The Anomaly

"Anomalous activity."

The screen refreshed, offered him a silver spider's web shivering against a midnight blue background.

Marita nodded, tight-lipped. "Obviously."

Eyes brightening in irritation and excitement, Alex Krycek watched the image shimmer again. "This is the one." Mumbled words, but certain. This had to be the one.

They'd spent too long chasing possible sightings across the country, arriving always and inevitably too late to see much, if any, action. Yet, just as inevitably, always just in time to see the battered brains and bodies of those who'd been returned.

Even Krycek admitted that the hunt had lost its glamour. The whole thing had been less of an adrenaline rush once the FBI, and then the others, had turned away. The buzz of chasing the pack, yet knowing that he would be there to cut in first at the critical moment had been a delight. Poor little Gibson. Did Scully know what had become of him? Alex did.

More problematic, though, without the mass of activity that had surrounded the search in those early days, Krycek's work now stood out like a sore thumb. When he'd been hiding in the shadows of the Lone Gunmen's hacks into military satellites; intercepting the steady train of faxes, emails and phone calls that had marked Scully's dealings with FBI area offices - Alex had had the luxury of invisibility.

There was no such smokescreen now. Krycek hadn't expected the chase to turn cold so soon.

Scully's responses to mysterious police reports of "returned" missing persons had drifted to pro- forma - become perfunctory requests for names, addresses, distinguishing features and medical reports.

Alex sighed a little, recalled the fire that he'd once seen in Mulder's partner, wondered if it had been extinguished by too many tears. He shook his head, amused. When had he become such a romantic? Then again, perhaps the enigmatic Dr. Scully was more pragmatic than even he'd imagined.

"Well?"

Krycek looked up, saw Marita's foot tap impatiently at the ground again. Why the hell hadn't she stayed in D.C.? Had she asked a question? "What?"

"You're miles away."

"Just wondering - if I were missing - how long people would search for me."

"You already know that."

Alex smiled - well, yes, and then again, no. "The silo? The jail? I wasn't missing, they knew exactly where I was."

And Marita smiled back, a crack in the ice of her eyes.

As minutes turned to hours, so the soft sigh in Marita's breathing had turned, in Krycek's ears, to a demanding snort. He bit into the rapidly congealing burger that room service had delivered and allowed himself to acknowledge her presence. "Why are you here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Krycek didn't bother to respond, just shifted his attention back to the satellite transmission.

His indifference had the desired effect, Marita was just a little shrill as she spoke. "You were paid, up front, to bring Mulder in. I'm here to make sure you do."

"And what do you think I'm doing?"

"Jerking off?"

He feigned surprise. "Such vulgarity."

"We could be doing this in D.C. - and more comfortably." She cast her eyes over the discarded burger, crinkling her nose as she did, before moving on to look in disgust at the only bed in the room. Her brief shudder, a statement that only Krycek would have noticed.

She was right. Another dingy hotel room in another one-horse town.

Conscious that her eyes were giving too much away, she turned her gaze onto the screen. Lost even her aura of composure as she failed to conceal her disgust at seeing more of the same old images. She threw back her head. "If they release him, we know exactly how to find him. Either he'll go to her, or she'll go to him. It's been months."

Of course, Marita's words made perfect sense. Krycek had no reason to disagree. And if his objectives were the same as his paymasters', then sitting on his ass back in D.C. would be a perfectly reasonable strategy. Simply wait for Mulder to come home and then stop by and collect him for a little debriefing.

Even if the aliens had messed with Mulder's biochemistry, a possibility for certain, it wouldn't really take that long to crack the codes and open a route into his memories. A week, tops. Then Scully could have him back for keeps. Scarcely a blip compared to the months he'd already been missing.

Perfect sense, a highly satisfactory arrangement all around. At least, it would have been, if Krycek's vision had been so limited. Somewhere along the line a new possibility had occurred to Alex.

Could Fox Mulder be turned?

Rationally, up on that ship, Mulder would know that he was not findable, that rescue was not possible, that no search party was going to bring deliverance. But, deep down, underneath that logic, wouldn't there be a darker emotion, available for use by someone who knew exactly which button to push?

An emotion that could be made to howl its disappointment when Mulder was returned and the first friendly face he saw was not that of Dana Scully?

The ground shuddered beneath his feet, the earth became a living thing as the animals fell silent. Stillness was a given, the air itself an obstacle to breathing. The urge to run boiled high in his throat, even as his body rejected motion as an impossibility.

The first time he'd experienced the rush, he'd thought it life- changing. Now? There were times he wondered if it had become an addiction. The urge to stand as close as possible to the fire, to wait until flesh reddened and blistered before retreating. It was there now, surging all around him, flowing through him in a breathless sizzle of adrenaline. Like watching the glowing end of the world.

Krycek, bright-eyed and optimistic, watched the lights retreating and carefully measured every breath he took. The ship had become a mere dot by the time Marita arrived.

She spoke in a breathless whisper. "Why do you do that?"

"You think sitting in a car will stop them if they want you?" It was a rhetorical question, they both had the experience to know better. Up close and personal experience.

Krycek smiled at her silence, then got swiftly back to business. "The arrangements are in place?"

"You really think this is it?"

"The arrangements?"

"Private clinic. By helicopter, maybe an hour." She sighed. "One call's all it'll take."

Krycek peered into the darkness, hunting for movement in the shadows. Patience, he reminded himself. If this was the night - and it surely was, at least if he was reading the technological tea leaves right - then it was important not to make some stupid mistake.

If Mulder was as unpredictable in his post-abduction daze as he could be in his stone-cold-sober daily life, then he might do more than just walk around in circles. Fortunately, the nearest town was at least five miles away and with no obvious lights twinkling an invitation, it would take even a fully alert Mulder a while to get his bearings.

Which would give Krycek all the time he needed.

The first figure to emerge was a woman, all slumped shoulders and shaking limbs, staggering as if drunk, tumbling over soft ground and tree roots, every footstep another move through an obstacle course.

Krycek muttered, his damp breaths clouding the night air, "Come on. Come on."

Another figure, larger this time. Male, perhaps. Krycek prepared to move forward, stopped as he realized that unless they'd taken to fattening up their captives, he wasn't looking at Mulder.

Patience, he reminded himself. He checked the weight of the gun in his hand, confirmed that it was the right one, no mistakes allowed. The ski mask was a snug fit, a little melodramatic perhaps, but appropriate. If Mulder caught a glimpse of him, he'd just assume that it was another nightmare his psyche had dragged up.

Inevitably, Mulder was the last to emerge. But there was no mistaking him when he did. Krycek almost laughed at the sight, partly from joy as his plan started to come together, partly from the spectacle of a disoriented and bewildered Fox Mulder digging deep into some remembered piece of FBI training to try to scope out his environment before moving on.

Krycek shook his head, ignored the other abductees as they staggered in trancelike confusion down the hill and towards the road. Alex started his advance on Mulder, made sure his words sounded like an order. "On the ground."

Krycek was gratified but not surprised to see Mulder freeze in place. Another piece of that FBI heritage kicking in. OK, one step further. "On the ground. Face down, hands behind your back."

Mulder still didn't move and Krycek wasn't surprised by that, either. Confused or not, some orders just weren't on Mulder's list for voluntary compliance. No matter, the important thing was to get near enough to open fire. Naturally, Mulder's inability to get his eyes to focus gave Alex exactly what he needed - breathing space to get a few yards closer.

One shot was all it took. Mulder screamed as it hit, and dropped to his knees. For a fraction of a second, Krycek thought it was over and that the tranquilizer's effect had been instantaneous.

No such luck. A moment later and Mulder looked up, saw the gun in Alex's hand and the mask over his face, and suddenly looked anything but tranquil. Springing to his feet, a remarkably nimble move given his performance up until then, Mulder bolted.

Fuck. Exactly what Alex hadn't wanted. Stupid bastard was probably going to fall and hurt himself now. Fortunately, the tranquilizer would stop him from getting very far. Even so, it was important not to let him get out of sight. Finding an unconscious Fox Mulder in woods this dense, on a night this dark, was an unattractive prospect.

Sure enough, Mulder's next step sent him careering down hill in a muddy slide of a run. A tumbled escape that almost looked too deliberate to be mere accident. But equally, a move too hasty for Krycek to want to mimic it, too much left to chance for him to enjoy gambling on avoiding a broken neck or a twisted ankle.

What if the dart had missed?

Krycek didn't doubt his aim. Not for an instant. But still, what if?

Furious, he stumbled down the hill after his target. Mulder - two minutes down from an alien ship and he'd already managed to start pissing people off. Revenge would be sweet.

Mulder's bare foot vanishing into the undergrowth was Krycek's warning that he'd better save the fantasy for later, right now the chase needed his full attention. He paused as he reached the level ground and listened for movement, picked up only the wind groaning through the tops of trees. "Serve the asshole right if I let him die out here. Exposure, Mulder. How about it?"

It was Marita's voice that replied. "He's over here."

And sure enough, there he was, almost invisible under a mound of ivy creeping its way over a lightning-felled tree trunk. A good attempt. But not good enough.

The operating table had its extension wings flung out, allowing the arms to be held conveniently far from the body, necessary for maximum access. The surgical crew made the usual jokes about crucifixion.

Alex didn't see it that way, never had. Did that make him the odd man out? Again. Well, why not? After all, when they'd strapped him down last time they'd only needed one wing. What did they joke about then? Traffic cop pose, perhaps?

But no, looking down on Mulder's still docile and doped body, Alex didn't see the heroism of crucifixion, he saw an exhibit. The bizarre lighting only serving to heighten the effect of a Fox Mulder showcased as the most highly prized butterfly in some madman's collection.

"He's coming around." The nurse threw a convenient towel over Mulder's face as she spoke, an effective blindfold for someone that well pinned down.

The surgeon turned back to Krycek again. "You're sure about this?"

Krycek gestured angrily at the door and headed out of the room. He waited in the scrub-up area until the team followed.

"You think he's deaf as well?" Krycek growled, irritated by their cavalier approach to their patient. They already knew Mulder's memory wasn't going to be wiped afterwards. What the hell were they thinking of? "Just do as I told you." Krycek's look made it obvious that this was an order that required confirmation, he waited.

"You need the standard tests, but no medication. He stays conscious. And no painkillers?"

"You're having problems with the term medication?"

"It's just..."

"Yeah, you're a doctor. Don't try and play Mr. Morality on me, I know the kind of doctoring you do." Of course, there were limits, acceptable and unacceptable work practices, even with these guys, and Krycek knew that he was pushing them. But they were in no position to complain, they'd sold their souls a long time ago.

"He might seize, heart attack even."

"Then make sure he doesn't. Take all the time you need. And he's got to see you. It's important that he knows he's off that ship."

The surgeon shrugged, and his colleagues took his lead, muttering discontent and compliance in equal measures as they prepared to return to the operating room.

Amateurs. It would be a hell of a lot more convenient to let these people do it their way and then get a second crew in to work Mulder over afterwards. More convenient, perhaps, but also more suspicious.

Mulder wouldn't be surprised at the medical experimentation, but his suspicions would certainly be aroused if he was then passed over to a more straightforward torture chamber.

Far too risky. It was going to be hard enough to get Mulder to accept Krycek as a rescuer, it would be impossible if the scene looked forced or staged.

So cold. How long had it been since he'd last felt warm? Weeks, months maybe. Surely not months? Actually, he ought to be used to it by now. Maybe it wasn't really just a temperature thing, then. Perhaps it was the sensation of exposure that he hadn't learned to handle.

Had he heard voices just now? Human voices talking to him, or about him? He could have sworn he'd heard a woman's voice, and then something warm had been put over his head.

He'd been moved, that much was certain. His arms were being held at right angles to his body. He flexed experimentally against the restraints, confirmed that ankles, wrists and chest were being held tight. His head was locked in position as if he were wearing a helmet.

Some new experiment?

Some new experimenters?

Mulder shivered, the closest thing to voluntary movement that the restraints would allow. What if that dream hadn't been a dream? What if the circle of light that had vanished overhead really had been the ship leaving him behind? And then he'd run and someone had tried to stop him, but he'd run and fallen just the same, and fatigue and giddiness had overwhelmed him and he'd passed out.

And what if he'd been brought here, a place of safety, a hospital even and...

And what? And then they'd thrown something over his face at the first sign he was coming to, and they'd just walked out of the room.

And not only the person who'd done the throwing, there were others, too. And, if this was safety, where was Scully?

The restraints didn't feel very friendly, either. Though perhaps they were to protect him from further damage. Could he really be that badly injured? Apart from his head, which was pounding like the mother of all hangovers had taken residence, he felt physically fine - good, even. Well, apart from the cold.

And the panic. Yes, of course, the panic. A taste of bile in his mouth and the sound of running hooves in his ears. Lucky he'd not eaten in a while. If he threw up here, how long before anyone noticed?

Anyone? Why anyone, why not anything? Why did this feel so different? Why was this human? It wasn't as if the treatment was particularly humane. He swallowed, tried to force his brain to see what his body seemed to know unconsciously. If he could just get that reasoning up into the light where he could see it, maybe he could understand this better.

It was drafty in here, not just cold. Cold he knew, all over and all-embracing. This was different. One leg felt warmer than the other. Not warm, just not as cold. Drafty. Like a place with doors or air conditioning. The noise was different, too, like the sound of machines breathing interspersed with evenly paced blips of noise. Blips like a heart monitor might make.

He tried to shout something out, but his throat was too dry to cooperate, his vocal chords too raw from screaming, and perhaps now too rusty from disuse. The best that he could offer was a near soundless grunt and even that set him shivering again.

Where were they? If there were people here - why weren't they in *here*?

Dead?

People walked away from the dead in hospitals, left them to their own devices with a sheet over their face. No, that couldn't be it. If he was dead, why the restraints, why hold his arms away from his body? Why would the monitor still be going blip, blip, blip?

Mulder heard the swoosh as the door swung open. He took a deep breath. OK, he'd be getting his answers soon enough.

"Get that." A man's voice.

An instant later and the towel had gone from his face and Mulder was blinking hard to try to see past the blinding white light that was shining into his eyes.

"You've got something we need."

And Mulder tried to scream, wanted to demand to know where he was and who they were and his muscles, already tired and disobedient, tensed against the leather straps but felt only the impossibility of escape.

"You're going to lie very still and let us do what we have to do. We don't want to hurt you...unnecessarily."

Humans.

Fucking humans.

Mulder had kept his eyes shut for most of the procedures, opening them only occasionally to confirm that his torturers were every bit as human as he'd feared or to check that the drips to his arms were still bringing fresh blood in, even as they drained his away.

They'd been excited about the blood; he'd heard them almost laughing, delighted by the amount of some antigen they'd been able to extract. He could only guess that was why they'd come back for more; even diluted by the transfusions, it was apparently valuable stuff. Well worth the repeated flush-throughs that they seemed to be enjoying so much.

Unless of course he was actually manufacturing the antigen fresh each time. But that was too big a fear to admit to, even to himself. The prospect that they might keep him alive, like this, to be milked for something in his blood. Not worth thinking about.

They didn't seem to be in much of a hurry, leaving him alone for long periods, laughing and joking on their return from wherever, before turning their silent attention back to him.

Mulder guessed they went home at night after they'd finished their shifts, guessed that much from their habit of switching off the lights as they left. An economy-minded move that hadn't ever seemed like an issue on the alien ship.

There was no point in enumerating the injuries or the humiliation.

He had no desire to remember the scalpel cuts that had reopened wounds so expertly and painlessly closed on the ship. He had no need to relive the panic as they'd clumsily drilled back into his skull to insert cumbersome electrodes replete with untidy wires.

Ugly plastic tubes kept him nourished, hydrated, and cleared away the waste, and he didn't need to open his eyes to see that they were still in place.

And this was what the humans did. And his thoughts shifted to Scully and what humans had done to her. And he couldn't help but wonder what the big deal was about being human.

The farther away from his body that he kept his brain, the better chance he had of making it through this. Making it through? An awfully big assumption, taking for granted that there would be a life after this, a life that would be recognizably his.

Yet without that assumption, there was nothing. Except to wish for death. And he already knew that was another wish that didn't work.

According to Mulder's interpretation of their timetable, almost a month had passed before they spoke to him directly. What surprised him was that apparently they expected him to answer. "You could hear them, couldn't you?"

Of course he'd been able to hear them, that was just a standard part of the abductee experience. He'd conducted maybe a hundred interviews with people who'd said exactly that.

"I'm not talking about them playing the 'keep calm' tapes. They want your participation in the project. They gave you information. They gave you orders, didn't they?"

A few slivers of ice to ease his throat and Mulder realized that at some point in the last few days his vocal chords must have started to work again. Had they been paralyzed? Even so, he choked over his first word. "No."

He opened his eyes in time to see another hypodermic needle sink into his arm. No wonder they needed to keep him so accessible.

His interrogator adopted what Mulder guessed was supposed to be a persuasive tone. "It'll help you remember."

Oh, good.

And as the warmth crept through his veins and lightened his thoughts, he gave himself permission to remember, and better still, to see it as good thing. After all, he was supposed to be a seeker of the truth. And if they'd left some message in the murky depths of his subconscious, wasn't it better to drag it out into the daylight?

Maybe it wasn't just his new jailers who needed to hear this.

"They don't think we can survive." And as the words crept past his lips, Mulder felt his defenses start to crumble and his panic build as he fought to stop them from shattering completely. Because he suddenly knew, with devastating clarity, that he didn't want to be part of the same "we" as his torturers.

"We're losing him."

And Mulder felt the next needle drive into his vein and wanted to stay lost. They were his memories and he wanted them, and he saw no reason to share. Why the fuck should he? Death might not be an option, but perhaps silence was.

Mulder's descent into darkness was of his own choosing, the heady mix of drugs was not. They juggled with uppers and downers and anti-depressants and reduced inhibitions. Mulder danced on the tightrope and resolved that if he slipped, it would be into incoherence, not confession.

The shaking became more insistent. Drug-dazed, Mulder decided it was easier to keep his eyes shut and ignore it. He had no desire to see who was messing with the IVs and catheters, playing with the wires and electrodes.

Whatever it was they did. Really, it was better not to know. Even if this one did seem unusually clumsy.

They'd been questioning him, gradually upping the doses of liquid relaxation, until - until he'd passed out. Which was quite comical in its own way, given how determined they'd been to keep him conscious through their surgery and tests.

Unfortunately, despite his enjoyment of that irony, the reality was not too good for his nerves. Had he passed out before or after telling them what they wanted to know?

Maybe he'd remember later, when the river of memories and images had stopped trickling quite so sluggishly through his brain and the throbbing in his head had eased off a little.

Someone was rubbing his arm, as if they were trying to get the circulation back into flesh numb with cold and from being held immobile for days. How considerate of them, maybe the blue fingers were a warning sign that the blood they were drawing might be on the decline.

"For fuck's sake, Mulder. We don't have all day."

The voice shocked Mulder's eyes open, though they lacked the focus to confirm the identification. "Krycek?"

"Who else?"

Angry, but resigned, Mulder's eyes flashed danger signs even through the watery haze that soaked them. "I should have known."

"Asshole. I'm rescuing you. Or I would be if you weren't so fucking determined to die here. Move it!" Krycek emphasized the point by hauling Mulder up to a sitting position, a maneuver made more difficult by Mulder's spirited, but clumsily ineffectual, attempt to resist.

Krycek spat out his instructions. "Save your energy for getting out of here."

What? The suddenly plentiful supply of adrenaline was starting to cut through the haze in his head. Mulder tried to understand the offer. Out of here would be a good move, even if it was with Krycek, Krycek was a problem for another day.

He tried to stand.

Unfortunately, even a grudgingly willing spirit wasn't enough to compensate for an impossibly weak body. All he needed was another few minutes to get his breath back, and clear the lightheadedness.

He sat back heavily on the bed, studied his white goose-pimpled flesh and didn't want to see more. He tried to stand, cursing the banality of dizziness, and pins and needles as reasons for failure. Now, fractured bones and blood, those would be real excuses, ones for which he could have forgiven himself.

"We don't have the time." Krycek's voice again, insistent now, hissing through the fog.

"Cold," Mulder replied forlornly. Groaning as he heard his own words, angry with himself for being so weak and moreover for sounding that way. Especially in front of Krycek. He wondered if he was going to be sick.

And Krycek laughed, a sudden bark of a sound, brief and baffling. Alex shook his head, pulling off the padded jacket he was wearing, and in the same move started to feed Mulder's right arm into it.

It was enough, enough to remind Mulder about being human and how much he needed to get away from here. Gripping the strap that had been pinning down his wrist only a moment before, he found enough strength and balance to stand again and start the process of wriggling himself into Krycek's jacket. Krycek obliged by guiding his left arm into place.

"OK?" Krycek urged.

"Yeah."

Mulder leaned heavily on Krycek's shoulder as they headed out into darkened corridors, discreetly subdued lighting marking the way. The place was perhaps a disappointment, certainly a source of confusion to Mulder. He'd expected something more militarized. Certainly not a place with cozy carpets, flowers in vases, and paintings on the walls.

As far as Mulder could tell, the corridor they were moving through was deserted. The rooms were unlit and silent, suggesting there were no other patients around, not even a monitor mumbling reassuring blips. A private clinic, he guessed. An entire wing, or at least this floor of it, cleared just for him. Should he feel honored?

Krycek put extra pressure on his back, urging him forward. Mulder wanted to oblige, almost falling over as he made the mistake of releasing his grip on Krycek's shoulder in an attempt to run, or at least jog. They slipped wordlessly into a fast walking pace, making up in consistency what they risked losing through the drive for speed.

The car came as a relief, Mulder collapsing into an exhausted heap as soon as he got inside. His attempt to comply with Krycek's order to "keep down" was half-hearted at best, but then so was Krycek's follow-up tirade of obscenities about ingratitude and indiscipline.

The only guards they saw were the two slumped over the table in the gatepost. Mulder glanced from the bodies to Krycek, who shrugged and waved his silenced gun for Mulder's enlightenment.

They were miles along the road before Mulder spoke. "How?"

Krycek turned slightly, green eyes glistening in the darkness of the car. "Ahh, I'd expected a 'why.' God knows, I knew I wasn't going to get a 'thanks.'"

Mulder's tone didn't change. "How?"

Krycek shifted his eyes back to the road ahead. "Inside help."

"Obviously."

"Marita."

"She knew?"

"You're surprised?"

Mulder shrugged. Was he surprised? "Who are you working for?"

"Jesus, Mulder. Get some sleep."

"Why?"

"You're high, you're asking fucking dumbass questions that you won't remember the answers to in the morning, and you're pissing me off."

"So let me out of the car."

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"I've had better conversations with three-year-olds."

"Where are we going?"

"What? So you can ask me how far it is, and how long it'll take, and if we're there yet?"

"It'd be a start."

Krycek smiled grimly, stroked his fingers across the steering wheel. His voice contained a chuckle, even more of a patronizing bastard now. "A ski chalet, second-rate resort, not the best snow, so it'll be quiet. About 100 miles. A couple of hours. And no, we can't stop for a burger, fries and a shake."

"Where's the airport?"

"Give it up, Mulder."

"Fuck off. Where the hell are we?"

"Colorado. Happy?"

"Only if we're on our way to Denver International."

"They'll be waiting for you. They've got people, comm units, helicopters. And all you've got is..."

"You?"

"I was going to say, something they want. And if you want to get strapped down on another plastic bed while they take it, just get out of the car now." Krycek slammed on the brakes for emphasis, making the car's nose dip and its wheels spin before it skidded to an untidy stop. Krycek leaned across Mulder to open the passenger door. "Go for it. See how far you get."

Mulder breathed in heavily and might almost have mustered up enough bravado to do exactly that, before the reality of bare feet, shaking limbs and the fact he'd not seen another car or a house light for the last 15 minutes broke through.

Krycek seemed to appreciate his dilemma. Not saying a word, he started up the engine again while Mulder pulled the door shut. They were back up to fifty before Krycek spoke. "Tomorrow, Mulder. When you're sober and you've got some fucking clothes on."

Mulder turned away, leaned his face against the window and didn't even try to reply.

Of all the fantasies Mulder had come up with about his return from the abduction, this had to be the worst. It made perfect sense that it looked like this was the real thing.

Real humans had organized the reception committee when "They" dropped him off. Real doctors and nurses had ripped him apart and stolen his blood. And a real asshole had tried to interrogate him. And succeeded?

And now he was Krycek's house guest.

Just fucking great.

And, giving it that added twist of the surreal, he could smell bacon frying.

Mulder wondered if the absurdity of the situation was an advantage. It was alarmingly easy to accept that his next move should be to get cleaned up, get dressed and eat breakfast.

More than three months since he'd last been able to do any of those things. At least, according to Krycek's timetable. The last month had been at that clinic, with those "humans." The months before had been with "Them."

"Mulder?"

Mulder turned to face the sound. Alex Krycek was leaning against the doorframe, his expression bland and gentle, reminding Mulder of a psychologist trying to talk down a desperate patient.

"Finish pulling on your jeans, then come and get something to eat."

Mulder tensed, frozen to the spot, startled rabbit in the headlights.

Krycek continued. "It's OK. I've been right where you are. Freedom. You've just forgotten how it works."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm not free."

"Clothes. Food. Then we talk."

The room spun and Mulder could feel his knees start to fold. It took him a few seconds to realize that he hadn't actually hit the ground, and that the reason he hadn't was that Alex Krycek was holding him up, by pinning him to the wall.

"Kiss me, Krycek," he offered quietly, pushing himself back upright by leaning into Krycek's shoulders, "and I swear I'll fucking kill you."

And Krycek laughed, left Mulder with a delighted smile and a gentle admonition to, "At least, fix your zipper."

Mulder slumped back against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to keep breathing.

When Mulder finally took his place at the breakfast table, Krycek was careful not to look directly at him and Mulder was grateful for that, despite the fact he knew he ought to find it insulting.

Krycek pushed a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon sandwiches towards him. "If you need something easier to digest... I just thought..."

"...That I'd want to try." Mulder nodded. "You're right."

Half an hour later and he hadn't really made a lot of progress. No real food in months, hardly surprising that his stomach wasn't very accommodating.

"There's plenty of snack food in the fridge. Change of clothes in the bedroom. Clean towels in the bathroom."

Mulder looked up at the sound of Krycek's voice and saw Alex fastening his ski jacket. His new jailer was obviously going out.

"You're leaving?"

"Only for a few supplies, anything you want?"

"A phone."

"So you can 'phone home'?" Alex suggested, supplying his best E.T. mimicry.

Mulder didn't need to reply, so Krycek continued. "If you want to be a lab rat for the rest of your life, be my guest." He threw his cellular to Mulder. "They're waiting for you." He paused as Mulder turned the phone over in his hands. "Don't rush this. Think about it. Give yourself time."

Mulder shrugged, sucked in a deep breath and put the phone on the table. "Nice gesture." He waved at the unit. "No signal."

Krycek shook his head, half-smiling. "Unplanned."

"Sure." Mulder turned his face away, looked back at the phone, tried to focus on what he could do and what he should do, and how to resolve the irreconcilable. His words came out as a whisper. "Not a lab rat."

Krycek slid a gun across the table towards Mulder. "Just in case."

"Another gesture?" Mulder pronounced automatically. Despite his doubts, he still picked it up, found it a familiar fit in his hand. He swallowed, released the clip and confirmed what his hand had already told him. Fully loaded. "Hmm. Thanks."

"It's yours, anyway."

"I know."

"I took it from your apartment."

"I assumed that."

"I'll be about an hour. I'll knock twice. Don't shoot."

"Certainly not by mistake."

Krycek pulled the zipper up high on the jacket and headed out.

Mulder slid his thumb gently over the Sig Sauer, found mindless relaxation and odd reassurance in the feel of it against his fingers, in its smoothness as he stroked it across his cheek. Realized that he was perhaps enjoying it a little too much.

He locked and bolted the front door before heading to the bathroom to take that shower he'd promised himself.

Every new sensation was another shock, a fresh dose of fear as half-remembered feelings crept back into his brain and reminded him of what was missing. Why the hell hadn't he insisted on going with Krycek and making that phone call?

As he dressed, his own words haunted him, "not a lab rat." And as long as that thought dominated all else, he was paralyzed. Just as surely as if he were still strapped down on some operating table. Ironic.

He slid his fingers into the soft gray of the T-shirt, suddenly aware of another aspect of this mini- world Krycek had created. The clothes were freshly laundered. The brands were the ones he would buy. The styles and sizes were the same ones that would have been hanging in his closet at home. The seam of the much-loved sweatshirt that he knew was starting to fray had a neat line of new stitches.

He dug through the rest of the drawer. They were his clothes, a bit of a loose fit now, but his. Krycek had brought him his spare gun and either laundered and repaired, or else cloned his clothing. Jesus, it was like having a fucking stalker. A stalker who cooked him breakfast and left snacks in the fridge. What the hell was Krycek up to, anyway?

When Krycek knocked twice, Mulder was already sitting, facing the door and ready to welcome him home.

Krycek kept his eye on the gun in Mulder's hand as he slipped out of his coat. "Problem?"

"Why are we here?"

"Ah, a philosophy question."

"Try again."

"You're in hiding. I'm helping you hide."

"Why?"

"Because if I don't, you'll be on the next black helicopter out of the valley."

"Cute doesn't suit you."

"OK. You're ready to talk. Fine. You've been through a life- changing experience. I think I can show you how to fight back, I think you may be ready to listen."

"You're full of it, Krycek."

"Which bit did I get wrong?"

"Tone of voice. Sincere doesn't blend well with pond scum."

"Ungrateful bastard." Smiling, Krycek pushed his way past Mulder and into the kitchen. "Coffee? You ready to eat some more? I've got fresh bread, fruit, soup."

Speechless, Mulder sat back in the chair, lifted his eyes to study the ceiling. Followed Krycek obediently into the kitchen as soon as he smelled the toast.

In the evening, nibbling on a chicken leg, Mulder realized that Krycek's mothering was starting to work. He'd just drunk an entire glass of water, was eating his fourth tiny meal of the day, and he actually felt warm.

All just a little too comfortable, Mulder concluded. Time to move on. "Why did they want me?"

"Huh?"

"Why did those 'doctors' want me?"

"I thought when you picked up that mind-reading trick, you'd have 'asked' someone what you are."

Mulder ignored the innuendo in Krycek's words. "I'm asking you."

"You could be the difference between assimilation and resistance."

"Why didn't they want the other abductees?"

"They're just hosts for the next generation. When the kids grow up, you'll have more company..." Mulder leaned forward, his eyes demanding the answer to a question he wouldn't ask out loud. Krycek obliged. "You're second generation, not many of you survive to adulthood."

Samantha hadn't. Mulder struggled over the words. "Why did I?"

"Early prototype, they thought it hadn't worked. Your mom and dad hid you well."

Mulder shook his head to demand more explanation.

"Drugs, minor brain surgery. But you know what they say - breeding will out. A few holes in the head, a dose of black oil, a coded parchment or two, and up it popped."

"The telepathy? It went."

"The smoker took it. Your kid'll have it in spades."

"I..."

"Scully's first generation, you're second, the kid should be hot stuff."

"Scully's pregnant?"

"You didn't know?"

Mulder turned away, too stunned to talk. His mind flashed back to that last night with her. A drab motel in Bellefleur, his body wrapped around hers, telling her that it had cost her too much. And now it was going to cost her even more. He gulped in a lungful of air, almost drowning in the memory before he pushed it far enough away.

Krycek was mercifully silent as Mulder walked shivering into the bedroom.

The night went too slowly for Fox Mulder. Too tired to sleep. Too wired to think. He was grateful when he smelled bacon frying and knew that he could escape into the mundane.

It took a while for Mulder to clear his head enough to concentrate on anything at all, too many thoughts and emotions competing for the same space. By the time he was able to try again, they'd both been up for hours - eating, drinking, tiptoeing around anything important. Mulder was tired, Krycek was just getting more irritated by his refusal to sleep.

"I've got to talk to Scully."

Krycek carefully mimicked beating his head against the wall. "Here we go again. Deja fucking vu."

"The Gunmen then. Or Skinner."

"And then?"

"You're right. We have been here before."

"And we'll keep ending up here. They - are - being - watched. One phone call and you sign your own death warrant."

Mulder turned his head away, eyes glistening, desperate to keep his voice from breaking. Bitterly aware that he really had been here before, and determined to get at least one step further. "Then - I've got to get a message to her."

"To tell her that you're alive? And then? What? She'll run to you? She won't grieve? Tell me, how many people told you Samantha was alive, that everything was going to be OK?"

"Shut up."

"Come on, Mulder. Did you believe them?" A pause as Krycek paced, saving his next words for when he was standing directly in front of Mulder. "Oh, sorry - you just wanted to believe."

"If she knows I'm out, then she won't waste her time looking."

"Don't worry, she isn't."

"What?"

"Forget it. Forget I said anything. Look, no problem, I can get a message to her. Marita."

Mulder wasn't nearly so ready to forget it and move on. "What did you mean about Scully? Not looking." He had to pause for breath. "Is she ill, the baby?"

"She's fine, radiant if you're to believe what Skinner tells her." Krycek turned away, when he looked back, the anger had disappeared from his eyes. Soft-spoken now, like a man begging to be understood. "When the ship dumped you - who found you?"

"They knew where to find me."

"They knew fuck. They chased satellite IR shadows, monitored rogue radar alerts for months. They were there first because they were looking. They wanted you bad."

Mulder kept his head down and let his eyes drift closed. His memories of being returned were vague, but one stood out. For a moment he'd been free to run, then he'd been taken down. He had not been handed over, he'd been captured. By someone who wanted him. "They had the resources."

"You stood in a room with her, with Skinner, with those conspiracy geeks of yours, and we looked at the same shit."

Mulder's reply was a whisper of disbelief. "It's been months."

"And for one of those months you were in a private clinic in Colorado that suddenly felt the need to transfer out twenty of its patients and stick armed guards at its gate, the night you were helicoptered in. I found you when the local cops got excited." Krycek paused, giving Mulder time to take it in. "Yeah. One of the patients complained he'd been threatened by a Uzi-toting doctor for walking on the wrong corridor."

"You said - Marita helped you."

"She's been working at the UN for the last six months. All she gave me was the name of the people who'd installed the alarms and video security."

Silence, broken only by the hitches in Mulder's breathing.

Krycek stopped pacing, wrapped a single arm protectively across his chest. "Look - call them and you're good as dead. They're almost through with your brain. Your body, that's another matter - they'll keep it alive, with or without your cooperation."

"I can't run forever."

"Jesus. Who said anything about forever? Think about it. You're not even back on solids. You're out of breath just sitting there. And you've got no fucking clue whether to shoot me or shoot yourself."

Krycek headed for the door, grabbing his coat as he went. "I'm going out."

It took time for Mulder to find the strength to rise from his chair. He locked the door and sank back into the couch. His body demanded the illusion of security that came from curling up into a tight little ball.

He gave into it. After all, it had been a while since he'd had the luxury.

The place was uncomfortably silent without Krycek, and Mulder didn't even want to think about the implications of that. It was OK. That was not a problem. Not yet.

It was early days, Krycek was right; he had to learn to think again. Daydreams and fantasy weren't good enough, not now that he was back in a place where thoughts could lead to actions, and actions to consequences. All of that would take a little getting used to.

Krycek was right? What the fuck was happening here?

He grubbed around for some suitably clinical terminology to account for the mess in his head. Failed. Opted for the story of baby chicks hatching, looking for mother and imprinting on the farmyard duck instead. A relationship destined for tragedy, especially once mom headed back to the river.

Since he'd staggered into the chalet a couple of days earlier, he'd scarcely even looked outside. He certainly hadn't tried to go out there and look around. He'd made no attempt to understand the lay of the land, or even to get his bearings.

Potentially disastrous inaction, what the hell would he do if someone other than Krycek did knock on that door? Analyzing his reasons for staying inside, his only rational explanation was that it looked too damned cold.

Excuses. So many fucking excuses.

He hadn't even switched on the TV. No wonder the place was too quiet.

Tomorrow. Whatever Krycek said, or did. Tomorrow, Fox Mulder was heading out.

He fell asleep watching the television. When he woke up, the living room lights were turned low and Krycek's jacket was hanging by the front door.

Tomorrow, he was moving on.

Krycek's car was not quite what Mulder remembered from their late night run from the clinic. He was pretty sure that had been a dark sedan. This was a small hatchback, equally nondescript, but different.

Krycek responded to Mulder's unspoken question. "What?"

"Nothing. You've changed the car."

"We're on the run." Slowly, as if talking to a small child.

Mulder sank back against the headrest and saw the signs pointing to the interstate, signs that Krycek ignored. "We're going cross country? Why?"

"Which part of 'in hiding' didn't you get?"

"The one that appointed you as my nanny."

"You think I want the job?"

"Who are you working for?"

"Myself. It's a war, we fight or we get assimilated."

All heads turned as they entered the diner, voices trailed off and Mulder almost walked straight back out again. Only the need to visit the restroom, and the knowledge that walking through the front door would be no easier the second time, stopped him.

Krycek seemed to be oblivious, both to the curiosity of their fellow diners and to Mulder's reaction. He just walked directly to the counter and ordered coffee, flirting politely with the waitress as she listed the specials.

Mulder was almost running by the time he reached the men's room, and breathless by the time he bolted the door of the cubicle.

Clinical analysis - don't take it personally, he reminded himself as he choked for breath. He sat quietly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clenched into the tightest of fists, supporting his head as it spun and screamed for air.

A mild agoraphobic response, that was all. Mild? Yes, mild, he reminded himself - he'd made it across the room, hadn't he? He hadn't collapsed or fainted or thrown up. Give it time, a snide new voice in his head suggested.

The bathroom door slammed shut as someone walked in, and Mulder had to work hard to stop his hand from shaking too badly as he went for his gun.

"You in here?"

Krycek? Jesus, no way could he let Krycek see the state he was in. Krycek already had too much power in the relationship. Mulder wasn't going to hand him any more. "This some perverted brand of voyeurism?" Mulder was just relieved that his voice didn't give out.

Krycek's disembodied voice replied instantly. "See you in five."

Yeah. Five minutes and he'd be fine.

When he was finally ready to leave, Mulder actually dared to look at himself in the mirror. It was a mistake. Red-rimmed eyes screamed exhaustion against chalk-white skin. Blister scars marking the locations they'd hooked into his face. Hollow-cheeked from too little food, no exercise and no daylight. He looked like what he was - someone who'd escaped from being strapped down on a hospital bed.

A slow deep breath, and another, until breathing became an automatic thing again. Mulder turned and walked calmly through the door. He avoided looking at the other diners and joined Krycek, taking a stool at the counter.

The waitress gave him a sympathetic smile. "Here you are." She pushed tomato soup and soft bread in front of him.

Mulder glanced across at Krycek. "I said you had a stomach bug and she came up with that."

Mulder nodded. "Smells good."

Krycek smiled. "She does, doesn't she?"

Mulder looked nervously away and Krycek shook his head, leaned close to Mulder, forcing him back to attention by whispering in his ear. "There's ten people in here. That's all. Count 'em. We could shoot the lot of them before she gets to the end of her regular-or- decaf speech. And you're shaking. What chance have you got in D.C.?"

"What chance have I got anywhere else?'

Knowing he was a mess and doing something about it were two different matters. Krycek was right, back in D.C. he was going to be as helpless as a baby. Where was he going to stay? He couldn't go to his apartment, did he even have an apartment?

Scully's. Scully's was the most obvious place to go. And if it was obvious to him, then it would be just as obvious to them. Helpless as a baby. And Scully had a real baby to protect. He couldn't ask her to protect him, it was a ridiculous idea. But what was even more ridiculous was that he couldn't shake the thought that it still sounded like the best option.

The drive across country had been a matter of expedience, it was essential to avoid airports, they weren't even taking a direct route. The side effect of the delays that had made Mulder accept the plan without much comment, was that it would give him time to think. But he was now halfway home and still no wiser.

When Krycek had said it was time for them to stop for the night, Mulder hadn't even argued. Krycek booked the rooms, ordered the food, and brought the ice to go with the beer and soda he'd picked up at the store.

Mulder watched as Krycek busily organized the room, making sure that they had a clear view of the door and that the windows would allow them easy escape routes, yet simultaneously present a noisy obstacle course for anyone trying to break in.

Exhausted, despite the fact that he had done nothing today or yesterday, or for the last few months for that matter, Mulder caved in to the feeling, collapsed untidily onto the bed. He was tired, of his weakened body, his easily panicked brain, his confused and patchy memories, but above all he was tired of not knowing enough.

"Mulder? We'll take the trip slower, double back to the cabin if you like. Or somewhere else. You need more time."

"I've got to see her."

"We don't need to go D.C. for that."

"What?"

"Hit me, Mulder." Krycek paused, waiting for Mulder to look up at him, before mimicking his quiet monotone of an earlier confrontation. "And I swear I'll fucking kill you."

Mulder puzzled for an instant before shaking his head and falling back into the pillows, averting his face from Krycek. "I'm harmless, Alex."

"Sure." Krycek headed for his bag, dragging out the latest technology from in among shirts and jeans. "We can work from the laptop. Resolution will be crap for live stuff. I've got some old video, though. But we can get the latest case reports. Hospital records."

"Why didn't you show me this before?"

"How?" Krycek waved the PC's modem cable at Mulder to emphasize the fact that earth technology hadn't progressed that much in Mulder's absence. "Plus, since I got you out, you've either been eating, sleeping or sitting in a car."

Mulder crawled back along the bed, then rose to look over Krycek's shoulder. "Hospital records?"

Krycek took it as an instruction, and a few seconds later Dana Scully's recent medical history was scrolling up onto the screen. "I'll save it. Motel phone lines - we may lose the link."

Fox Mulder watched, horrified and fascinated as Krycek took him on a fast tour of Dana Scully's world. Swallowing as the image flicked to the basement office, almost violating that order from Krycek about not hitting him as it switched to a good clear view of Mulder's own apartment. "No one's home. You want me to bring the daily reports back?"

Mulder nodded, let himself slump back to his previous place on the bed, no idea what he wanted, bitterly aware that again he was placing himself in Krycek's hands but unable to come up with anything better.

And then finally he did have a thought of his own. It took him a few minutes, but Mulder was mildly gratified to see Krycek jump when he spoke. "See what they've got from the night the ship brought me back."

Krycek smiled, and confirmed the job was good as done.

Mulder picked at his food, the safe bland food that Krycek had chosen for him. How come Krycek was such an expert on the nutritional needs of abductees?

By the time Mulder had eaten as much as he could, Krycek had already closed down the connection and was heading for the door. "Bedtime reading," he suggested, pointing at the laptop. "I need a steak. Want me to bring anything back?"

Mulder shook his head, wondering if maybe he should be annoyed by Krycek's assumption that steak was not on Mulder's agenda. Instead he was just grateful that Krycek had opted to give him this moment of privacy, however illusory. He bolted the door and trapped it with a chair.

Careful, almost on tiptoe, he made his way back to the table and chair, and started to read.

Nervous fingers struggled with where to go first, before finally getting up the courage to open Dana Scully's medical history.

He read it too fast the first time, reached the end of the file and had to start over to convince himself that he'd understood its contents. Near enough five months pregnant and doing OK despite a couple of hospitalizations from injuries sustained during investigations and a couple more from scares relating to the pregnancy.

Cautionary warnings to eat better, sleep more, not work so hard, and avoid stress. As if.

Avoid stress? Like that was going to happen if she was hunting for him. After 25 years his blood pressure had still lurched at the mention of Sam's name.

Injured during investigations. Wounds in the back. How? Had she been hunting too hard, too recklessly? No partner to back her up?

He closed his eyes, body stiff with tension and mouth dry with words he'd never been able to say, might never be able to say. Keep moving, he told himself. Krycek would be back soon. Important to move on.

He switched to the folder where Krycek had dumped the files describing the night he was returned. A police report detailing the discovery of three men and two women, near-naked and extremely confused, wandering in freezing conditions.

Mulder opened the next file. It was on FBI letterhead, a fax asking for details of the abductees and their medical condition. Followed by a reply from the locals documenting the raw facts about those who'd been returned.

He could have been on that list, would have been on that list, if those people hadn't come and taken him. And Scully would have come. And Krycek wouldn't be knocking twice on the fucking door. He looked down at the clock on the screen, Alex had been gone for more than an hour. Mulder knew he couldn't really complain. It was just that time kept moving on and leaving him behind.

He pushed the furniture away and let Krycek back in.

The slice of cherry pie in the paper bag was a gift, and Mulder accepted it without comment, uncertain whether he was going to laugh or cry and positive that he should do neither in front of his benefactor, his rescuer, his enemy.

Krycek glanced down at the screen. "Ah, yeah, that was what got me interested in Colorado."

Mulder looked at the list of names and addresses, he could see why it had set Alex on the trail. Most abductees got dropped back pretty much where they'd been found, but not these. "They weren't locals."

"Special delivery."

That was when Mulder noticed who the message was addressed to and who had asked the original questions. No wonder Scully hadn't noticed the anomaly. "John Doggett?"

"Scully's partner."

So matter-of-fact, so obvious. But it hadn't really crossed his mind until then. The last new partner she'd had, had shot her. "Who is he?"

"Some cop in a suit. Kersh appointed him. Deputy Director Kersh."

Better and better. "Where's Skinner?"

"Watching his step."

Mulder shook his head wearily. "I don't understand. Why did Doggett send out the inquiry? Why not Scully, or Skinner?"

"No, you don't understand." Krycek's tone was almost... sympathetic? "Short version. After you 'disappeared' there was an investigation. John Doggett was appointed to head it. Skinner and Scully were asked for statements on your recent behavior, your state of mind, that kind of thing. But Doggett was given the job of finding you."

Krycek continued his narration as he started to get ready for bed. A move that Mulder interpreted as a warning - once Krycek had told his tale, no discussion would be permitted.

"Of course, there was no way he possibly *could* find you, Scully and Skinner knew that. Skinner and those geeky friends of yours tried to track anomalous satellite transmissions at first, but in the end Skinner had to protect his own ass. Trying to convince the FBI that they should be directing their search heavenward wasn't doing his promotion prospects any good."

Mulder raised his eyes, ready to interrupt, but Krycek just shook his head. Another reminder that Krycek's words were not the opening argument in a discussion, they were a statement.

Krycek continued, his eyes glowing brighter with fresh energy. "Kersh assigned Doggett to the X- Files. And they've been busy chasing mutants and bat-crap ever since. It'd be laughable if it wasn't so sad, what they've turned your precious files into. If you thought people didn't take you seriously before, well, it's worse than a dog and pony show now."

It was too much to digest, and a hell of a lot to argue with. Where to start? Job or no job, Scully wouldn't just stop looking. And Skinner? He'd have found a way to let her choose the cases, or to disguise them. They wouldn't just let Kersh or Doggett set the agenda, would they? And if Scully was pregnant, then what was she doing getting hurt?

Mulder couldn't quite decide how he felt about that. He'd hated to think she'd been hurt in some futile snipe hunt, looking for him. Was it worse that she'd been injured when she wasn't?

The questions churned inside his head, but Mulder didn't have a clue how to begin. He watched dumbly as Krycek settled himself down in the other bed and flipped off the light.

"Get some sleep, Mulder. It's another long drive tomorrow."

Unable to find the words, Mulder accepted that the discussion was over. Not that it had ever actually started. Careful and slow as he shifted to lie in the bed, curled up quietly on his side, afraid that if he moved too suddenly he might shatter entirely.

All that he'd read, all that Alex had told him, it hovered above him, spinning crazily around his head until he felt dizzy. Trying to sort it into some semblance of order did him no good, each spin leaving him a little more exhausted and no wiser.

He was still trying to make sense of it when the sun rose the next morning.

Krycek pulled the car into the parking lot of another seedy highway diner. It took a few moments for Mulder to realize that they had stopped. He slowly lifted his eyes to focus on the building in front of them.

"Why have we stopped?"

"Lunch," Krycek announced happily, "and a bathroom break."

Mulder's eyes lost focus again and he slumped further down into the upholstery. "I'm not hungry."

With a resigned sigh, Krycek opened the car door and pulled Mulder from his "nest" on the back seat. "You hardly ate any breakfast. You *need* to eat."

The combination of exhaustion and confusion was making it hard for Mulder to maintain even the pretense of control. The nearest he could get to it was a kind of sullen passivity mixed with the occasional temper tantrum.

He cringed at the thought, acknowledging that it put him right up there with the sulky kid who'd screamed insults at his mom for the inadequacy of the burgers, when they'd stopped for gas and "breakfast" that morning.

He stretched his neck, trying to rock a little life back into its muscles by slowly moving his head.

Too slow for Alex Krycek. Alex's eyes had lost a little of that damned all-knowing patronizing reasonableness that had started to make Mulder's nerves jangle and his pulse skip. Mulder had seen the change in his face this morning, just a little of the old Alex breaking through.

Having seen it though, he'd ignored his own findings. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he needed Alex to jolt him from his stupor. The other Alex. The Alex who was advancing on him now.

Mulder tried to slide back into the seat, and Krycek responded by grabbing him by the shirt, and hauling him roughly up against the car. "Now listen to me, you little fuck! I didn't risk my neck to get your sorry ass away from those sadistic bastards so you could starve yourself to death just because life goes on when you're not around."

Some of the fight came back into Mulder's eyes as he tried to pull loose from Krycek's grip. "Get the fuck away from me."

"Or else?" He abruptly let go of Mulder, who almost fell to the ground at the loss of his unwelcome support. "Look at you," he spat. "You can hardly even hold yourself up. How are you going to get the better of me? Huh? Well, suit yourself. I'm hungry, so I'm gonna go eat."

Krycek made his point crystal clear by striding off towards the diner's entrance, leaving Mulder slumped against the car and trying to breathe.

By the time Krycek had finished ordering, Mulder had slid reluctantly into the seat opposite him in the booth. They sat for a few minutes ignoring the strained silence until the waitress came back with the order. She put a banana smoothie and plain toast down in front of Mulder. Krycek was having a burger with fries.

Mulder looked longingly at the burger, it seemed like forever since he'd had "real" food. Maybe if he could actually eat something that tasted like food, he wouldn't be in danger of starving to death. In any case, Krycek was exaggerating. Not starvation, risk of malnutrition maybe. Nitpicking didn't seem that worthwhile an occupation.

He nibbled on the toast and managed to swallow more than half the smoothie, which was actually rather good. He even stole a couple of Krycek's fries.

Mulder risked looking at Krycek, and Alex replied with a glance that was pure evaluation. Mulder didn't turn away and was relieved when Alex seemed to accept his reaction as an improvement. Krycek's muscles had relaxed a little, and the vaguest twinkle of a knowing smile had returned to his eyes.

More like the Krycek he knew and... well, not exactly "loved." Krycek had a plan, that much was clear. No surprise there. Krycek had always claimed to be the man with a plan.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe this time he ought to listen.

Mulder kept his eyes locked on Krycek's. "I think we should get a room."

They only had about a thousand miles to go, a couple of days' drive and he'd be home. Mulder felt his breath catch as he tried to remember exactly what home was.

Home, he noted grimly, wasn't really something as vague and amorphous as Washington, D.C. It was specific, just a handful of specifics really. Scully, Skinner, the Gunmen, a few friends and comrades. A basement office in the FBI, a pretty generic sort of apartment that he shared with some fish. The Knicks! Well, they'd only be a few hundred miles from the target he'd set himself of getting to D.C. Why exactly was he going to D.C.?

Scully? She might as well be a million miles away if he couldn't approach her.

Krycek slammed the door shut behind them as they entered the motel room. "So?"

Mulder shook his head as if he didn't understand, then immediately flinched as he saw the irritation that flashed through Krycek's eyes. Krycek was right, such self-pitying evasion was not attractive. Mulder decided that he'd better start, at least, acting like himself again. "We need to talk."

"Shoot."

Mulder's first reaction was a "don't tempt me." A thought which he didn't bother to vocalize but which he could tell from Krycek's brief smile had been heard and understood. Mulder decided to start at the beginning. "Why did you rescue me?"

"If we have blood like yours, they can't use us as hosts."

Dry-mouthed, Mulder tried to lick his lips. "So I become your personal lab rat?"

"Nice of you to offer. But, we also need money, access, resources." Krycek waved a dismissive hand to outline Mulder's body. "A couple of pints and we could go into the brewing business. But not without backers."

"These people." The words came out too loud, Mulder took a deep breath to quiet his voice, even though he could do nothing about the way his thoughts were screaming. "These people have 'backing' - they've had it for years. I broke into the DoD to get an implant. Scully rescued me from their fucking basement after a little brain surgery."

"And now they're working out of a private clinic in Colorado? Get real. They're dead in the water. Corrupt, lazy, stupid and vicious. They're like rabid dogs, they can kill just fine, but they can't create anything. And now they've split into a thousand squabbling pieces."

"So who took me?"

"Goons. They wanted to milk you, Mulder, sell you by the pint to the highest bidder."

"But you don't?"

"Jesus. I'm talking about winning a war, not becoming a wealthy corpse." Krycek smiled, acknowledging the cold amusement in Mulder's eyes. "Though naturally, I'm expecting a fair reward from a grateful world."

"And you want me as a partner, because...?"

"You're more than a lab rat. Wave the flag as the heir to the Mulder and Spender empire and they'll recognize you as the unity candidate. We can shake them up. And with your FBI history to get me through the right doors, I can give the money people the evidence they need to get off their asses."

"And do what?"

"Develop a vaccine. Isolate the important factor in your blood. Grow it. Manufacture it."

"And find test subjects for it?"

Krycek sighed, weary and long-suffering. "Naturally."

"No deal."

Mulder had always known that it would come to this. Always known that one day his "family" would come back to haunt him. Krycek's words had possessed a horrible ring of inevitability.

And underlying it all was the same old fear that Mulder had always known. He'd always considered himself to be one of the good guys, but he'd never really known enough to put that theory to the test.

And Krycek, of course, knew more about what was really going on. Seemed to, anyway.

Krycek talked knowledgeably about the splits among alien factions, the battle between those who planned to colonize by using humans as incubators, and those who sought only the privacy to coexist in racially pure isolation.

And Krycek knew more about the human consortium, not just here but globally. And more about what was happening within Mulder's blood, within Mulder's own fucking body.

"What?"

Mulder looked up, startled to hear Krycek's angry question. He'd forgotten Krycek was in here, put the TV's erratic behavior down to a remote control with a mind of its own. Had he groaned out loud just now? Mulder kept his own words soft. "I'd like to read those X-Files you were telling me about."

Krycek's nod was surprisingly formal, as if the words in the computer were a message he didn't want to deliver. The laptop had no such qualms, alive and ready to talk in seconds.

After six hours of silent reading and rereading, Krycek's insistence that it was time to go and eat came as a relief, even to Mulder.

Krycek, in the diner, was a mass of restless energy and Mulder couldn't help but sympathize. If he had any energy himself, he'd be climbing the walls by now. They'd spent days at the cabin and now days on the road, not a lot of opportunity for exercise. "Why don't you go for a run?"

Krycek almost snorted coffee out of his nose. He laughed, shaking his head. "Fuck. I'm impressed. You've got this element of surprise thing down pat. So how come you still get your ass kicked?"

"I've got this innate faith in human nature."

"So you became a criminal profiler!"

Mulder shrugged. He even managed a tentative smile for the waitress who took his order. He studiously ignored Krycek's questioning gaze until she'd walked away. "What? You don't approve of my menu choices?"

"You're waking up."

Mulder swallowed and was grateful for the distraction of the cup of coffee in front of him. Not that he'd risked taking more than a couple of sips, but it smelled good, and it looked like real life.

He pushed his fingers back through his hair. Odd, it felt like it hadn't been cut, for how long? - a month or so maybe? The aliens had kept it trimmed but the humans hadn't? Or maybe they'd cut it when he'd first been returned, or maybe it doesn't grow out there - speed-of-light travel and all that? Hell.

Waking up was hard, every question triggering another hundred. He was suddenly very tired again. He tried not to sigh as he spoke. "Tell me about Scully."

Krycek spoke softly, conspiratorially calm. "She's keeping the memory alive, picked up your banner, saying your lines. It's painful to watch, but she talks a good game."

"She doesn't think I'm coming back."

Krycek didn't reply, just smiled at the waitress delivering their food. When they were alone, he picked up his theme again. "She's got a baby to think of."

Mulder didn't need the reminder, he'd been thinking about the baby, too. "I'm a liability."

"To her." Krycek kept his voice mild, even though his body was tense with expectation. "But not to the rest of us."

The food didn't look as good as it had sounded. Either that, or Mulder had lost his appetite.

The sound clip that had assumed the status of fixation for Mulder was the innocuously titled, SSk0029.

Ironic really, given all the video footage carefully saved on stacks of DVDs that he hadn't even looked at yet. To get stuck on the sound clips, and moreover a sound clip that had been recorded only days after he'd been taken, seemed so pathetic.

Of course, it would be such an easy thing to fabricate, but Mulder knew it was real. He wanted to dismiss it as simply the bald statement of the only practical way forward, but it kept sticking in his throat.

He listened to it again, Skinner's voice. "Look... I saw what I saw. I have to make a statement in there. I'm not going to tell them it didn't happen."

And Scully's oh-so-sensible reply. "Well, you heard Kersh. They don't want the truth. You give them the truth, and they'll hang you with it."

"They can hang me with a lie, too. I'm not going to sell Mulder out."

"What good are you to Mulder if you give them the power to ruin your career?"

It was all so very reasonable. Every bit as reasonable as a very young Dana Scully meeting Mulder outside a Baltimore courtroom and pointing out how stupid he'd sounded for telling the truth about Eugene Victor Tooms.

Mulder found it easy to believe the audio was legit. He blamed himself for listening, really. Spying on someone else's private words was asking for trouble. He just wished he could stop himself from doing it.

"Jesus!"

Even wearing headphones, Mulder could hear the excitement in Krycek's voice. He was almost grateful for the distraction from the computer. He shifted to look at the TV.

Krycek turned to face Mulder. "Seems you're dead."

The item was over as quickly as it had begun. Apparently, the search for missing FBI agent Fox Mulder was over.

Krycek was on his feet and packing their bags before Mulder's brain had a chance to take in what had just happened.

Krycek had to scream in his ear to get his attention. "Move it! They've just declared you dead. Anyone sees you, and you will be."

Mulder tried to follow the reasoning but wasn't quite up to it. Instead he paid attention to Krycek's body language that was screaming, "Emergency!"

"Move!" Krycek's hand locked around Mulder's bicep.

This time Mulder did as he was told.

They drove for the rest of the day and into the night, stopping only long enough to grab food from fast food outlets and 7/11 stores. When he became too tired to drive, Krycek pulled off the road into a secluded rest stop hidden by a thicket of trees and slept for a few hours. It left Mulder with few options. He could stay in the car and sleep or take a wander in the deserted countryside. Krycek had chosen the spot well for its isolation.

Krycek woke after three hours of light yet restful sleep, stretched cramped muscles and noticed that Mulder wasn't in the car beside him. Getting out of the car, he saw Mulder lying sprawled on top of a lone picnic table, staring up at the stars. He walked to the edge of the tree line, unzipped and relieved himself.

The task completed, Krycek turned and opened his mouth to yell out to Mulder, but stopped before any words could escape. Mulder hadn't moved at all, hadn't even acknowledged his presence. He stood for a moment, watching this man who was neither enemy nor friend, a man trapped in a place where he'd often been himself. A man stuck with few options, none of them appealing. In some small way, Krycek could admit to himself that he felt sorry for Mulder, for what he had had to do to him in order to gain his cooperation.

Mulder's methods were vastly different to his, and Mulder's pursuit of answers he couldn't have had cost Krycek a lot over time. Yet, Krycek still found him worthy. He couldn't help admiring Mulder, not least for still hanging on when the dues Mulder had paid - dues paid to Krycek himself at times - were high. Mulder, like himself, was a survivor.

He walked over to the picnic table and looked down on Mulder.

"Are you okay?" Krycek's softly spoken question seemed loud in the silent countryside.

Mulder's only reply was a slight shrug of one shoulder. It effectively stopped any conversation before it could start, and Krycek found himself feeling uncomfortable just standing there while Mulder was lying prone, staring up at the stars. He had turned to walk back to the car, when he heard Mulder speak.

"Do you know why?"

Krycek turned around to find Mulder still gazing heavenward.

"Why what?"

Mulder finally sat up and perched on the edge of the table. He shifted to face Krycek. "Why did they take me? And why was I returned? Do you know, Krycek?"

The intense look in Mulder's eyes was visible even in the subdued light. He wanted an answer, and an honest one.

"I don't know, Mulder. If I knew, I'd tell you."

Mulder looked at Krycek, then dropped his eyes to the ground. "Yeah, sure."

Given their history, Krycek knew he shouldn't take offense, but for some reason he found himself a little upset at Mulder's distrust. Which, of course, was laughable.

"Well, come on. We've gotta get you someplace safe as soon as possible."

At around ten the next morning they pulled up for gas. While Krycek pumped, Mulder headed to the restrooms inside the building. Just outside the men's room was a pay phone. Mulder paused and regarded it for a moment. He'd never really been tempted to call Scully or Skinner, or anybody, to tell them he was back. Krycek's insistence that it wasn't safe had been reason enough, but that was before the people he cared about thought he was dead. Again.

He'd passed any number of motel phones and pay phones before without giving calling a single thought, but this time it was different. Someone had left a quarter in the coin return. This was almost like a sign, an open invitation. A temptation too great, but was it also a Pandora's Box?

With a shaking hand, Mulder retrieved the coin and lifted the handset. The familiar hum of the dial tone startled him momentarily, and he was sure that his thudding heart was loud enough for Krycek to hear outside. He glanced furtively around the store display that hid him from outside view and noted that Krycek was still filling the tank. Hopefully it was a slow pump. He could do this.

Mulder dropped the coin in the slot and dialed the operator. He asked to be connected to the Hoover Building in Washington, then asked the FBI operator for Agent Scully's office. He spoke quietly, trying to keep his voice neutral and unrecognizable.

The extension rang four times, Mulder becoming more and more nervous with each ring that Krycek would come in and catch him on the phone, or that he'd lose his nerve entirely. On the fifth ring it was answered, and Mulder's, "Scully, it's me," died on his lips when an unfamiliar male voice spoke.

"Agent John Doggett."

Shit. Scully's new "partner." Mulder didn't want to talk to him, but was at a loss as to how to ask for Scully without giving away his identity. His ragged breathing was all that could be heard for long seconds. What should he do?

"Hello? Can I help you? Who is this?" Doggett's voice startled him and he was about to hang up when he heard another voice in the background.

"Who is it, Agent Doggett?"

Scully.

Oh, God, she was there. Mulder's thoughts raced. Was he right to call her? Was it fair to put her in unnecessary danger? Krycek's warning came back to him and froze his voice.

Doggett's voice again. "There's someone on the line, but they're not talking. Maybe it's a crank call." Then back into the phone he said, "Is anybody there? Talk to me or I'm gonna hang up."

In a panic, Mulder almost spoke, but heard Scully again.

"Give it to me." A rustle of changing hands, then, "Hello?"

"I..." Mulder began, but it was all too much, hearing her voice - realtime. He hung up quickly and looked out again at where the car stood at the pump. Krycek was pushing on the door to come in. "Oh, shii..."

Mulder quickly ducked into the men's room, scrambled into one of the stalls and fumbled to lock the door behind him. He sat, trying to get his breathing back under control, and heard the outer door open.

"Mulder? Are you done yet? Come on, we don't have all day."

With a calm he didn't feel, Mulder shot back. "Fuck, Krycek, can't I even take a dump in peace?"

Back in the car again, Mulder mentally berated himself for the stupid mistake he'd almost made. Even if his own future meant nothing to him right now, he should have thought more about Scully's and the baby's.

It was after dark when they entered the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Mulder had no idea where they were headed and wasn't sure he should even ask. As Krycek turned the car towards the seedier side of the city, Mulder let out a snorted chuckle.

"What?" Asked Krycek.

"I should've known that the Rat would head for the sewers."

Krycek looked offended but said nothing. "What were you expecting? The Watergate? We'll be low- profile in this part of town. It's only temporary, until I can get in touch with a few people I can trust to help us."

Mulder wondered exactly what kind of help that would be, what type of person someone like Krycek could actually trust. The prospect of being resident raw material for whatever Krycek's contacts had in mind didn't thrill him at all, but at least he was becoming less resistant to the idea.

That classic line from his favorite Star Trek movie came to mind - "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one." He found himself wondering whether he still had the Spock ears he'd had as a kid. But then memories of those led him down paths he didn't want to traverse right now. He shut the thought off as quickly as it had come.

Krycek made several hushed phone calls, but Mulder didn't really pay attention to the conversations. He was tired, physically and emotionally. He wondered if he'd ever feel strong again. He tried to tamp down the growing depression long enough to get some rest. Closing his eyes, he willed his mind to shut off.

Images.

Sensations.

White.

Sharp.

Lights.

Steel.

Restraint. No movement. Air across his body. Exposed. So exposed. Hands gripping. Gripping metal. No. Not metal. Organic. No.Something... something not real. Lying prone. Air on skin. Skin. Tight. Tight. Pain. Pain... and...

God, NO!

Mulder sat up quickly, hands outstretched, breathing labored, his eyes opened wide to ensure his whereabouts. He looked straight into Krycek's eyes, was captured by them as he fought to get his breath back.

To his surprise, Krycek did nothing more than continue his telephone conversation. That, and pass Mulder the glass of water Krycek had sitting beside him. Mulder took the drink, quickly downing the lukewarm contents of the glass.

Placing the glass down, Mulder settled back once more, this time tuning into the cadence of Krycek's tones as he spoke, using the melody of the words as a focus for his own thoughts.

The next day, Krycek announced that he was going out for several hours. He knew it was risky leaving Mulder to his own devices for so long, but he was sure that Mulder had enough to keep him occupied, going through the remainder of the files and surveillance recordings on the computer.

For his own part, Mulder didn't want to believe what he was reading and seeing, but the evidence spoke for itself. Scully and Doggett had taken over *his* files. He read the case reports with disbelief. Where was the usual skepticism and rationality, the questioning in the name of science? All the cases were wrapped up in neat little bows, explained away as logically as possible with as little reference to the paranormal as possible.

One more area of his life neatly boxed up and put away. Maybe it really was time to move on. He had a sudden, irrational need to put final closure on his previous existence. Mulder pushed the laptop aside without even bothering to turn it off, grabbed his jacket and took off.

42. Was it an answer? Opening that door was as much as acknowledging he had a life to which he could return, and right now he wasn't sure that information would serve him well. Or Krycek. It was laughable in itself that he would consider the man. But so much had happened, and so much had been learned. And he suspected there was more behind it all, but had no way to find the answers.

42. Using Krycek's tools, he picked the lock, opened the door and stepped in before indecision could reign. The room was dark, predictably, but turning a light on was not an option. Enough street light came through the far window to allow navigation. Street light and the light from the fish tank.

One question answered, though the consideration of these small creatures was amusing, given the last few months. Still, it did matter. And it raised a few more questions, ones he found he'd rather not ask.

Mulder moved from room to room, just... scoping. Trying to get the feeling back. Some feeling of belonging. Everything seemed to be as it had been, as much as he could remember of the time before. Jacket on the coat tree by the door, books beside the little-used bed, clean plate and cup sitting in the drainer.

It was as if somebody had plucked him out of the room and left it, waiting for him to return. That was exactly what it was. The question was, who had been waiting for him? Doubts. So many doubts now.

He picked up a book from the table in front of the couch and sat down. Leafing through the pages, he tried to re-familiarize himself with the last words he'd read. He couldn't. It all seemed new. Page after page turned as if he were searching for anything to give proof of his previous existence in this place.

Nothing. He let the book drop from his hands. Slumping down on the couch, he leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, dejected. He had to think about leaving soon. And yet he wanted this place, this time.

Mulder leaned back against the couch, rubbed a hand over tired eyes before he surveyed what had been his world - and what apparently never could be again.

So tired. Just so damned fucking tired. From space to earth, from city to city; always on the move. And if he were to believe Krycek's words, if he were to do what Krycek said was right, what he himself thought was right, he would forever be on the move. And he was too tired to move.

He awoke suddenly, checked his watch and realized an hour had passed. He had to leave. There was too much danger in staying, both from outside and from Krycek himself. Though he liked to think he could handle the temper tantrum the latter would throw.

He stood quickly, and started to head towards the door, then stopped. Turned back to stand in front of the fish tank. He picked up the fish food and dropped in some flakes, pausing afterwards to just gaze into the clear, bubbling water.

"They're all there."

Startled, he turned to face the familiar voice. He couldn't see Skinner clearly, but he knew those tones. A tall, dark shape in the corner stepped out, and the light from the window revealed the man.

Mulder stood still, watching as Skinner cautiously moved forward, reached out a hand as if to touch, only to withdraw it.

"I'm only 'spooky' by name."

Skinner almost smiled. "I don't doubt you're real. My problem is, is it you? Or is it not you?"

Mulder laughed. "Well, if it isn't me, I'm probably somewhere pissed off that someone has taken my body." He glanced down at himself. "Such as it is, right now." Mulder sat down. "This really isn't the place for this conversation."

Skinner's reply was immediate. "There's no surveillance."

The statement surprised him. As stupid as this visit may have been, Mulder had expected other interest given Krycek's view of the world. "None?"

"Only mine."

That answered one question. But raised others. Skinner apparently sensed his thoughts.

"I've had this place swept regularly. Except for initial monitoring after your disappearance, there's been no interest." A noticeable pause before Skinner continued. "And there's supposed to be no reason for it now."

"Not my choice - or my doing - this time."

"Do you know who?"

"Would it make a difference?"

There was a long moment of silence as each man looked at the other. Finally Skinner moved, sat down on the table in front of the couch, left of Mulder's position.

He inspected Mulder from head to toe, trying to come to some decision. The unkempt hair. The face that was pale even in this subdued lighting. The head thrown back, the eyes now closed, speaking of a weariness and tiredness that would be difficult to fake. The thin body.

Skinner reached out a hand, grasped Mulder's left knee. "Christ, it is you, isn't it?"

Mulder's eyes opened slowly as he turned his head to face Skinner. "I'd bleed for you to prove it but frankly, Walter, I've done enough bleeding in the interest of scientific verification. Or whatever the fuck the reason was. Is. Was. Whatever." Mulder paused, then smiled. "But if you like, I have a birthmark on my ass...."

"Since when?"

They looked at each other for a few moments more before Mulder stood.

"I need to leave."

Skinner stood immediately. "What?"

"I'll be missed."

Mulder walked swiftly towards the front door.

"Mulder, wait! What about... God, I have so many questions. And what about Scully?" Skinner's voice was pleading. But the "S" word stopped Mulder in his tracks. He turned.

"You can't tell her, Walter."

"Why? What the fuck...?"

"It's too dangerous." Mulder looked around at what had once been his, chagrined to realize he'd let sentimentality overrule common sense. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't have come here."

Skinner's voice was soft. "It's your home."

"Is it?"

"Do you doubt it?"

"I doubt a lot of things."

"Mulder, stay. Please. Talk to me."

"I can't." Mulder glanced at his watch, suddenly horrified at how much time had passed. He looked at Skinner, eye to eye. "You can't tell her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Give me time."

Skinner sighed, resigned himself to the inevitable. "How long?"

"I'll contact you. We need to talk. I..." Something coalesced in Mulder's brain. "I need to talk to you."

"Tomorrow, Mulder." It was almost a command.

Mulder acknowledged it... and the plea that underscored it.

"I'll try."

Mulder turned away again, open the door slowly and checked the corridor. He started to slip out, then stopped. Turned back to Skinner.

"Walter?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Where the fuck have you been?" Krycek was royally pissed, throwing the towel he held in his hands across the room.

"Out."

Mulder's monosyllabic reply only served to piss him off further. Krycek grabbed Mulder and spun him around, pushing him back. Mulder's head made a hollow sound as it hit the back of the door. Krycek dug his fingers into Mulder's upper arms as he hissed into his face. "Don't fuck with me, Mulder. Where have you been?"

Lying seemed pointless, particularly when the truth was fairly harmless. He looked into Krycek's eyes before responding.

"I wanted to see my fish."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Krycek shook him again, banging Mulder's head once more.

"Ow!" Mulder pushed back, forcing Krycek to release him. "Christ! Get over it, Krycek."

Mulder walked away, headed into the kitchen. Pulling the milk from the fridge, he poured himself a glass. Sensing Krycek's presence, he turned.

"Pack your stuff, we're leaving."

"What? Why?"

"Because your apartment is wired. Because your damned stupid stunt tonight has made this place a risk." Krycek moved forward and grabbed the glass out of Mulder's hand and threw it into the sink, spilling the contents and breaking the container. "Because I'll be fucked if I'm going to put my ass on the line again to save yours if they catch you. That's why."

"I'm not moving."

"You don't have a choice."

"Don't I?"

"You can run and get caught. Or you can fight back with me. They're your only choices."

Before he could say anything in reply, Krycek moved in closer. His voice dropped, and his breath was warm on Mulder's cheek.

"Or do you think Scully would appreciate you dragging her and the kid behind you? Do you think she cares enough about you and your cause to do that?"

Mulder attempted to back away, but was stopped by the kitchen counter. He was trapped. And Krycek knew it. And Krycek knew it was time to play dirty.

"Let me tell you something about the little woman, Mulder. Before a month was out after you disappeared, she moved Doggett and herself into your office. She shoved your nameplate in a drawer like so many used paper clips."

Krycek could see the effect his words were having on Mulder. He pushed on.

"And she was falling into Doggett's arms before the ink was dry on his transfer orders." Leaving out the "why" was always a good tool in these circumstances. "She may have cared once, Mulder. But she's got your position, your office, your life, and your sperm. Why the hell would she need you now?"

Krycek backed off suddenly, and started to walk out.

Mulder's response was barely audible. "I don't believe you."

Krycek turned, smiling inwardly as he thanked whatever Gods gave him the right set up to drive home the final nail.

"I tell you what, Mulder. You come up with a good explanation for why she'd release your body for a funeral the day after tomorrow when there's been no autopsy, and I'll take it all back. But until then, you pack your fucking bag."

He walked off, satisfied with seeing a somewhat pale Mulder go paler.

"Where are we going now?" Mulder asked petulantly. He was getting tired of being carted from pillar to post without much say in the when or where.

"Someone who owes me a favor manages a small residential hotel. We can hole up there until all the final plans are made. Provided you don't go doing anything stupid again."

"I can't stay inside four walls, Krycek. I just want a little freedom while I can still get it."

"You don't *have* to stay locked up in the room, but it was dumb to go back to your apartment after I told you the risks. You can go out, but I'd just prefer that it was with me for now. If you got into any trouble, you couldn't protect yourself."

Mulder sighed. He looked out the window and watched the people on the street as they drove by. A few moments later he noticed the background - the stores interspersed with the occasional dance club or bar. Not an area he went to himself a lot, but he'd known a few people who raved about the clientele of the bar they'd just passed.

When the car started to slow as Krycek turned onto a side street, Mulder looked over at the man driving with different eyes, amused.

"Relax, Mulder. We'll blend in here. Kind of like hiding in plain sight."

There was no response from Mulder, so Krycek took his eyes off the road for a moment to chance a quick look at the man beside him. He found Mulder just staring at him.

Krycek smiled to himself. "Relax, will ya? Christ, Mulder, I'd never have pegged you for being homophobic."

"I'm not. I'm just concerned about how well you think we should try to blend in."

Krycek laughed out loud, he laughed so hard that Mulder thought he would run the car off the road.

Mulder had hung quietly in the background while Krycek registered them under false names in the small residential hotel that would be home for the next few nights at least. He'd fidgeted nervously when the manager and Krycek had shared some joke at his expense, grinning and gesturing in his direction.

Finally, they made it upstairs and Krycek flopped onto the double bed - the *only* bed.

"I'm gonna get an hour's sleep, then I'll go to the store." His eyes were already closing.

"I could go." Mulder ventured.

Krycek snorted. "I don't think so. And don't try sneaking out, I'll know if you set one foot out that door."

Anger that had been simmering now boiled over. "Fuck you, Krycek. I thought you'd just told me I wasn't your prisoner."

Wearily, Krycek sighed and cracked open one eye. "I'm too tired for this shit. No, you're not my prisoner, I keep telling you that. It's just not safe for you to go showing your face around the streets, especially without me to protect you. You're dead, remember? Now shut the fuck up and let me get some rest."

Mulder sat down on the threadbare sofa and flipped the TV on, turning it up just loud enough to be annoying to Krycek, then settled down to do some thinking. He needed to get to a phone and let Skinner know he couldn't meet him as planned. Mulder had no idea how that was going to happen with Krycek watching his every move.

The opportunity came a lot easier than Mulder thought could have been possible. Krycek decided it would be more prudent to take Mulder with him than to leave him alone in the hotel. Outside the small supermarket, Krycek told Mulder to go and pick out enough food for the next three or four days while he went and met a guy who would take care of switching the car for them.

He pressed a handful of bills into Mulder's pocket, said he'd be back in a few minutes and blew him a kiss, much to Mulder's acute embarrassment. As soon as he was out of sight, Mulder made a beeline for the checkout and asked for change. He headed for the pay phone by the entrance to the store, but pulled up short when he spotted the "out of order" sign taped to the phone. He swore, then he spotted another one on the opposite street corner. He narrowly dodged a taxi as he dashed across the road. This one was working, so he quickly dropped a coin in and dialed Skinner's home number.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," he whispered as a mantra, while frantically keeping an eye out for any sign of Krycek.

A heavily made up drag queen leaned on the phone stand. "Ain't no one home, honey. Try again later, I need to use the phone."

Mulder turned away with a scowl. "Piss off, I was here first."

The phone rang several more times until the call finally connected. He heard Skinner's voice mail answer. He waited until the welcome message ran through, was about to speak and leave a message when the line went dead. He spun around in time to see one scarlet- tipped finger release the phone hook.

The drag queen growled, "I *said* I need to use the phone, *precious*, now take a hike."

Mulder was running out of options, he didn't have time to find another phone and couldn't afford to get into an argument with a guy three inches taller, 60 pounds heavier and wearing inch-long razors on each finger. Plus he thought he saw Krycek a block away. He made it back to the supermarket and tossed random items into a basket, managing to look fairly nonchalant by the time Krycek came up behind him and began pulling the items back out of the basket with all the good grace of a mother chiding a wayward child.

Walking through the bowels of the DoD in search of life-saving microchips when everyone thinks you're dead was one thing. Getting ready to go to your own funeral was another matter entirely.

"I don't want to go."

Krycek found he was almost susceptible to the depressed tones in Mulder's voice. But he wasn't going to budge. Getting Mulder to go his own funeral would serve several purposes - all of them Krycek's. Mulder would be able to close out his former life. And if Scully played it the way he suspected she would, her actions and reactions would only make Krycek's task so much easier.

"You need to see this."

"Why? What sick pleasure do you get out of this, Krycek?"

"None. But you have doubts, Mulder. I think you've got ideas that you can just go back to your old life, and I want to put an end to those. Where we're going, doubts will get you killed."

Under different circumstances, Mulder would have been able to admit to a morbid fascination of seeing the scene before him played out. But right now he wasn't fascinated at all. It was disturbing, on more levels than one. From their vantage point, and with the aid of a little technology, he and Krycek could clearly see all who arrived, where they stood and the expressions on their faces.

Skinner looked - apprehensive was the only word that came to Mulder's mind. Stern and controlled as usual, his eyes and the occasional glance around the immediate vicinity were the only clues to the knowledge he held. Doggett was obviously there to show the flag and support his partner. While they had met before, Mulder hardly knew the man, so couldn't claim he was upset by a lack of emotion in the man's visage.

Langly, Byers and Frohike just looked... he couldn't quite grasp what it was that disturbed him. Surrounded on all sides by representatives of their government, they looked... God. They looked normal. Somber, for sure. But their ease among those near them, the nod from Langly to Doggett... what the fuck was up with the universe?

Then there was Scully.

Dressed in a dark suit, with those heels that seemed impractical in the office, let alone walking over the uneven grass of the cemetery, she was the picture of stoic perfection. No tears marked her face. No smudged makeup gave evidence of their prior presence.

She stood between Skinner and Doggett, eyes downward to avoid watching as the pallbearers placed "his" coffin beside the gaping hole in the earth. So close. She was so close. He wanted to reach out to her, to talk to her.

This was too much. It was just too fucking hard.

A few moments later the minister began to talk. Mulder was more than grateful that Krycek hadn't seen fit to rig some sort of sound.

"I want to leave."

"Come off it, Mulder. This is good stuff! It's not every day you get to observe your own funeral from the earthly plane."

Krycek couldn't help smiling to himself to see Mulder's discomfort. Everyone was playing according to his script, right down to Skinner's not-so-subtle looks around the cemetery. Skinner's discomfort at being at Mulder's funeral was apparent, and would serve his needs well. Krycek checked his watch surreptitiously. The timing was just about right.

"What the fuck is Skinner looking for?"

Mulder attempted to keep a blank face. "What are you talking about?"

Right on cue the man appeared from behind a far tree. Krycek spotted his signal and grabbed Mulder's arm.

"Oh, Christ. Come on."

"What? I thought..."

"Move it, Mulder."

Mulder's eyes found what Krycek saw. A darkly-dressed man was heading in their direction. He paused a moment, looking towards the funeral gathering, and saw Skinner looking in his direction.

No. It wasn't possible.

He didn't have time to think about it. Krycek grabbed his arm and pulled him along until Mulder found his own feet and ran. He moved quickly, never looking back, never seeing Scully finally collapse under the weight of her own grief into Skinner's arms.

Krycek was almost ecstatic at his success. He watched as Mulder lay on the couch, in jeans and nothing else, staring blankly at the TV screen.

"I'm going out for food. What do you want?"

"Go to hell."

Krycek decided not to push it. "I'll be back soon."

Krycek was halfway through his meal - a meal Mulder had ignored - before Mulder finally spoke.

"Where do we go from here?"

Krycek looked up to find that Mulder was still intent on the television. "You've decided?"

Mulder finally looked back at him. "You said I didn't have any choices."

Krycek thought for a moment as he chewed. "Two days' time. I have to put some wheels in motion - get you a new name for one - then we can leave."

He didn't expect a reply. And didn't get one.

After a restless night, tall and black was the order. Opening the door of the car, Skinner was about to climb in when he noticed a word etched into the lid of the styrofoam cup he held. A simple 'back,' followed by a small 'M.'

Resisting the temptation to look around, he got into the car and backed out onto the street. A couple of minor detours around the small shopping center, and he turned the car into the alley behind the coffee shop. Near the back door he slowed, enough to allow Mulder to open the rear door, climb in and lie across the seat, out of sight.

Skinner increased his speed quickly but conservatively, not wanting to draw attention. "Where to?"

A muffled reply. "Anywhere. Somewhere we can talk."

"How much time do you have?"

"All day." The next words were barely discernible. "I think."

Forty minutes later and finally heading into the Virginia countryside, Mulder emerged from the back seat and joined Skinner up front. He glanced at the man driving.

"I was beginning to think you'd given up coffee."

Skinner took his eyes off the road briefly to give Mulder a glance.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to make employee of the month." Mulder glanced out the window. "Where are we going?"

"Some friends of mine own a place out here. It's safe. And no questions asked."

Mulder didn't acknowledge the reply, just continued to look out of the window. After a few more minutes of silence, Skinner spoke again.

"Why did you wait?"

Mulder's eyes remained riveted on the passing scenery as he answered. "The rat got pissy that I went out on a school night."

"Christ." A single word and the tone gave Mulder a clue to the barely controlled rage. He turned away from it, not wanting to acknowledge it right now.

A few seconds, then a softly spoken question.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

Mulder looked down into his lap, smiled. Skinner's spoken concern was almost a relief, his question almost laughable, given everything that had happened to him before Krycek had "rescued" him. He looked up again before he spoke.

"I'm fine, Walter. Krycek wouldn't dare. Apparently my blood is worth bottling."

"I don't understand."

"I wish I didn't."

And with that, his eyes returned to the scenery.

They drove on in silence for the next half hour until Skinner pulled off the highway into the driveway of a small motel and diner. Mulder glanced around the deserted parking lot before smiling at Skinner.

"Why is it all the men in my life keep taking me to dingy motels?"

With a terse, "Wait here," Skinner exited the car and headed for the manager's office. When he got back, Mulder was out of the car, leaning against the hood. In daylight, he could see Mulder more clearly. He was a lot thinner than he remembered. And there was a noticeable weariness around the eyes. His concern must have shown on his face, given Mulder's words.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Have you eaten this morning?"

The speed of Mulder's, "I'm not hungry," gave Skinner an idea of how often those words had been spoken recently.

"Wrong answer." Handing Mulder the room key, he headed towards the diner.

Muttering a "nobody ever listens to me," Mulder headed for the motel room. Inside he turned the television on, the volume low, and pulled the curtains shut. He sat down heavily on the bed, putting his back against the wall, waiting for Skinner to return.

Skinner placed the container and bag on the faded maroon bedspread in front of Mulder.

"Eggs, if you're up to them. Or a bagel and cream cheese. I wasn't sure what you'd want."

Mulder smiled. "Anybody ever tell you you're bossy?"

Skinner smiled back as he sat down on the second bed. "I used to have an agent who had trouble with taking orders. I think you might know him."

The smile vanished just as quickly as it appeared. "He's dead, Skinner. You were at his funeral yesterday."

"If that's the case, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for the truth. And advice." He paused before continuing. "I need to know one thing before we have this conversation."

Gesturing at the food he had placed in front of Mulder, Skinner's reply was a simple, "Eat."

Mulder's immediate reaction was to protest, but one look from Skinner and he knew he'd get no answers until he at least made a pretense of eating. He picked up the bagel and began to pull it apart, popping one small piece into his mouth before giving Skinner what could only be described as a smart-ass "happy now?" fake grin.

Acknowledging his satisfaction with Mulder's small concession, Skinner asked, "So what's the question?"

Mulder looked up from contemplation of the bagel directly into Skinner's eyes. In a quiet but serious voice he asked, "Have you told *anyone* you've seen me since the night I... since that night in Oregon?"

Skinner's face was a mask as he looked into Mulder's eyes. Mulder had to admit the silence which dominated for what seemed like forever was unnerving.

"Yes."

The reply was shocking. Krycek had tried to convince him that Skinner was responsible for them being spotted at the cemetery, that Skinner was still walking the gray line which made him privy to Consortium knowledge. Mulder knew better. Or thought he did. He waited as patiently as he could for Skinner to explain.

"I told Kersh I'd identified your body at the morgue last week."

Mulder swallowed dryly, relieved. "That isn't... wasn't me."

"Obviously." Skinner placed his coffee down on the bedside table, got up and walked away. When he turned, his anger was all too apparent.

"Christ, Mulder, of course I haven't told anyone! Now can we get past this shit and get to the point where I start understanding what the fuck happened?"

Anger he could appreciate. Needing answers he was all too familiar with. Being stood over while he was yelled at he could normally have handled. But after so much and so long, he'd had enough. With a calm he didn't feel, Mulder put the bagel down and got off the bed. He walked towards the door of the motel room and was reaching for the knob when Skinner spoke.

"Where are you going?"

Without looking back, Mulder replied. "I need some air."

Skinner stayed where he was, stunned for a moment, cursing his anger, cursing this whole situation. After a few moments he headed out the door, grabbing Mulder's forgotten bagel at the last second.

Behind the motel, Skinner found Mulder sitting on the steps of the laundry room, silently contemplating the landscape before him. Largely underdeveloped, tangled, unkempt green dominated the view.

Space. Space Mulder was beginning to feel he'd never see again.

Looking to his left he saw Skinner standing there, watching him, wondering what to say. He smiled to himself and looked down at the ground.

"You know, sometimes I wish I still smoked."

Hearing no querying response, he looked up.

"Stress relief."

"Nicotine isn't a stress reliever, Mulder."

Mulder grinned. "Who said I was talking about tobacco?"

Skinner smiled in return, unable to hide his pleasure at seeing a hint of the Mulder he used to know. "As an officer of the law, I'd have to arrest you."

"What if I promised not to inhale?"

"From what I remember, not inhaling kind of defeats the point of smoking the stuff."

Mulder couldn't help laughing. It seemed to be taking years, but the more time he spent with Skinner outside of the office, the more he liked the man behind the suit and tie.

After a moment, he looked up into Skinner's face.

"I don't doubt you. Not really. But I have some decisions to make and I'm not sure I've been given all the facts. And while I suspect you're still compromised by Krycek's hold on you, I trust you. I just... I needed to be sure."

Skinner avoided reacting to Mulder's words. There was no point in denying the nanocyte situation. After the events of last year he realized Mulder knew his mind now, knew the position he was in. But his actions then had proven his ultimate loyalty. And that loyalty had not changed. Skinner decided to focus on the other thing that Mulder had said.

"What sort of decisions?"

"The decisions I'm having a hard time making right now. That's why I wanted to meet. Of all the people I know, yours is probably the only objective opinion I could get."

Skinner bristled. "You think I don't care?"

Mulder shook his head slightly. "No. No. It's precisely because I know you do care."

Skinner accepted the acknowledgment in silence. Looking down for a moment, he realized he was still holding the bag with the bagel inside. He handed it to Mulder.

Mulder smiled, took the proffered bag, then held it up. "See? You can't help yourself."

Skinner smiled and sat down on the steps beside Mulder. "I just don't like seeing food go to waste."

They sat in silence for awhile, Skinner contemplating the landscape while Mulder pulled the bagel apart and ate a few small portions. After only a half-dozen bites he gave up the notion of eating. Mulder looked at Skinner, then turned to gaze at the landscape as he spoke.

"A couple of weeks ago, Alex Krycek broke into a clinic in which I was being held and rescued me from a bunch of Mengele types who were getting their kicks out of cutting me up and sewing me back together again in the name of scientific necessity. I'd been there about a month, subsequent to them being the first - and apparently the only - people to be looking for me when E.T. decided *he'd* had enough time playing doctor and dumped my ass in Colorado." Mulder turned to give Skinner a brief look. "I guess from space one forest looks like another, eh?"

Mulder stood up and walked forward a few steps. He turned, placed his hands on his hips and continued his tale while a rapt audience listened.

"After a few days' recovery time for me we hit the road. Since then we've been on the move. Krycek tells me the Consortium, no matter how fractured, is still after me. Or more specifically my blood. That something in it is of value in the fight against colonization. He believes we can fight back ourselves, but that doing so would endanger anybody with us. Most particularly Scully and our... and her child. For whatever reason they did it, the provision of a dead 'Mulder' by these people seems to be advantageous to us. I can disappear without anybody being the wiser."

Mulder stopped, and looked expectantly at Skinner.

"And you're looking for what exactly? Confirmation from me that you're making the right choice?"

"Something like that."

"I can't give you that without knowing more. And even then I'm not sure."

Mulder pushed a hand through his hair before rubbing his forehead. "Somehow I didn't think it would be that simple."

Skinner found he couldn't sit still for this. He needed to pace. He stood up and walked forward beyond where Mulder was standing, looked out beyond the motel grounds for a short time, then turned to face Mulder, finding Mulder had taken the seat he had just vacated. His concern for Mulder's well-being rushed back at the sight of Mulder sitting with his face in his hands, looking forlorn and alone. In a soft tone he spoke.

"I'm not sure which question to ask first, so I'll just ask what comes to mind."

He got no acknowledgment from Mulder other than the raising of Mulder's face from his hands in anticipation of the first question. The first was a one-word query. A name.

"Krycek."

So many questions in that one name. But Mulder thought he knew what Skinner was asking.

"Because despite our past... history... I believe he's telling the truth about the need to fight back."

"You're trusting a man who was responsible for the death of your father, who's been behind a lot of the events which have put yours and Scully's lives at risk."

Mulder was quick to include what Skinner had omitted. "And yours."

Skinner accepted the acknowledgment. "And mine."

"I don't trust him completely. The fact that I'm here right now talking to you proves that. But I can't deny he saved my ass back in Colorado."

Skinner stood still for a moment and contemplated what Mulder had said. Weighed it up against what he knew of Krycek, what he knew Mulder and Scully had suffered because of this man and the Consortium he worked for from various sides of the playing field. He looked back to Mulder, wondering how to broach this subject. He took a deep breath before he started.

"You need to consider something, Mulder. You need to consider that Krycek rescued you for his own ends, that it has nothing to do with any concern for you personally."

Mulder couldn't help laughing at Skinner's remark. "Oh, I know that. The rat has made it quite clear that my primary use to him is as a blood donor."

"Then why...." He didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Because it may be the only choice I have. And while it's not much of a life, at least Krycek won't strap me down while he milks me." Mulder's voice lowered slightly. "At least I'd be free."

Mulder couldn't contain the shudder his memories of his time in the clinic in Colorado evoked. No. There was no way he was going to risk going back to that.

"How much do you remember?"

Skinner's voice pulled Mulder out of his unpleasant reverie. He looked up, surprised to find Skinner crouched before him.

"Not a lot. Not from... not from before I was picked up in Colorado. But... I have a feeling if I did, I would want to find a way to let Duane Barry know that I really do understand now."

He smiled sadly at the memory of a man who had been so tortured by his memories and fear of ever being taken again. And while he couldn't forgive Barry's part in Scully's abduction, he could understand now the fear that drove him.

As if tuned into those thoughts, Skinner asked his next question.

"Mulder, what about Scully? What's made you so convinced you can't go back to her? To the X- Files?"

What, indeed. How to confess to a man that you've watched and listened to tapes of conversations you were never supposed to know about. Which have provided proof of apparent disloyalty from some quarters. He hadn't found the answer before Skinner spoke again.

"What about your child? Are you going to leave Scully to raise it on her own?"

For some reason that question annoyed Mulder. He pushed himself forward off the steps, forcing Skinner to stand up and move out of his way.

"This isn't about Scully."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because she doesn't need me. She just needed my sperm."

The words rang false on his ears even as he spoke them.

Skinner's voice became terse at Mulder's harsh statements. "You don't believe that."

And Skinner was right.

Mulder shook his head slightly, then looked down at the ground. "No. No, I don't." Looking up again into Skinner's face he continued. "But I've heard the tapes, Walter. I've seen video footage. A lot. Enough to know that Scully seemed to get over my absence pretty damn quickly. I can't help thinking it's better for both of us if I don't make a comeback appearance. Especially if there are people still after me."

Mulder turned away from Skinner and looked out over the horizon again. His next words were almost a whisper.

"But I don't know for sure. I just don't know."

The mid-morning sun was warm on his face. He turned to face the rays, soaking in the heat, his head thrown back, eyes closed. Weariness overcame him momentarily and he swayed, stilled immediately by the hand at his elbow holding him steady.

Silently Skinner nodded in the direction of the motel rooms, and guided Mulder towards them once more. When they were inside, Skinner left Mulder to sit on the bed while he went to the small sink at the back, found a plastic cup and brought Mulder a glass of water. He sat on the opposite bed and waited until Mulder drank the water, then leaned back against the wall.

Skinner contemplated the man before him. What could he advise? What could he tell him when so much was at stake? He got up from the bed and walked towards the open door. His arms stretched out above him, hands gripping the door frame, he looked out towards the highway. Cars drove by infrequently, but their presence spoke of people living lives beyond this room, of having concerns beyond the fate of mankind, and of one man in particular who'd been through so much already. If only those people out there knew what he'd been through.

If only they knew.

If only...

Skinner turned, and returned to sit down on the second bed before he spoke again.

"Mulder, no matter what any tapes Krycek has may tell you, there is more to the story. No tape from months ago could undermine the truth of the grief that caused Scully to fall apart in my arms yesterday."

Mulder's head shot up at that remark, but Skinner ignored the younger man's reaction.

"What lies between you and Scully is personal, Mulder. How you deal with it is your choice. Neither Krycek nor I, nor anyone else has a right to force the issue. But you need to give her a chance. You owe her that much. And you owe your child that much."

"And risk exposure to them both by giving her that chance?"

"Mulder, think about it. What's wrong with exposure? You always wanted the truth exposed. You believed the people had a right to know what the government was up to. You believed exposure would prevent the Consortium from fulfilling its plans. Why has that changed because you're the secret now?"

Skinner could see Mulder was floundering for an answer.

"Because... because it's personal."

Skinner's answer was a simple question.

"Hasn't it always been?"

There was no immediate reply, just a long, direct look from Mulder as he thought over the words Skinner had said. Finally, after long minutes of silence, Mulder put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Skinner spoke softly. "Mulder, are you okay?"

Without opening his eyes, Mulder responded, "Just tired. Hard to sleep well when you're surrounded by vermin."

"Listen, I need to make a few calls and I could spend some time catching up with my friend here. Why don't you catch a few hours' sleep before we head back to D.C.? I'll make sure you're safe."

Mulder opened his eyes and turned his face towards Skinner. "Would you read me a story before I go to sleep?"

Skinner smiled. "Not in this lifetime."

Skinner pushed off the bed and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a few hours. Rest."

He was almost out the door when he stopped and turned back, seeing Mulder settling down on the bed, the pillow under his head, his back to the door.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" A muffled response.

"Did you go willingly?"

"Spooky, Walter. Not insane."

Skinner nodded his silent understanding, then left the room, quietly closing and locking the door behind him.

As promised, a few hours later Skinner returned, bearing more food and drink; sandwiches, soda - simple food for a simple diet. He stole quietly into the room, not wanting to surprise Mulder out of sleep if he wasn't already awake.

The room was stuffy, the sun coming in through the closed windows, making it almost unbearably warm. Skinner could easily see Mulder was still asleep, and that at some point during the last four hours Mulder had attempted to get more comfortable, taking off his shoes, socks, sweater and T- shirt. Lying on his stomach, his arms stretched to either side of him, head turned towards the far wall, Mulder was the picture of complete relaxation.

Placing the food on the table near the wall, Skinner went to the other side of the bed and looked down, wondering how best to wake Mulder. He reached forward with his hand to touch the forearm nearest him, then stopped.

Stopped by... by shock. From the forearm to his shoulders, to Mulder's back, Skinner's eyes moved, tracing every inch of skin. Under other circumstances he could have felt like a voyeur. These were not those circumstances.

Scars. Fresh marks of wounds a few weeks old and still healing. Mulder wasn't covered in them, but there were enough of them on his back and arm for him to know the man must have been in a lot of pain recently. And possibly still was at times.

Fuck! Anger. So much quick anger. He was going to kill Alex Krycek when he saw him next, no matter how many fucking Palm Pilots the man shoved in his face! Alex fucking Krycek was going to pay. He was... he...

Skinner stopped his contemplation of Krycek's mortality as his brain finally registered what his eyes had seen. Or not seen. There were no knuckle-shaped bruises here. The marks on Mulder's body were not random. They spoke of a pattern. He looked more closely, and saw the marks of restraint on Mulder's wrist. The other marks - straight cuts, almost like...

Oh, Jesus Christ.

These weren't the scars from a brawl. They were incisions. Calculated, planned and invasive probes into Mulder's body. The clinic. And... before? Mulder's body bore the marks of experimentation. Of tortures unknown.

Skinner sat down heavily on the bed behind him. Despair overtook him, despair because of what his carelessness had cost Mulder.

"They'll heal, Walter."

Stunned, Skinner looked over to see one sleepy hazel eye observing him. Mulder's head was still buried mostly in the pillow, muffling his voice somewhat, but Skinner had heard him. He shook his head, denying Mulder's dismissal of the importance of this new knowledge.

With a deep breath, Mulder moved, turning over