips exploring the silky skin, tracing the curving length with practiced, teasing caresses. Rewarded by the sudden harsh breath, the involuntary moan of lust, he almost smiled. Reaching up and placing little nips along a harsh jawline, hard enough to bruise, he said huskily, "Don't you think you've played enough?"

Skinner groaned deeply, hands coming up to grip Krycek's shoulders, as he pushed him down on the sofa.

Although Krycek laughed low, throat arched and bared in surrender, for a brief moment there was a flash of guardedness.

Instinct told him the cause for the sudden wariness. Leaning forward, he kissed Alex slowly, savoring the spicy taste, the tongue twining around his. He broke off to smile down into bemused cat-eyes. "Trust me?"

There was a long silence and for a moment Skinner wondered if it was too much, too fast. To ask trust of this man who had never trusted. Slowly, Krycek nodded. "Yeah."

Once again something strange, almost wistful moved behind green eyes as he mutely offered himself, everything he was to the man looming above.

The first touch of the finger sliding inside made him stiffen, but Skinner stilled, waiting, the only motion a tiny delving of a fingertip, exploring the tight heat, until it found a slight bump. Gently caressing it caused Krycek's hips to jerk spasmodically, back arched. "God!"

Skinner gently bit into the softness of an ear, whispering, "Like that, did you?"

Krycek didn't reply in word only the frantic twisting of his body, the reddened cock weeping so temptingly that Skinner couldn't resist bending down and giving it a long, slow lick even as he added a second finger, carefully stretching the tight muscle. He had never bothered with this before, simply slamming home, and the wince, Krycek's pain had simply added to the pleasure. Tonight he rediscovered the pleasure once found in the simple act of giving pleasure.

Adding a third finger, Krycek's body moving in rhythm, as they dug deeper, then withdrew slightly, Skinner relished the sight of the striking face slack and defenseless in need, the dark head tossing from side to side. Finally, when he judged that Krycek was close to coming, he withdrew, twisting to grab the lube he'd put on the sofa table earlier.

When he turned back again, he found Krycek watching him with amused eyes, an enquiring lift of a dark eyebrow the only comment.

Skinner laughed deep in his throat, moving between two long muscular legs, hooking them over his shoulders. "First thing you learn working with feds, be ready for any situation."

Krycek closed his eyes, raising his hips. "Just shut up and fuck me," he groaned with heartfelt sincerity.

With a single clean stroke, Skinner buried himself to the hilt inside the tight heat. He was rewarded by a long slow shudder as Krycek flexed his hips, taking Skinner even deeper.

"God, yes!" Skinner was never sure who moaned the words, him or Alex, or perhaps they both did, minds moving in the same rhythmic unison as bodies.

It was hot and fast and deep, and far removed from whatever they'd done earlier. Sweat poured off Skinner as he grunted softly with each heavy thrust, palms slicked with sweat and slipping has they slid along hot damp skin, sculpted strong muscles and flat planes.

Keeping his eyes open, he found himself almost as aroused by the sight of Krycek lost and helpless in desire, as by the tight gripping of muscles around his cock. Finally letting go his own iron control, he gasped, the rhythm growing irregular, more urgent. The coil rising, enveloping him in white heat as he came, pouring himself into Krycek's body.

Slowly catching his breath, Skinner propped himself on his elbow, thoroughly studying the graceful, sinewy body laid out before his eyes. Opening one drowsy eye, Krycek caught the study and a dark eyebrow rose in question, wry amusement shading the husky voice, "See anything you like?"

Skinner shook his head, an answering smile shaping his mouth. "Yes, as you very well know." Suddenly he sobered as large blunt fingers traced the graceful sweep of hip and the flat planes of a muscular stomach, smiling at the answering deep breath, the shifting of a boneless lithe body. "You're so fucking responsive," he said softly, wonderingly.

Arm behind his head, lazily stretching, green eyes slid close again. "Yep, a real hedonist." There was a tiny mocking tone in the drowsy voice.

That sobered the older man, as nothing else would have. "What I can't help but wonder is how much is real and how much is a survival instinct, Alex?"

Green eyes snapped open as Krycek stiffened. "You son of a bitch," he breathed out softly.

He tried to jerk away from the steely grip around jaw that held him still and open for inspection. Skinner was stronger, and after a short, futile struggle, Krycek surrendered, letting Skinner do whatever he wanted.

What he got was a soft touch against his lips, asking, not demanding entrance. A gentle chewing on his bottom-lip, a rub against his cheek, even as those damnably gentle hands stroked down his body, gently seducing, not greedily grasping, until he was breathing in gasps. What he got was a deep voice rasping in his ear, "Open your eyes, Alex."

When he cracked a slit open suspiciously, it was to find dark brown eyes smiling at him, something in their somber gaze making his heart pound faster.

"That's better," Skinner shook his head. "Christ, you're wary. When are you going to accept that I'm not about to hurt you?" His sweeping gesture took in their position, the coiled tenseness of the tall graceful body laid out on the sofa like a sacrifice.

Krycek swallowed, hating the uncertainty clawing inside him. He didn't know how to deal with this. The raw heat of lust. That he knew. What he had never expected was the tenderness, seduction, lo—his mind shied away violently from the word. "It's... I—what the hell do you want from me?"

"Everything, Alex, and nothing."

He spat a curse in Russian. "Riddles."

Skinner shook his head. "Nope, it's very easy actually." His eyes narrowed. "You're mine." It wasn't a question.

Krycek turned his head, feeling himself on safer ground as he placed a light kiss into the palm of the hand that held his jaw. "Yours," he agreed, "bought and paid for."

Walter Skinner bit back his first instinctive response. "If you weren't, ah, bought and paid for, would you still be here, Alex?"

In reply Krycek shrugged. "Does it matter?"

He looked for a long time at a man who had known too much fucking, too little love in his life. "Come on, let's go to bed, it's getting late," he said quietly.

It wasn't until they were in bed that Skinner spoke again. "Do you remember the first time?" he asked abruptly.

A dark eyebrow quirked a question. "You mean the warehouse after the Peter's case went down?"

Skinner nodded.

"How could I ever forget?" Krycek smiled wryly, "I thought you were going tear a piece of my ass off for going in without back-up," his smile widened, "and so you did, just not in the way I'd thought."

Skinner didn't smile in response, remembering the man and the lecture that had turned into something else as the most junior of all the agents in his team had cocked his head, humor sparkling in clear-green eyes. He had found himself stumbling on the words, the first crack in the wall of professionalism. Had to avert his eyes from the earnest, contrite young face.

When he'd looked up, something had shifted, the face no longer quite so innocent, so puppyish. There had had been something new in the green eyes that met his so steadily. A secret knowledge, a smile, a heat to which he found himself responding helplessly.

In a succession of motel rooms in beds with broken springs, in back alleys with mortar and bricks digging into his back, in the dark anonymity of the backseat of a car, he had fucked and taken, and in that process been fucked over himself, taken by the darkness which had dangled the bait of a graceful body and arresting face in front of his hungry eyes.

For Alex Krycek he had broken every command he'd ever lived his life by.

No one under his command.

No men where there was a risk of being discovered.

No one he didn't trust.

Yet despite the price he'd paid, the price he continued to pay, Skinner found himself unable to wholly regret the past. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the chalk, dust and sweat mingling into a heady aphrodisiac, his skin tingling alive to the touch and feel of the pliant willing body bent over the desk in an empty classroom.

"Did the smoker order you to go after me?" he asked aloud.

"Yeah, they wanted a hook, and figured out I'd appeal," something ugly shimmered in green irises for a split moment. "Why do you think they assigned me to the x-files hmmm? It sure was 'cause of my pretty eyes."

Skinner rolled over, pulling Krycek with him until the younger man was half lying on top of a broad chest, as Skinner propped another pillow under his head. "Your eyes are too pretty actually," he said thoughtfully. "Your type has never really appealed to me. I've never liked a pretty boy."

"Well, thanks a lot, Skinner," Krycek jeered, starting to pull away.

Skinner held on to him easily, almost absently. "No, you are not my usual type, too pretty, too," his mouth twisted, "dishonest, you lie as easily as you breathe, you have no morals, you've betrayed everyone who ever trusted you, you kill for money, you once killed me."

Anger and apprehension surfacing, Krycek started to try and wriggle away. "Makes you wonder why the hell you ever let me back into your bed." He could just as easily have been up against a stonewall and soon gave up physically trying to get away. Instead he met the impassive eyes defiantly staying very still, waiting for whatever Skinner was going to do.

He knew there was still bitterness over past actions, past betrayals, the darkness of their history was neither forgiven nor forgotten; he had seen flashes of it beneath that severe AD surface the other man maintained.

He could take the pain easily enough, it was what he'd been trained for, but for some reason he didn't want Skinner to hurt him, foolish as the thought was. So sure was he of the path the man in bed with him would choose that the first slow stroke down his spine made him flinch violently.

Immediately his jaw was lifted, held gently as Skinner stilled, giving him a long searching look at him. "Alex?"

He shook his head, something thick, hurtful blocking his throat. "Nothing!" He leaned up, offered his mouth and body, wanting to lose ancient pain, ancient regrets in the heat of need. Skinner was too perceptive.

Framing Krycek's face between his hands, he said incredulously, "You thought I was going to hit you."

"I—"

Silencing him with a gentle finger against his lips, Skinner shook his head. "You really thought I was going to hurt you?"

While the truth sounded suddenly sordid, ugly, he found himself unable to lie. "Yes."

"You're a fool." The words were brutal, the tone far from it. "A fool and wrong. I don't play games in bed."

The words hung in the air between them.

Lies.

The memory of a dark blood-soaked night.

"No," a rough whisper, "oh no, Alex. That wasn't sex. It was—" he faltered, the words fumbling into silence.

"What was it?" The question was more curious than hostile.

Skinner hesitated, but it was after all the least he owed Krycek, an explanation if not an excuse, not for the inexcusable.

"It was hatred," he said finally.

A sudden stillness like the calm before a storm.

"I see." Krycek said distantly.

Skinner shook his head, sitting up, arms crossed across the powerful chest. "I doubt you do." Not looking at the man beside him, he stared at the opposite wall. "When I was dying, I told Scully not to revive me. I didn't want to live, not if it meant I was nothing but a puppet on a string." He glanced over at Krycek, "want to know something funny?"

A slight shrug seemed to indicate interest, so Skinner continued "It wasn't until I saw you in the hospital that I decided to fight. Before that, I was pretty much ready to just call it a day. But the moment I realized you were lurking in the fucking corridor I got so pissed I'd have done anything to live just to get even."

He turned then, leaned over the younger man and framed the thin face between his hands. "You make me lose control, you always did, and there was a time when I would have killed to get it back." It was said matter of fact, only the slight narrowing of his eyes, betrayed the lingering uneasiness at the admission.

"But you still saved my life."

Skinner smiled crookedly, "I found that pleasant as the fantasy was, reality is that you're more interesting alive." Rolling over, he bent his head and drank greedily from the firm lips that opened willingly.

Finally lifting his head to break off the kiss, watching Krycek, he said, "My turn to ask you something."

Mouth swollen and red, Krycek smiled lazily, "Shoot."

"You've never been anything but willing, even that morning, why?"

He blinked. "What—" he broke off abruptly. "Oh, that."

Dark eyes were as somber as the deep voice. "Yes. That."

Krycek looked away. "Yeah, I was pissed as hell. I'm many things but a masochist isn't one of them. What you did fucking hurt. I guess, the truth is that I've been hurt worse and lived, and you did owe me for the nanocytes." A humorless smile twisted his mouth for a moment. "Besides, you may think yourself a hard ass, Skinner but on your worst days you could never match some of the shit I've dealt with."

He paused, before adding with a hint of coolness "Actually, I expected you to do it again, since you seemed to enjoy it so much."

A shudder ran through the large frame. "Never."

Krycek studied the strong, homely features of Walter Skinner. "No..." he said slowly. "I guess you wouldn't." His smile was very different this time. "And there's your answer."

Skinner shook his head, a matching smile lightening his eyes. "You're one crazy bastard."

"You just realized?"

Laughter rumbled from a broad chest, as Skinner settled down. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir."

Much later, watching the sleeping man beside him, face relaxed in repose, Alex Krycek made a silent vow. No matter what, never again would he let Skinner suffer for his sins, past or present.

###

If Skinner had thought that the night would diminish Krycek's wariness, break through the barriers his rat had spent a life perfecting, he couldn't have been more wrong. He got a first warning the next morning walking into the kitchen for breakfast.

Although Krycek greeted him civilly the green eyes were shuttered, and the body, when Skinner paused to kiss the bent neck, stiff. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

Skinner frowned, "Something wrong?"

"Nope. Are you planning anything special today?"

"Hmmm... not really." Skinner glanced over to where Krycek was on his feet, standing almost at attention. "Is there anything you'd like to do?"

"Me?" For a moment Krycek looked disconcerted, as if he'd seldom been asked the question.

Skinner hid a smile. "You. Do you have any hobbies?" It came to him then how little he knew this man who had wreaked such havoc on his life, the man he was seriously starting to suspect he couldn't live without. "Surely you don't spend all your time lying and cheating and stealing and killing?"

Relaxing fractionally, Krycek actually smiled. "Pretty much yes, hey this is hard work, y'know."

Skinner just shook his head. "Well today we're not going to do any stealing, cheating or killing." He cast a look outside. "It's too beautiful a day to be cooped up here, let's go for a drive."

"A drive?" Krycek frowned. "Where?"

"Not going anywhere in particular, we'll find a place to have lunch, watch the ducks," Skinner replied easily.

Still confused, Krycek simply shrugged. "You're the boss."

"No," Skinner said with a little more force than necessary. "No, today there's no Consortium, debts or bosses."

Krycek said little as they drove out of the city. Receiving only monosyllabic answers to his remarks, after a while Skinner concentrated on maneuvering the car through the traffic. It wasn't until they had left the city behind that he relaxed slightly, glancing over at Krycek who was staring out the window, face blank.

"Alex, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

A pause, and then Krycek said softly, "Yeah."

"What is it about last night that bites your ass so badly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Krycek said automatically.

"Bullshit. You've hardly said a word all day and while the silence is a pleasant change from your usual sarcasm, by the look on your face your thoughts are not exactly filled with sweetness and light."

Still staring out the window, Krycek didn't answer at first. It was not until they'd driven for another fifteen minutes that he suddenly said, "You're changing the rules on me, Skinner."

Breaking to let the bright red SUV filled with kids and dogs and holiday gear in front of them turn, there was a smile in the deep voice when Skinner replied, "I didn't know there were any more rules to be broken, Alex."

"See! That's exactly what I mean!" he burst out. "When did you ever call me Alex? Even before when—" he broke off abruptly.

Skinner turned his head. "When I what," a pause and then very deliberately, "Alex?"

Krycek bit his lip and refused to answer.

Skinner spent another long moment studying him in silence, before an impatient honk of the car behind him, had him shift gear and gun the motor. "Talk to me," he said with all the quiet force honed by over twenty years in law enforcement.

"Forget it," Krycek just shook his head stubbornly.

Knowing when to push and when to back off had always been one of Skinner's strengths. Changing the subject he spoke instead of the countryside they were driving through. "When I first started working for the FBI I used to drive down here sometimes over the weekend, find a small hotel or inn and go hiking." He shook his head, smiling at the memory of his younger self. "Washington and the Bureau could be overwhelming to a kid like me."

Surprise flitted across the graceful features next to him. "And here I thought you were born in a Brooks Bond three-piece suit, I didn't think there was anything that intimidated you, Skinner, certainly not the feds."

Skinner smiled ruefully. "I only wish. I grew up on a farm, Alex. Before I joined the Marines I don't think there was a Sunday I didn't go to church. God and country, that's what I was taught to believe in." He shifted in his seat, dark eyes suddenly hard and distant. "Didn't take more than few weeks in 'Nam to lose faith in God. Country—that took slightly longer."

"Never believed in either," Krycek said philosophically.

"Which rather begs the question," Skinner shoot him a look, "of what do you believe in?"

A pause, a mirthless smile, "Not, much, Skinner, not much at all."

###

After a leisurely lunch at a small inn, they drove steadily for another hour through flourishing fields and orchards, neat white farmhouses and stately manors flashing by.

"Where are we going?" Krycek finally asked.

"To one of my favorite places," Skinner replied slowing down and turning into an almost empty parking lot. Parking the car they got out, Krycek glancing around curiously.

Skinner watched with a slight smile, before putting the car keys in his pocket and setting a steady pace across the path through the grass.

It wasn't until they reached the top of the hill overlooking the lush grass covered fields that Skinner spoke again.

"Have you ever been here before?"

Krycek shook his head, "Nope. Where are we?"

"Gettysburg."

Running a hand through dark hair, Krycek grumbled, "Why the hell did you drag me here?"

Skinner didn't answer. Instead he asked quietly, "Is there anything you'd be willing to die for?" A wry half-smile, "I already know there are plenty of causes you'll kill for."

Krycek turned his head giving Skinner a swift glance. "That's a strange question."

He shrugged, "Not really." He looked out over the peaceful rolling landscape, "More than half a million men were killed either on battlefields like this, or through disease and sickness, Alex. Died violently as our country bled and tore itself to pieces, and all for the simple belief, that all men are created free and equal." His voice deepened, turned reverent as he softly quoted, "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure."

He paused, smiled, "There's quite a bit more, I won't bore you, but it ends with what I've always thought are some of the most beautiful words any man has ever written. 'It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.'"

Krycek was looking not at the battlefield but at Skinner. "You forget the fact that the war was really about political power, and economics. The north was just extremely good at wrapping the package in a way that would appeal to the population."

Skinner didn't seem fazed by the pointed reminder. "True, without the economics and the fact that the North was industrialized and coveted the south's natural resources, the power brokers in Washington would have been tempted to just let the south go. But I'm not talking about the generals and politicians or the businessmen who profited, I'm talking about the hundreds of thousands of men, many of them little more than boys who really believed that they were fighting to end slavery, and who were willing to die for it."

"Jesus," Krycek shook his head, "you really believe in this shit."

Skinner half-smiled, "Yes, I do, Alex. Why do you think I learned the address by heart? Without ideals, convictions or morals, we have nothing."

There was a kind of wonder in Krycek's eyes. "I never could figure you out, Skinner, how the fucking smoker could jerk your leash so easily."

Skinner's mouth quirked dryly. "Oh, I was easy enough to hook. It wasn't only you, Alex. He held out a carrot as well. In the beginning I did believe that what he was doing, what he wanted me to do was important. By the time I found out the truth," he paused, "I was in too deep to back off. So I just tried to play along, while doing everything I could to work against his little plans. Keeping the X-Files open and Mulder digging were just one of the things I did."

"Yeah, I remember he used to curse, say you weren't worth the trouble and that he should just have you shot." He hesitated briefly before admitting, "I always did wonder what it'd be like to have your—convictions."

Skinner reached out a hand, waited until Krycek hesitantly took it. "You're a better man than you think, Alex. I know what you've done," wryly, "and you're not a saint, far from it, but you don't give yourself enough credit. When the chips are down, you've made the right choices."

"You're a fool," Krycek said weakly.

Skinner chuckled, "We'll see." He was swift to notice the hint of hesitant wistfulness.

Walking back to the car, the sun beating down on their heads, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind through the grass, Skinner kept Krycek's hand in his all too aware of the frequent uncertain, pensive looks, Alex gave him. Yes, Skinner thought with an internal sigh of satisfaction, it would be all right.

He was wrong.

###

"...back off, Smith! You have no authority to order me around." Skinner listened for a moment, and then answered coldly, "nor do your threats impress me. Kindly remember that Krycek is mine and that I don't take kindly to any further interference."

Turning to hang up the phone, he found Krycek watching him. "I take it you heard that."

Krycek bit his lip. "Smith is pushing again isn't he?"

Skinner shrugged, "Not your problem."

He stared at Skinner. "You're kidding?"

Holding out his hand, waiting until Krycek slowly came forward, Skinner pulled him closed, ignoring the tenseness of the body in his arms. "As you've reminded me more than once, you're mine, and that means no one else gets to threaten you, okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Krycek's voice was slightly muffled against Skinner's shoulder, "You have no idea what the hell you're dealing with here." He shivered at the light touch stroking down his spine, trying to focus on their discussion. "If you lose an argument it's not just a matter of not getting that the next promotion, you end up dead. Got it?"

To his shock the deep rumble that emerged from Skinner was laughter.

"When did you decide that I need protection, Alex? I can take care of myself."

That was such a blatant lie, Krycek almost laughed. "You may think so, Walter," he didn't notice the way Skinner stiffened at his use of the name, too intent on making his point. "But what the fuck were you thinking of, getting tangled up with the Consortium?" He shook his head, "a guy like you don't belong there."

"What, an upstanding member of community?" Skinner asked dryly.

Although Krycek chuckled, leaning forward and kissing Skinner instead of answering that was exactly what he did think. A man like Walter Skinner had no business in the shadows.

A large hand slowly tangled in thick dark hair, cupped his nape. "Why do you care, Alex? With me out of the way you'd be free."

He flinched, head coming up. Dark eyes watched him with a strange intensity sending a frisson of fear down his spine. "No, without you I'd be dead."

"So it's all self-interest?"

"What else?" He asked nonchalantly, pretending not to notice the flash of something akin to disappointment, quickly hidden.

The sudden shrill blare of the cell phone made him flinch before he could stop it. Cursing himself for demonstrating just how jumpy he was, he took a step back before answering. "Yeah?"

He listened in silence for a moment, and then spoke a single word. "Where?" A brief pause and then, "okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes. You delivered good, I owe you one." He turned the phone off and looked at Skinner with obvious relief, "Gotta run, I've got a meeting."

"Should I ask whom with?" Skinner asked, releasing him reluctantly.

A trademark cocky grin. "No need to get uptight, it's just an old friend with his ear to the ground."

Then he was gone, leaving the man behind listening to the sound of the slamming door.

###

"You've got more lives than a pack of alley cats," David greeted him as he stopped by the small table in the quiet restaurant.

Krycek allowed a hint of smirk to cross his face as he sat down. "Tell me something I don't know."

"How about this? Your Mr. Skinner is in big trouble. Smith is after him." It was David's turn to smirk. "He surely didn't appreciate Skinner saving your ass."

Green eyes narrowed. "What are we talking about?"

David sipped his drink, "The killing kind. He really doesn't like you, Krycek, and he was extremely disappointed when Skinner intervened." He paused and added, "Smith is looking for allies."

"Does Skinner know?"

"He'd be a fool if he didn't."

Krycek frowned. "Keep talking."

"A serious power struggle is coming. Skinner has been going against Smith a little too often. He's opposed policy and persuaded quite a few other members of the executive to his point of view. Word is that Smith is regretting asking Skinner to join and looking to take him out."

Stifling a curse, Krycek allowed no emotion to cross his face. "How much support has he got?"

David shrugged again, "Pretty even so far, but Skinner is trying to play it fair and you know what that means."

"Yeah."

"Krycek, there's something else you should know."

Something in David's voice alerted him. "Talk to me."

"Your boy Halliwell has allied with the aliens. The slick wet kind."

This time he did swear. Softly and with great intensity. "He's gone too far!"

David smiled mirthlessly. "I guess he figures he's got nothing to lose. He could be right."

"Does Smith know?"

"Why do you think he wants Halliwell so badly? 'Cause he sold some people down the river? Be serious."

Krycek rose abruptly. "Appreciate the chat, David. I owe you one."

"Yeah, you do and don't think I won't collect."

Krycek had already turned away when David added quietly, "Watch your step. Smith really does want you dead."

Leaving the bar behind, Krycek walked down the deserted street with long even strides. He was so focused on the information that he didn't hear the steps behind until it was almost too late.

It wasn't until he felt the first touch of fingers on his jacket that he whirled, going for his gun, having it out and lined in the space of a single heartbeat.

"Fuck!"

The man standing before him looked like an accountant or perhaps a bank teller. Small, stooped and thin, with the kind of non-descript face that is so easily forgotten he seemed utterly harmless.

As Krycek watched in sick fear, fighting nausea, pure terror screaming up his spine, black slowly welled up into the man's eyes, obscuring the pupils as he slowly transformed into one of the deadliest creatures alive.

It spoke slowly, voice gurgling wetly. "Alex Krycek, it is time we spoke of Thomas Halliwell..."

###

Only silence greeted him as he unlocked the door to the condo and he realized Skinner must have gone out.

Casually throwing his leather jacket across the back of the sofa, he headed towards the liquor. Pouring a shot of vodka, he tossed it down in one sweep.

Sloshing a second shot into the glass, his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. It seemed they were out of time and options. Ah well, he knew, had always known the one way to get to Thomas.

Glass in hand, he wandered off to towards the sofa, when he suddenly caught the reflection of himself against the glass of the balcony door. Halting for a moment to study the tall figure, dressed in jeans and a shirt, he wondered once again what the hell it was that so many men, and women for that matter, found so irresistible about the face he stared at each morning in the mirror. People had called him beautiful, something he had always secretly despised even as he ruthlessly used it. Then there were his fucking eyes. Cat's eyes, someone had once told him that they added an irresistible aura of mystery and sensuality. Krycek almost snorted aloud, kicking off his shoes and stretching out in the sofa, but leaving the lights off and the television silent and dark.

When Skinner came home, he found Krycek standing on the balcony, looking out over the city.

"Hey." He draped a friendly arm over broad shoulders and felt them stiffen briefly before relaxing. Once again Skinner wondered what in Alex's past had made him so body shy. He seemed to know how to touch people for two reasons only—sex or violence.

Skinner on the other hand had been married for over seventeen years, and in that time another body in his bed had become natural. While not exactly the poster boy of new age sensitivity he was a tactile man, comfortable with his body and its responses to both pleasure and pain. After the divorce he had missed the casual everyday touching that he and Sharon had shared, even if the gesture was more out old habit and politeness than anything else. Growing up a normal healthy boy in a small town, there had also been the usual teenage fumblings with giggling blushing girls, even a few awkward encounters with other boys.

There were times when Krycek reminded him of a wild animal, poised always for fight or flight, as ready to turn and savage you as to run. Taming his Russian assassin would not be easy, he thought with a hidden smile, slowly massaging quivering muscles, loving the transformation as Krycek sighed softly and melted into the touch

He did not possess the faith that carried Scully through her darkest moments, the belief that men are born good. He had seen too much true evil in his life to believe in redemption or forgiveness of those who have sinned. Yet, as he watched Krycek pull back into himself, apparently frightened by the simple act of being treated as a human being, he felt both anger and sadness. It had been too easy to forget in his hatred and lust that for all his actions, Alex was nothing more, nothing less than a human being. A man who bled and laughed and cried.

Increasingly he came to see that in the past Alex Krycek had been little but an object, a symbol of everything that he had wanted and hated and lusted after.

The reality was a man with a dry ironic sense of humor and an eclectic taste in everything from books to movies and politics, who could argue the value of Proust and Monty Python with equal passion. A man who never forgot to screw the cap back on the toothpaste, and hung his clothes neatly but always scattered his socks over the floor. A man who never spoke until his first cup of coffee and loved sushi. A man he found himself sharing not only his bed but also his life with.

A man he wanted forever.

###

To Skinner's frustration, instead of moving forward, and the more he tried to show through actions, not unreliable words that could too easily be misunderstood, that the past was just that; the past, the more Alex seemed to withdraw. More than once he'd caught a look of something close to panic in the green eyes, just before Krycek snarled something that in the old days would have been the beginning of a fight. Skinner's refusal to be drawn, to play the familiar game, had shifted the balance of power as nothing else could have done and it was evident in Skinner's calm self-assurance and Krycek's sullen compliance.

In bed each night they were back to performing. Flawlessly, skillfully, but performing nonetheless, and Skinner found himself unable to break through the barriers his own actions and words had erected between them. At a time when he was finally beginning to admit to himself what Alex Krycek meant to him, his dark fallen angel had slammed up all his defenses.

Watching Krycek move around the room with a grace that was enough to make the blood pound in his veins faster than ever the nanocytes had managed, Skinner almost despaired. "Alex?"

"Yes?" A dark head whipped up, and like an obedient dog called to heel Krycek came to him.

"Sit down, please?"

Instead of sprawling on the sofa as he would have done a week ago, Krycek settled for a sort of half-crouch on the floor, as if unsure he had the right to even the faint comfort of furniture.

There was a long silence as Skinner, suddenly uncertain of where to start, simply contented himself with reaching out and stroking the dark sable hair. Krycek half-closed his eyes, and purred in response, moving closer, until he was kneeling between Skinner's legs. A quick tilt of the head, an assessing glance from green eyes and tentatively he reached for the zipper.

"No," Skinner said deeply, pain biting deep at the flinch, the bleakness that settled on the wary face, before Krycek started to move away. "Why don't you just sit here, with me for a while?"

Obviously uncomfortable Krycek hesitantly obeyed, letting Skinner tug and place him, until he was resting against a broad chest, head tucked in the curve between neck and shoulder.

Skinner breathed out slowly, content. "That's better," he rumbled.

They sat in silence for a long time; the only sound Billie Holiday crooning in the background. Finally, Skinner shifted slightly, "Alex..." He whispered.

"Mmmmm?" Krycek seemed almost to have fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry."

The soft words stiffened every muscle in the hard body he was holding. "Sorry for what?"

Skinner rested his chin on top of a dark head. "For not realizing what I was agreeing to."

There was a long silence and then, Krycek said quietly, "S'okay, I deserved most of it."

"Wrong, no one deserves what they did." Skinner growled, remembered anger coloring his voice as he ran his fingers down a rib cage a little too well defined for his taste. "And especially not you. Shall I tell you what I've learned in the weeks you've lived here?"

He waited until Krycek nodded once, reluctantly.

"I've learned that you've got guts and loyalty," he smiled a little grimly, "and a distressing streak of independence." He hesitated knowing it must be dealt with sooner or later, "you were supposed to kill me, weren't you? With the nanocytes."

Krycek went absolutely still. "Yes."

Skinner bit into the tempting curve of a slender neck. "So why didn't you?"

A muffled groan was the answer. "Don't think I wouldn't have. But Orgel was such a bastard and, shit, you didn't deserve to die." Turning his head, green eyes for once were open and vulnerable. "But if it had come down to a choice, I'd have killed you to stay alive."

Skinner just nodded, not surprised or angered. He lightly traced the shape of a short straight nose, the swell of lips. "I know you've always been the ultimate survivor."

"Yes." It was said with defiance. "I always survive."

"But at what price, Alex?" Skinner asked quietly, enjoying the sensual yielding, the faster breathing pattern of the man in his arms.

Krycek shrugged, confused, but prepared to humor Skinner. "Whatever it takes."

Skinner's smile was bittersweet. "Friend of no one, being no one's friend. You never did answer my question that day, is there a cause you'd die for?"

The answer was soft but firm. "I'm not you. I don't sacrifice my life for anything or anybody."

###

In a seedy bar at two thirty in the morning nursing a beer, Krycek recalled his own words. His mouth twisted. He'd meant them so what the fuck was he doing here? Why was he putting his ass and life on the line? Because Thomas had crossed the line? Because whatever Skinner had been trying to tell him that day, had touched something deep inside he hadn't even been aware existed?

"Arntzen. I was wondering if you'd have the balls to show."

He turned slowly at the sound of the cold, mocking voice.

He could do this, of course he could. This was his world. It was who he was. Rat. Survivor. Killer. Liar. Whore. All of them true labels, none of them pretty. Then again, neither was he.

"O'Reilly. What cesspool did Halliwell fish you from?"

The other man snarled. "I wouldn't be so smug if I were you. This time you won't have the damned smoker running interference."

He smiled without humor. "I never needed the smoker to cover for me." A lie and they both knew it.

"In your dreams, Arntzen, or Krycek or whatever the hell your name is." O'Reilly smiled coldly. "Mr. Halliwell wants to see you."

"Let's go." Krycek swept the rest of his lukewarm beer and stood up. Oh yes, he could do this.

###

The room was private, as was the man who sat leaning back easily into the expensive chair behind the large carved oak desk. Priceless art adorned the dark-red silk covered walls, matching a carpet thick enough to muffle the sounds of approaching steps completely.

Watching him carefully, Krycek thought he wore the room with the same casual arrogance as his two thousand dollar suits.

"What do you want, Krycek?" There was no pleasure in the cool voice.

A crooked wry smile. "Would you believe I'm about to do you a favor?"

Thomas Halliwell snorted in disbelief. "The only favor I want is for you to die screaming in agony hanging from your balls.

Krycek shot him a look of mock-sorrow. "And here I thought you'd been missing me."

The only answer was another hard look. "In your dreams." But there was a hint of something darker, more intimate in the cold grey eyes.

Krycek sat down, unasked. "Let's cut the crap shall we? Coming after you was business, nothing personal, so no hard feelings?"

Thomas Halliwell gave him a steady look. "Maybe."

The dark man leaned forward, leather creaking. "I have a business proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

"I want away from the Consortium," that at least was true, Krycek thought. Always mix your lies with the truth.

Halliwell's lip curled. "I don't believe you. You've been the Consortium's creature since the day you crawled from the mud."

"Unfortunately true," Krycek agreed with a hint of genuine ruefulness. "But, the Consortium isn't what it once was. And I'm getting too old for this shit. I want out." And that too was no less than the truth. "But, to do that, I need help."

"Give me a reason for helping you."

"I'll pay and well."

"I can get more from the people after your tail, Krycek. Try again."

This was what he'd wanted to avoid, although he'd known all along it was probably impossible. "Name your price, Halliwell."

A hint of satisfaction. "Two things, a hit and you."

A slow exhalation of breath, an almost smile; the price was less than he'd expected. "I'll kill for you, who is it?"

"Jean Baptiste St. Just."

He stilled. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

Halliwell smiled frostily. "That's my price, take it or leave it."

"It's a deal." Krycek rose to leave.

"It's half the deal." The soft voice froze him in his tracks.

He swung around. "Why? Don't tell me you lack a body or two to fuck."

"True, but they wouldn't be you, would they?" Halliwell stared at him, the grey of his eyes hot and covetous. "You know how many years I've wanted you?"

"Too many, Thomas let it go." Their eyes met, dueled silently. "We were just a pair of crazy kids back then."

"Kids or not, you owe me, Alex."

"Owe you what?" He looked angry for a moment. "My life, or a fuck?"

"Both."

He hesitated a moment, then almost shrugged. What the hell. "Fine. I'll contact you when the hit is done, then we'll complete the deal."

"I'll be waiting."

###

He tried to be as quiet as possible opening the door to avoid waking Skinner. However, all the effort was wasted, as the first thing he heard coming in was a low growl in his ear. "Where have you been?"

He turned swiftly at the harsh voice.

"Out."

"I can see that." Skinner stalked forward, anger simmering beneath the surface. "You stink like a whorehouse."

Krycek gave him a surprised look. "I didn't think you'd mind me going out alone, you've never—" he never got to finish the sentence as Skinner grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"Where have you been, Alex?"

Staring into furious dark eyes, Krycek spat back. "None of your damned business!"

A cold smile twisted Skinner's mouth. "Wrong, everything you do is my business."

He hesitated, but knowing just how stubborn Skinner could be, he yielded. "I've been working. I'm trying to put together a deal to take Halliwell down. That's what you want, isn't it?" He hated the placating tone he heard in his voice.

Skinner gave him a long sharp look. "Yes, but I'd also like to have some information on just how you're planning on taking a guy that that neither the CIA or the FBI have managed to put away, not to mention your own people." He shook his head to prevent Krycek's response, "and I'm not just talking legally as you know, if you've ever dealt with the Company boys."

Krycek chuckled, relaxing. "Yeah, I've run into them once or twice." He rolled his eyes, "Such good examples of America's best."

Skinner ran a proprietary hand down a slender back and fastened on a well-muscled ass, pushing the younger man up against the wall. "You still haven't told me how you're planning this."

Krycek stared up at the dark hot eyes, and smiled slowly, "Let's just say that I've got resources your C-boys lack."

"Alex..."

"Relax, Skinner. You've got to let me play this out my way."

Walter Skinner gave him a long sharp look, and then something moved behind his eyes. "I trust you," he said quietly.

Krycek breathed out slowly. "That may be the biggest mistake you've ever made," he warned perversely.

"No, I've made enough mistakes with you." Skinner bit gently into an ear, enjoying the husky response. "I'm through distrusting." He smiled into confused green eyes. "I know I can't keep you on too short leash or you'll fight me. Just promise me one thing, Alex."

"What?" A husky moan, and for a moment he was ready to promise Skinner anything just to keep that look in his eyes, the gentleness in the large hands caressing his back.

"Swear you'll always come back to me."

Alex Krycek closed his eyes, pain the likes of which he'd never felt knifing through him. "I promise," he heard himself whisper, knowing it for the lie it was, even as he uttered the words.

###

Alone in the darkness, lying flat against the roof of the house, he adjusted the telescope once more, making sure he was in a good position. Leaning lightly on his elbows, he looked down the scope, finger caressing the trigger. The sounds of the city reached him from a distance, the cars honking, people laughing, talking, and arguing.

Shifting slightly, he stiffened as he watched the man step outside, surrounded by watchful guards, speaking quietly into their earpieces, hands on guns hidden in concealed guns. Krycek smiled coldly. Very impressive and ultimately futile. He took a deep breath, automatically checking the wind. Ah yes... the man half-turned to tell one of his aides something. A gentle squeeze—and he knew he'd hit his target. By the time the man threw up his hands and slid bonelessly to the ground, Krycek was already packing up the rifle and was on his way down the stairs.

Sitting in the car, he punched the numbers of the cell-phone. "Krycek, here. It's done. Let's meet."

###

The atmosphere was as different as the meeting place; Thomas Halliwell's private house instead of the seamy nightclub. Even O'Reilly only glowered in silence as Krycek walked past giving the man a small mocking grin.

Halliwell was in the library, standing before the fire roaring in the great ornate fireplace. A snowy damask tablecloth covered a table by the window, heavy silver and crystal gleamed in the light of the open fire and the candles in large bronze candelabras.

"Sit down, Alex, have something to eat. Blinis and caviar, just the way you like it."

Krycek slid into a plush chair. "What's up?" He glanced around him warily.

Halliwell smiled, "Don't be so suspicious, Alex. Surely you're hungry? Here, let me pour you some champagne."

The chilled bubbles in the graceful champagne flute tickled his nose, the warmth from the fire soporific after the cold wind outside.

"It's done," he said flatly.

Halliwell nodded affably. "I know I saw the news. Jean Baptiste is dead," his voice savored the words. "There was one bastard who'd lived far too long."

Krycek raised his glass, sipped it. "Amen to that." He popped a blini stuffed with sour cream and caviar into his mouth. "Very nice." He took another.

Halliwell leaned forward. "You've burned your bridges, Alex. They won't forgive you St. Just's death."

Krycek nodded expressionlessly. "I know."

"Come in with me."

He was already shaking his head, eyes focused on the plate in front of him. "I meant it, I want out, Thomas."

Halliwell poured himself some more champagne. "You'll never be out of the game, not when you've been in as deep as you. They're not going to let you walk away alive. Your only chance of survival is with me."

"And the price?"

"Your loyalty. You."

A humorless smile flitted across his lips. "Shit, you must be hard up for a fuck, Thomas if you're offering those terms."

Thomas Halliwell shook his head. "No, you just never gave me the chance before." Greedy grey eyes flicked over the tense man facing him. "You've always been so fucking stubborn. I have no idea what made you finally break, but you have and now you're mine."

Krycek growled, "I didn't deal with you just so I could exchange one set of chains for another."

A smug smile. "You don't have a choice."

"You son of a bitch," he whispered bitterly.

"Wrong, Alex. You're my bitch now."

There was a long silence and then Krycek said carefully. "If I were to agree, I want some things clear."

Halliwell placed a hand on top of the restless fingers playing with the silverware. "You're not in a position to dictate terms, Alex."

"Don't push me." It was a warning despite the softness of the tone.

"I'm not pushing." Halliwell stood up, curling his fingers around a strong neck, holding it still as he leaned down, pushing the strong body against the back of the chair, and took Krycek's mouth in a punishing, hard kiss. When he finally broke, gasping for air, he smiled down into eyes gone blank and inscrutable. "That's pushing."

Alex Krycek closed his eyes and swallowed. "That's the deal?"

"That's the deal."

Green eyes opened, shards of glass showing no emotion. "Do you want to take this upstairs?"

The blond man breathed out slowly in triumph. "Not necessary," he bent his head again, pressing Krycek against the back of the chair, urgent hands tearing at the well-worn leather and denim, baring pale skin and strong muscles.

Halliwell slowly traced long fingers around Krycek's neck. "Yes..." he breathed softly, "a collar just there."

Krycek stiffened. "No." He shook his head once, sharply pulling back. When he'd told Scully that Halliwell's games were consensual and only involved adults it had been a truth with modification. "We have a deal, but I'm not playing your kind of games, Thomas."

A confident smile as Halliwell slid his hands down well-defined stomach muscles and lower, circling the slowly hardening cock. "Ah, but I'm most definitely going to play with you."

Apparently indifferent to his body's reaction, thighs sliding open for easier access Krycek lifted a dark brow. "Seems you have me by the balls."

Fingers cupping the heavy round weights, Halliwell said huskily, "They're mine, you're mine." His smile widened as he squeezed lightly, "I'd like to put a piercing with my initials right here," he pressed his thumb hard into vulnerable flesh, watching in satisfaction as Krycek jerked almost imperceptibly.

If he closed his eyes he could still smell the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh, hear the screams echo in his ears slowly dying down to hitching sobs. He could see Thomas standing back, a glowing hot poker in his hand, a look of wild exhilaration darkening grey eyes, the smell of semen and blood and sweat heavy in the air.

Straddling a chair, leaning his elbows against the back, he looked over to where the boy lay curled into a little ball. Just a year or so younger than the two of them, he was thin as a rake dark eyes showing white as he writhed, naked, in agony on the carpet.

Glancing at his watch, Krycek asked, "Finished soon, Thomas?" Boredom was evident in the tone of a husky voice and latent tension of broad shoulders. "We've got more important things to do."

Halliwell smiled, his cock hard and twitching beneath his jeans, torso naked and gleaming with sweat. "Not yet, there's something left." He stalked over to the small table by the wall, picking up a gleaming ring and a slender needle. Going over to the boy, he knelt besides him and leaned forward, holding up the gleaming brass ring. "You see this, Chris? Can you read what it says?"

The boy swallowed convulsively. "Property of Thomas Halliwell," he whispered hoarsely through cracked and bleeding lips.

Halliwell's smile widened. "That's right, and if you don't hold very still when I put this in you, my hand may slip and well..."

Chris nodded, and bit his lip, obviously bracing himself as Halliwell leaned down. Although every muscle in the thin body contracted, back arching and his mouth opened in a soundless moan, his lower body remained still.

As he slowly pushed the needle through Chris' perineum, obviously relishing the choked sounds of the shuddering boy, Halliwell looked up and straight at Krycek.

A strange smile curled his mouth, eyes never leaving Krycek as Thomas slowly traced the still bleeding and raw burn, fingers writing a different name to the one branded into the boy's back.

Searing, covetous grey met and clashed with icy green as Krycek's face seemed suddenly carved from stone.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Halliwell ruffled the dark hair indulgently, once it was over, and the boy sat up, smiling through the tears still leaking down pale cheeks, nuzzling and rubbing against the caressing hand. "Good boy,"

"Come on, Thomas," Krycek rose abruptly. "Get your ass in gear, we've got to be on our way."

Laughing, giving the boy a last kiss, Halliwell got to his feet. "I'm coming."

Walking out of the room, Halliwell gave his friend a glance from the corner of the eye. "Too bad you're such a tightass, just think of all the fun we could have together..."

"...No way, Thomas," Krycek said quietly. "I'm not playing." He knew he was taking a chance, but still started to rise, "if that's what you want, I'll take my chances with the Consortium."

Halliwell grasped his arm. "No, Alex, wait." He leaned forward using body weight to pin Krycek. "Listen, forget it." The kiss was hungry, greedily forcing firm lips apart, tongue plundering deeply. When he finally had to break off, he gasped. "I don't care. Christ, I just want you." His laugh failed to hide the excitement, a hectic flush rising on his cheeks.

Krycek remained tightlipped, unsmiling as he slowly shrugged out of his shirt, "Come on, we'll be more comfortable on the sofa," he said matter-of-fact. Leading the way, he slowly went to his knees before the blond man who'd sprawled across the aged leather. Bending his head, he deliberately emptied his mind of everything but the present.

It was both harder and easier than he'd expected. Moving in response to Halliwell's commands, sucking on the thick cock pushed at him—it was nothing more or less than he'd done a thousand times before.

Naked, on his hand and knees bracing himself against the backrest of the sofa, as Halliwell grunted and plunged deep into his body, he tried to push away the memory of last night; a smiling Skinner with his large hands and clumsy gentleness that never failed to amaze and turn him on to the point of madness. He who had always thought of sex as little but a tool to be used.

Later, the sweat and come drying on his body, a casual, possessive hand stroked slowly through his hair, touched his face lightly. "I always knew you'd be something special, Alex," Halliwell said with lazy satisfaction.

Krycek shrugged one shoulder. "It's just sex, don't make it more than it is, Thomas."

A strange, bittersweet expression darkened the cool grey eyes for a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

Rolling over and sitting up, there was an answering bitterness in the level husky voice, "You made sure it could never be anything else."

Halliwell stiffened. "You left me little choice, Alex." He moved, pressing the wiry body into the leather, hands suddenly cruel. "You really think this would have been my choice?"

"What I think, Thomas," he paused, suddenly sounding tired, "is that it doesn't matter what I think." He moved, freeing himself, ignoring the marks left by the hands and mouth of the man facing him. "You get what you want, and so do I."

They stared at each other in silence and Halliwell's eyes fell first. "I'm sorry, this wasn't what I'd planned."

Krycek shrugged again. "As I said, it doesn't matter." He rose and crossed the room, completely unselfconscious of his nudity. Bending down he stepped into his jeans and zipped them up.

"Alex..."

"Yeah?" He half turned, glancing over at Halliwell.

A brief hesitation and then man on the sofa mused, "I wonder what it would take to have your total loyalty."

Krycek's laugh was tinged with genuine amusement. "Trust me, you couldn't pay my price."

Grey eyes narrowed, "So you do have a price?"

He stiffened. "Leave it alone," he said curtly.

"No, I don't think so," Halliwell got up as well, coming up behind Krycek. "Tell me, Alex." Warm breath whispered across the naked skin of a shoulder. "Tell me what it would take to bind you to me."

"Nothing, Thomas," Krycek remained motionless beneath the caress. "I've already been bought and paid for."

There was a breath of silence and then, "Skinner."

He went very still. "How—"

Halliwell smiled mirthlessly. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Alex? I knew the first time I laid eyes on you again, in Russia, that something had changed."

"Yeah," the tone was very soft before Krycek shook himself and said in a very different tone, "Come on, enough maudlin stuff about the past, what was it you always used to quote when we were kids? 'Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die.' Remember?"

Halliwell laughed, "I remember," he seemed more than willing to be distracted as they started up the stairs.

Much later Halliwell blinked sleepily rolling over to study the man lying beside him, face turned away. "You know you can have anything you want, I'll treat you good, Alex."

On his stomach, Krycek yawned, pink tongue curling. "Yeah, I've heard that before." He buried his head in the softness of the pillow trying not to think of Skinner's stubborn honesty. No promises, a wry smile softened the curve of his mouth, nothing but gruff threats and sardonic comments. Ah shit, it'd be so much easier to simply ally with Halliwell. He'd known for a long time that Thomas lusted after him. Staying would definitely be the wise thing to do.

###

Having set his internal alarm clock for wakeup just an hour later, Krycek spared the sleeping man beside him a single glance before getting out of bed and heading to the safe hidden in the wall. The safe Halliwell had told him about years ago. Fiddling with the lock, keeping one watchful ear out for signs that Thomas was waking up, he felt a brief sting of regret. Not for what he was about to do, but for the trust he was going to shatter. Funny how it hurt that Thomas trusted him. Jesus, how stupid was the man? Bringing a stranger inside his own bedroom, and then just falling asleep.

A soft click made him stiffen and glance towards the bed. There were no movements and, reassured, he turned back to remove the CDs and papers he found. A glance at his watch assured him there was still time. Walking over to where his old leather jacket was lying, he picked it up and from a pocket extracted a small black device. It had cost a fortune but was more than worth its price. Attaching it to the computer on the desk, he pushed a button and watched as a single red light began to pulse steadily, sending a signal by satellite, as it copied the hard drive, sending the data to the waiting computer on the other side of the city. When the light turned green, he removed the device and slipped it back into his pocket, replacing the jacket on the floor in the exact same position and getting back into bed again.

The slight movement of the returning body woke Halliwell and he reached out, pulling Krycek close, shivering at the blast of cool air that accompanied him.

"Where you've been?"

Pulling up the covers Krycek burrowed into the warmth. "Bathroom. Needed to piss."

###

Coming out of the building, Alex breathed in the raw air, shivering. He could kill for a shower, thinking ahead to the hot water at Skinner's condo. Who knew, he might even persuade Walter to share. His smile widened, as last night was slotted firmly into the past, overwritten by the memory of a surly, alpha FBI AD.

"Sir, would you come with us."

He spun around, snarling, heart beating fiercely, abruptly relaxing at the realization that it wasn't Halliwell's goons, but the kind of impeccably suited, clean-shaven man who screamed 'FBI.' One eyebrow elevating, he let himself be escorted to an anonymous grey car. His escorts, while polite, were also quite implacable, and he decided it would be easiest not to make a fuss but just go along with them.

"Isn't this something of an overkill?" He asked mildly as he was placed between two men who looked as if they could bench-press the car they were seated in. "I count at least five agents, not including the driver." He hid a smile at the stiffening of the young agent behind the wheel.

However, none of the agents would be further drawn and after a few more comments, Krycek too fell silent, thinking ruefully that Skinner must be furious to order such a blatant display of fibbie presence.

With punctilious formality the agents escorted him to FBI headquarters and into a small windowless room, the door firmly shutting behind him. Faced with little choice, he sat down on the hard chair crossing his legs. Although he was less than patient by nature, life had taught him to take what breaks were offered.

The door abruptly opened and Skinner walked in. One look was enough to let Krycek know that he was in full AD-mode. He was followed by Scully who actually gave Krycek an almost pitying look, and Doggett who seemed faintly amused.

Spearing Krycek with a hard look, he demanded, "Care to tell me what the fuck you were doing coming out of Halliwell's house at seven in the morning, looking like something the cat dragged in?"

A casual shrug, "You know what they say about us rats."

Scully raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help a rueful smile in remembrance of the old nickname once coined by Mulder.

All too aware of his disheveled clothes and wind-blown hair, Krycek instead of arguing simply said, "Got it."

"What do you have?" Scully demanded.

Krycek unzipped his jacket pulling up a thin paper file and two computer discs. "All the dirt on Halliwell. Names, dates, everything."

Scully and Doggett looked at Krycek and then down at the file. "Are you telling us that in just one night you've done what not even a combined CIA and FBI operation has managed in three years?" Doggett asked in open disbelief.

Krycek was watching Skinner, but his eyes dropped briefly to give Doggett a mocking smile. "I'm not a fibbie and I don't play by your rules. Yeah, I did it. I told you I would." He was watching Skinner once again.

Skinner had gone very still. "Well done, Alex," he said coolly. "Want to enlighten us exactly as to what exactly you had to do to get it?"

Krycek shrugged. "Nothing special."

Skinner moved, pushing him down on a chair, standing over him with fists clenched. "This wouldn't have something to do with the death of a certain billionaire philanthropist yesterday?"

He blinked. "Anyone tell you, you've got an active imagination? How do you figure that?"

"Very nice, Krycek. Just the right note of bewildered innocence," Skinner congratulated, voice heavy with cold sarcasm. It had been days since he'd last used the name Krycek. "But unfortunately for you, I got a phone call from Mr. Smith last night while you were 'out'." His voice grew colder if possible, and he leaned forward with a hint of menace. "I'm not covering your ass one more time. Stop lying!"

He sat very still. "Fuck off, Skinner."

With a shocking violence he was grasped and slammed against the wall. "The truth!"

He stared defiantly into dark furious eyes. "Haven't we already done this scene?"

Skinner's hands tightened hard enough to choke before they relaxed fractionally. "Alex, all I want is the truth. Trust me enough—please?"

He flinched and closed his eyes. "You're not playing fair," a soft choked whisper. "You want the truth? I killed St.Just to get close to Halliwell. The other part of the bargain was Thomas fucking my brains out, which he did last night and this morning when he was sleeping I copied his hard drive and opened his safe. Is that what you want to hear?"

If possible, Walter Skinner looked even more enraged. "Damn you, Krycek!" He stepped back abruptly, letting go. Turning on his heel, the door slammed behind him furiously.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed Doggett commented idly, "I don't know what's going on, but I'd have thought he'd be a little more grateful. You've just handed him something most guys in this building would kill for." He suddenly smiled, "Scully wasn't so wrong that first morning, was she? You're like a faithful dog bringing his master's slippers."

Krycek didn't reply, but the very lack of expression on a face wiped suddenly blank told Scully more than she really wanted to know. Like Skinner, compassion and empathy was not her strong forte, but she knew enough of Krycek, of his past to see beneath the surface. "Doggett, give us a moment?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow, but left without comment, a nice change from her former partner.

A faithful dog.

Lips peeled back in a grimace. Was that what he had been reduced to? Skinner's dog—bitch more accurately.

Once they were alone, Scully waited patiently. She couldn't help but marvel at the strange connection that had formed between her and this man she should hate, did hate, but also understood in some strange way.

"I thought that's what he wanted," Krycek finally said softly staring down at the dented surface of the metal table. "I tried to make up for Cardenza."

Scully bit her lip. For the past four years whenever she'd thought of Alex Krycek it had been with hatred and contempt. Yet now, she found herself experiencing an alien emotion—pity. "Krycek—Alex, look, I don't know what you meant to do, but how did you think Skinner was going to react?" Despite herself a note of exasperation crept into her voice.

He blinked, looking confused. "I got the job done, didn't I?"

"Krycek, how many people did you sleep with and kill to get this information?"

He looked even more confused. "Does it matter?"

"I would imagine so, yes."

He still seemed unable to grasp the problem. "This was work. I did it for him."

Scully almost sighed. "Krycek, use some of the supposed intelligence floating around somewhere in what passes as your mind. Think, remember how Skinner reacted when he thought you and I were doing something?"

He half-shrugged. "Yeah, but that was different. That was because it was you. He thought I was screwing with your head." A hint of a smirk appeared.

This time she did sigh, loudly. Alex Krycek was such a complex tangle of strengths and weaknesses, of mercurial emotions shifting from sardonic humor to deadly intensity in the space of a breath that there were times he made Mulder seem like an open book. "You're being an idiot, Krycek. Quite apart from everything else, Skinner will not condone indiscriminate killing. Surely you know that much about him?"

"I didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve to die," Krycek shot back.

"And who appointed you judge, jury and executioner?" Skinner asked coldly from the doorway.

Scully quickly scrambled to her feet. "Sir..."

He gave her an absent nod. "Thank you for your assistance, Scully, but I'll take it from here."

She hesitated but also knew that tone of voice from old. "Yes, sir." She gave Krycek a last look. "Good bye."

They remained still, listening to her departing steps, the click of the door closing behind her.

Krycek remained where he was, body deceptively loose and relaxed, waiting for whatever Skinner was going to do.

"Scully is right, you're an idiot," Skinner's deep voice finally broke the silence.

Green eyes narrowed as a dark head came up, ready to snap and snarl— and came up against a broad rueful smile. For some reason, while he and Scully had been having their little heart-to-heart something had changed drastically.

"What are you talking about?" He knew he sounded suspicious, surly, and he didn't give a fuck.

"You, you're an idiot," Skinner told him, still smiling broadly. Sauntering forward, he crouched down beside Krycek. "But you're my idiot." He reached out and gently traced a path along jaw and chin.

Krycek nuzzled into the touch instinctively. He should be pissed, but somehow it seemed to matter little compared to the feeling of Skinner holding him, the steady beat of the heart beneath his ear.

"Alex..." a quiet deep voice in his ear, "If you ever pull another stunt like this I'll kick your ass into next week." Krycek stiffened, as Skinner continued calmly, "what I find truly offensive is that you didn't trust me enough to tell the truth."

"Skinner—"

A finger across his lips, silenced him. "Shut up, Alex. How the fuck, can you think that I'd ever want you to repay me this way? By whoring yourself out."

Flinching from the words, yet unable to look away from the dark eyes daring him to tell the truth, Krycek found himself unable to lie. "You wanted Halliwell. That's the deal we made, remember? I screwed up big time with Cardenza, I," he swallowed, "wanted to give you something back."

Restitution. Repayment. A gift. A debt repaid.

"Alex, you fool," once again the tone was soft as rough silk. "You owe me nothing, you never did. I'd rather have let Halliwell walk than know the price of his capture." A light shake. "He's not worth it. Nothing is."

Closing his eyes, Alex shuddered. "Hey, you know it's not as if I haven't done this before; it's no big deal."

Large hands tightened on his shoulders momentarily before relaxing again. "You hold yourself too cheaply."

For some reason the gruff words touched something deep inside. His reaction was pure instinct, mixed with fear. "Not cheap, Skinner!" Cocking his head, grin firmly in place, he drawled, "Fucking and killing pays well. Bet I can buy and sell you."

"Really?" Skinner raised one eyebrow, "Here I thought I'd bought you."

Green eyes narrowed. "Go to hell."

"Only if you'll come with me."

He looked up quickly, a shiver of unease at the soft level words.

"We're going to have to do something about that temper of yours," Skinner told him with more than hint of dry amusement.

His voice shifted and he sighed, "While I'd love to continue this at some other time and place," for a moment open hunger showed in the dark eyes, "I've got to go and start making use of the information you've brought." One hand curled around Krycek's neck, holding him still. "Go home, I'll be late."

Pissed off at the relief that shuddered through him, Krycek snarled, "Stop fucking ordering me around! I'm not your fibbie subordinate any longer."

Fingers tightened in subtle punishment. "No, but you're all mine."

###

Thomas Halliwell's House
Two Days Later

Fast clean and effective, in the space of a day they dismantled, destroyed and took apart one man's life.

Later, standing in the operations room, being congratulated by his friends and colleagues, some of who were openly envious of his success, Skinner only wished that he could dredge up even a fraction of the satisfaction everyone one else seemed to feel. He'd told Alex nothing but the truth—the price was too fucking high.

Just the thought of Thomas Halliwell touching the pale graceful body caused a hot tide of rage, but even deeper was pain that Alex could so easily barter his body and have it mean nothing. Christ, how many times had he made the same bargain? He tried to ignore the memory of the times he'd used Krycek, used him with little thought but his own satisfaction.

"Sir," he looked up to find a very young and very nervous FBI agent who barely kept from flinching at the expression in the dark eyes. "Yes?"

"Sir, the prisoner, Halliwell, he wants to talk to you."

Skinner frowned, the last thing he wanted was to meet the man who'd slept with Alex face to face. "Did he mention my name or just the leader of the operation?" Perhaps he could still delegate to Doggett or Scully.

"You personally, sir."

He suppressed a sigh; there went that idea. "I'll be right down."

Detouring to grab the fat case file the FBI had assembled on Halliwell and cutting short a phone call from an extremely irate CIA Deputy Assistant Director who was demanding that Halliwell be turned over to Langley, Skinner found himself in front of a metal door—ironically enough next door to the room where Krycek had been held.

Bracing himself mentally he nodded to the agent standing guard.

The young man opened the door politely, stepping aside as Skinner walked past him into the room.

Fucking hell! He looks like Michelangelo's David!

None of the grainy black and white surveillance photos made justice to Halliwell's severe masculine beauty. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim hipped, with burnished gold hair and cold grey eyes, he was enough to make Skinner feel old, and wrinkled and flawed.

"Thomas Halliwell."

The blond head jerked up. "Walter Skinner," he replied flatly.

Skinner paused. "You said you wanted to talk."

A long look. "You think I wouldn't?"

"Because I headed the FBI investigation into your crimes."

Halliwell stared at him for a moment and then started to laugh. "No, actually I didn't know that, or at least not until this morning."

"Then why did you want to talk to me?" Skinner sat down and put the file on the table between them.

"I wanted to meet the guy who finally got to Alex."

That hurt. He tried to ignore the sudden sharp pain at the casual mention of Krycek's name. "I see."

Halliwell smiled bitterly. "No, I doubt you do. Do you have any fucking idea of how many men would like to know your secret?"

Feeling like a demented parrot, Skinner repeated, "Secret?"

Pulling up a cigarette from the crushed packet in his breast pocket, and lightning it with jerky movements, Halliwell leaned back in the creaking chair and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I've known Alex Krycek for almost twenty years, and wanted him for longer than that." His tone was very matter of fact; he could have been discussing the weather. "He's something of a legend, Alex. He'll fuck anything that moves if those are his orders, and he'll just as cheerfully blow your head off in the morning, if he's been ordered to. He doesn't believe in loyalty, only survival."

He regarded the tip of his glowing cigarette for a moment, "He's always been a lone wolf, I don't know of anyone who's ever broken him to the leash and collar," a twisted half-grin, "and believe me there have been many who've tried."

"Why are you telling me this?" Skinner asked evenly.

"Because the first time I saw Alex after the FBI assignment was over I knew something had changed. As I said, I've known him for a long time. He denied it of course, being Alex," his sudden wry smile invited Skinner to share. "But I knew. For a long time I thought it was that Mulder guy, it wasn't until a year ago or so that I realized it was you."

Very steadily, Skinner repeated. "Why are you telling me?"

The air changed, grew charged like calm before a storm as Halliwell whispered, "If I could, I would fucking snap your neck, here and now."

A prickle of something akin to fear traveled along Skinner's spine. "I took you into custody because it was my job. If you want to go after me for that, be my guest."

Halliwell stared at him and then he laughed. "Custody? What the fuck are you talking about?! I want to kill you because when I finally got him in my bed, when he was finally mine that night the only thing he was thinking about was you."

"I—" what did you say to a man who had just seen his life's work destroyed, who was facing the rest of his life in jail, if he even survived to face a judge, and who yet could only think of one thing; Alex Krycek.

"You love him..." Skinner said slowly.

Halliwell didn't even try and deny it. "Yeah, I always did. Always, ever since we were kids. But he never cared shit about me." He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette. "Hell, I think I knew even when he first came to me that it was a trap, but I didn't care. It was the first time he ever asked me for anything." He smiled tiredly. "Alex can be such an idiot for all his smarts. I would have given him anything he ever asked for." He looked at the innocuous folder lying on the table. "I'll talk to anyone you want now. You don't have to be here, actually, I'd prefer it if you weren't."

Skinner hesitated before he rose and picked up his papers. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah..." Halliwell pulled out another cigarette. "What I can't figure is why you. I mean you're hardly GQ material, and what, fifteen, twenty years older than he is?"

Halliwell merely articulated his own doubts. The questions he asked himself in the darkness of the night as Krycek slept beside him, sprawled in repose, beautiful as an ancient marble statue come to life.

"Skinner."

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch."

Staring at the metal door, he heard his own voice reply. "I know."

###

Krycek was waiting in the office, standing by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass. Halting just inside the door, Skinner wondered what he was thinking. If he felt any regrets for the man downstairs. If one day he would betray his present lover as easily as he'd done the man in the holding cell.

"Alex," Skinner bent his head to press a soft kiss at the nape.

Krycek closed his eyes, leaning into the solid warmth of the body behind him, he felt arms go around him, and unconsciously relaxed into their grip, feeling not trapped and hemmed in but secure and treasured. Large fingers traced lazy circles on his skin, searched out the secret places on his body that made him shudder in need, thighs sliding apart

"This, this isn't a good idea," he gasped.

Skinner laughed low in his throat, the sound of a wolf claiming its mate. "No, it isn't." He didn't stop, enjoying each gasp, each moan, the helpless writhing of this man who for some miraculous reason wanted him, had trusted him enough to surrender his most valued possession; freedom.

"Wa... Walt!" The last was a drawn-out moan.

He was tempted, oh so tempted to simply grab Krycek by the scruff of the neck and sling him across the polished oak desk, slamming into him with a primitive force that claimed what he wanted to the point of madness. But even as the desire ran through him, hot and red, he knew that this was not how he wanted Alex, nor how he wanted Alex to want him. Although his body screamed no, he backed off, gentling his caresses, tenderness not hunger, love not lust. "Shhh, you're right, this isn't the place," he whispered into Krycek's ear, "I want a bed with cool sheets and privacy where I can watch you come apart, where I can hear you scream as I fuck you slowly, deeply."

He was rewarded by another violent shudder.

Eyes sliding shut, Krycek relaxed, head falling onto one broad shoulder. "How the fuck did I get so lucky?"

Skinner's arm came up around him, running his fingers through thick dark hair. "The wages of sin?" and was rewarded by a soft chuckle.

"No, I mean it, Walt," he looked up at Skinner with green serious eyes. "What the hell do you want with me, really?" He gestured at himself, "I know I'm a good fuck but—"

He broke off as Skinner shook him lightly. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

Krycek shrugged, the silence all the answer necessary.

"I wasn't planning on having this conversation in my office," Skinner said abruptly. "But it seems we'll have to." It was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Look, I'm not much of talker, but you," he smiled a little, "you're a hell of a lot more to me than a fuck, or a bodyguard."

"Yeah?" Krycek looked torn between disbelief and wistfulness.

"Yeah," it was Skinner's turn to turn very serious he waited until he had Krycek's complete attention. "I want, I need to know that if you stay, it's because you want to, not because you owe me, do you understand, Alex? Tell me this is what you want or walk away, now."

Krycek stiffened. "You don't play fair."

A strange smile shaped the stern mouth, "Nothing is in love and war."

"And what is this?"

"A little of both," Skinner acknowledged calmly, "hopefully by now more of the former than the latter." He paused, "one more thing, I don't share, understood?"

"I understand." Krycek still seemed to have problems with anything more than simple sentences. "Walter, I, I," he struggled with the words, face unconsciously pleading.

Skinner reached out and he came easily into the strong arms, was enveloped by them. "It's all right, you don't have to say anything," a deep voice whispered. "Take a chance, Alex, stop running."

He shuddered, hiding his face in a broad shoulder. "Fuck you."

Skinner laughed, "Oh, I plan to, and I also plan to spend my nights keeping track of a certain Russian, loving him until he's too exhausted to even think of anything but me."

Cocking his head, a strange smile shaped the lips beneath his fingertips. "Oh yeah? You know how long I've had the hots for you?"

Walter Skinner blinked. Halliwell's bitter words suddenly ran through his memory. He hadn't believed them then, but... "You really wanted me for real, even back then?" he asked aloud. "I wasn't just another assignment?" He knew he was fishing and sounding foolishly insecure.

It was Krycek's turn to reach up and trace the strong mouth, and firm jaw, with his fingers, loving the way the older man arched into the touch. "Hell yes, I wanted you the first time I saw you. You were chewing out some agent for screwing up, and I knew right then and there that I was going to get you into bed."

He couldn't help laughing half-ruefully at the smugness. "You're very sure of yourself."

A shrug of broad shoulders, a sudden flash of bitterness. "Yeah, well, I've always been good at fucking."

Skinner slid his fingers through thick dark hair, before he released Krycek to put on his coat and picking up his briefcase, putting a load of paperwork in it and snapping the locks shut. "Yes, you are," he acknowledged matter of fact, checking through a file trying to decide whether he needed to take it home and ignoring Krycek's sudden wary stiffening. "I've never had better. But if you think that sex, no matter how good would make me forget what you did to me or to Scully and Mulder, then you underestimate me, badly." He looked up, spearing Krycek with a sudden severe look. "I'm not some callow boy at the mercy of his hormones, nor am I some doddering senile fool so desperate to recapture his youth that I'll forgive anything for a few moments of friction. I'm a man, Alex."

Krycek stared at him for a moment, and then he relaxed, smiling wryly. "Damn, Walt, you don't give an inch, do you?"

Skinner shook his head. "No. Come on, let's go home," and was rewarded with a flash of a smile he'd never seen before, unguarded, happy, almost carefree.

"Home, it is."

In the elevator, Krycek crossed his remaining arm across his chest, commenting idly, "I'm amazed that anyone ever parks their car in the garage. Half the spies and assassins of the world seem to converge there at some point or another."

"You included," Skinner pointed out dryly. "From what I remember it was one of your favorite hang-outs."

Krycek chuckled, secretly relieved that they had come to a point where they could joke, albeit wryly, about the past. "Too true. It's a cliché, I admit lurking in a garage, but it's actually very practical. Your victim is usually alone, unwary 'cause he's still on familiar territory and it's isolated; gunshots and screaming don't carry too far."

"Thank you for that enlightening little insight," the deep voice was so dry it could have cut through ice.

Although Krycek grinned, Skinner noticed how the green eyes swept the shadows and spaces, as they exited the elevator the tall body moving with a cat-footed thread, shifting his weight, ready to move in any direction.

Reaching the black Mustang that was one of Skinner's few indulgences, Skinner unlocked it, starting to open the door when he noticed that Alex was not moving.

Looking at the car, Krycek said meditatively, "You know, it's another cliché, but something else that tends to go on a lot in garages are nice silent little car bombs."

Skinner's hand froze on the handle. "You serious?"

"Walt, you took down Thomas, and there are people who are definitely not going to like that. Some of whom don't really have a lot of respect for the sanctity of life, if you follow me."

He frowned, "Surely it's too early for anyone to do something. We only arrested Halliwell this morning."

Krycek gave him what could only be a pitying look. "It would send a hell of a powerful message if the guy in charge of Thomas' arrest was killed the same day. It tells everyone 'stay away from our people.'" He shrugged, "That's the way I'd have done it at least."

When Skinner said nothing, doubt clearly visible, the husky voice altered and grew cool. "Look, you don't have to trust me."

Skinner shook his head. "No, I trust you, Alex," he said simply. "Let me phone the bomb squad, and I'll have them check it out."

Krycek flashed him a grin. "No need, I've armed and disarmed more bombs than your squad could ever dream of." Pulling off his jacket, he knelt down, peering into the gloom. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he ran a light questing finger along the underside. Encountering a small bumpy shape that definitely shouldn't have been there, he swore softly but eloquently. "Bingo!"

Kneeling beside Krycek, Skinner followed his glance and as soon as his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he saw the small but deadly package attached to the undercarriage of the car.

"Hell!" He muttered, "I mean it, Alex. Don't touch it, I'm phoning the bomb squad."

Krycek wasn't listening, pulling out a small strangely shaped tool from his back pocket instead. "You got a flashlight?" he asked absently, flicking out a slender blade.

"Step away," Skinner said sharply.

He shook his head, all focus on the bomb, as he slid onto his back, "Nope, but Walter I could really use some light, working blind is not a good idea."

A muffled curse, and then a concentrated beam of light suddenly lit up, almost blinding him for a moment. Muttering his thanks, he went back to examining the device. "Whoever did this is damned good," he commented absently, "He's reversed the wiring, shit!"

Skinner was talking quietly into his cell phone with one hand while holding the light with the other. "Alex?"

Krycek shook his head, "Breathe again, it was just a red herring." He went back to poking and muttering to himself.

Skinner clicked off the phone and put it in his pocket. "The bomb guys will be here in fifteen, twenty minutes, said to leave it all alone and back off to a safe distance."

Krycek raised his head, a cocky grin curling his mouth. "Not a chance, besides, I'm better than they are." He gave Skinner a look, "But just in case I'm wrong, would you mind going somewhere else?"

"Not a chance," Skinner said flatly giving him back his own words.

Krycek sighed. "I didn't think so. You know, for an old guy you're sure childish."

"Takes one to know one," Skinner growled, eyes promising revenge for the comment about 'old' guys.

By the time the squad had arrived, flashing sirens everywhere, yellow and black plastic cordoning off the entire garage both Krycek and Skinner were damp with sweat, nothing moving except a slender, pale, clever hand.

Pausing to blink the sweat from his eyes, Krycek muttered, "Damn, there are times I'd kill to get my arm back.

"Sir, why don't you let us take over?" He glanced up and found a thin man with spectacles dressed in the ubiquitous blue coveralls of the bomb squad.

Skinner growled in obviously displeasure, "I'd be happy to let you, but unfortunately Alex seems to think he's still got something to prove."

"Fuck off, Skinner," a muffled voice told them both.

Crouching down, the bomb expert went into a short but intense discussion with Krycek. Apparently the answers satisfied him, because the next time he looked at Skinner, his voice had changed. "He knows what he's doing, sir. But I still think you should move away, I'll stay here and advise him."

"Listen to him, he's making sense," Krycek added.

Skinner ignored both of them, simply holding the flashlight steady, watching Krycek work. "You know, when we get away from here I'm going to beat you," he said conversationally after a while, ignoring the startled look the bomb guy gave him. "And in the future you're going to find yourself on a very short chain."

"You really know how to motivate a guy." Gently peeling the small deadly package from the undercarriage of the car, Krycek rolled out, holding it out to the bomb guy who took it gingerly.

Starting to rise, a cocky grin plastered across his face, suddenly everything seemed to happen in slow motion—Krycek pushed forward to his knees by the first shock wave of the explosion, the sound of the tool dropping from his hand abnormally loud—eyes wide and startled.

Acting with the trigger instinct that had kept him alive half a century ago in the jungles of south Vietnam, Skinner never thought simply dove and pulling Krycek with him rolled away from the car, pushing the dark head to the ground and shielding the wiry body with his own as everywhere else people shouted, waving their arms or followed Skinner's example falling to the floor, arms over head in protection.

The blast that tore the Mustang apart also managed to blow out the windows of the cars surrounding it, shards raining down on the floor and people.

In the moment of utter silence following the detonation, Krycek's body pressed against him, Skinner's heart beat like a sledgehammer.

"Damn, he tricked me. A fucking double-bind! A second hidden bomb set to go off once the first one is detonated or disarmed." The tone was more admiring than angry.

At the sound of the offhand words, Skinner exploded, the roiling emotions of the past moments emerging as anger "You idiot!" he roared, rising and grabbing Krycek by the shoulders, slamming him up against the wall. "You fucking dumb-ass!"

Tired, dirty, his innards jangling, Krycek still managed to dredge up a cocky smile from somewhere. "Gee, you thank everyone who saves your life, like this?"

Dimly, Skinner realized someone was talking to him a low urgent voice, a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, sir! Let him down, sir..."

Slowly, he realized he was choking the life out of someone. Out of Alex Krycek to be more exact. Letting go, he lowered his arms, a look of bewilderment on his face that would have been funny under different circumstances.

Doggett was approaching warily, while Scully knelt by Krycek helping him get his air back.

"Sir?"

"I'm fine!" Skinner brushed aside the helping hand impatiently, limping over to where Krycek was slumped against the wall. "Alex?"

Krycek gave him a speaking look. "I'm okay," he said shortly.

Skinner frowned darkly, "You won't be once we get home," he growled. "What the hell possessed you to try and disarm the damned bomb on your own?!" His voice rose slightly as he grew angry all over again.

Running greasy, weary fingers through his hair, Krycek arched an eyebrow. "Saving your life?" he suggested.

###

Once they were home and Skinner had chased away everyone including Scully he stormed into the shower slamming the door behind him.

Too exhausted to move, Krycek remained where he'd more or less fallen onto the sofa. Jesus he was tired. Today had shaken him in more ways than one. Not the close call with the bomb, so much as Skinner's anger and his own reaction. He'd found himself trembling almost as much as Skinner once he realized just how close he'd come to losing Walter. He had been an idiot. Why hadn't he waited for the squad, dragging Walt off to a safe distance, letting the guys do their jobs, never mind that he was better qualified. He'd forgotten what his number one priority was; protecting Skinner, and all because he'd fallen for the temptation to show off. He mentally shook his head, even as a kid he'd never been tempted to hot dog, far too disciplined and professional. If this was what love did to you, it sucked big time.

Coming back from his shower, wearing a short black robe, a towel slung over his shoulders, Skinner glared at Krycek obviously still pissed off. "Okay, this is how we're going to do it. From this moment on you are officially retired as bodyguard, whore and assassin. You will move in here, I'll sign over half the condo to you and then you will find yourself a job. A legal job and don't tell me someone of your skills can't. You will pay taxes, get a social security number and if I ever find you either killing or fucking anyone else there will be hell to pay, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" The tone was mocking, but Krycek's eyes were very bright. Abruptly his smile died. "Walter... are you sure?"

"Very sure, Alex," he pulled the younger man up, kissing him possessively, hard. "Are you?"

"Christ, yes!" Krycek swallowed, green eyes very bright, looking vulnerable, almost lost. "But, shit, this is seriously going to fuck with your life."

He smiled, slowly tracing the exquisite shape of nose and lips. "As you said, I'm not moving up the food-chain, and frankly, I don't want to either. I've had enough intrigues, back-stabbings and betrayals to last me a lifetime. I'm a good agent, Alex, and that's what I'm going to continue doing. Solving cases, saving lives, the reason I joined the FBI in the first place." Slowly, he felt Krycek relax, lose some of the perpetual tension that kept him on edge, ready to run or fight.

He wrapped strong arms around his lover. Skinner almost smiled at the thrill of pleasure the words evoked. Lover. How long had it been since he'd had a lover? He and Sharon had, for more years than he cared to admit, shared nothing but a savings account, a house and tax returns.

A long silence fell, as Skinner ran idle fingers down the lean body resting against him, enjoying the soft murmured responses.

###

Riker's Island
Isolation Cell #64

"You've got a visitor, Halliwell."

He sat up slowly, swinging feet down onto the cement floor. Distantly he wondered if this was the day the Consortium was finally going to silence him. He had no illusions of how long he had left. The only curiosity was that they hadn't already come, that he was still breathing.

Walking into the visitor's room, noting absently that the guard was suddenly invisible and realizing this was not a good sign, he found himself unable to drag up anything but distant weariness.

He stopped abruptly just inside the door, not even noticing that it closed behind him staring at the last man on earth he'd expected. He was standing, back the door looking out through the bars of the small window high up on the wall.

"Alex?"

Eyes never leaving the small piece of sky visible through the thick iron bars, Krycek said reflectively, "Funny isn't it? When you're outside you take it for granted but in jail it's all you ever dream of..."

"What the fuck, are you doing here?"

Krycek slowly turned. "I thought we should talk, Thomas."

"Come to gloat? I never thought that was your style."

A slow shake of a dark head as Krycek sat down at the small table in the middle of the room, crossing long legs. "You know me better than that."

Pulling out the other chair, straddling it, Halliwell said, "I thought I did." He pulled out a cigarette, "Do you have a light?"

Silently, Krycek pulled a lighter from his jacket, flicking it with his thumb. Halliwell slowly leaned across the table, grey eyes never leaving Krycek's face, as he inhaled.

Silence descended as they watched each other.

"Why, Alex?"

"My job."

A lifted eyebrow, "You won't get any thanks for what you've done. If you'd given me half a chance, I'd have offered you a much better deal. You know that."

"I didn't do it for the thanks." he paused, "you went too far, Thomas, when you sold yourself to the oiliens."

"When the hell did you ever care about anything but yourself?"

Krycek replied softly, "I do care. I just never knew how much."

"Christ, Alex, you're turning into a fucking do-gooder."

A sudden smile lit green eyes. "A do-gooder? Yeah, I guess that's what I am. You should try it sometime."

Halliwell snorted, "Don't think I'll have much chance to." He took another drag on the cigarette. "What am I looking at?"

Long dark lashes hid Krycek's eyes for a moment, and then he said evenly, "Life, no parole. They're throwing everything they can at you. You've turned into an inter-agency trophy, Thomas."

"Fuck." Halliwell stubbed out the cigarette jerkily. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Yeah, you should have."

There was another silence, and then Halliwell suddenly laughed. "But I never could. That's what you counted on, you son of a bitch."

A shrug, a half-smile, but it was answer enough.

Halliwell lit another cigarette. "So why are you here? Usually you're half a world away when something goes down."

The husky voice suddenly turned as cold as icy green eyes. "Two days ago I found an interesting package underneath Walt's car." Halliwell's eyes narrowed at the use of the name.

Krycek leaned forward, leather creaking. "I'm giving you this one chance, Thomas. Back off."

Halliwell smiled thinly, "Why the hell should I? Skinner didn't just take me out because he's a fed. He's got a foot in both camps, if he can't stand the heat, he should get out of the kitchen."

"You wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him, Thomas. The Consortium had already passed sentence, but Skinner wanted you taken out legally and he refused to back down. That's the deal he made with them. You get to stand trial and serve your time, all nice and legal. They don't touch you." A strange smile curled a corner of his mouth as he added softly, "he's got very strong opinions of what's right and wrong."

Halliwell looked disgusted. "You telling me that I've got Skinner to thank for my life?"

"Yeah."

"He's not done me any favors."

One dark eyebrow arched. "Bullshit. Lay off the martyr pose. You're still alive."

Halliwell didn't answer, cigarette burning unnoticed between his fingers. "So what's the real reason you're here, Alex?"

"I told you."

"Try again," Halliwell said curtly.

Quietly, Krycek said, "I'll trade for the information."

"You don't have anything left," Halliwell growled.

"The vultures are moving in to pick the bones clean, I can protect your people."

Grey eyes turned hard as flint. "Low blow, Alex."

"I mean it," Krycek raised his head meeting Halliwell's anger steadily.

"Christ, what the hell happened to you?!"

A strange smile curved Krycek's lips. "You wouldn't believe if I told you."

"Try me."

"I found a piece of myself I thought was lost." Krycek shifted, "I'll look after your people, Thomas." Softly he added, "I owe you that much."

Abruptly, Halliwell said, "I didn't order it, Jackson did."

Krycek stilled. "Thanks." He stood up and Halliwell was unable to hide his hunger, watching the tall body moving with deadly grace.

"Alex," Krycek stilled, hand on the door handle. "The oiliens are splitting into factions. The ones I were dealing with are getting impatient and restless, watch your back."

He turned, "Why are you telling me this?"

It was Halliwell's turn to shrug, "Because you're worth more to me alive than dead." A glimmer of a smile flitted across his face, "and because a smart man could accomplish much playing the sides off each other, and the one thing I've never thought you are is dumb."

###

Standing outside Walter Skinner's condo clutching a bottle of wine, Scully hesitated, not sure she was doing the right thing by coming. Still, she was more than a little curious about what exactly the casual invitation Skinner had given her that same morning.

Straightening, she rang the doorbell and then braced herself for the sight of Krycek. But when the door opened it was Skinner who gave her a nod. "Scully, come in."

"Thank you, sir," she said letting him help her with the coat and handing him the wine. "Here."

He accepted the bottle and raised one eyebrow over the label. "Thanks, but it really wasn't necessary."

She half shrugged, smoothing the neat jacket she wore. "I know, but I owed you a bottle." It was an oblique reference to the day he'd found her on the sofa. But although she watched him carefully, not even a flick of the eyes betrayed him. Instead he said calmly, "As you can see, you know most of the people here."

Glancing around she nodded in agreement, noticing the Lone Gunmen huddled in a corner whispering intently to each other. She wondered if they were discussing the latest alien conspiracy theory or the best strategy for Tomb Raider VI.

"Here," she looked down to find a glass of wine held out. Taking it, she smiled her thanks at the tall man. Since Mulder's disappearance, Skinner had becoming even more important to her.

Looking around discreetly, she didn't seen Krycek, although no doubt he was slinking around somewhere.

"He's in the kitchen."

She flushed, realizing he'd read her thoughts. "Sir, can I be honest?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Are you ever anything else, Agent Scully?"

"Sir, this is insanity."

Skinner said dryly, "Please tell me what you really think."

She looked a little abashed but wasn't silenced. "Sir, you know what Krycek is, what he's done. Do you have you any idea what this will do to your life? To your career?"

Skinner snorted in amusement. "I know, Alex has already told me so—in great detail I might add." He sobered, "Scully, give me some credit. I didn't make this decision on a whim. I've thought it through, and I've already considered all the problems you're about to bring up." He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "I guess the simple truth is that I want Alex, and I'm not going to let anything stop me."

She studied him for a long time and then she suddenly smiled. "I can't believe it, Walter Skinner is in love!"

To her delight he actually flushed and didn't deny it. "Well don't let it get around, it'll ruin my reputations as 'old Stoneface' "

Blue eyes sparkled with amusement at the mention of the nickname. "Yes, sir!" Eager to change the subject, she asked, "By the way, sir, did you ever find out who planted that bomb in your car?"

The silence made her look up suddenly very curious.

Skinner was looking grim. "We found out." He didn't add that he'd caught Alex sneaking out with a gun about to go off for a spot of quiet assassination. Skinner while appreciating the sentiment behind the action had been very firm in explaining that he really didn't want any more dead bodies. The argument that followed had been brief and to the point, with Krycek being very eloquent on the point of anybody trying to kill his lover. Sentiments that 'nobody threatens what's mine and lives' had been expressed. As had, 'you're the first thing I've cared about in a long time and I want to see whoever did this die a slow, lingering, painful death.' Skinner felt warm satisfaction, relishing Alex's possessiveness.

"Let's just say that I had a little chat with the people behind the bomb and they promised not to do it again," he said aloud, remembering the bleeding and kneecapped wreck Krycek had brought two nights later. When Skinner demanded to know what the hell he was doing, Alex had simply shrugged. 'You said I couldn't kill anyone, so he's still alive, isn't he?' Looking down at the trembling, sweating man, Skinner had explained pleasantly that he was quite displeased with the attempt on his life. The man should take a message back to his people. Either they backed off or he'd unleash Krycek. As Alex had been staring at the man in the manner of a hungry wolf offered a choice cut of meat, the man had certainly got the message. Through unofficial channels Skinner had heard that he was indeed safe, Thomas Halliwell left to hang by the men he'd worked for. Such, apparently were the rewards of betrayal.

"Why do I think there is a very interesting story there, that I'm never going to hear?" Scully grumbled.

Skinner simply smiled.

###

It was later, while Skinner was talking to Doggett out on the balcony that Scully slipped into the kitchen. Krycek was tearing open a bag of chips, dumping it in a ceramic bowl.

"Here, let me help you," Scully said briskly, rescuing the bowl from him.

"Thanks," he wadded up the bag and dumped it into the waste. Not looking at her, he opened the refrigerator door and took out a smaller bowl of dip. "I'm not going to hurt him, Scully," he said softly not looking at her.

"Skinner doesn't deserve to get his heart cut out and served to him on a plate," she said bluntly.

He turned swiftly, anger glimmering in the moss green of his eyes. "You think I'd do that?"

She stared at him, wishing for the millionth time that she could believe him. She must have spoken aloud because he suddenly looked profoundly weary. "What will convince you, Scully? I doubt any words I could give you would mean anything. You'll just have to trust that I'm not going to let him down."

"I believe that you won't mean to," she said slowly, picking up a chip and crunching down absently, "but are you sure your old life won't come back and bite you both?"

He shook his head once. "No, I mean, I'm sure that it will." He smiled wryly, "I've told him so, more than once, but you know Walt," the name was spoken with a naturalness that grated her, "there are times he's too stubborn for his own good."

She couldn't help smiling. "As he reminded me, not so long ago, Skinner is more than old enough to take responsibility for his own decisions." She hesitated and then said softly, "I want you to know something. Working with you and Skinner these past weeks—it's made me see some things in a new light."

Instinctively he seemed to know what else she was trying to say. "Look, it would be useless to pretend that what I've done," there was neither apology nor remorse in his voice, "what I'd do again if it was necessary, hasn't affected you. I wasn't involved in Mulder's abduction, but—" he broke off and shook his head. "Never mind."

"I miss him," she said in an apparent non-sequiteur staring down at the bowl in her hands. "I miss him so much it hurts."

"I know."

She took a deep breath. "But I don't need him. I can go on, even if he never wakes up again."

"Yes, you can." A swift smile, "you're stronger than you think."

When she raised her head and looked at him there was a new peace in her eyes. "Thank you, Krycek."

He didn't ask, 'for what' but simply smiled again and said, "Come on, Scully, let's go feed the beasts."

She remained a silent unnoticed observer, an untouched glass of wine in her hand as she watched the people in the room. Especially the dark man, who, like her, remained in a corner, watching rather than participating, wariness apparent in the slant of his shoulders and shuttered bottle green of his eyes. Only once did the grim mouth soften in a half-smile and as Scully followed his glance she too couldn't help a quick chuckle at Byers, Langley and Frohike, who were all staring at him with ill-concealed suspicion.

She watched as he finally approached Walter Skinner almost diffidently. Watched as Skinner turned his head and a smile softened the severe lines of a face more used to frowning. Fascinated she witnessed tenseness seeming to flow out of the taut body, the caution transformed into a sudden blinding smile.

She recognized in Skinner the same peace that filled her. A peace born of coming of terms with the past and of being a survivor.

###

Although they maintained a wary truce there was too much history between them for Scully to ever be completely comfortably watching Krycek saunter through the FBI corridors or sit silent and watchful in a corner of Skinner's office, and she avoided him whenever possible. Which was why, when the bell rang a week later and peeping through the hole there was no small amount of surprise as she realized Alex Krycek was standing outside her front door.

Opening it gingerly, she couldn't help staring. The Krycek who faced her was an utterly different person. Gone was the laughter, the cheerfulness. This was the man she'd faced beneath the harsh lights of an international airport, a grim man with nothing but bleakness in his eyes and soul. "We need to talk."

"Come in," she said automatically.

Krycek walked past him, followed by a thin, weedy, nervous little man. The stranger gave Scully an apprehensive look and a jerk that with a little imagination could be described as a greeting.

In the living room, Krycek swung around, arms crossed. "This is Harold and he—" he broke off and swore. "I need your help, Scully."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"

He hesitated, shrugged. "'Cause you're the only who'll believe me."

Although she was less than pleased, Scully gave one curt nod in acknowledgement of the strange link that connected them. Sitting down on the sofa she said simply, "I'm listening."

Alex started and then stopped, abruptly, and swore again. "This is even harder than I thought. Harold," he turned towards the man. "Do your stuff."

Scully's eyes swung to the other man, and then suddenly she froze for one terror-stricken moment as Harold's eyes slowly drowned in black. "Fucking hell!!" she cried springing up from the sofa. "You dirty traitor!" He looked around wildly for his gun or anything he could use as a weapon.

But Krycek caught her arm. "Relax, Scully. This one is a friend."

'Harold' was making no attempt to attack, just stood there, looking at them with sightless black holes.

Allowing himself a sardonic smile, Krycek said, "I'm glad to know you trust me so much. But this one isn't an enemy. Harold, sit down," he ordered and the small thin man obeyed silently.

Pacing nervously, he said, "It all started in Hong Kong, when Mulder discovered me selling off the DAT tape. Mulder," a grim smile, "told me to clean myself up before we took the plane back to the States. But while I was in the bathroom, I got infected with an oilien."

He ignored her start. "Never knew that did you, Scully? And then I carried it around until the silo." He shook his head to silence the questions he knew were bubbling to her lips. "But something else happened. I don't know how, or why, but I just didn't carry him, her or it, around, the exchange went just a little deeper than a parasite and its host creature." He gave Harold a sharp look, "and don't try and deny it."

He chewed on his lip for a moment. "After he, it, returned to his ship and his own kind, he, it, realized it had actually carried a bit of Alex Krycek back with it."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Yeah, I know, horrible thought isn't it? In any case," he continued, "that meant he knew who you and Mulder were. So when you were both infected, it, made it a point of seeking out those traces of you it could find and incorporate it. So, it's ended up as a sort of crazy amalgam of you, Mulder and me. Enough to drive anyone insane. But, it also made it realize that," he frowned, "Christ, I sound like I'm in an old sci-fi movie. It, likes it here on earth. This earth, not the kind the rest of its species is planning for. So," he took a deep breath, "it found a human host, Harold, who was dying of cancer, struck a deal, and now Harold carries it around in exchange for living the rest of the time. Not a bad deal, actually."

Scully shook her head. "You know what's really crazy? I don't doubt your story for a moment."

Krycek's mouth quirked sardonically, "I know, it's a little strange, both you actually believing anything I tell you, and in Mulder's little green men." His amusement died away swiftly, and he turned his back to look out the window.

There was a pause and then Krycek's voice came, clear and cold, floating out of the shadows. "It thinks that together we can stop colonization. But he can't do it without me."

"What do you mean?"

Anguish shadowed his face, "He wants me to go with him."

"Are you?"

"I don't know!" he swung around, and there was naked anguish in him. "I don't, I can't go! But..."

"You don't have a choice, Alex," she said quietly. For once there was no hostility or tension between them.

For a moment the familiar mockery was back. "There's always a choice. I could just say to hell with everything, kidnap Skinner to a tropical paradise and let the rest of the world go take a flying leap."

Scully didn't answer and Krycek sighed. "No, you don't have to tell me that wouldn't work. He'd punch me in the stomach and head straight back." His smile was bittersweet. "He's so used to protecting and guarding, he's forgotten there are times, he needs the same."

He turned his head away but not before she had seen the pain that carved deep lines around mouth and eyes. "Ironic isn't it? Skinner spends all this time trying to dig out whatever remains of my humanity so I could measure up as his lover."

Scully shook her head. "He didn't do it for himself, but for you, and I think he'll still think it a good bargain. Krycek... Alex, I'm not going to pretend that I don't hate what you've done..." She shrugged, sighed finally let go of old resentment, old angers. "I guess if Skinner can forgive you for killing him, then I can forgive you for whatever you did to me and mine."

He nodded once. That was one thing about Krycek he never offered false regrets or excuses. She realized anew that in his own way, he was honest.

Quietly she asked, "What are you going to tell Skinner?"

For a moment Krycek's face spasmed. "Nothing. Better he just think it was all a game, cleaner that way."

She stared at him. "You really think Skinner would believe you? Krycek, he'll never stop searching, much better to just tell him the truth." Scully's voice softened slightly, "he'll understand."

Krycek turned away. "Maybe, but that's how we're gonna play it out, Scully."

She didn't say anything and when he glanced at her, she still looked unconvinced. "My choice, my call."

She hesitated then nodded once. "Fine."

###

Skinner was not at home, a quick glance at the watch told him that the other man was probably chairing yet another of the interminable meetings he groused to about.

It made it both easier and infinitely harder.

Wandering aimlessly through the condo, he marveled how swiftly it had become a home to him; a man who had never wanted or expected either. Neither he nor Skinner were exactly the homey type, but scattered across the neatness of the rooms were all the pedestrian, everyday clutter, he'd secretly relished. A lifetime of traveling light, with whatever meager possessions he owned stuffed into a tote bag had him finished and ready to go in minutes. Still he lingered for a moment, drinking in the sight.

Imprinting the room into his memory, his eyes suddenly fell on a small bronze sculpture of a rat, crouched on its hind legs, busily washing its whiskers, face alight with mischief. He thought of the day Skinner had bought it, and how they'd both laughed. Acting on impulse he slipped the small statue into his pack, gave the room a last look and walked out, the door slamming shut behind with a finality that made him flinch.

Scully was waiting for him, when he arrived at their meeting place. Although her eyes swept over him with cool professional assessment, she didn't say anything, for which he was eternally grateful. He knew he looked like shit, and didn't need to have it thrown in his face.

"Krycek, I've arranged a meeting with the Lone Gunmen," she told him crisply. "They took a bit of persuading, but have promised to back you up. You can trust them completely and they've got no government ties." She shook her head when he tried to interrupt. "No, I've thought about this and you need at least one secure channel to let us know that you're still alive and if you need help."

He nodded, hefting his bag, "Thanks, Scully, I appreciate it. I'll try and get word to you when I can."

She smiled slightly, "Not just me, I hope." He followed her eyes and suddenly his heart was beating loudly enough to deafen.

He stared at her, fury and gratefulness in his eyes. "You lied!"

She said calmly, "Yes, and?"

"Isn't that like breaking a natural law or something?" Hiding behind flipness was a familiar instinct, but the façade that had worked so well for so long was useless when dealing with Skinner.

"Alex."

Two pair of eyes swiveled to look at the tall man. "Scully, would you excuse us, please?"

"Of course," she said immediately walking over to the car, discreetly out of hearing distance.

Once they were alone Skinner said quietly, "I don't know if I'm more pissed or proud."

"Don't, Walt, please." The husky voice wavered for a moment.

The smile that touched stern lips was as unsteady. "I'm not. What was it you once told me? We do what we have to. And you have to do this."

The sting was brief but sharp, that Skinner could so easily give him up. "Yeah."

Something in the voice must have betrayed him, and for a moment there was naked pain in the dark eyes that met his. "Jesus, Alex, don't you know this is tearing my guts out?"

And suddenly everything was all right and he had to fight a foolish impulse to laugh. "Yeah," he said again.

Answering laughter threaded through the deep voice. "You picked a hell of a time to go all silent on me."

He sobered, abruptly. "Walt, I—" he wanted to explain, to use words of fragile beauty and searing heat to speak of his love. How no one but this man had ever touched him, would ever touch him. "I won't bare my throat to anyone else."

Skinner gave him a long steady look. "Don't forget whom you belong to, I don't share."

Krycek nodded once, and unable to watch the only happiness he'd ever had walk out of his life, he turned around, facing the other way, eyes wide open and dry.

For the last time he felt the strong arms around him, a touch on his neck he knew was a kiss. Unconsciously he swayed closer, the instinct too strong to be resisted. Eyes sliding shut he inhaled the spicy scent that was Walter Skinner to him. A deep voice whispered in his ear. "When it's over, if any of us live through it, and if you can, come back to me, Alex."

When he opened his eyes again he was alone.

Only Harold remained, empty eyes gazing without expression.

Alex Krycek sighed heavily, bent down and grabbed his nap-sack. "Come on, partner. Somehow I doubt this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

THE END

###

mj.lee@chello.se

Title: Measure of Devotion
Author: MJ Lee
E-Mail: mj.lee@chello.se
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek
Warnings: Non-connish in places, quite a bit of angst and schmoop. Very mild spoilers for Season 8 but veering off in another direction before that ep.J
Feedback: Yes, please.
Notes: Well, this was supposed to be just a tiny pwp, a character study of Krycek and Skinner, but umm, it turned into something else. I have a quite a few people to thank, so in no particular order, Emu, for reading through a first rough draft and offering insights into Skinner; Aaboe and Cara for their knowledge of ahem, interesting techniques and kinks; Kris for the Russian cursing; Kes for gun info; the unlucky people in #bic who had to suffer through my endless moaning, whining and obsessing in IRC; Ursula for once again taking time out from her own incredibly busy life and betaing another monster for me; and last by never, never least; the two best friends and betas anyone can ever be lucky enough to have, Raven and Dee. I don't know many people who will beta a story this size, correct horrendous grammar and knit dangling plot threads together, not to mention betaing a final version on-line in one marathon eight-hour session. Dee, I worship at your feet. Raven is the only person I know who sends back a betaed story before I've had time to catch my breath and then pushes for more to beta. J
This is dedicated to all the great Sk/K writers, in particular Josan and JiM who first introduced me to the pleasure of the AD and his Rat.
Summary: An unexpected encounter between two old enemies leads to Walter Skinner acquiring a new and unwanted possession.

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