------------------------------
A New War #5
Destinations
by Lianne Burwell
November 1998
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Alex Krycek rested his head against the bus window looking, for all 
intents and purposes, as though he were asleep. Of course, there was 
nothing further from the truth. Through slitted eyes, he watched the 
driver, the passengers and the people in the cars that passed the bus. 
That paranoia had served him well during his years on the run from just 
about everyone and it continued to be an asset.

It was several years ago that his last employers had done their best to 
blow him to kingdom come. That was the point when he'd become a free 
agent, working for no one, trusting no one.

No one except Mulder, that is.

Alex resisted the urge to sigh. He still wasn't sure just how Special 
Agent Fox Mulder, F.B.I. had managed to get past his defenses. By the 
time that the Consortium's orders had forced him away from the man, 
Mulder was so deep under his skin that he couldn't get him out. Even if 
he'd wanted to.

And he didn't.

That was why he kept going back, kept putting up with having the crap 
beaten out of him every time they were in the same room together. Even 
after Tunguska, he kept going back.

The biggest surprise had been the night when he'd broken into Mulder's 
apartment, and left without a single bruise. Mulder'd met him with a 
drawn gun, but as soon as he'd recognized Krycek he'd put it away. Alex 
had barely been able to stammer out the information that he'd wanted to 
pass on, he was so shocked.

And not only had Mulder *not* tried to rearrange his features yet again, 
he'd fed Alex a hot meal, let him sleep on his seldom-used bed and take a 
shower in the morning. It had been the first time in months that Alex had 
gotten a good night's sleep.

Maybe those fantasies he'd been having for years weren't as improbable as 
he'd thought.

That was why it had been so frustrating when Harrison had unilaterally 
decided that Alex should head south to find Kincaid. He'd been hoping 
that travelling with Mulder would finally break through the stubborn 
man's walls. Make him admit what was so obvious to everyone else. Hell, 
Scully was probably laughing her ass off at Alex's frustration. After 
all, she'd been doing her best to keep them apart for a long time, and 
now it looked like she had an ally.

Still, Alex was patient. Sooner or later...

The bus pulled to a creaking halt. Alex waited until the bus was half-
empty, careful not to be the first person off the bus, or the last. He 
pulled his bag out from under his seat and shouldered it. Getting to this 
point had taken two airplane rides, one train ride and three bus rides, 
all designed to throw off anyone trying to follow him. He'd only stopped 
a couple of times, long enough to buy clothes and toiletries and to get a 
few hours sleep.

Alex stepped off the bus and immediately started to sweat. The weather 
was still unseasonable warm for the time of year, even in Florida. Around 
the world, weather experts were at a loss to explain it. Ecological 
groups were touting it as proof that pollution *had* caused noticeable 
global warming. Doom-sayers were predicting coastal flooding caused by 
melting of the polar caps, although no sign of that had been seen yet.

Alex headed for the main exit of the bus station, moving with a purpose. 
It had been a long time since he'd been in Miami, but he knew where he 
was going.

Time to get this show on the road.

* * * * *

"A word, Agent Scully."

Scully was heading down the hallway towards records when Skinner appeared 
at her side. She tensed slightly, bracing herself for the conversation 
that she'd been expecting. She'd gotten some strange looks when she'd 
reported that Mulder was taking a vacation, but none of the expected 
questions. It looked like her reprieve was over, though.

She was a little surprised, though. She'd expected to be summoned to 
Skinner's office. The fact that he'd come looking for *her* was 
disturbing, though she didn't let it show on her face.

"Yes, sir?" She kept her tone bland, waiting for Skinner to bring up the 
inevitable subject.

"Have you heard from Agent Mulder?"

"No, sir."

"And that doesn't strike you as odd?"

Scully stopped and gave him a wry look, as if to say 'Mulder is *always* 
odd'. He didn't buy it.

"I have had some... inquiries into his whereabouts." They both knew who 
those inquiries were coming from.

"What did you tell them?"

"That Agent Mulder is using some of his back vacation days, and that it 
was about time he *did*."

"Exactly, sir. If there's nothing else."

"Scully!" Skinner rubbed at the bridge of his nose and lowered his voice. 
"Agent Scully, don't you think it's about time that the two of you 
started trusting me? Now, more than ever."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been told to... rein him in. That if I don't, his protection is 
going to disappear. That he is looking into areas that could get him 
eliminated."

That made Scully stop. The Consortium had been trying to direct Mulder 
for years. As a result, he'd enjoyed a dubious protection through them. 
If that was withdrawn, he'd be in even more trouble than he'd ever been 
in the history of his partnership with her, and he seemed to *live* for 
trouble. She thought about it, deciding what was safe to tell Skinner. 
He was controlled, in large part, by the Consortium, but he *had* 
protected them many times in the past.

"We got information on a previous takeover attempt from outside," she 
said in a guarded tone, not specifying what she *meant* by 'outside'. 
"One that was *stopped*. Mulder is talking to someone who was involved in 
stopping it."

"Where *is* he, Agent Scully?"

"I don't know." He didn't look like he believed her. "I really don't 
*know*. He didn't take his cell, since he didn't want to be traced. I 
don't know where he is, where he's going, or how he's getting there."

Skinner sighed. "All right," he said. "I'll do my best to stall them. If 
you *do* hear from Mulder..."

"If I do, I'll pass on the warning."

Skinner's expression twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. 
"Do that," he said, then headed for the elevators.

Scully watched him go, suddenly wanting an antacid tablet. Things were 
getting even more complicated than usual, and considering how complicated 
things got with Mulder, that was saying something.

She hoped he was all right.

* * * * *

Debi McCullough pulled over the latest piece of paperwork that had been 
dumped on her, sighing as she started to read it. Sooner or later she'd 
get to do fieldwork, she told herself.

Assuming, of course, that she lived that long.

The days since she'd gotten home had been the most stressful in her life. 
Even when she had been a kid, stuck in the middle of a war against 
invading aliens, she'd never been this stressed. As a kid, she'd been 
protected, surrounded by friends and family, and without a say in what 
happened.

But now she was on her own. She was an adult, making her own decisions.

She finished off the file, and put it into her out-box. She wondered what 
the others were up to. Mulder. Krycek. Harrison. She also wondered when 
the axe would fall on her. Somehow, she didn't think that it would be 
long.

* * * * *

They were only an hour or so from both New York and dawn when Mulder 
pulled the van into a gas station just off the highway. While Harrison 
filled up the van's tank, Mulder headed for the pay phones. Considering 
the hour, he dialed Scully's home number.

"Mulder, that better be you."

Mulder smiled at the annoyed tone in his partner's voice. "Nice to hear 
your voice too, Scully."

"Listen, you better not say where you are, and we'd better keep this 
short. Certain parties are trying to find you and they are not happy. 
I've been told that you might be on their hit list."

Mulder smiled, an odd reaction he knew. "That means I must be on the 
right track. Don't worry, I'll watch my back. Just make sure that you 
watch yours. After all, they *do* know where *you* are."

"Right. Keep in touch. And... be careful."

"When am I not?"

He could hear that delicate snort that she liked to make. "Don't ask me 
to answer that one, Mulder." The dial tone rang in his ear.

Mulder hung up and headed for the van. Harrison was already behind the 
wheel, having paid for the gas. Since he was the one who knew where they 
were going, Mulder was more than happy to let him take over as driver.

"So..." Mulder said as they pulled back into traffic. "Where exactly are 
we going in New York?"

Harrison smiled slightly. "Oh, I think you'll be impressed."

"Upscale?"

"No... Definitely not *up*scale."

Mulder looked at him, trying to figure out what the man was not saying, 
but there was no help there. Just an enigmatic smile.

Definitely a far cry from the man he'd met several days ago, who'd been 
dead in all but the medical sense.

* * * * *

Coming down the street, Alex felt like he had a target painted on his 
back. It didn't bother him. There might be a tough bunch in the 
neighborhood but he still knew that he was the nastiest sonofabitch in 
the city. Never let it be said that Alex Krycek was falsely modest.

He was in a formerly middle-class suburban neighborhood, long gone to 
seed. Now it would compete with almost any inner-city ghetto. Lawns -- 
when they were still living -- were overgrown with weeds and probably 
hadn't seen a lawn-mower in more than a decade. Most houses, though, 
boasted only a square of dry, cracked earth, dotted with motorcycles and 
half-disassembled cars of dubious origins. Despite the heat leather was 
the most popular clothing material, usually coupled with denim that had 
seen better days. Suspicious eyes followed him.

Signs on the sides of the old houses, many still showing storm-damage, 
told him who he was dealing with. The Hunters. A bike gang that had 
chapters all over the country, and into both Canada and Mexico. Some 
called the Hunters modern rebels, living life free on the roads. Others 
called them criminals, killers and thieves. Some suggested that they were 
linked to drug trafficking, but that had never been proved. Alex had 
never dealt with them before, so he couldn't say who was right about 
them, if anyone was.

Ignoring the growing numbers of eyes watching him, he walked up to the 
house that Harrison had directed him to and rang the doorbell. Not 
hearing anything through the door, he resorted to knuckles on wood.

Footsteps headed for the front door, and it cracked open. "Yeah?" came 
the belligerent challenge.

"I'm looking for Kincaid."

"And who are you?" Alex bristled at the sneer in the man's voice. There 
was an accent, but he couldn't quite pin it down, which was unusual for 
him.

"Alex. Harrison said to remind Kincaid of the Purple Ostrich."

That didn't get an answer. Alex waited patiently, mentally rehearsing the 
best ways to kill the man and the other spectators if things went bad. 
His neck itched, but he refused to fidget.

The door opened, and Alex found himself face to face with a man not much 
taller than himself. Dark skin, dark hair and dark eyes. He was unshaven 
and his clothes had seen better days. He looked just like everyone else 
on the block, in other words.

"I'm Kincaid," he said, and motioned Alex into the house. Feeling like he 
was walking out of the frying pan and into the fire, Alex did so.

* * * * *

Mulder was shaken out of his doze as Harrison pulled into the underground 
parking garage of an office high-rise in downtown New York City. 
Sometimes it seemed like he hadn't done more than doze, or catch catnaps 
in the back of the moving van, since they'd left Virginia, and it was 
starting to show. He was exhausted.

Harrison took the ramp down to the lowest level of the garage and parked 
in a back corner that didn't seem to have seen any traffic in months. 
Mulder climbed out of the van and groaned as he stretched stiff muscles.

"Okay, now what?" he asked Harrison. The large man didn't reply. He just 
headed for an iron door set into the concrete wall. He pulled a key from 
his pocket and used it to unlock the door.

Inside was the usual detritus used by cleaners everywhere, all covered in 
a layer of dust that suggested that it didn't get used very often. Mulder 
watched, completely baffled, as Harrison headed to the water pipes that 
ran along the back wall of the tiny room. Picking up a handy wrench, he 
hammered a complex pattern on the metal pipes.

"Well?" Mulder said once the ringing in his ears had faded.

"Now we wait," Harrison replied, settling into a lotus position on the 
floor.

Mulder wanted to argue, but the man's eyes were already closed, and his 
breathing had evened out into the rhythms of either sleep or meditation. 
With a sigh of resignation, Mulder sat down, leaned back against the cold 
concrete wall and prepared to wait.

Damnit.

* * * * *

An hour later, Mulder had relaxed into a state that was half sleep, half 
waking, when a scraping noise brought him to his feet. For the first time 
since he'd sat down, Harrison's eyes opened.

The back wall groaned and started to open, a light coming through the 
widening line between concrete blocks. Mulder tensed, his hand going to 
his gun.

"Relax, Mulder," Harrison said with a small smile. "This is what we were 
waiting for."

The space had opened up wide enough for even a large man to pass through. 
A hooded figure stepped into the room.

"Harrison," rumbled a deep, rich voice. A shiver ran up and down Mulder's 
spine. The voice was almost fluid. "It's been a while."

"Too long," was Harrison's reply. He stepped forward and hugged the other 
man. Next to the figure, he was almost dwarfed. It wasn't so much the 
height or the girth. The stranger had a... presence.

"Vincent, this is Fox Mulder. He's fighting aliens. A new attempt to do 
what the Mothren failed at. We're here to see Mana."

The man turned to Mulder, his face still shadowed by the cape's hood. His 
hands rose to grasp the fabric, and Mulder immediately noticed that they 
weren't... human.

The hood fell back and Mulder found himself face to face with a face that 
looked like a melding of man and lion. He shivered, wondering if he was 
alien or mutation, or the result of genetic engineering. Mulder knew that 
he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate. 
Fortunately, this... person, Vincent, didn't have the same problem. His 
mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile.

"Welcome to the city *below* the city, Fox Mulder."


TO BE CONTINUED