The parking garage was dark and quiet at this time of the evening. Most of the day workers had left many hours ago and those on the night shift would have settled into their respective duties soon after. By the time Skinner finally gathered up his papers and pulled on his coat, the floor was almost deserted, but he made one small detour before heading down to the parking garage.

His footsteps echoed around him; the sound bouncing off the concrete walls as he made his way to the space reserved for his vehicle. The squeal of car tires reverberated from the floor above, the sound quickly fading until Skinner was alone again in the silence. He stopped in front of his car, fished out the remote and pressed the button. The car lights flashed, the doors clicking loudly as they unlocked, and Skinner took the last few paces to the driver's side. Out of habit, he glanced into the back seat; his mind filling with memories of Alex Krycek sitting in the darkness waiting for him, the artificial hand poised over a different kind of remote. However, the car was empty; as empty as the hole ripped into his soul by the events in this parking garage just a month before.

I murdered him.

Skinner screwed his eyes shut tightly, trying to force away the image that insisted on visiting him every time he stepped into this place. He saw the pain-filled face, heard again the husky voice, words imploring him to shoot Fox Mulder. One bullet to save a thousand lives. Krycek had reached for his gun with his artificial hand even though Skinner knew, deep down, that there was no way Krycek would have been able to pick up the gun, raise it and fire it at Fox Mulder. So why had Krycek reached for it? And why had he delivered that fatal shot in response?

I murdered him.

He had spent the past month reliving that scene, over and over, trying to piece together all that had happened. Deep introspection was not his forte but Skinner had questioned every aspect of that fatal encounter; dissecting himself with the precision of a surgeon wielding a razor-sharp scalpel. He had not liked what he found. He had not enjoyed revealing the ugliness inside himself. He recalled a late night meeting held with Mulder a few days after the killing.

Extenuating circumstances.

That phrase seemed so trite now though Mulder's words had made such good sense at the time. Krycek had used him, and mentally abused him. The shadowy figure had introduced the nanocytes into his blood stream and had never balked at using them to his advantage. Skinner shuddered as he recalled the excruciating pain inflicted upon him by those small machines as they built dams in his veins and arteries; controlled by his tormentor, Alex Krycek. Once more, he could see the arrogance twitching the well-shaped lips. He could see the green eyes glittering with sadistic pleasure as the little machines moved through Skinner's body. He could feel his veins bulging as the nanocytes impeded the flow of blood, his heart fluttering, lungs labouring as he fell against the corridor wall. Lights had danced behind his eyes, and pain...raw pain had filled him, clutching at his chest, his limbs, his head. He had slumped to the floor in exhaustion as the pain finally ceased. Slowly standing, he had staggered back to the elevator and depressed the call button, the doors opening to reveal his tormentor waiting for him with a smug, all-knowing look. Skinner had lacked both the strength and the courage to wipe the smirk from the handsome face as the finger stayed poised over the remote control, ready to send him back into that world of pain. Skinner had wanted to see that smile falter, had wanted to see those green eyes fill with fear.

I got my wish.

The smirk had been missing and, instead, those perfect lips were parted, as if awaiting a lover's kiss. Those glittering eyes reflected fear, and desperation, pleading with him to believe. Krycek was on his knees, wounded arm hanging uselessly by his side. A small pool of blood lay on the ground beneath him, dripping from his arm and yet he was still imploring, despairing, begging Skinner to turn that gun on Mulder. His last living expression conveyed shock, those eyes widening as Skinner's finger twitched on the trigger, and he had said something unintelligible before he fell to the ground—dead.

You never believed I'd shoot to kill. It surprised you, but then it surprised us all. Didn't it?

No. Mulder had not been surprised. Mulder had looked across at Krycek with a sneer on his handsome face and then he had turned away, showing only disdain for the man kneeling before them. When Krycek fell sideways to the cold concrete, a new hole drilled into his head, Mulder's face had held no expression at all. His nemesis was dead. The man who had dogged his footsteps all these years, feeding him false hopes, luring him onto false quests, lay dead at his feet. Krycek had, supposedly, killed Mulder's father, and may have assisted Duane Barry in Scully's abduction. He was the same man who had left Mulder to be tortured in a Russian gulag, who had destroyed evidence, hidden the truth, hurt his friends. This man was dead and yet there was not a flicker of emotion on Mulder's face.

And yet you trusted him with Scully's life when Billy Miles came looking for her. You gave her over into his hands even though I once told you that Krycek had given me an ultimatum of killing either you or Scully's child. What happened to that trust? And why did he want you dead, Mulder?

Afterwards, Mulder had not even spared Krycek a glance as he returned to his car, no emotion, no words of support for Skinner, no shock or horror displayed on witnessing an execution, just a statement of his next intention.

"I'm going to go to the airport. I need that location from Agent Doggett." He had paused, staring hard into my face and yet I could see that there was no life there, no remorse and no regret for a wasted life. "Skinner, are you with me?"

I've seen you only once since then, Mulder, but you did not mention Krycek, not even in jest. When I spoke his name there was not even a flutter of an eyelash, not a twitch of emotion crossed your face. Nothing at all. It was as if the name had meant nothing to you.

Skinner climbed behind the wheel of his car and pushed the key into the starter. It was a safe car, a boring top-of-the-range vehicle noted more for its safety features and creature comforts than its speed or looks. It was the type of car that a man in his position of authority was expected to drive. Inside its air-conditioned interior, it was immaculate. Sharon had loved this kind of car: it was her status symbol. There were no stains from Styrofoam coffee cups or juice cartons marring its pseudo-mahogany console, no sweet wrappers balled up on the plush carpet, and no scuff marks from shoes marking the leather and cloth upholstery. It boasted economy of fuel, superb road handling, high-tech security and numerous in-car safety features and yet it had no heart and no soul. It was expensive but lifeless.

What happened to the car Krycek had driven into the garage? Had that been the same car driven by Knowle Rohrer, the one that had chased them from the parking garage? Rohrer had crashed—that sleek, black car becoming a fireball but Skinner could imagine Krycek behind the wheel of such a powerful car.

Probably an automatic.

He barked out a short laugh in self-derision at his lack of compassion for the one-armed man. He had never been so petty before meeting Alex Krycek but Krycek had managed to twist his whole world on its head. When Krycek had been around, Skinner had found it hard to distinguish between up and down, black and white...friend and foe.

I hated what he did to me. I hated the power he had over me. I hated being at his beck and call. I hated that smirk, and the contempt I could see in those eyes. I hated the way he gave me ultimatums, telling me to choose between the people I cared about...begging me to kill Fox Mulder.

One bullet against thousands of lives. That's what he said would be the cost of Mulder's survival. Thousands of lives. Why?

Krycek had begged at the end, imploring me to turn my gun on Mulder but not to save his own miserable hide. He wanted me to do it for the sake of these thousands of lives. Whose lives? Who was Alex Krycek? Martyr or monster?

Are you singing in heaven or burning in hell?

Skinner gripped the steering wheel tighter, and rested his forehead on his white knuckles, still trying to unravel the mystery that was Alex Krycek. He was trapped in the darkness of guilt as his mind replayed those last seconds when the gun had kicked in his hand, the small, neat hole appearing dead centre in the tall forehead. Surprise had replaced desperation in the beseeching face. It had all happened in slow motion. It was if he could see the bullet leaving the muzzle, flying across the distance separating them like some special effect in a John Woo movie, and then kissing Alex in some macabre form of benediction.

It surprised you. You never thought I'd pull the trigger on you, but did you honestly believe that I would turn my gun on Mulder?

Skinner started the engine and pulled away slowly, eyes staring straight ahead as he tried to avoid looking over the spot where Krycek had met his end.

Murdered...by me.

Since then every day he spent in this building was pure hypocrisy. Each time he gave an order to one of his people regarding some criminal investigation he had to swallow the bile that threatened to rise up and choke him.

I'm a killer...a murderer.

Skinner drove out of the parking garage, turning towards Crystal City where he still kept an apartment. The Director of the FBI would find his letter of resignation on his desk when he arrived tomorrow. He had set it dead centre on that mahogany surface, a white shape on the dark wood, the antithesis of that dark hole on the pale forehead. There would be questions, but how could he stay in the FBI knowing that he had betrayed everything he had ever believed in? His oath to uphold the law had not stopped him from meting out his own form of rough justice upon a helpless man.

He was wounded. He was on his knees. I could have walked over and kicked that gun aside but instead I shot Alex Krycek.

Frontier justice or personal revenge?

Had he been judge, jury and executioner, punishing Alex Krycek for his crimes, making sure the man would never be able to harm another living creature? Had he allowed his baser emotions, his need for personal vengeance against his tormentor, to override his sense of honour and duty?

Skinner swallowed hard, well aware that this was why he had resigned. There was no lawful justification for why he had killed Krycek. He had killed Krycek because he wanted to free himself from the pain of every encounter with his nemesis. However, it was not just the physical pain caused by the nanocytes running rampant inside his body, but the mental anguish invoked every time he saw the man.

When Billy Miles turned up in my office, Krycek walked out without a word, entered the elevator and made no attempt to hold the doors open for me. He left me to die.

When Krycek walked out of that office leaving him to face Billy Miles alone, Skinner had felt his heart breaking with a renewed sense of betrayal. It made him wonder anew. Had what he felt for Krycek been some form of Stockholm syndrome? Had the pleasure pulsing through him whenever he saw Krycek, been a reflection of his fear of the pain returning rather than a genuine desire for another man? Was this why the death of Alex Krycek had not stopped the sexual fantasies and nightmares that shook his body each night? How many nights had he awoken crying out Alex's name as his seed splattered across the rucked sheets in his lonely bed?

In these dreams he had always been the one to take, believing himself to be the master of his tormentor but, in truth, his phantom lover controlled every movement. Krycek would drive him crazy with desire and then he would turn, offering that dark, inviting hole, capturing Skinner's aching flesh and guiding it between the firm, ivory cheeks. He would dictate both the rhythm and depth of the thrusts. He would squeeze hard internal muscles, milking the shaft filling him, drawing Skinner over the edge into solitary annihilation and then fading away before Skinner could take true command of his teasing body.

Any hope of ever possessing that beautiful body ceased with the dark hole appearing between those pleading green eyes.

Krycek's body was in the morgue and Skinner recalled the words in a small front-page column in the Washington Post.

'Last night, FBI agents found the body of an unidentified Caucasian male in the parking garage beneath FBI Headquarters. The man had been shot several times; the fatal wound a 38 calibre bullet through the forehead delivered execution style. No witnesses have come forward and no evidence has been found at the scene to link any individuals to the crime. Someone had tampered with the Surveillance cameras. Investigators are at a loss to explain how this could have taken place beneath the collective noses of the FBI. In the meantime, the killer remains at large.'

It had made the FBI look incompetent that they could not even prevent a murder taking place inside their own building. The article had employees whispering in the halls, convinced that the killer was one of their own, walking among them. Of course they were right. But why unidentified? Why had no one recognized the victim? When he went to check, Skinner discovered that someone had purged every record pertaining to Alex Krycek from the FBI databases. They had even removed his fingerprints, dental records, photos and the interview notes taken when he first joined the FBI from the employees' database. There was no record of his existence on any of the other government database such as the IRS.

Skinner knew the FBI would keep the body in cold storage until the case was reclassified as unsolved and then, unless someone stepped forward to claim him, they would bury Krycek without ceremony in a pauper's grave, the generic 'John Doe' marking the site. He sighed, aware that it was an ignominious end for a man who had played such a major though covert role in the lives of so many.

Part of Skinner wanted to lay claim to that body, wanted to acknowledge that former existence by at least giving him a marker so others knew Alex Krycek had a name. Another part of him simply wanted to touch the cold skin, to feel the soft lips beneath his own, but what good would it serve? The Krycek in his memory—in his dreams—was vibrant and warm, possessing a quick intelligence apparent in those mocking green depths. All that he would find in the morgue was a cold and empty shell.

The streetlights flashed by as Skinner drove towards home, knowing that more spectres of the past were waiting for him there. He could barely step inside his apartment without glancing towards the balcony. Each time he looked he saw echoes of a living body huddled up against the railing, of green eyes staring through the glass trying to hold his own as the cold wind swept around the building.

As he approached the entrance to the garage beneath his apartment building, Skinner wished he had someone he could talk to. He needed someone he could offload some of this guilt onto but the only person who knew what he had done had disappeared. Skinner wondered where Mulder had gone, already aware that the man had not even said goodbye to those he held dear. Perhaps the cold veneer of Mulder's indifference had finally cracked, making him realize that the loss of a known enemy was as soul-wrenching as the loss of a good friend. Both held an emotional attachment that required some outlet whether that be in the form of cursing or crying. Momentarily, Skinner deliberated over whether he ought to have started a search for Mulder, but what would be the point?

Skinner pulled into his parking space and stepped out of the car, depressing the remote to lock it as he turned and trudged away. There were items in the trunk that he had placed there earlier in the day but he had no inclination to gather them up and take them inside. After all, it was not as though he would be short of time tomorrow having just resigned from his job. The elevator seemed to take forever but eventually he let himself into his apartment and closed the door behind him, leaning back and sighing. He had never really taken much notice of his age until this last month but the guilt and despair weighed heavily upon him in mind, body and spirit. It saddened him that he had not realised how much a single life—and death—could affect him until it was too late. However, Alex Krycek was still reaching to him from beyond death, invading his thoughts, and corrupting his dreams.

I would give anything to have you back again. I would suffer the pain of those nanocytes if I could see that smirk once more, and those glittering, tempting eyes.

Skinner poured himself a more than generous measure of whiskey, downing the contents in one swallow, and then he refilled the glass. Tonight he would get drunk and see if he could numb his mind enough to keep the dreams at bay.

Jeremiah Smith opened the door and pulled out the drawer, lips pressing together in sadness as he viewed the cold body lying on the slab. He felt a moment of revulsion as he saw the butchery performed upon this man, seeing signs of a clumsy autopsy, but the Coroner had left the face untouched. His hands roamed over those handsome features, tracing the arc of the long dark lashes, stroking along the arch of an eyebrow and letting a single finger follow the curve of the cheek down to the soft, bloodless lips. Even in death Alex Krycek was beautiful, the perfection of his features marred only by the ragged dark hole set dead centre on his forehead. Jeremiah glanced down the length of the naked form, seeing evidence of another gunshot wound, and then he noticed the smooth but scarred edges of the cruelly truncated arm.

He smiled sardonically. How many times had he offered to rectify that? However, Alex had insisted that too many knew of his loss and would be very wary should he suddenly appear whole. In his mind he heard the husky voice once more.

"I can't afford to lose the faith of our followers. Thousands of lives are at stake, Jeremiah. Maybe even all six billion. The right time will come."

Some of the Resistance had plotted to snatch their leader's body from this sterile place, loathing the idea of him being buried as if he was some faceless, nameless hobo. It had taken a lot of persuading by others to make them see reason, to make them understand that Alex had accepted this possible fate, willing to pay this price for his world's freedom. However, Jeremiah was not shackled by their beliefs and, unknown to most of them, he had the ability to raise the dead.

"Time grows short, my friend."

Jeremiah spared a moment to smile back at his associate; a man he had reanimated only days earlier. Easily, he read the fear darkening Absalom's pale blue eyes, knowing they had taken a great risk coming here, and then he placed his hands over the lifeless, mutilated figure on the slab. A light spread out from his hands, slowly encompassing the whole of the body laid out before him. He watched as the dark hole closed, flesh knitting together until not even a trace of its existence remained. Internal organs were renewed but, more amazing, was the rapid growth of the missing arm as Jeremiah activated the blueprint coded into Krycek's genes. He watched as white bone leapt forward, quickly chased along by sinew and muscle, slowly covered by soft, ivory flesh. The bone growth separated into five directions, fingers forming before his eyes, quickly taking on shape and flesh.

The light died and Jeremiah leaned forward in fatigue, drained by the extensive healing. He saw the slow rise and fall of the chest, and he listened to the soft breaths drawn into the new lungs and then expelled gently. The pale flesh took on a pinker hue as blood circulated through living tissue once more and Jeremiah smiled as the dark smudges of eyelashes flickered before opening fully, recognition filling those eyes instantly.

"Jeremiah? You're alive!"

Alex grinned softly as his eyes passed over the familiar human features that the alien morph liked to use. He had thought Jeremiah was no more, captured and then destroyed by the Colonists when the FBI invaded Absalom's camp.

"It was a Rebel ship that rescued me from your FBI. I summoned them." The kindly face took on a remorseful expression. "I am sorry I could not return sooner."

His words brought Alex back to the present and Alex glanced around the strangely familiar place. "Where am I?"

"The morgue."

Green eyes opened wide in surprise, initially in remembrance of that first meeting with Dana Scully, and then they filled with horror, his rough whisper filling the room.

"He shot me."

"He killed you over a month ago. Enemy and friend alike believe you are dead."

"Each man kills the thing he loves." Alex Krycek turned his head as Absalom's gentle, compassionate voice echoed softly around him, but the cryptic words confused him. However, he fully understood those that followed. "Time's running out. We have to go. Now."

Absalom produced a set of clothes and helped Alex to struggle into them, giving him no time to dwell on the actions of Walter Skinner. He gripped onto Jeremiah's arm for balance as Absalom pushed on some shoes, feeling nauseous as the room began to slowly spin around him. He felt so weak, like a newborn kitten, but he paused to stare at his left arm.

"I thought I said—"

"When the time was right."

Alex stared at Jeremiah and then sighed. His reasons for remaining incomplete were no longer valid if everyone was already convinced he was dead. Returning from the dead would provide enough of a shock; he doubted anyone would even think about the arm as well. He flexed the new fingers, feeling a weakness in them that would go with time and exercise, and then he followed his two saviours out of the morgue and into the night.

Walter Skinner groaned as the new day finally found a chink in the poorly drawn curtains allowing it to reach into the room with its bright fingers and caress his drawn features. The light stabbed into his eyes when he tried to open them, bringing another low moan falling from his dry lips. He swallowed hard, his mouth tasting of sour whiskey, his tongue swollen from dehydration. When he tried to sit up his head lolled back, a pounding taking up inside that was sorely reminiscent of an over-enthusiastic brass band at the Super Bowl.

He rolled over to evade the light and cried out as his body went into freefall, crashing moments later as he hit the floor. Skinner opened one eye cautiously and recognized the couch.

"Damn," he croaked. He could not remember falling asleep in the living room but that had been the whole point of the exercise, drinking until he fell into a drunken stupor of forgetfulness. At least the alcohol had kept his dreams of Alex Krycek away last night.

A sharp, irritating noise started up almost next to his ear and Skinner grabbed for the phone.

"Yes."

He thought it might be the Director of the FBI and felt a moment of annoyance when he recognized Kersh's voice.

"The Director has chosen to ignore your resignation letter until he has had the opportunity to discuss it with you. You have a week to think things through, Walter."

"I don't need a week—"

"Take it."

Skinner swallowed hard in anger but he knew it would be a waste of time arguing. He started to hang up the phone when Kersh spoke again.

"By the way, someone broke into the morgue last night and stole a body."

Skinner felt a heavy sinking in his chest as he asked the question that Kersh was expecting of him.

"Which body?"

"The unidentified man who was found dead in the FBI parking garage last month."

"Security cameras?"

"Were disabled."

"And nobody questioned someone removing a dead body from the building?"

"The guards do not recall seeing any dead bodies last night, coming into or going out of the building. It was a quiet night."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because that area is under your supervision—"

"Not any more. I resigned."

"And the Director has refused to accept your resignation." There was a sound that was suspiciously like a sigh. "I just thought I'd let you know about our Russian friend."

Kersh put down the phone before Skinner could gather his wits, leaving him listening to the dial tone. He took a deep, shaky breath. Kersh had known about Alex Krycek all along, had known that it was Krycek's body lying in the morgue. How much else did he know? Thoughts of Kersh faded away, replaced with images of Alex Krycek. There had been so many occasions over this past month when he had picked up the phone, intending to claim that body, not wanting to see Krycek buried without ceremony in an unmarked grave. Now it was too late. Someone else had taken him.

After the initial shock and wariness of seeing Alex Krycek alive and whole had passed, the members of the Resistance gathered around their reanimated leader. Andre pulled him into a bear hug, but let go when Alex begged to be released, stepping back with a grin plastered inanely across his coarse features.

"Now I know we will win. It's a miracle."

"No miracle, Andre. Just the wonders of alien technology."

Alex turned a smile on Jeremiah, who was waiting patiently in the background, before letting his face relax into business mode. "Okay. What's been happening while I've been...been gone."

"The replicants discovered Scully's whereabouts first. They arrived in force and formed a protective barrier around her until after the child was born."

"And then?"

"And then they turned around and walked away."

"I don't understand."

"We're at a loss to explain it too. If the child was the genetic superhuman they feared, engineered by the Consortium underground to be resistant to the black oil, then they would have killed it, or taken it for experimentation."

Alex stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocussed as watched his former last memories pass across his mind.

"Before my...my death, I managed to infiltrate part of the replicant network. I convinced one of them—a man who used to be Knowle Rohrer—that we had the same interests at heart. He gave me certain information." Alex focused back on the small group surrounding him. "My fear is that this child is actually the first of an organic version of human replacements. If the Colonists have accomplished genetic alteration of a foetus then humanity may be doomed."

Jeremiah stepped forward. "Alex is right. If the child is a prototype then once they have perfected the technique and produced a serum they will introduce the alien genetic material through the human prenatal program. It will be the end of humanity."

"Then we must kill the child."

"No. Not until we know for sure." Alex looked up. "Hell, for all we really know they may have left the child alone because it's normal."

Andre gave Alex an incredulous expression. "You cannot believe that."

"I do have another theory. I think this child could just as easily be part of a different power game, one that is all too human."

"Meaning?"

"I think, whatever it is, it's Spender's child. I think it's Fox Mulder's half-brother...and mine." Alex licked his lips as the others fell silent.

"That doesn't preclude the possibility that it is a genetically altered human—a replicant."

"I know."

"There's more to tell. Fox Mulder has disappeared. We kept a trace on him but our shadow operative was found dead just under a week ago."

"Is he changed?"

"We believe so."

"Then I failed."

Alex thought back to that moment in the parking garage when he had Mulder dead to rights, his finger curled around the trigger. He had spent so many years protecting his half-brother, even sacrificing his arm in a misguided attempt to ensure Mulder was safe, that he could not pull the trigger. Killing Mulder would have been an act of compassion but, instead, he had doomed his brother to a fate far worse than death. He had allowed his brother to become the one thing they had both fought against—an instrument of humanity's destruction. How many thousands would pay for Alex's fatal hesitation? Alex gave a wry grin as he recalled Mulder's words.

"You want to kill me Alex, kill me...like you killed my father, just don't insult me trying to make me understand."

In the past, he'd always denied killing Mulder's father, but that was before he shoved the wheelchair-bound Spender down that steep staircase. Alex wondered if Mulder would have been as unforgiving if he had known the truth of this obscene triangular relationship between them and Spender. In addition, he wondered if such an all-consuming need for vengeance would have filled Mulder if he had discovered the full role played by his surrogate father—Bill Mulder—in the early days of the Consortium.

"And then there's Skinner—"

The words interrupted his introspection, dragging him back to a moment—and to a man—that he had tried to avoid thinking about.

"What about Skinner?"

"He resigned from the FBI last night."

"Why?"

"We don't know. Our contact intercepted a call between the Director and Kersh this morning but no details were discussed."

"Where is Skinner now?"

"As far as we're aware he's still at his apartment in Crystal City."

Alex felt a momentary urge to go there, hating the weakness inside himself that still persisted in wanting Walter Skinner even though the man had murdered him.

I drove him to it. I pushed and shoved, using and abusing the guy. What did I expect? That he'd turn that gun on Mulder just because I begged him to? I even offered him my gun so he could use it then stick it back in my hands and let me take the rap for murder. But if I couldn't shoot Mulder knowing what was at stake, then how could I expect him to do it for me?

I never expected him to kill me without a shred of emotion on his face. Like an automaton...oh God...I won't believe that.

Alex pushed away the horrifying thought that, somehow, the Colonists had replaced Skinner with one of their replicants but there was no evidence to support that happening. The Resistance had been observing Skinner for years and had never seen any evidence of him being abducted. Other possibilities crowded through his head. Perhaps it had not been Skinner at all but one of the alien Bounty Hunters using his form. However, Alex knew that was unlikely as he seemed to have a sixth sense for those creatures, and he had gained no such vibes from the man who had shot and murdered him.

Face it, Krycek. He wanted you dead.

Alex felt his heart falter, his blood pooling inside his chest as he accepted the truth. He had spent years hiding this truth from Skinner, forcing a smirk and cold eyes to cover the desire enflaming him. With so much at stake he could not afford to appear weak, could not allow his enemies to learn of his love in case they used it against him. Keeping secrets was something he had been forced to do since childhood but, this time, it was a secret that he had not wanted to keep. Alex knew that if the direction of his life had not been dictated to him from the moment of his conception he would have shouted out his love for Walter Skinner from every rooftop in Washington.

"What do we do, Alex?"

Alex looked around the small group of expectant faces, knowing he had to put his personal needs last as usual.

"We find Fox Mulder...and we destroy him."

Frohike was reluctant to open the heavily bolted door to the Lone Gunmen's headquarters even though he recognized AD Skinner through the security monitor. He and his fellow gunmen had seen enough evidence of replicated humans to know that they could trust no one—not even a familiar face. However, Skinner was pretty persuasive, so he slid back the last of the bolts and pulled the door open, standing aside as the larger man stepped inside. He followed Skinner into the main room, raising his arms helplessly as the other two men stared at him in consternation. Langly stood and approached warily.

"How can we help you, AD Skinner?"

"I need to find Mulder."

"He isn't here."

"I know, but I thought you might have a lead on him."

Frohike caught Byers and Langly's eyes and they trooped into a corner together and began whispering frantically, looking over every once in a while to ensure Skinner was making no attempt to eavesdrop. The three men parted only once they had raised and dealt with all the objections.

"One condition." Langly stared hard at the man opposite, arms crossed defensively. "You show us your neck."

"My neck?"

"Mulder said that you could identify a human replacement by several lumps along the top vertebrae of the spinal column."

Skinner looked at Byers with an expression of bewilderment but then he turned around and pulled aside his T-shirt.

"There. Okay? No lumps."

"No lumps." Frohike relaxed slightly. "So he isn't one of them."

"Now, will you tell me where Mulder is?"

Langly slumped back into his seat in front of a personal computer surrounded by gadgets, making it look like a reject from a science fiction movie.

"We don't know where he is."

Frohike moved back, dropping into a seat beside Langly. "He never told us where he was going, only that he needed to get away for a while."

"Something about personal issues", added Byers.

"Any clues?"

Langly and Byers flicked eyes towards Frohike, letting him decide whether they should reveal the information they had gleaned through various illicit sources.

"A man fitting his description was seen near the abandoned missile silos in North Dakota."

Skinner nodded and Frohike realised that, as Mulder's superior, he would have been privy to the reports Mulder had written up concerning his attempt to infiltrate that area several years earlier.

"Then that's where I'll start looking."

Frohike frowned as Skinner turned and made for the door.

"Is that it? You don't want to know what's been happening, how replicated humans have been seizing important positions within our government and military?"

"I know all about that...but I can't do anything about it, not until I have had a chance to speak to Mulder."

"Do you want us to go with you?"

Frohike stared at Langly in surprise and then with even greater shock when he realised the offer was genuine.

"No...but...thank you."

Frohike bolted the door behind Skinner and returned to the room where the others were sitting quietly, deep in their own thoughts.

"Should we go anyway?"

Frohike stared at Byers for a moment. "No. Not yet. That bug I placed on him when he was leaving ought to let us know where he is, if we want to find him later."

North Dakota:

Alex shuddered as he remembered the days he had spent locked up in the darkness of Silo 1013 with only the soft humming of the strange craft to keep him company. He had spent the first day terrified that the alien would come out and drag him inside, remembering the horror stories told by abductees of inhumane experiments. However, it had ignored him, and several days later it left the silo. Alex recalled how the roof of the silo had opened, revealing a clear night sky filled with pinpoints of light from distant stars. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, a sight he had taken for granted until a few days earlier.

By then, with his lips cracked from lack of water, he was barely able to sustain himself through licking the condensation from the silo walls. He had been so weak and then dismayed when he realised there was no way for him to climb out. That's when they had come, searching for long forgotten weapons and crowing their good luck at having found a new—and open—entrance to the old missile complex. When they discovered that the silo was empty apart from one weak and desperate man they were angry and they had tried to blast open the lower door. However, even Alex knew that would be a waste of time for the silo and its door had been built to withstand far greater explosives than their bomb kits could supply. He wondered why they had not simply entered the complex through the doors at the top, learning later that the Consortium had sealed those doors electronically.

He had bartered for his life by offering them information on where they would find the kind of weaponry they were seeking. Fortunately, they believed him and hauled him from what should have been his tomb.

How many years ago was that?

Both question and answer were forgotten as they reached the door to Silo 1013—and found it standing open.

Had Spender returned for him at some time in the past? Certainly, he had not seemed overly surprised to discover Alex was still alive but then, Alex would not have put it past his cancer riddled old man to have come back to check on his dead body.

Alex held up a hand and motioned his men to silence. He slipped his gun from its holster and eased quietly into the silo, keeping low, closely followed by Andre who darted the other way. Ahead he could easily make out the cone of light from a single high-powered flashlight, and his eyes swept to the dark-clad figure holding that flashlight. The man spun around, gun levelled in line with the flashlight and Alex winced as the powerful light beam struck him in the face.

At the same time, Andre switched on his flashlight, illuminating and temporarily blinding the man, and, as Alex's eyes adjusted to the bright light, he took a deep breath in surprise as he identified the figure. The other man sucked in an equally deep breath, eyes widening in the shock of recognition, his features blanching even farther beneath the colour-bleaching effects of the flashlights.

"Krycek?"

"Skinner?"

Skinner's voice was shaky, and the flashlight trembled in his hand, the light flickering around, but Alex found his own shock turning swiftly to anger. This man had murdered him. This person that he had spent so many years admiring both as a man and as a respected FBI employee, had shot him down in cold blood. Any excuses fled, uncaring that he must have pushed at Skinner until the man had nothing but hatred and loathing left for him. The gun was forgotten, dropping from his hand as he leapt for Skinner, his fists trying to pummel the stockier frame, barely registering that Skinner made no attempt to stop him.

Andre and another of his men dragged him aside, his fury subsiding quickly, body collapsing when he realised he could not break out of the hold they had on him. He slumped into their arms, head bowed for a moment before looking back up at the man who had meant everything to him. Skinner was staggering to his feet, one arm holding his ribs while he wiped away a smear from a bloodied nose with the other. It was only then that it registered that there was none of the hatred or coldness that had been his last sight of this man in the dark eyes. Instead, those eyes displayed remorse and awed relief.

It seemed to Alex that Skinner was more than just relieved to find him alive but he convinced himself that it was a trick of the light; the flashing beams from flashlights merely adding to the surrealism of the moment.

Alex straightened up and pushed away from his associates, reassuring them that he had regained control of his senses. He looked back at Skinner, eyes hardening.

"Why are you here?"

"Probably the same reason as you. To find Mulder."

"You know he's one of them by now. A replicated human...like Billy Miles."

"You can't know that for certain."

Alex had the good grace to look away. "No." He looked back at Skinner, holding the surprisingly gentle brown eyes. "But, this time, I have to be prepared in case he is." His voice lowered, softening as he saw understanding flood Skinner's face. "He knows too much. Thousands of lives are at stake. Perhaps every human life on this planet."

"I can't let you kill him. There has to be another way."

Alex felt another moment of anger. If Skinner and Scully had not led a bunch of overzealous FBI agents through Absalom's rescue camp then maybe they could have saved Mulder. Perhaps it was her pregnancy affecting her common sense, but Krycek was still amazed that Scully believed that a course of antivirals was the answer. If that was all that it took then the creatures would never have become a threat in the first place. All her meddling had done was postpone the inevitable, pushing the creature back into hibernation within Mulder's body while it strengthened its defences against the antibodies.

In truth, he had lost Mulder from the moment Jeremiah Smith disappeared, as only the alien's healing hands could have destroyed the growing parasite. The vial of so-called vaccine offered to Skinner at the hospital had been a fast-acting poison that Alex intended to inject into Mulder. However, Alex had spent too long saying goodbye to his brother, not expecting a late night visitor to come calling on Mulder. He'd had to think fast, to find some callous excuse for his presence that would overshadow his true feelings, not wanting Skinner to realize how much it hurt him to have to destroy his brother. Crushing the vial in front of Doggett had reinforced that callousness, but there had been no point in handing it over as Doggett would have had the contents analysed before letting it anywhere near Mulder.

"If he's become one of them...then there is no other way."

"If."

Alex felt momentary hesitation rush through him. There had been no hope before, but if Mulder was still human then Jeremiah Smith could still save him, but only if he was still human. If not, then this time Alex could not falter. Mulder would have to die.

Someone approached Andre, talking quietly, and then Andre leaned forward and whispered into Alex's ear. "We have another lead."

Alex tightened his lips, letting his mind file these new images of Walter Skinner before he turned and started to walk away.

"Krycek, I'm going with you."

"No."

"You don't get a choice."

Alex knew that all he had to do was give the word and Skinner would be incapacitated—or dead—but he did not want either. An old saying crept through him. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Was Skinner friend or foe?

He murdered you in cold blood.

Alex closed his eyes, blocking out all external stimuli as he came to his decision. He recognized that his choice was as much for selfish reasons as for practical, and he hoped he would not regret it. He turned, a sneer of self-derision curling one side of his mouth.

"Fine."

From where he sat behind the driver in the back of the car, Skinner had a good view of Krycek's profile as the man stared straight ahead. The driver, Andre, was talking in a subdued voice and Krycek would glance across at him from the front passenger seat from time to time, giving monosyllabic answers to questions posed. The underlying emotion within the car was of disappointment, their second lead of the night having led them precisely nowhere.

Skinner pushed away his thoughts of Mulder and let them focus on the strong profile instead. He was at a loss to explain how he felt at this moment. He had seen Alex Krycek die, had felt the gun jump in his hand, had seen the bullet drive through the tall forehead, and yet there was not even the slightest indentation to show its passing. Also, he had noticed that Krycek's left hand was now flesh and bone, but a covert glance had shown no sign of any nodules on the back of Krycek's neck that would denote the presence of a replicated human. Was it possible that he had spent the last few years dealing with a clone, just like Mulder had described in one of his cases? Had he been subjected to years of torment by some creature wearing Krycek's face? Or was there some other miraculous reason for Alex Krycek sitting in this car alive and whole?

And beautiful.

Skinner turned away to look out the window, watching the scenery passing to avoid meeting the knowing eyes that had felt the heat of his stare and had looked round. There was so much he wanted to say to Alex Krycek, so much he had come to realize about himself, and about what he wanted from Alex, but the chances of getting what he wanted were nonexistent. He had murdered Alex, had shot him without a flicker of emotion, as if it had been another person inhabiting his body at that fatal moment. It was later, when they had found Scully safe, her newborn cradled in her arms, that the immensity of what he had done had hit him.

Krycek had been his nemesis, a shadowy figure that had brought him nothing but physical pain and mental anguish. Until he pulled that trigger he thought that the pain and anguish had come only from the nanocytes infecting his blood. Skinner glanced back at the handsome profile, eyes following the curve of chin, dwelling on the fullness of lips before his eyes travelled to the pert nose with its slightly upturned end. His eyes dropped before reaching the tall forehead, not wanting to remember the dark hole that had marred it. Desire for this man filled him, the heat of lust searing through his body, igniting every nerve ending. His mouth became dry, all moisture evaporating as he burned the image of this man into his head.

He had believed he would never see Alex again, would never be able to reach out and touch the warm flesh, or smell the leather and gun oil that seemed to amplify the pure musk of this man. He listened as Alex spoke softly to his driver, the husky tones rolling over him, caressing his ears. Only one sense was bereft of renewed affirmation: taste. Skinner wanted to taste this man, wanted to soundly kiss Alex, tongue delving into the velvet heat of that luscious mouth before trailing down the firm body, licking and sucking sweat-sheened flesh. He would take Alex in his mouth, tongue flicking into the slit to seek out the dewdrops of precome and let them melt in his mouth, savouring the bittersweet taste.

"You okay?"

Skinner nodded swiftly, turning his face so the others would not see the embarrassment that had heated his cheeks. His jeans had constricted against his hardened flesh, unbearably tight, but Skinner fought against the urge to wriggle, silently willing his erection to subside.

I want you so bad, Alex. Can't you see that?

They turned off the interstate and stopped outside a small motel whose flickering red neon sign advertised rooms available for the night. Andre made the necessary arrangements and then drove to the far side of the parking lot, pulling up in front of a pair of dark rooms. It did not surprise Skinner when Alex entered one room alone, leaving him to share the second room with Andre. Part of him wanted to be in that room with Alex, not wanting to lose sight of this man even for an instant. However, he realised that they both needed a little space, and that they both needed some time to reflect on past actions.

Andre was surprisingly easy to get along with and they settled down quickly, switching off the light. Although he listened hard, Skinner could hear no sound of movement from the adjoining room. He sighed, realising that Alex needed sleep as much as any of them. With the mesmerising sound of soft snores coming from the other bed, Skinner found himself drifting back into a fantasy world where Alex lay naked and wanton; his two arms held wide open as he welcomed his lover's caresses.

Alex blotted out the sense of being watched by Skinner, needing to concentrate on the task at hand as he connected to the Internet mailing lists that, covertly, fed him information. One of his remote operatives had patched into local police networks and was monitoring for any signs of strange occurrences, knowing that Fox Mulder might be close by. So far there had been nothing, but Alex was a patient man despite occasional appearances to the contrary. He continued to monitor the information flicking across the laptop's screen while shovelling in mouthfuls of pancakes, only looking up with a frown when the fork came up empty.

"Did you even taste any of that?"

"Huh?" Alex spared a glance towards Skinner then gazed back at the screen, unconsciously licking away the sticky remnants of his breakfast from his lips. He huffed in annoyance as Skinner's words finally filtered through. "In case you never noticed, we are at war. I don't exactly have much time to sit back and smell the roses."

"Or taste the blueberries on the pancakes."

Alex sat up straighter and shoved the laptop towards Andre who, dutifully, carried on with the surveillance.

"Just where do you think you get off? I didn't invite you here, and I didn't ask for your help. I made that fatal mistake once already."

"What did you expect me to do, Krycek? You had a gun to my head for months, had me running at your beck and call, making me choose between people I cared about. Well, you finally gave me a choice I could make with ease."

Alex looked away, not seeing the anger turn to anguish as Skinner realised how his words must have sounded. All Alex heard was that Skinner did not consider him to be someone worth caring about, and that there had been no dilemma when forced to make a choice between him and another. It was hardly surprising given the nature of their contact over these past years and Alex was stunned by his stupidity in thinking that there could have been anything, other than pain and betrayal, between them.

"You're right. I gave you no reason to..." he paused, aware that he had about to say 'care about me', "...to sympathise with our cause."

"You never stopped to ask me. You never once tried to explain your cause."

Alex glanced at Andre in embarrassment. He read the compassion in the pale blue eyes and the silent confirmation that Alex wasn't needed right now, and he nodded gratefully. Alex stood up and waited until Skinner recognized the invitation to take their talk somewhere private. After leaving the diner they walked away from the interstate, feet crunching over dry ground.

"My father made sure I was aware of the importance of his work from a very early age. I believed in him, believed that he had all our interests at heart. My mother believed in him too, and I spent all my childhood learning about the Colonists, preparing for the future. He took great pleasure in naming you as one of his people, working towards the same goal, eminently placed to keep tabs on my...on Mulder. He told me that we had to protect your cover at all costs, make sure no one would ever suspect that you were his tool in the FBI."

"I was never anyone's tool. I followed the orders of my superiors. Only, it took a while before I figured out those orders were not in the best interest of the American people."

"Yeah. I started having doubts after he set me working with Mulder. I made too many inquiries and I learned too much. I started questioning his methods, his goals, until he decided I'd become a liability and I found myself sitting on top of a car bomb. Funny, but I never really figured my old man would order me killed..." Alex trailed off, frowning as he remembered how naïve he had once been. "I ended up on the run with half the covert agencies of the world hunting me down, but dear old 'Dad' had taught me well." Alex felt a moment of sorrow for his father, and he hated himself for that weakness. "Wonder if he was ever proud of me?"

Looking up, Alex could see the question burning in brown eyes and waited to see if Skinner would ask it. He grimaced, knowing that he had no reason to withhold anything now. Everything had changed once the Colonists had perfected their human replicants for they no longer needed the clone laboratories, no longer needed to wait years for each clone to mature. They could use the humans directly, assimilating them like some variant of the Borgs of Star Trek fame. Alex gave a wry grin, wondering how the majority of people would react if they ever discovered how close the link was between reality and science fiction.

"Spender, the ubiquitous smoking man. My father—and Mulder's father." Alex sighed, ignoring Skinner's startled expression at this new revelation as he recalled the mistakes he had made when dealing with his father, mistakes that had cost him so dearly. "Spender killed our other half brother for daring to stand up against him." Alex shook his head in self-disgust. "That was all my fault. I set Jeffrey on the road of discovery. Poor Jeffrey never really understood the score until it was too late, never understood that he wasn't the favourite son, wasn't the special one that had to be protected. Mulder was always his priority, always his first consideration. I never realised why until they found the ship fragments that released Mulder's psychic potential."

Skinner nodded his head and Alex could see that he remembered all too clearly the events that took place at that time but Alex wondered if he was aware of even half of what had happened. Alex had done his best to protect Mulder, dealing with both the traitorous Barnes and the unfortunate Dr. Sandoz. Watching Skinner defy orders and seek outside assistance for Mulder was the first time Alex had noticed that they both had the same agenda, to protect Mulder. Finally, he was able to determine that Skinner's protection of Mulder sprang from personal reasons rather than from Consortium orders. He wished he had known sooner but, by then, he had already set himself up as Skinner's nemesis, a role he'd played to the bitter end. Still, he wanted Skinner to know that he had done his best to protect him, even though his actions may have seemed cruel at the time.

"Billy Miles wasn't after you. He was after me—and Mulder. If you'd stayed at your desk he would have ignored you."

Skinner stopped dead in his tracks and Alex, having taken a few extra paces forward, stopped and turned to face him.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No." Alex gave a self-deprecating sniff. "But it is the truth."

"If that was the case then why did he go after me on the roof earlier?"

"Because you were stopping him from getting to Mulder and Scully. You were a threat that had to be eliminated."

"That doesn't make sense. You say he tried to kill me on the roof because I was protecting Mulder and Scully, and now you're saying that, only hours later, he would have walked right by me?"

"I told you. They're fearless, virtually unstoppable, but they answer to no one or thing except their own biological imperative: to survive. I was working with them, with the one that used to be Knowle Rohrer, but once they discovered I was an infiltrator I became their greatest threat to survival." Alex laughed hoarsely. "To be honest, you did me a favour by killing me. They believe I'm dead, so I'm a free agent until they discover I'm very much alive, but still not one of them."

Skinner took on that confused look once more and Alex knew the man was astute enough to read between the lines and find something in his words that did not sit well. He decided to pre-empt the question that was forming.

"I've carried an early strain of the alien virus since becoming infected in Hong Kong. They scent me as being one of them...a pre-replicant if you will, so I was relatively safe as long as I appeared to be working on their side. When Billy Miles discovered my subterfuge, he decided to accelerate my transformation by killing me. Only you got to me first."

"Then why aren't you one of them?"

"Because my body was kept in cold storage, in the morgue. The alien virus needs stability and warmth to grow. Something it would have been given once the FBI released my body for burial. All nice and warm in my grave."

Skinner winced, pain springing, unexpectedly, into his eyes before they cleared with another thought.

"Then you're no different from Mulder."

It was then that Alex realised that there was still one thing he could not tell Skinner. He could not reveal the continued existence of Jeremiah Smith for fear that the Colonists would discover this information should Skinner be captured. The fewer people who knew about their alien ally, the greater the chance of the Resistance securing humanity's future but, at the same time, he did not want to lie to this man.

"Absalom saved me."

"Absalom's dead."

"Is he?" Alex tilted his head questioningly. "Am I?"

"Absalom was killed by FBI agents after kidnapping Agent Doggett."

"And I was killed by a single gunshot to the head."

Alex bit into his lower lip on seeing the anguish that filled the dark eyes. He was still uncertain if Skinner was feeling remorse purely because he was supposed to be an upholder of the law or because he felt something other than hatred for Alex. He wished it was the latter, he wished Skinner could feel the same passion for him that he had long ago discovered within himself for Walter Skinner.

"Alex!"

Alex looked around as he heard a shout, seeing Andre come to a halt some distance away. He glanced at Skinner and then strode back towards Andre, his mind already churning as he considered what information Andre was waiting to impart. Skinner followed on close behind, a determined expression on his face, which Alex translated as an unwillingness to allow Alex or his people to reach Mulder before him.

"We have another sighting. Positive identification from a store webcam only fifteen miles from here."

"Let's go."

Skinner watched with equal amounts of fascination and regret as Alex Krycek easily obtained the information he sought from the storeowner and his assistants. The regret was for the FBI's loss of such a highly skilled investigator; the fascination for the way Krycek tailored his approach to each person he spoke to. He was like a chameleon, changing his body language and words to suit each individual until he had gleaned all that he needed; flirting with those attracted to him, acting highly professional to those who respected his authority or power. All too soon he was striding back to the car, those long legs carrying him swiftly to where the others waited. There was a momentarily hesitation in his stride, barely noticeable, but it was enough to put Skinner on the alert. He watched as another car drew up nearby, frowning as he tried to make out the occupants, and then Skinner realised who they were.

The Lone Gunmen stared out, eyes swivelling from him to Krycek and back again in disbelief. He knew what they had to be thinking. First, that Alex Krycek was supposed to be dead. This meant that, in their eyes, the man they were looking at had to be a human replacement, and second, that Skinner was working with Krycek so he had to be part of the conspiracy. Of course they were wrong on both counts but convincing them of this fact was not going to be easy especially as they were already paranoid about such things. Skinner approached them carefully, both hands kept in view, and hoped they didn't drive off before he reached them. Frohike kept the engine running, waiting for a signal from his fellow Gunmen, while Byers rolled down one window.

"I know what you're thinking. And you're mostly wrong. Krycek was dead, but he was revived by a man called Absalom."

"Is this the same Absalom who kidnapped Agent Doggett and was shot and killed by FBI agents?"

Skinner was unsurprised that Byers recognised the name and had pertinent details about the man's death.

"Yes, it is. And, no, I don't know how he was revived but I have to assume it was by one of his followers."

"What are you doing with the Rat?"

Skinner turned his attention to Langly. "Let's just say that we're both seeking the same man, but I want to make sure I'm there when Krycek finds him."

"Skinner. I can't wait any longer."

Skinner glanced over to where Alex was opening the door to the car and ran quickly to join him, not willing to delay even one more second in case Alex made good on his threat and left him behind. Alex tilted the rear-view mirror so he could see out back, his lips tightening in a thin, bloodless line. However, Skinner did not need to look back to know that the Gunmen were following them, and it didn't take a genius to figure that they had bugged him some how.

"Where are we headed?"

"Back to the silos."

"Why? He's already been there."

"I don't know. Maybe there's something there we don't know about."

Dusk was falling by the time they reached the seemingly abandoned installation and Skinner looked ahead through the windscreen, seeing outlines forming of the entrances to the long deserted silos. Andre brought the car to a halt outside the tenth entrance, but Skinner had already guessed that they were returning to the thirteenth silo in this block: Silo 1013. On his previous visit, when he was reunited with Alex, he had wondered why the lights and elevators were still operational. Eventually, he had put it down to strategic military planning; the placement of a self sufficient generator just in case the world should go to hell in a nuclear holocaust.

They drew equipment from the trunk of the car, including powerful flashlights as the sun tended to set very quickly in the badlands, plunging the world into a darkness lit only by star and moonlight. Skinner knew that tonight would be darker than usual, as the moon would not rise for a few more hours.

Although Andre entered the silo installation, he did not ride the elevator down to the lower level with them and Skinner realised he was waiting for the Lone Gunmen. Skinner could only hope that his orders regarding the three techno-geeks were benevolent and he was torn, for a moment, between remaining above to protect them and going below with Alex. However, there was no logical reason for disposing of the Lone Gunmen, and every good reason to bring them over to the side of the Resistance. Together, they had an amazing range of skills that could prove highly useful in the plan to fight the Future—if he could believe in Alex.

It occurred to Skinner that believing humanity was in danger from alien colonists was no longer an issue. He had lost the last of his scepticism when he watched a UFO move off into the night sky with Fox Mulder onboard. He had witnessed so many inexplicable events since then. He had seen dead men come back to life, shedding their putrefied flesh to become whole but inhuman replications possessing superior strength and amazing healing abilities. He had the living proof of Absalom's assertion that he could raise the dead standing right beside him in this elevator.

Skinner turned his head to glance, surreptitiously, at the beautiful face, his heart beating faster as his body reacted to the vision. Sinfully long, dark lashes flickered; the pink tip of a tongue swept across the full lips before the lower lip was teased, momentarily, between strong white teeth. The bright light in the elevator had turned Krycek's pupils into pinpricks of darkness; the large clear liquid pools of sea-green surrounding those pupils mesmerising Skinner as Alex glanced up at the level display. Once again he realised how much he had missed this man, how his whole life had become meaningless once the full realisation of what he had done had hit him. He had toyed with all those psychological profiles but he knew that what he felt for Alex was not some form of Stockholm syndrome, nor any other form of psychological coercion. He discovered that he had always found Alex attractive, had always desired both the beautiful body and the quicksilver mind, only this desire had been overshadowed by events.

His thoughts had come full circle. Yes, he did believe that humanity was under threat from an alien civilisation and he did believe that there were people who had formed a resistance against them, linked by those three words 'Fight the Future'. However, did he believe that Alex was one of these resistance fighters? Did he believe that Alex was helping to fight against the terrible future that lay in store for humanity should the Colonists win? Did he believe that Alex had only acted to save thousands of lives?

The elevator doors opened, curtailing his thoughts. As before, the corridor lights were set to emergency level, giving enough visibility to find Silo 1013 and Alex paused outside, one finger raised to his lips to request silence. Skinner listened hard and thought he could hear a sound coming from beyond the slightly ajar door. It was the grating sound of someone digging into the hard-packed earthen floor of the silo and Skinner recalled that the store they had visited had a hardware department. Had Mulder gone there to buy a shovel and pickaxe?

Skinner watched as Alex took a deep, steadying breath before shoving the door aside and springing into the silo. He hesitated, hearing Alex's soft voice call out to the presence inside the silo. He was still uncertain as to what he would do should this presence actually be Fox Mulder. The sound of a heavy thud caught his attention, followed by another and then Mulder's muffled voice reached his hearing, the words a life-threat to the graceful, dark-clad figure that had stood by his side only moments before. Those ominous sounds and the real fear of Alex being in mortal danger broke his hesitation, and Skinner walked into the silo, gun raised ready to fire. He walked back into a nightmare; the same one that had been played out in the parking garage just over a month earlier except, this time, it was Mulder who had a gun trained on a defenceless Alex.

Alex was on his knees, cradling his right arm, a trail of blood trickling from temple, his gun lying uselessly on the sand several feet away in front of him. A shovel lay by discarded at Mulder's feet and, with strange detachment, Skinner noticed the small pile of dirt. It bore evidence of the digging that Skinner had heard earlier. He realised that Mulder must have disarmed Alex by hitting him with the shovel—twice—and then pulled his gun. It was aimed at Alex's head.

Inquisitive eyes flicked towards him as Mulder finally noticed his presence. Skinner glanced quickly at Alex, reliving the nightmare scene as those green eyes turned to hold his once more. Even though Alex's eyes had hardened in silence, no longer willing to beg for himself or for the thousands of lives depending upon him, Skinner could hear whispers from the past.

"It's going to make more bullets that you can ever fire to win this game, but one bullet and I can give you a thousand lives. Shoot Mulder."

He focused on the man with the gun and Skinner could see Mulder's finger slowly tightening on the trigger. Skinner felt his own trigger finger twitch, sending a bullet into Mulder's arm, and he watched, almost dispassionately, as the gun dropped from suddenly lifeless fingers. Mulder sank to his knees facing Alex though his shocked eyes were still fixed on Skinner.

"He's a liar, a coward and a murderer, and probably not even human now...if he ever was." It was Mulder who was begging this time while Alex looked on in confused silence as if wondering why he was still alive. "He admitted that he tried to kill Scully's baby, making some pathetic excuse about doing so to stop the Colonists. He infected you with the nanocytes, brought you to your knees."

"And yet you trusted him with Scully's life only hours before you let me kill him."

"That was before I saw him with Rohrer—before he tried to kill me."

"Don't, Mulder."

Mulder had been leaning forward, groping for the gun he had dropped with his left hand. Skinner spared a split second glance towards Alex, seeing him still frozen in shock, sitting back on his heels as he watched the scene playing out before him. Mulder's hand trembled as his fingers wrapped around the handle.

"Mulder. Please."

Skinner watched in growing horror as Mulder's handsome face lost all emotion, his expression determined as he stared coldly at Alex Krycek, and Skinner knew that Mulder had every intention of using that gun on Alex. Skinner was too far away and standing at the wrong angle to go for another arm shot. The inner part of him that had been a soldier before joining the FBI took control, and he raised his aim slightly before pulling the trigger. The bullet tore through the side of Mulder's head, exiting in an explosion of bone splinters, blood and grey matter, the body slumping sideways, eyes still fixed on the defenceless man he had intended to kill in cold blood.

Skinner dropped to his knees, gun falling from his numbed fingers as he stared at the ruined face that was staring back at him from where Mulder lay sprawled on the ground—dead. He heard a shuffling noise and turned to watch as Alex half-crawled towards him. In the semi-darkness he could see the deepening bruise forming across the side of Alex's face, blackening one eye, and he knew Alex had suffered a broken cheekbone as well as severe damage to his right arm.

Alex sank down beside him, eyes unfocussed and suspiciously bright from unshed tears but Skinner knew that there was more to his pain than the mere physical damage he had sustained. He knew Alex was just as tortured by the death of Fox Mulder—his brother.

"He wasn't..." he choked on the words. "He wasn't one of them."

The soft voice was raw with pain and Skinner knew Alex was referring to the human replacements.

"I know."

Skinner reached out and touched the unmarred cheek, a fingertip catching a single tear that had finally escaped.

"Why? Why did you do it?"

"Because I couldn't bear to see you die again, Alex."

"Why?"

If he had expected a huge weight to be lifted from his shoulders from having saved Alex then Skinner was disappointed. Instead, this killing only added to the burden he carried for he had replaced the death of the man he loved with the death of a man he had respected and had considered a friend. He closed his eyes to blot out the scene surrounding him, wishing he could revel in the warmth of Alex's body curled close by his side, only opening his eyes when he heard familiar voices entering the silo.

Before he could acknowledge Andre and the three Gunmen, a blue light filled the silo and two figures formed within the cylindrical beam, quickly gaining substance. The blue light disappeared abruptly leaving one very familiar man and one stranger standing before Skinner. The stranger spared a compassionate and concerned glance at the injured Alex, who was still curled by Skinner's side, before kneeling down beside Mulder. He laid his hands on the unmoving chest and a light seemed to flow through his fingertips and into the lifeless body. Skinner watched, mouth dropping open in shock as Mulder's eyelashes began to flicker, those dead eyes returning to life as the damage from the bullet faded away. He saw recognition for the stranger light up Mulder's face.

"Jeremiah Smith."

The stranger smiled, pleased by the recognition, but Skinner's attention moved to the other, far more familiar man who knelt down beside Alex, one hand reaching out to brush a lock of dark hair from the tall forehead. Absalom smiled down at Alex, benevolently, but then he moved aside, making room for Jeremiah Smith. The healer knelt down in front of Alex, his blue eyes softening.

"Alex."

Jeremiah Smith smiled and cupped Alex's face in his hands, that strange light filling the air, illuminating Alex's beautiful features as the bruising and all evidence of broken bones faded away into non-existence. Skinner could feel reverberations from that light flow into his body, bathing his tortured soul in its healing power. When he looked up he realised that Mulder was standing above them, staring down in both awe and confusion. Jeremiah touched Mulder's hand and beckoned him down without any force or coercion, waiting until Mulder was on his knees and at eye level with Alex. Then Jeremiah looked across and, with his eyes alone, he drew Andre and the three gunmen into the forming circle, waiting until they were all kneeling, their eyes intent upon him.

"We must fight the future together, for the sake of all humankind."

Skinner felt the power of this being flow around the circle, filling each of them, sweeping away the cobwebs of deceit that had held all of them so fast for so many years. Then Jeremiah Smith turned and stared directly into Mulder's eyes, letting all of them share in Mulder's inner revelation.

"Do you see it now?"

Mulder stared wide-eyed at Alex Krycek, finally seeing the truth of their connection, and realising that his half-brother had always been working to protect him and to save the thousands of human lives put at risk by the Colonists. He saw the endless pain he had subjected his brother to. He felt the pain from the loss of Alex's arm, and the disappointment of Mulder's hatred when all Alex had ever wanted was his love and respect. He cried at the loss of freedom as Alex wasted away in a Tunisian prison and, finally, the loss of his life at Skinner's hands. It humbled Mulder to realize how he had become so wrapped up in seeking a nonexistent truth that he had missed the reality seated before him. Alex's almost forgotten words came back to taunt him.

"The truth, the truth! There's no truth. These men, they make it up as they go along. They're the engineers of the future. They're the real revolutionaries. I can get them for you too."

Alex had made good on that promise; his small band of resistance fighters had orchestrated the massacre at El Rico, though Mulder could feel the waves of regret that the innocent had to die alongside those corrupt old men. Mulder realised that, all this time, while he had been chasing around like a headless chicken, trying to uncover the truth and talking about it to unbelievers, his brother had taken a pragmatic approach and had accomplished far more.

Jeremiah turned his gentle eyes to Alex Krycek.

A new emotion bled through the joining from Alex, and Mulder watched green eyes widen in horror as his love for Walter Skinner swept around the circle. The link was broken, viciously, snapping shut in every mind as Alex scurried backwards, away from the man seated beside him.

Mulder watched as Skinner's shocked gaze turned to Alex, any residual animosity fleeing as he moved closer to protect the brother who had been his guardian angel for so long. However, the strong hand raised towards Alex was laid down gently onto the denim-clad thigh and he saw that familiar frown crinkle the bridge of Alex's nose, then smooth, as Alex looked into Skinner's eyes. The moment stretched into eternity as they stared at each other, passing new secrets that only they could share until the sound of Langly clearing his throat sent the long, dark lashes fluttering. Alex shook his head, bringing himself out of the silent communication. Mulder could see him gathering his thoughts, quickly throwing off the mantle of vulnerability and looking every inch the Resistant Leader.

"What were you looking for here, Mulder?"

"The ship."

"It's gone." Alex gazed up at the night sky, remembering when the hatch had first opened to reveal the beautiful night sky of velvet black, alight with pinpoints of light from distant stars. He had cowered against the silo wall as the craft rose smoothly, and then watched as it sped off into the darkness to rejoin its own kind. Someone must have closed the hatch soon after his escape, but it lay open again now, reminding him of those final, terrible days that he had spent in here, alone and dying. "It left years ago."

"I wasn't sure if it was damaged. Had a hunch it could have buried itself into the ground here to avoid detection, like the Antarctic mother ship."

"No. I saw it leave." Alex tilted his head slightly, a small frown crossing his face once more. He knew he owed no explanations to Mulder as to why he had tried to kill him for all of that had been revealed through Jeremiah Smith. His heart beat faster, adrenaline surging through his veins as he confirmed Jeremiah's earlier words, suddenly afraid that Mulder would refuse. "You can join us." Alex turned slightly, his words encompassing all of those new faces in the circle, Langly, Byers, Frohike and Walter Skinner, though his gaze lingered longest on Skinner. "All of you. To help us Fight the Future."

Mulder frowned, his eyes settling on all of the familiar faces in turn as he gazed around the circle. He knew everyone present—even Andre.

"Let me check. Doggett has my place on the X-Files and I've resigned from the FBI so I have no job. The apartment's been let out to a new tenant...and my fish died while I was dead." He grinned broadly. "Looks like I'm available."

Frohike glanced meaningfully at his fellow gunmen and they nodded in agreement. "We can carry on as usual but feed you any information we dig up."

"And we can gather blueprints, get data decrypted, work out encryption routines and call-signs to safeguard resistance cells—"

"I've got contacts with script-kiddies. Can set up zombies to trash servers, hack into secure systems...you name it, man."

Mulder watched as Alex turned to Skinner. No words passed between them but Alex smiled softly, eyes glowing brightly, as if he had gained the answer he was seeking. Mulder still had one question left, something that was important to him.

"What about Scully's baby?"

"I don't know."

"Is it mine?"

"I don't think so...but I think he's related. I think he may be another half-brother; Spender's child, but I don't think you should tell Scully that."

"No. Not that she'd love him any less for knowing his parentage. What do you plan to do about the baby?"

Alex glanced around at everyone present before his eyes settled back on Mulder.

"Watch and wait...and hope that he's just a normal kid."

Jeremiah Smith smiled and stood up, and Mulder knew that Alex had given the correct response regarding the child. He watched as Absalom got to his feet, followed Jeremiah Smith but turning back when they reached the centre of the silo.

"We still have work to do, saving those who are returned."

Mulder stared up in awe as a craft appeared above the silo, blotting out the night sky. A blue light engulfed the alien and Absalom, and then they were gone, the spacecraft rushing away almost soundlessly.

Andre pushed to his feet, beckoning the Gunmen to follow. "We've got a lot to set up between us. I'll head back to the motel with these three."

Mulder hesitated. He had a lot he wanted to say to Alex Krycek, and a lot of wasted years that he needed to recover but he sensed that tonight was not the right time for them. Tonight Alex and Skinner needed to resolve any final differences and take that first step together and he had no intention of becoming a third wheel in their relationship. He glanced at the back of the receding giant of a man; a man he had first met several years ago under unusual circumstances and he decided he would have all those questions relating to this man answered first, and then he would seek out Alex.

"Wait up, Andre. I'll follow you back."

Alex stood up and glanced upwards at the night sky once more, grateful that they had not shut the hatch, almost afraid now that he was alone with Walter Skinner.

"This is where I lost the last of my naïveté. Before I came here...that first time, I had spent months on the run, selling information to the highest bidder outside the Consortium: a spoilt brat punishing his father for not loving him enough. He left me in here—with it. I could see the tiny flares from his cigarette in the corridor beyond as I banged on the silo door, yelling and pleading with him to let me out. He turned and walked away, the lights flickering off one by one behind him until I left in darkness, except for the faintest glow from that alien ship.

"After it left, I thought he'd come back for me but days passed and I was so weak from lack of food. I barely had the strength left to lick the condensation off the silo walls, and then, finally, I was too weak to do anything but lie in my own filth. Not that there was much of that, thankfully, as I hadn't eaten in so long, at least not since Hong Kong.

"I just lay down here in the shadows, watching the daylight high overhead turn to darkness as night fell, waking to find that circle of light overhead once more. I really have no idea of how long I was here...but I did a lot of thinking.

"I made promises of what I would do if I ever got out of here alive. And I made good on them.

"I met up with Andre in Russia. He wasn't there when they cut off my arm...not that he would have saved me then, but I recognized him in the street, in St. Petersburg. He was the man who had given Mulder and me a ride to Tunguska. He let me know that my 'friend' had escaped whole and was on his way back to the United States, and I used my connections to get him and his family out of Russia. He's been my left-hand since then."

Alex laughed softly at his own joke. Andre had been one of those rare finds, a man who had seen too much and had finally decided to do something about it, once his family was safe. Mulder had been the catalyst on that occasion, opening Andre's eyes to the true depth of the conspiracy that engulfed even his small rural region of Tunguska.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know." Skinner moved in front of Alex and he reached out to brush the back of his hand against Alex's slightly stubbled cheek. "Let's get out of here."

"No. Let's stay a while longer. Erase the bad memories."

Skinner smiled and took a step forward, wrapping his strong arms around Alex's leaner but still powerful frame. He sought out those perfect lips, kissing Alex softly before pulling Alex's head down onto his shoulder, instinctively realising that Alex needed comfort and reassurance. He held him tightly for a long time, feeling the tension seep from the man he held and then he took a step back, out of their embrace, one hand reaching to tip up Alex's chin until their eyes met.

As they sat in that strange circle, joined by Jeremiah Smith, he had felt the love Alex held for him. He knew how much he loved this man in return, and how much he wanted to make love to Alex, but Skinner needed to be certain Alex wanted a physical relationship too.

His fears vanished as he recognized the desire flooding through the beautiful eyes, the pupils dilating until only a corona of sea-green remained. Pink lips were slightly parted in welcome, glistening from where the tip of his tongue had caressed the soft surface. As he moved forward, Skinner could feel the soft, ragged breaths on his face, could hear the low hum of pleasure as he took those lips once more. His hand moved to cup the back of Alex's head, fingers trailing through the thick strands on top before smoothing down the velvet softness of shorn hair at the base. His other hand wrapped around the firm body, drawing the lean hips forward, crushing their bodies together. He could feel the hardened length of Alex's sex pressing against his stomach; a match to his own aching flesh, and he rocked his hips, increasing the pleasurable sensation that was radiating through his body.

Skinner pressed forward, wanting to possess Alex fully, his tongue slipping inside the hot mouth, stroking across hard teeth and soft inner cheek before coiling around its mate. He felt cool fingers lifting the back of his T-shirt, before burrowing beneath to play across his skin. They delved inside his jeans, sliding beneath his boxers to cup his asscheeks, drawing him even closer to Alex's body, grinding their groins together.

Small murmurs of appreciation vibrated through him and Skinner broke off the kiss so he could nuzzle the vulnerable throat, teeth nipping at soft, pale flesh. He bit down hard, eliciting a groan of pain and pleasure as he raised a welt of possession upon this man. His hands pushed the leather jacket from Krycek's shoulders, letting gravity take it, and then his fingers reached around to drag the soft T-shirt from the dark, tight-fitting jeans. His body reacted to this new tactile sensation; his fingertips thrumming as they played over the strong lower back, pausing to explore each vertebra.

They pulled apart abruptly, staring at each other with the heat of passion searing the air between them. Quickly, they stripped off T-shirts, letting the material float to the floor unheeded. Skinner moved forward and grabbed the hand that had reached down to unzip the dark denim, batting it away so he could have the pleasure of unwrapping this prize. Alex sighed as his erection was freed from its tight denim prison, unresisting as Skinner tugged the denim from the lean hips and down the strong, muscular thighs. He knelt down to pull off Alex's shoes and socks before drawing the jeans all the way down and encouraging Alex to step out of the heavy material.

Skinner stood up and stepped back several paces, wanting to see this man in all his naked glory. His eyes trailing down the well-defined chest, pausing for a moment on the hard flesh rising from a bed of soft, dark curls. Long, lean thighs were corded with muscle and not an ounce of spare flesh covered the lean, well-toned frame. He raised his eyes back to Alex's face, revelling in the wonder of being able to look upon this beautiful man without censure. The well-shaped lips with their deep cupid's bow were plump and reddened from his kisses, and the possessive mark Skinner had placed upon his throat was an angry red against the ivory flesh. Alex's high cheekbones were flushed with desire, his eyes glittering; consumed with passion. He was beautiful and Skinner felt a moment of panic, afraid that this was just another one of his dreams.

He reached out and touched the warm flesh of Alex's left arm, only then becoming truly aware of what Alex had regained; this perfection of symmetry.

"Like what you see?"

Skinner found his mouth was too dry to form an answer so he nodded, letting his eyes show Alex how much he worshipped him at this moment. Quickly, he stripped off the remainder of his own clothing, spreading his long trench coat over the ground before drawing Alex back into his arms. They kissed, tenderly at first, but slowly building to bruising passion as they licked and bit and sucked upon each other, tasting and possessing equally.

They sank to the ground, still wrapped in their kiss, falling sideways, bodies rippling hard against each other, trapping sensitive flesh between their close-pressed bodies. Skinner pushed deep into the heat of Alex's mouth as the lips parted wide, inhaling the gasps of sated pleasure as a liquid warmth flooded between their bellies. His own climax followed soon after, all his senses lost within the maelstrom of completion.

When he floated back into himself, descending from previously unimagined heights of passion, his senses returned to him but they were still filled with the presence of the languid body held tightly in his arms. He grinned as his lips brushed against the sweat-sheened temple, tasting the saltiness, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the strong, addictive musk of sex and maleness. Alex shivered in his arms and, eventually, he had to admit that this warm embrace would not be enough to protect them from the coldness of the chilled air and the dampness of the hard ground beneath them.

"Let's go back to the motel and find ourselves a hot meal, a warm shower and a cosy bed."

"That sounds better than thinking warm thoughts."

Skinner grinned, seeing no animosity in the memory, just a gentle teasing as he recalled the words spoken to Alex after he had handcuffed him to his balcony on that cold winter's night. As they dressed, Skinner watched his new lover, grinning in pleasure at every warm glance that Alex bestowed upon him.

They drove away from the silo, leaving far better memories behind for both of them and, as the installation was left far behind, Skinner realised that they had taken that first step towards their joint future. However, this was a future that Skinner had no intention of fighting.

Later, as he lay in bed with the heavy warmth of Alex's sated body tucked against him, and the sleepy head lying on his shoulder, Skinner reflected on Alex's words from the parking garage.

"It's going to take more bullets that you can ever fire to win this game, but one bullet and I can give you a thousand lives."

Skinner swallowed hard. Far more than a thousand lives were at stake in this game but Skinner knew, deep down, that he would willingly sacrifice every one of them just to save this man. He dropped a soft kiss on the dark hair, tightening his arms around this most precious life and, as sleep finally claimed him, he wondered if he would still dream of Alex now that he had the reality in his arms.

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