------------------------------
A New War #14:
A Shot In The Dark
by Lianne Burwell
June 1999
------------------------------

The room they were stashed in wasn't bad as far as cells went. It looked 
like it was probably a meeting room, with a table and a half-dozen 
chairs. There were no windows, but they were quite a ways below ground, 
considering how long the elevator had taken to go down. It had probably 
been quickly cleaned of anything that could be useful to them before they 
were put in, and a camera in one corner said that they were being watched.

Alex slumped in one chair, his feet propped up on the table, while 
Kincaid leaned against a wall, a picture in calm. Mulder, naturally, was 
pacing. Between the insomnia and the nervous energy, Alex was surprised 
that the agent hadn't already worked himself into a nervous breakdown 
years ago.

Then again, how would you tell the difference?

Alex watched Mulder pace for a while, trying to distract himself. His 
hand crept up to cup the stump that was all that remained of his left 
arm. The ill-fitting prosthetic that had been taken from him might chafe, 
but without it, he felt... naked. Vulnerable. He hated the feeling.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. "Mulder, would you *sit* *down*?" 
he snapped.

"How can you be so damned calm?" Mulder snapped right back. Then he 
stopped and stared at Alex.

Alex frowned. "What is your problem now?" he asked.

"You're white as a ghost." Mulder stepped closer and brushed a 
surprisingly gentle hand across his forehead. "You're sweating. Are you 
all right, Alex?

Alex batted the hand away, annoyed. "I'm fine. You're the one pacing like 
a caged animal."

"No you aren't. Talk to me, Krycek."

Alex glared at him, but it had no effect. He almost wished that Mulder 
was back to ignoring him. Almost. If there was anything he hated, it was 
showing any signs of weakness.

"It's just our location," he finally said.

Mulder frowned, and glanced around the room. "Locked up?"

Alex shrugged. "Nah. More that we're god only knows how far below 
ground." Mulder looked blank. "Ever since the silo..." He paused, and 
Mulder's eyes lit up with understanding.

"Sorry."

Alex shrugged. "Hey, it's not like it was your fault. It was that oil 
slick thing that took me there and the bastards who locked me in."

Mulder's eyes flickered to his arm-stump and his expression darkened, no 
doubt with the memory of a torment that *was* his fault. Alex snorted. 
"Drop the self-flagellation, Mulder. Not everything that goes wrong is 
your fault."

Mulder didn't look convinced, but at least he was focussed on something 
besides pacing. Alex had known right from the start that Mulder had a 
capacity for guilt that would put the most devout catholic to shame. It 
made him easy prey for the Consortium.

However, if that distracted him then Alex would play up to it. He got to 
his feet, and let the shiver he'd been restraining run through him. His 
one arm wrapped around his stomach.

Instantly, Mulder was at his side. Alex hid a smile. Even more than his 
sense of guilt, Mulder's biggest weakness was how easy he was to 
manipulate. It had been used against him many times in the past. This 
time it was being used to help distract him from his worries.

'With great power comes great responsibility,' Alex told himself with a 
mental laugh. He knew Mulder even better than the man's partner, and he'd 
made a study of how the man's mind worked. As a result, no one could 
manipulate Mulder the way he could. With any luck, he'd be able to 
manipulate the man right into his bed. And once he had the man where he 
wanted him, he'd make sure that no one ever hurt Mulder again. The man 
was *his*.

Alex deliberately leaned against Mulder, and hid a grin when the man 
didn't pull away. Instead, Mulder's arm came up and -- very hesitantly -- 
came around Alex's shoulders.

Alex leaned in a little harder, and was surprised to find his own anxiety 
levels dropping. Amazing how much of a difference a little human contact 
could make. The worst part of his stay in the silo hadn't been the 
darkness or the hunger or the fact that he was so far underground. The 
worst part had been the complete and total isolation.

Across the room, Kincaid glanced at them, then turned his face away. A 
small, wistful smile crossed his lips before his expression went blank 
again.

Alex felt a tiny pang of guilt. It looked like he was going to get what 
he wanted -- namely Mulder -- but Kincaid had lost his own last chance at 
the man *he* wanted -- Harrison Blackwood. Alex could sympathize, but not 
enough to pull away.

Naturally, that was when the door opened and an armed soldier stepped 
through. It was the same one who'd lead the team of soldiers who'd 
captured them. The markings of his collar said he was a colonel, and the 
glint in his eyes said that he wasn't to be trifled with. Alex watched 
him warily.

"All right, folks," the man said with a sarcastic twist of the lips. 
"The general wants a word with you."

The three of them headed for the door. Alex knew that by the end of the 
day they'd probably be either dead or in the hands of the consortium, but 
there was no point in hiding in here. Especially when they'd just be 
dragged out anyway.

The hallways echoed with their footsteps as they followed the Colonel 
through the maze of passageways. Two more soldiers fell in behind them. 
Other than that, they saw no one. All the doors were closed, and none had 
any identifying signs. Either everyone in the base was expected to 
memorize locations, or the route had been 'sanitized' the same way that 
the meeting room they'd been locked in had. Alex was willing to bet on 
the latter.

They finally stopped outside one door, and their guide knocked. A voice 
inside called "Enter," and the door was opened for them.

Inside was a typical office. The man behind the desk wore an air force 
uniform with the markings of a general. In a way he reminded Alex of 
Walter Skinner, Mulder's boss and his former boss. Both men were middle 
aged, balding with gray hair -- what little was left. Both had a powerful 
presence. They might even be close to the same height, although it was 
hard to tell with the man sitting down.

The only place that the comparison broke down was in build. Skinner 
obviously worked out regularly, giving him a powerful body to go with the 
rest of the package. This man had already moved into the middle-aged 
spread, although it didn't distract from his air of command.

The colonel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Alex 
quickly scanned the room for possible weapons, noting more than a dozen, 
even though he doubted they'd be of any use. The other two soldiers were 
probably right outside the door, and even if they weren't, they wouldn't 
know where to head. They would just have to play things by ear.

"Well, gentlemen," the general said, folding his hands on his desk. "I 
trust you have a good explanation for your presence."

"We were invited at gunpoint," Kincaid said, his lips twitching slightly. 
The general glared at him.

"And what were you doing in the area?"

"Doing some hiking," Alex chimed in, playing along with Kincaid.

"Carrying handguns? Not exactly what the local hunters use."

Alex shrugged. "It's a dangerous world," he pointed out.

"Indeed. Well then, how about some names."

"Jeff Armen," Alex said, using the fake name that had gotten him from New 
York to Colorado.

"Fox Mulder," Mulder said, obviously not getting the hint. Alex winced, 
although he was careful not to show it. That name was a little too well 
known within the Consortium and all their dupe organizations.

"Fox? You have *got* to be joking!" the colonel said, choking back a 
laugh.

"Quite serious, Colonel..." Mulder paused, very obviously waiting for a 
name to be supplied.

The man glanced over at his boss, before turning back. "O'Neill. Jack 
O'Neill." The name wasn't familiar to Alex, but he filed it away for 
reference. 

"And you?" the general said to Kincaid.

"John Kincaid," was the answer.

That got a reaction from the man behind the desk. "John Kincaid? And do 
you have a brother?"

Kincaid's face tightened up. "*Had*," he grated out. "Max died eight 
years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Hank always spoke well of him. Of you both."

Everyone else in the room blinked in surprise. "You knew General Wilson?" 
Kincaid finally asked.

"Of course. We grew up together. Hank and I were friends most of our 
lives, even after he foolishly decided to join the army instead of the 
air force." The man grinned. Then he sobered up. "He vanished about the 
same time as your brother died, I would guess. I don't suppose you know 
what happened to him?"

Kincaid shook his head. "We didn't hear from him for a couple months 
before Max died. Then, out of the blue, he contacted us through a blind 
drop, asking us to run a mission for him. It turned out to be a suicide 
run, and I barely got out alive. Afterwards, I found out that he'd been 
missing for a week before we got the job."

The general's expression turned sad. "I guess we'll never know, then..." 
he said quietly.

"General..." Mulder said, stepping forward. O'Neill tensed up, and Alex 
prepared to jump him if the man looked like he was going to do something 
stupid.

"Hammond," the general said, waving for O'Neill to relax.

"General Hammond, what do you know about the Blackwood Project?"

Hammond's eyes narrowed. "A great deal, Mr. Mulder. And what do *you* 
know about the Blackwood Project."

"That it was created by Harrison Blackwood, funded by the government and 
reported to General Wilson. That it was created to fight an alien 
invasion. That they succeeded."

"They did?"

"Yes. They exposed the fact that the Mothren leader was manipulating them 
to keep them in a war that none of them wanted. Most of them left. The 
few that stayed behind are living normal lives as humans."

Hammond frowned. "And does this have anything to do with why you are 
here?"

Mulder got very intense, the way only he could. It was one of the things 
that Alex found so appealing about him, and had ever since they'd first 
been partnered.

"Because they aren't the only ones out there. Because even though the 
Mothren aren't a threat, Earth isn't safe."

"Tell us something we *don't* know," O'Neill muttered from his place next 
to the door.

"That doesn't explain why you are *here*, Mr. Mulder," Hammond pointed 
out.

"The Mothren left equipment behind, and people who knew how to use it. We 
used one device to scan for active alien technology. This base showed up 
on that scan. Since it wasn't known to us as a Consortium-run base..."

Alex winced at the slip.

"...or a left-over Mothren base, we came to check it out."

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," Hammond said, his face 
perfectly blank.

"Bullshit," Alex said, speaking up for the first time. "If you didn't 
have a clue, neither you nor the colonel would have tensed up. The 
question is, who do you work for?"

"We work for the United States government," Hammond said glaring at him.

"Of course you do. However, we have run into too many military types who 
are either dupes or willing collaborators. Sometimes it's because of 
greed. Sometimes it a misguided belief that they *are* serving their 
country."

"Mr. Armen, I do not appreciate what you are suggesting here."

Alex shrugged. "I don't care. All I care about is whether or not you are 
contributing to an alien plan to take control of this world."

"We are *not* contributing. We are fighting the Goa'uld."

Alex's eyes narrowed, and Mulder blinked. "The who?"

Now Hammond's eyes narrowed. "The Goa'uld. Parasitic aliens. Look like 
slugs, and take over human bodies. Spent a lot of time in ancient Egypt."

Mulder shook his head. "The only body-seizing aliens I know of are an 
earlier version of the Mothren, and a form of life that looks like an 
oil-slick."

"An... Oil-slick."

"Trust me, General," Alex chimed in. "You don't want to be taken over by 
one. Puking it up after it's done with you is *not* a fun experience."

Mulder started ticking items off on his fingers. "Then there's the Greys 
and the shape-shifters. The rebels, who have their eyes and mouths sewn 
shut to keep the oil creatures from taking them over. Androids from 
possibly another dimension. And then of course there's the bees. We're 
still not sure where they fit in."

There was a pained noise from the man behind them, and Hammond looked 
confused. "Please tell me you're joking," he said in a plaintive voice.

Alex shook his head, along with Kincaid and Mulder. "Sorry, General. We 
are quite serious. *Deadly* serious."

"This is crazy!" O'Neill broke in. "What the hell are we? The galactic 
equivalent of Grand Central Station?"

Alex snorted. "Nice line, Colonel," he said. "I'll have to remember it. 
So, getting *back* to the original subject, what are you running here?"

"That is classified. Only the president, the joint chiefs of staff and 
certain members of the Senate know about our existence."

Alex groaned. "That means you're about as secret as the stealth bomber. 
In other words, not at all."

"Mr. Armen..."

"General Hammond, I used to *work* for the people collaborating with the 
aliens. They have plants throughout the government and the military. 
Hell, they practically *control* the government and the military. They 
know about you, you can be sure of it. They probably have people in your 
staff reporting to them, and the moment you are a danger to them, you 
will be *gone*. Classified means *shit*."

Mulder waved at him to back down, and Alex decided to go along with him. 
For now.

"General Hammond, he may be a little melodramatic about it, but he's 
right. The only reason that you've been allowed to keep operating without 
direct control is because either they don't consider you to be a threat 
yet, or because they figure that you're doing what they want anyway. They 
won't leave you alone forever."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

"Wilson vanished," Kincaid pointed out. "And so have most of the people 
who knew about the Mothren. The rest of us have had to hide."

That hit home. Hammond rested his chin on his clasped hands for a moment. 
"I need to think about this for a while. Until I decide what to do with 
you, you'll be back in the same room, under guard." He nodded to O'Neill, 
who headed for the door.

Suddenly, the sound of a stomach growling echoed in the room. The corner 
of Hammond's mouth quirked into a small smile. "And I'll have some lunch 
brought to you," he added.

* * * * *

When the door shut behind them, Mulder resumed his pacing. They were 
right back in the same room, locked in with a gunman on the other side of 
the door, again. This time, though, the surveillance camera was gone. 
Evidently they'd proven themselves enough to be allowed a little privacy.

"Relax, Mulder," Krycek said from his seat. "He listened, and he seemed 
reasonable. There's nothing else we can do except wait."

Mulder snorted. "So we should relax and wait for him to decide whether to 
help us, let us go, or turn us over to people who would kill us without a 
second thought? You're not usually this passive, Krycek."

Krycek shrugged, a small smile on his face. At least he didn't look like 
he was going to puke anymore. Mulder was still a little surprised how 
much the white face and shivers had affected him before. He had trouble 
seeing Krycek as vulnerable, but he was at times.

Either that or it was all an act to gain sympathy. Mulder wasn't sure 
which. Sometimes he wondered if that was part of Krycek's appeal; the 
uncertainty of what was going on behind those big green eyes.

Mulder gave a little shake. He'd been standing there just staring at the 
man, and Krycek was staring back with a self-satisfied smile on his face. 
The rat-bastard thought he'd won, Mulder realized. He said he wanted 
Mulder -- whether it was just physical, a mind-fuck or more -- and he 
thought he won.

//Is he wrong?// asked the annoying little voice in the back of his mind, 
and he squashed it down ruthlessly. He leaned against the wall and closed 
his eyes, looking for a little self-control. Unfortunately, the dreams 
he'd had the night before of Krycek... making love to him eroded that 
control until he felt like an elastic stretched until it was about to 
snap.

The door opened, and from beneath his half-closed eyelids he saw a 
soldier walk in with a tray. Looked like the standard saran-wrapped 
sandwich fare of cafeterias around the world. Mulder closed his eyes 
again. He was hungry, but couldn't work up the ambition yet.

"Mulder look out!"

Mulder's eyes flew open as Krycek tackled him to the ground. Dimly, he 
heard the sound of a silenced gun being fired.

Krycek had him pinned to the ground. Above them, he could see Kincaid 
grappling with the soldier, who was trying to get a second shot off. The 
door flew open again, and more soldiers came streaming in, restraining 
both Kincaid and the gunman.

Mulder didn't notice that. What he did notice was that his front was 
rapidly being soaked by an unknown fluid. "Krycek?" he said, trying to 
shift the man on top of him.

All he got in reply was a moan. With a heave, he managed to turn Krycek 
over and off of himself.

Krycek's head rolled to the side. Mulder's eyes widened as he saw the 
dark red stain across the other man's abdomen.

"Alex?!"

TO BE CONTINUED