Scenes From A Shower
II: Found

A month had passed. Mulder leaned an arm against the shower wall and let the soothing water cascade over him. The daily ritual of cleansing had become his sole opportunity for any semblance of peace. Something about the way the water washed over him almost made him forget what his life had become. Steadfast in the belief that Krycek was somehow responsible for Scully's death, time for mourning had been eaten up by the need for revenge. The last few weeks had been spent traveling around the country, researching possible leads, spending hours on the telephone. He managed to use up just about every favor ever owed him in years of service to the Bureau.

He was still no closer to finding the bastard than the day he spotted him on the airport surveillance tape.

What he had accomplished was to alienate himself, not only from Skinner, but the Lone Gunmen as well. Although they still tolerated him, the Gunmen knew to give him as wide a berth as possible rarely calling unless they had some new lead.

Of course, allowing too much time to pass put them at risk of another one of Mulder's insane rants on revenge. So they did check in periodically, if only briefly.

And the only words Skinner ever had to say involved "therapy," "counseling," "losing it," or a combination of the three.

Mulder was grateful that Kersh had already written him off as a lost cause. It ensured there was very little interference on the part of the Bureau. Not that they had much of a say in things anyway, at least while he was on psychiatric leave. He had been forced to relinquish his badge and gun, but that was of little consequence. You could procure a replacement badge quite easily, if you knew who to ask. Mulder knew. And it wasn't like the Sig was his only gun.

Even so, the search for Krycek had come to a near standstill. Between him and the Gunmen, they'd checked out virtually every passenger who had departed from the DC Gate that day. It took several weeks of investigating, time that felt like 24/7 on the phone and at the terminals. He couldn't understand when his friends' intensity began to wane. He didn't need-couldn't sleep much, why should they, or anyone for that matter? But they stuck by him, flying out when directed, pulling surveillance duty 3 states away at a moment's notice.

The more promising leads he had investigated personally. Not that it helped much. Try as they might, none of them had been able to uncover the slightest clue to where Krycek had gone. From Hoboken to a dozen Springfields and a tiny town in New Mexico, they had traveled across country for nothing. As his hopes for finding Krycek began to fade, Mulder became more and more desperate. He was quite literally, at wits end.

Mrs. Scully had given up on calling him, finally. After a half dozen attempts had yielded her nothing. He felt guilty, ashamed, but Mulder simply couldn't face her. He knew what it was she wanted of him and he dreaded it. A boon he couldn't fathom, much less grant or give. She'd left the message on his machine after the third week. He ignored it, opting instead to write. It was odd, really. Maybe just the ultimate denial. A part of him accepted that Scully was really gone. He'd seen the body himself, knew it to be true. And while he struggled with his grief, suppressed it with rage, he simply couldn't bear the thought of clearing Scully's apartment of her belongings. It was wrong-too soon. So he forwarded a note and a check to Margaret. Offered to pay the remainder of the summer's rent if she would only give him time. After all, Mulder still spent as many nights there as anywhere. He suspected that she suspected-or knew that. And he knew Margaret would never deny him. They both felt her absence so intensely.

Even with Scully gone, Mulder felt a quiet comfort simply by being there. Calmer. He felt closer to her somehow.

Memory kicked in, and an image, unbidden, Scully's smiling face, soft and warm, presented itself. His stomach tightened and the familiar ache returned. Mulder rubbed his temples. He shook his head under the running water and turned the shower handle. "No" he mumbled softly, grabbing his head in his hands, "not now." He shook his head again, as the very act could release the demons inside him. A scene that replayed almost daily. Desperately, he tried to free his mind of the face that haunted him. The woman who had driven him, supported and sustained him. The one loss he cold never abide, refused to face.

Mulder tried to focus-fixate on his anger and hatred for Krycek. Revenge. It had become his new holy grail, his quest. Even that was beginning to fail him, however. Mulder had never taken well to futility. The lack of progress was taking it's toll on him, emotionally and physically. The frequency of his nightmares had increased, and he was still no closer to retribution. He found himself obsessing over minute details and imagined slights.

Skinner, in whom he had expected to find a solid ally, had been harsh and skeptical at best. There was something new in his eyes when Mulder spoke to him, a look he couldn't fathom or recognize. He imagined it to be pity. And despite irrefutable proof in the form of the picture of Krycek in the airport, Skinner refused to accept the possibility of any connection between his presence there and Scully's murder. It was terribly frustrating.

He had even called Skinner on it.

Skinner stood his ground, threatening censure or a good ass kicking or both. He'd told Mulder what a sorry ass agent he'd become in Scully's absence. That he was an embarrassment to her memory and all that she had worked and died for. He accused Mulder of being a modern day Don Quixote, chasing after demons that had never existed, damning everyone to die with him-or without him. It was his quest--everyone be damned, but at what price came his damnation?

Angry, drunk, and too far gone to care, Mulder scowled and spat on his shoes. The man had been acting strangely since his bizarre near death by nanotechnology.

Mulder would have preferred a good fist fight-he longed, almost ached for it. But his pent up rage was given no quarter by the surprised, disappointed expression on Skinner's face before he turned and quietly left Mulder's apartment.

Alone and frustrated, Mulder sank to the floor, sobbing his despair.

Krycek sat at the table, one hand on the phone. His gaze drifted towards the bedroom door. Lana's episode had been the worst one yet. He winced a little, remembering the panicked, pained expression on her face and the frightened, incoherent screams he had been too slow to muffle before she'd woken Piotr. Ironically, the soft whimpers and crying of her frightened son had done more to stop Lana's frenzied sobbing than Krycek himself could manage.

It was harder to comfort her once Piotr had returned to sleep. Her sobbing continued, borne on by guilt. "Alexei," she had pleaded, "please, what is happening to me? Make it stop."

"I will," he had breathed hoarsely. "Shh, ma drolyta Svetalana, I will..."

And so he sat, poised to call the very men responsible for her condition to come rescue her from it. He knew they would take her-both he and Piotr would lose her, it was even feasible that they would take Piotr as well. And the haven they offered from her nightmares would only serve as a wellspring for further torment. So he hesitated.

Finally, torn, he dialed a familiar number. When the sleepy voice on the other end answered, he sighed. "Chamber, I need your help. Time to deliver on that favor you owe me."

The voice slipped from sleepy to incredulous. "Krycek? Are you insane? You're calling me now? Do you know what they'd do to me if they even knew I knew you?"

Alex feigned mock disappointment. "Chamber, and I thought we were so close. They know, trust me. Would you like me to remind you what I can and will do to you if you refuse me?? After what I did for you in Osaka? That was a horrible mess, Chamber. And I paid dearly for saving your ass. Time to come clean. Oh, and if you don't, what they will do to you will only be a pleasant distraction from the memory of what I'm going to do before turning you over to them."

"Krycek, you're bluffing. I know you're on the run in suburbia. If they had even a glimpse of your ass, you'd be toast."

"Have I mentioned what it is like to be a living host Chamber? Every pore of your body invaded consumed by a force you can neither control nor deny? To be trapped, silently screaming inside the fragment of your consciousness left to you while your very insides are filtered through a black alien parasite. Would you like me to explain how it feels to have the Oil expunged from your body, as your insides are virtually turned out afterwards?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a soft gulping noise. "What the hell do you want, Krycek? You know they don't leave any of us alone for long."

"Actually, Chamber, you'd be surprised by what I know. But right now, it's what I don't know, what they wouldn't tell me that I am interested in."

"And that would be...." Chamber replied suspiciously.

"The current project-our project. Lana."

"You mean...."

"I mean Lana. What is happening to her? The serum has grown ineffective much faster than we were led to believe."

"A failsafe."

"What?"

"A failsafe. Really Krycek, you may have been the favored son, but do you honestly think they'd really trust you with something like her?? The serum was never designed to be long term. Not yet anyway. If you hadn't taken her and fled, the maintenance men would have continued the course under Dr. Arredondo. Following the prescribed protocol, Lana would..."

Krycek cut him off angrily. "Maintenance men?" He roared. "Butchers! Butchers I would have never in a million years let them near her- if I had had any idea, I never would have..."

"Ah, but you did, didn't you, Comrade? Quite readily in fact. I wonder if she has the same vivid memory that I possess? Because as I recall, back then you weren't nearly as interested in her welfare as your own. But of course, that was before the boy..."

"Leave him out of this," Krycek warned. "He's not part of that. You know that. And I would sooner die than let anything happen-let them touch a hair on his head." Krycek frowned. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn he heard Chamber softly snickering.

"Jesus, Christ Alex!! For a cold blooded murdering sonofabitch you can really be a simple fuck. Hello?" Chamber spoke slowly, "That's exactly WHY he exists. Why they made him. Normal. Human. Yours. Hers. And oh so deliciously dependent on you for his safety and well being. Surely you don't pretend not to have known that."

"Fuck you, Chamber," Krycek responded. "I'm damn well aware of what Piotr is to them. And that's exactly why I had to leave and take them both with me. Historically, children haven't had much of a future with these men. And we both know I owe her."

"Yeah, well since we're talking history, Alex, you'd also do well to remember current events too. And currently you are no longer the teacher's pet."

"Yeah we'll I've been there before. I'm willing to take chances-my chances. But not with their lives. So cut the bullshit and tell me how to help her."

Chamber's tone changed to a more businesslike one. "Well, Alex, if you want to keep her as she is, then you have to turn her over. As I tried to tell you, the serum is designed to be increasingly toxic to the nervous system. Without maintenance and the proper 'reconditioning', it will induce madness and eventually, death. She needs treatment. They'll have to modify the prescription dosage and reinforce the wash."

"That's it? That's my only option?"

Chamber tried not to sound smug. "Well, yes, that or a partial lobotomy. Excise the demons which are interfering with the implant. That's what is really causing the trouble. Crowded house and all that."

Krycek blew air from between his teeth. "I'd kill her myself before I let it come to that...or surrender her to them."

Chamber made a soft clucking noise. "Damn, Alex. And we always thought HE was hardcore."

Chamber made a few clicking noises as he moved about his apartment before settling down. "Look. I think you are a slimy double dealing bastard. But you did save my ass and I always repay my debts. I'm not kidding about the reconditioning and the medication. That's the only way to keep her as she is. There's no way around it. At least, we haven't found one yet. But if you are so far gone that you'd sooner kill her, I have one other suggestion. It's risky too, and not one you'd like, but I think we both know she would probably prefer a fighting chance."

Krycek listened as the man explained how to save the life of the woman he'd grown to love. He wasn't in the least bit surprised as to how. In fact, he'd fully expected as much all along. It was just final confirmation of a nagging fear.

Chamber detailed the process and after providing him with the location of a warehouse containing the necessary means, prepared to hang up.

"Wait a second," Krycek insisted. "What about the implant?"

"What about it?" Chamber repeated. "You know what happens if it's removed. She has to have it."

"I know that," Krycek responded impatiently. "I'll need a technician. Someone with the ability to replace it."

Chamber groaned. "Jesus, Alex, what next? Rescuing kittens from trees? This suburbia crap has made you soft. Fine. You can contact Magellan. He's still at Roursch, but they moved him to research. He can take care of it."

"Thanks" Krycek began to say.

"Don't thank, me, 'Comrade.' Just leave me the hell alone. We're done now."

"All right," Krycek agreed, before hanging up. "Done."

After hitting the button and shutting off the phone, Krycek faltered. He'd known it was going to happen. He'd feared it would come to this. There was a part of him that had been stifled and frustrated by the constant dread he'd carried with him over the past few months. It was easy to be a hardass when your ass was the only one on the line. It was a helluva lot tougher looking out for somebody else all the time. No wonder Mulder was so fucked up. In the half second his thoughts turned to Mulder, Krycek wondered for a second what losing Scully must have done to him. And thanked the powers that be for getting him out of Washington before the fallout. When you invested so much of yourself into another, it was like-- well, hell.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Krycek banished all thoughts of Mulder's predicament and pondered his next step. He would need help. Someone he could trust-or at least trust with Lana.

While it seemed odd that their absence had been tolerated so well, Krycek wasn't stupid. He knew that anyone who found them and returned them to the group would be well rewarded. They might not be a priority but they were far from forgotten. Given his recent call to Chamber, Krycek figured he & Lana were about to get bumped up on the list. So he needed someone he could trust. That left a very short list. Between a rock and a nutcase. Not much of a choice. Particularly given the recent turn of events that had no doubt sent Mulder over the edge. Which left the rock.

Krycek rolled his eyes and massaged his temples. "Dermo" he muttered, shaking his head ruefully. " I hate Marines." Even with the bastard's very life in his hands, the idea of dealing with Skinner a second more than he had to was a very an unappealing one. He moved to pick up the phone once again, then froze. A soft creaking noise behind him made a shiver run down his spine. He relaxed as he felt Lana's hand drift feather light across his shoulder.

"Alexei?" She murmured sleepily.

Krycek let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. True to form, Lana was blessedly unaware of the nightmare episode she had recently gone through. He knew it would resurface in her subconscious mind soon enough. In dreams. In the nagging doubt and waking visions.

He reached his hand over hers and stroked it softly. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked, concerned.

Alex lied. "No, I just, this move was so sudden, and I'm worried about Piotr finding new friends. He's almost four, Lana. A boy his age should have friends to play with. I think that..." Krycek halted mid sentence as he felt a warm familiar pressure on his back. Lana was leaning up against him, arms around his shoulders. The soft, supple swell of her breasts pressed against him.

"I think..."

Suggestively, she slid her body against him. Alex swallowed. He could feel the taut peaks of her nipples brushing against him through her nightgown. His head swam a little. "I think..."

Lana reached around and turned his head towards hers. She brushed his ear with kisses, trailing her mouth down his face, to his neck. Krycek groaned softly. "Lana" he growled.

"I think you think too much, Alexei" she breathed huskily. "Too much time thinking when you should be acting. Come to bed, Alexei. It's cold without you."

Alex shifted slightly in the chair. The guilt he felt was overwhelmed by the familiar growing need. The sexual aspect of their relationship had come as something of a surprise to him. And though their moments together were fleeting and infrequent, they were very intense.

He turned towards Lana, his green eyes gleaming hungrily in the dark. "How could I tell you no?" he teased.

He turned towards Lana, his green eyes gleaming hungrily in the dark. "How could I tell you no?" he teased.

Lana let out a soft sigh of delight as Alex grabbed her about the waist and planted a firm hard kiss upon her mouth. She reacted in kind, warming immediately to his touch and caresses. She returned his kisses greedily, grabbing his shirt by the neck and drawing him closer.

Alex leaned his body against her, showing her exactly what her kisses were doing to him. He groaned again as she slid a hand against the hardening proof of his arousal. His cock twitched in response and Lana tightened her grip playfully.

Wordlessly, he lifted her up, her arms around his neck. Carrying a woman with only one working arm was not an easy feat but one he had managed to perfect with Lana's patient assistance.

Now setting her down gently was a different matter. As they neared the bed they simply collapsed onto one another. Krycek had a twinge of worry-a momentary tightness in his chest, before Lana planted eager kisses along the neckline of his shirt. The awkward collision of shins and elbows forgotten, they fumbled at one another's clothing until finally, naked, he pulled her against him. Her body was soft, warm, inviting. God, she felt good like this.

Almost like the first time-not the awkward first attempt at sex, but the first time you really did it right-with someone you wanted, comfortable in the knowledge they wanted you back. The surprise of their body pressed against yours, a tangible feeling so strong it almost hurt from feeling so good-so much so you never wanted to leave the bed. He wanted to push so deep into her that they would be inside each other.

Lana interrupted his thoughts, grinning at him slyly as she slid the calf of her leg atop his. He smiled in return, leaning over her and started to nibble gingerly at the place where her neck and shoulder met. She gasped quietly and Alex moved his leg out from beneath and then on top of hers, pushing her onto her back. Instead of complying, Lana chuckled softly, halting the moaning sounds she was making and slipped her leg back on top of his. She pressed back against him, her slight form making considerable progress against his larger one. She managed to get them both on their sides and began to press harder against him. Alex grinned with delight. Here was a battle he didn't mind losing. But not too easily.

He gave Lana a significant look and used a little leverage to counteract the pressure of her body against his. When Lana began to push back in earnest, Alex relaxed completely, sinking back onto his back and grabbing Lana at the same time, taking her with him. She almost squealed out loud, then grabbed on tightly as her husband lifted her astride him. Lana gazed at him lovingly as he eased himself into her. Again, Lana's expression turned merry and without hesitating, she sank onto him. Krycek gasped with pleasure. The sheer heat and tightness of her enveloped him to the hilt. Lana began to move, slowly at first, then increasingly faster. She rode him, their eyes locking then closing at key moments when the feeling was too much. Every so often she would pause, breathless, and lean down to kiss him again, her mouth seeking his with an unquenchable thirst. Krycek protested the lost momentum, and strained against her. He took soft biting nips at her mouth and the rhythm began again. Shivers of delight ran down his spine as he took in the sight of Lana, dark hair cascading wildly around her shoulders, close to climax, and alternating soft moaning noises with the panting whimper that always signaled the end. She had begun to bite down on her lip, a definite sign of impending climax. "Povernis na zhivot!" he urged her. (Turn onto your stomach!)

Lana complied willingly and Krycek thrust himself inside her. Alex grabbed a hold of her and pulled her roughly against him, all the while murmuring softly. Lana began to whimper softly then cry out, meeting his thrusts. As her soft whimpers grew to frenzied cries, she began to lose momentum and started to shake uncontrollably. "Bozhe Moy!" She cried. (My God!) Alex increased his pace, pushing deeper inside her until he felt his own release give way in a shuddering blinding moment. He cried out wildly, gasping for air as he sank against her.

Lana was panting for breath. She trembled softly before collapsing onto the bed, her body damp with sweat. "Ya...ya te...Ya tebya lyublyu, Alexei," she panted into his ear.

"I love you, too," he replied softly. He felt her body relax, and he rolled gently alongside her. He stroked her hair, listening to her breathing grow steady as she fell into sleep. "I love you," he whispered sadly into her hair. Tomorrow. He would contact Skinner tomorrow.

Skinner paced around the waiting room. He didn't like being made to wait. Whatever Kersh had to say, he'd better make it fast. After a period, Kersh emerged, giving Skinner a curt nod.

"He's waiting to speak with you in my office."

Perplexed, Skinner simply watched as Kersh exited the room. He got up and walked into Kersh's office. The Smoking Man reclined on the sofa farthest away from Kersh's desk.

"Assistant Director Skinner, you're on time" he gestured to the chair beside him. "That's good. Punctual as always." He inhaled from the cigarette.

Mulder had managed to come up with a name for him, but he would never be more than the contemptuous bastard he was to Skinner. He didn't deserve the respect of being called anything.

"Can the pleasantries, I'd rather stand. What's all this about?"

"And direct as ever." Casually, he exhaled, before getting up and off of the couch. He turned to face Skinner with a smiling, cold half grin. "I have...news."

Skinner raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly.

"Pending final assessment, Agent Mulder will no longer work under Assistant Director Kersh. Following the unfortunate murder of Agent Scully, it has been decided that Agent Mulder will be allowed to return to work on the X-Files. Accordingly, once again you will be his superior. I trust that you will be able to renew a measure of control over him?" The smoking man's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief.

"What do you really want?" Skinner demanded. "And at what price?" Skinner folded both arms across his chest and cocked his head.

CSM feigned a look of mock indignation. "Why Assistant Director Skinner, you wound me. All I seek is what I have always wanted. Justice." He tapped at a manila folder on the table. "And justice will be served."

Skinner restrained a sneer and scowled at the thin old man. He glanced briefly at the folder before looking aside. He wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction of reaching for it.

He raised his gaze to meet the steel blue eyes of the Smoking Man. He stood, unwavering. "The only thing you want is what serves your interests." Skinner glared angrily at the man, who seemed both unconcerned and unimpressed.

With a patiently evil smirk, he took a long drag on his Morley and appeared to consider Skinner's words. He exhaled slowly, thoughtfully, before finally stubbing the cigarette out in Kersh's empty coffee cup.

He walked towards the door, then turned. "If justice serves my interests, Mr. Skinner, then so be it. But be assured that you are expected to perform your duties. As requested. If you are unable to do so, other arrangements...can and will be made."

He reached into his overcoat and extracted a package of Morleys. After removing another cigarette from the pack, he placed it in his mouth. "Agent Mulder seeks justice, Mr. Skinner. See that he finds it."

Without another word, he slipped out the front door and Skinner was left standing alone in Kersh's office.

He glanced at the door before glancing back at the folder on the table. He moved over towards it and picked it up. It was almost empty. It contained a few slips of paper. Airline ticket receipts for 3 passengers. An address, a phone number and a black and white surveillance photograph. A couple walking down a street, child in tow. He glanced briefly at the photograph but it only took him a moment to recognize the man. The man whose name appeared on one of the ticket receipts. Krycek, A. He took a second glance at the photograph. A dark haired woman stood beside Krycek. She was moving away from the camera, but he could see that she was frowning. Krycek was turned, facing the camera almost dead on, regarding the child with a worried look. Skinner furrowed his brow.

< What the hell does this mean?>

He knew what Mulder thought. He still believed Mulder was wrong. Skinner hated the bastard, no question of that. There was no love lost between him and Krycek. The man had all but killed him -for no discernible reason or purpose, and held that over him like a pendulum. Skinner knew Krycek had the power to do it again at the touch of a button. He knew that in Krycek's mind, this implied some sort of forced allegiance. Krycek was wrong. He had no idea what Krycek's interest in him could be. If Alex Krycek were to disappear off the face of the earth, and he never saw him again, it would be too soon. Walter Skinner was nobody's pawn. Not Krycek's, and certainly not the Smoking Man's. He wasn't sure what was going down, but he could recognize a set up when he saw one.

The Smoking Man expected him to feed the information through to Mulder, that much was obvious. In his present state of mind, however, Mulder was far more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. He wasn't sure why, but convinced as he was of Krycek's guilt in any number of murders and security leaks, he didn't think Krycek had a hand in the death of Agent Scully.

He was duplicitous and a killer, make no mistake. But he wasn't a sadist. The tortures Scully had gone through simply weren't his style. Krycek was an efficient but unremarkable assassin. Torture involved too much thought and creativity. Besides, it seemed unlikely that Krycek & Figueroa traveled in the same circles. If killing needed to be done, Skinner had no doubts that Krycek would do it himself. No, given the source, Skinner had more than enough reason to question the likelihood of Krycek's guilt in Scully's murder. Even so, if he could bring Krycek to justice for the crimes he had committed, it would be worth the risk to his own life. Let the arrogant bastard face the music and stand trial. THAT was justice.

The only question that remained was his own allegiance to Agent Mulder. If Mulder was a loose cannon before, he was an atom bomb now. Given the opportunity, he would destroy everything, himself included, to exact his revenge. Skinner needed Mulder to see and somehow accept the truth. It wasn't worth the cost to play the Smoking man's game. They could bring in Krycek, but do it their way. The right way. He'd make Mulder understand. Because Skinner didn't doubt for a second that if Krycek was involved, he might not be in a position to call the shots for long. To do much of anything. He needed Mulder.

Mulder was starting to get frustrated. The only reason he was even bothering coming to the sessions was to keep in good standing at the Bureau. That didn't mean he liked it one bit.

Particularly given Dr. Bailey's penchant for ignoring practically everything he said.

"But Mr. Mulder, she wasn't a dream. You refer to her so frequently as if she had existed only in a dream. She was your partner. You can't ignore the grieving process-you've suffered a loss, it's only natural to feel..."

"Crucified? Devastated? Incomplete?" Mulder finished the sentence for the good doctor. "Dr. Bailey, I know damn well what she was." Mulder protested, angrily. "Who she was-to me, and to others. And I do grieve the loss of a partner. But more than that I grieve the things she wasn't. Things I didn't tell her, only hinted at. The things we never had the chance to be. How do you deal with the loss of something you never knew?" He looked away. "Barely touched..." Mulder trailed off, eyes closed.

The doctor frowned, shaking his head. "But you did know her...you knew...."

"I knew nothing. Only what she let me see. And it was never entirely her. Just bits and pieces. What she wanted me to see. I mourn the person I'd only begun to catch glimpses of. The person I should have been--with her. The shadow of the people we could have been-together. She was a dream--the best dream I wish I'd had."

"Are you aware of the significance of dreams?"

Mulder leaned his head back against the couch and rolled it to one side, giving the doctor a disgusted look. "No, but I'm aware of the significance of wasting time."

Mulder 's voice took on a booming dramatic tone. "Dreams and the Freudian messages they bear from our sub-conscious," he scoffed. "A waste of time, Dr. Bailey. Mine and yours. Look, I'm a trained psychologist. You know this, I know this. There's nothing you can tell me, no encapsulated catch phrases that are going to make what's happened to me any easier to bear."

"You say that as if it was you who was murdered, Mr. Mulder. And yes, I'm well acquainted with your impressive credentials. AS a trained psychologist then, I'm sure there is no need for me to remind you of the dangerous potential from suffering with such a disassociative complex. You can't just disconnect from everything-everyone-- and expect...."

"Are you even listening to me? What kind of therapist are you? I told you, I expect nothing. Not anymore. There's nothing left. Nobody to trust. What's the point?"

"That's a question I'm afraid you're going to need to answer for yourself, Mr. Mulder. I disagree with your characterization of the efficacy of therapy. However, you are correct in one point. If you are to improve, you will have to decide for yourself, just exactly what is left out there for you. If you can't honestly answer me, I might suggest some alternative therapies. Hypnosis, possibly even a short term prescription...."

"I'm not crazy!" Mulder exclaimed, getting up and towering over the now nervous therapist. "I lost someone all right? It's still normal to hurt--to be angry--when something you love is taken -no, ripped away from you, isn't it? To feel agony beyond description? Do you have any idea how that feels? To know that person you'd seen and imagined your future unfolding with, is gone? Forever? Murdered? To know you've lost every chance you never took to tell them anything and everything, and there won't EVER be another, ever again? To even apologize or tell them you love them, what they meant to you--and to know that they knew you really meant it?"

"Mr. Mulder, I think our session is about finished for the day," Dr. Bailey exclaimed softly. "You're only getting yourself more agitated. I can see where you are coming from and I truly sympathize."

Mulder sighed in disgust. "You can't possibly sympathize."

"Very well, Mr. Mulder. Think about what we've discussed today. And by the way, did you notice that you've begun to speak of yourself in the third person?"

Doctor Bailey raised a critical look at him, and Mulder wanted to smash the smug expression right off his face. He widened his eyes for emphasis. "Why no, we hadn't been aware of that. We'll get together and have a little conference and decide what we need to do about that, Doctor. Thank you for pointing it out to us."

It was the Doctor's turn to give an exasperated sigh. "You're hurting nobody with your sarcasm, Agent Mulder. If you want to improve, I really suggest that you consider..."

"Look at the time....thanks again, Doc," Mulder chimed in, getting off the couch and grasping the man's hand and giving it an exaggerated shake. "A-pleasure-as-always-I'll-see-you-next-week!" The last sentence he spoke in rapid fire succession so that the Doctor didn't have time to interrupt. As quickly as the words were said, Mulder tore away and left the office.

Doctor Bailey only shook his head sadly and watched the Agent retreat. The man had some serious issues. Still, whether he'd admit or not, the man had at least come to the point where he could admit he thought of his partner as more than just a partner. Very interesting.

When Mulder got home, he noticed that his answering machine was blinking. He frowned, hesitant to check it. Perhaps Mrs. Scully had reconsidered her decision. Although, since he hadn't heard from the Gunmen in awhile, it could be them. As the sound of Skinner's voice echoed through the empty apartment, Mulder froze.

"Agent Mulder, this is Assistant Director Skinner. I have some news on the case you've been working on. It seems that we've got a lead on Krycek-his location. Now if you want to do it, you have to do it with my help. And that's not just a request anymore. You no longer report to Kersh. You're back on the X-Files, which means you report to me. I hope we're clear on this Agent Mulder, because as of right now, I haven't reinstated you. You're still on leave. If you're ready to calm down and deal with this rationally, give me a call."

The answering machine clicked off, and Mulder stood there in shock.

After a few seconds passed, he realized where he was and what was happening. He fumbled for the phone and dialed Skinner's number.

After hanging up, Mulder considered the telephone in his hand. Something was troubling him about the way Skinner sounded. Ah, well. It was of little importance to him now. Skinner had screwed up big time. Not only had he let Mulder in on Krycek's location, he'd slipped up and given Mulder Krycek's alias as well.

In theory he and Skinner were to fly out the following evening and apprehend Krycek together. It was a test. Mulder knew that. If he passed, and acted sensibly, Skinner would then reinstate him, give him back the X-Files.

What Skinner didn't realize was that Mulder no longer gave a damn about the X-Files. What's the point in having a life's work if there is no one to share your life? No, the only thing Mulder had left was revenge. He'd tried to do better, wanted to honor Scully-really he did. But he couldn't just carry on like he was supposed to-- like Scully would have wanted. It just didn't matter anymore, no matter how hard he tried to believe that it did. So Mulder tore about his apartment, frantically stuffing a few things into an overnight bag in preparation to leave. A quick call to the airlines and he was set to go. After the cab had dropped him off and he had secured his boarding pass, Mulder waited anxiously in the airport. He was tapping his foot nervously when his cell phone rang.

He fumbled for it, then flipped it open. "Mulder" he said with more excitement than he had been able to muster in weeks.

"Mulder? Where the hell are you? We came to see you at your apartment & the place is a mess."

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, glancing towards the gate, "I gave the maid the day off."

"So where are you Mulder?" Frohike demanded.

"Well, actually, I'm at the airport. I found him."

"You found him?" Frohike exclaimed, incredulously, "how?"

"Well actually, Frohike, I didn't. Skinner did."

"What did he do?"

"He said he did some checking, got a hold of a couple tickets on a flight the day Scully was killed, along with a name."

"What name? What flight?" Frohike demanded.

"The name he gave me is Vasily-Alexander Vasily. I don't remember the flight number, but I can tell you where it went to..."

"I don't like it Mulder-we checked out practically every name-I'm sure we would have looked into one with the first name Alexander."

Mulder shifted, getting up as he saw a small line of people forming to board the plane. "Hey Frohike, it's Skinner. I trust him. And I don't want to sound unappreciative but obviously we missed one. No big deal, we got him now. I want to thank you guys for hanging in there with me, I know I didn't make it easy. Look, I have to go. Hey, it's a long flight, I'll call you once we're up in the air, OK?"

Mulder could hear the muffled voices of the Gunmen talking to one another.

"Listen Mulder, wait a second..."

"Sorry guys, I don't have a second," Mulder answered, closing the phone and pocketing it. He pulled out his boarding pass and presented it to the smiling gate attendant. < Los Angeles,> he thought. < Figures. I fucking hate LA.> The last time he'd been there, things hadn't been much better. Scully'd been gone then, too. But although she'd been taken, he hadn't lost hope-not completely. So he'd thrown himself into the case, risking his life for what? Nothing. He'd never been so glad to leave a city in his life.

Now he was returning, and Scully was gone, again. And this time, there was no hope.

Shortly after takeoff, he hailed a flight attendant.

"I need a drink..." he began, then halted. It wouldn't do to lose any of the edge he had now to alcohol. "Could I get a coke or something?"

She smiled rather broadly and nodded her head. "Certainly, sir. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to make your flight more...pleasant."

It was the sort of look, combined with her tone, which ordinarily would have made most men sit up at attention. But Mulder barely heard or even noticed her. He donned headphones and set to work immediately, planning his course of attack.

He had the element of surprise, that much was certain. Even if it was some kind of setup, they weren't expecting Skinner to show until late tomorrow. That gave him a little less than twenty four hours to locate the bastard and put a bullet in him. And then he could rest. Regardless of what happened to him, he could rest.

After the smiling attendant appeared with a soda, Mulder took a few quick gulps, draining it in seconds. She offered him a complimentary pillow and blanket. He realized all at once, how overwhelmingly tired he felt. Gratefully he accepted it, turning away in haste to face the window. Thank God it was such an empty flight.

Over the years he'd developed an ability for sleeping on airplanes. It was a gift that Scully begrudged him on more than one occasion. He always just grinned good naturedly and offered his shoulder to her mildly skeptical glare. That she'd finally taken him up on it more than once in the month before her death Made him wince. They'd come so close-been so near to something, he could practically taste it. The longing, the ache of an "almost was." His relationship with Scully was a missing appendage. Severed, cut off from her, he could feel-longed for --her presence. Could close his eyes and imagine her there beside him. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, engrossed in some casefile. Possibly, on rare occasions, reading a book. Mulder sighed softly and blinked back salty hot tears. Like an amputee, he felt ghost like traces of her presence lingering near. But with eyes wide open, the depth of his loss was revealed. It tore away at his very heart. Like the knife used on Scully, rending flesh to the bone. And so he remained, tucked away, eyes wide shut. Too tired to play the ghostly cat and mouse, too weary to seek the phantom moments. Frozen in time, Mulder closed his eyes. Though the dreams might come, sleep would too. And sleep was something that he desperately needed.

The sudden rumbling and a tremendous jolt as the airplane touched down served as Mulder's wake up call. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, squinting as the cabin lights flickered on. The smiling brunette flight attendant gave Mulder a wink as she moved to the front of the aircraft to assist passengers in deplaning. Mulder glanced at his watch. Almost 6 AM. Somewhat groggily, he gathered up his things. As he filed towards the exit with the rest of the passengers, he glanced outside. Still dark, not surprisingly. What was surprising was how well he'd managed to sleep. Absently, he felt a hand for the Glock he had secured inside his coat. He had raised a few eyebrows when he'd presented his gun and ID to the boarding crew. "Just a routine investigation," he'd assured them. Apparently none of the crew had either the time or inclination to trouble Mulder about the details. And he was grateful for the absence of questions.

Smiling self consciously, he made a halfhearted wave at the cheery flight attendant who had taken such care to see to his every need. She was young, pretty, but oh too "Gidget" for Mulder. She beamed at him, blushing, and bid him good bye. Mulder hurried down the ramp, breathing in the cool morning air. He set out, intent on avenging Scully's death. He smiled grimly to himself. Krycek was going to pay this time.

The rental car situation was a nightmare. Short of a minivan, the only vehicle available to him was some compact version of a torture device that had him yearning for the more spacious confines of a Yugo. With a measure of resentment, he snatched the minivan keys from the surly rental car attendant. "Enjoy your stay in Los Angeles" the portly man droned. "Next."

"Thank you" Mulder exclaimed in a loud voice, dripping sarcasm. The surly attendant was already on to the next customer, and paid him no mind.

Mulder turned away, then paused. He'd need a map. Abruptly, he continued on. He'd stop at a convenience store. Usually a much higher class of surly there.

Mulder stood outside the mart, frowning. He held a doughnut in his teeth as he glanced at the map.

The address Skinner had given him was a number on Third Street. Problem was, Third Street stretched from downtown to the beach. Deciding on the middle ground, Mulder took the freeway to an exit somewhere in between. East of Beverly Hills but a good ways west of downtown. He took the San Vincente exit. Traffic was surprisingly calm, given that it was fast approaching rush hour. He began to relax when all of a sudden, he had to slam on the brakes. He groaned with disgust and waited for the traffic to continue.

He was so caught up in the fender bender ahead of him, he actually missed the Third street intersection.

Alex was acting oddly, and it made Svetlana uncomfortable. He'd gotten up unusually early, given the late night they'd enjoyed together. She had the vague thrumming in her head, which gave rise to the nagging suspicion she'd experienced one of her episodes. But Alex was avoiding her eyes and acting rather cagey. This was no small matter where her husband was concerned.

"Papa, what is it?" Piotr suddenly exclaimed. "Why won't you play with you me?" His expression was one of petulance as he gestured to the array of action figures splayed out on the floor.

Krycek's expression softened for a moment. "Nothing's wrong little man" he said warmly, smiling a forced grin. "I just have a couple things I need to do today, that's all." He affectionately rubbed a hand over Piotr's soft curls, roughing them up.

"Papa!" Piotr exclaimed with a giggle, ducking from his father's grasp, and running to hide behind his mother's legs.

Lana's smile faded as she looked up and met Alex's now saddened gaze. She furrowed her brow and frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, when Alexei held a hand up to silence her.

He moved to her side and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be all right," he whispered softly. "I promise."

Lana gave him a critical, significant look. She nodded silently. "Do not be making promises to me you cannot be keeping, beloved," was all she said.

Alex considered this, then nodded himself before planting a soft kiss upon her forehead. "This is for last night," he murmured softly, gazing squarely into her eyes. He kissed her again, firmly on the mouth. "This is for tonight," he whispered, "I will be back." Lana grazed the side of his face with the palm of her hand. Alex closed his eyes and leaned into her caress.

They shot open as Piotr slammed against his knees.

"Yuck!" he exclaimed loudly. "Go on, Papa, leave! If you aren't going to stay, Mama is going to take me to the park! Yesterday I met a little boy whose name was Mikhail."

"Oh so now you want me to leave?" Alex protested, jokingly, with his hands on his hips.

"Da!! Now go!" Piotr responded, pushing him towards the door.

"Dosvidanye, Papa!!"

Both Lana and Krycek exchanged bemused smiles as Piotr pushed his father out the door.

"Yes, old man, get out," Lana cried, grinning. "I'm going to spend my day with a younger man!"

Piotr turned to beam with pleasure at his mother. He squealed again, then began to run around the apartment. "Younger man, younger man" he chanted.

"I see how it is," Alex protested. He gave a final wave, then closed the door behind him.

Lana's smile faded as the door clicked shut.

Her expression softened as Piotr began to race around her legs.

"Lets go, Mama!" he exclaimed. "Mikhail said he'd be at the playground tomorrow.... An that's today!"

"Michael" Lana corrected gently. He did say that, but his name is Michael. Not Mikhail"

"Mye-Kull" Piotr slowly repeated.

"Very good."

"So, mama, can we go see Mye-Kull now?"

Lana let out a patient sigh. "Da, Little Man. But do not be disappointed if he isn't there yet. It's early. Do you want to bring your toys? OK then, gather them up. We want the place to be tidy when Papa gets home."

Lana set to packing a few things in the bag she used when she and Piotr went out for their little excursions. It was nice, living where they did. The people were friendly, and in their building, several others spoke Russian too. She could even wear a scarf about her head and not look out of place. Alexei didn't like it. He thought the others asked too many questions. Said it was dangerous. But Lana didn't see the harm. It made her feel normal, speaking in their native Russian. She hadn't told him, but lately, after talking with some of the ladies in their neighborhood, it was as if she'd somehow triggered some of the lost memories of Russia. She could see things in her mind. Almost. She saw a woman's face, with a caring and warm expression. It was too early to hope, but she couldn't shake the feeling of connection with this older woman. Lana imagined that this woman might even be a relative. Perhaps not her mother, but possibly an aunt...she so longed to remember. At times it was like chasing a dream. She saw the faces, images but they were jumbled and disconnected. People she felt she loved-trusted-- but then a sense of fear and betrayal overwhelmed her. And then the monsters appeared, with the pain. Blinding hot pain. And when that subsided, guilt. It was at this stage in the dream that she most often saw the face of the man. Felt angry, confused and...and...an indescribable longing. Like she wasn't supposed to be here. Like there was someplace else she was supposed to be...

"Mama" Piotr chirped, "I'm ready! Let's go!"

Distracted, she set to putting the rest of their things into the bag. She slung it over her shoulder, and, holding Piotr's hand, made their way outside the building. It wasn't the fanciest apartment on the block, the entry door wasn't as secure as some of the others, but to Lana, it really felt like home.

Piotr skipped ahead of her as they headed down the street towards the playground.

As they came to the cross street and began to turn the corner, a white minivan pulled up to the curb in front of their apartment and a tall, lanky man got out. He strode up to the building and moved inside. Unseen, he used a lock pick to quietly gain access to the apartment. < Dammit,> Mulder cursed under his breath, surveying the room. He'd missed him. Who would have thought Krycek was an early riser? Mulder considered his options. He could simply lay in wait. But there were too many variables. What if Krycek wasn't there until later? Was he prepared to spend an entire day hidden in the apartment? He moved about, careful not to touch anything. There were children's toys strewn about the room. It made him uneasy. What the hell could Krycek want with a kid? He was certainly no father figure. Maybe the kid was like Gibson, and Krycek was holding him for his boss. That seemed much more likely. Mulder moved to the front door and cracked the door open. All was quiet. He slipped out, careful to see that the door locked behind him. Mulder made his way down the stairs and exited the building. As he came upon the van, he noticed a pink slip of paper nested under the wiper blades. He swore in disgust. "What the?" He looked up and down the street. The van was the only vehicle parked on that side. He glanced at the ticket. "Street cleaning day?" Mulder was about to crumple the ticket up. Instead, he smoothed it out and set it back under the wiper blades. Maybe having a mini van wasn't such a bad idea after all, he realized. It was certainly not the sort of thing one would expect a FBI agent to hide out in. Mulder grabbed the packet of sunflower seeds he had bought along with the map and settled himself into the middle seat of the van. With the smoked glass windows, he was completely obscured from view. He settled himself against the driver's side of the vehicle, sprawled out on the seat. He popped the window behind him open, and he munched away at the sunflower seeds, dropping the hulls out onto the street.

Lana was getting tired. They had been at the playground for close to two hours. She was anxious to return home, thinking that maybe Alexei had returned. She hoped that whatever had been troubling him had passed. Bad enough for Piotr that she was so out of sorts. Finally, she got up and went over to the jungle gym. "Come on Piotr, Mama's tired, and the wind is picking up. It's getting cold. It may rain."

Piotr only laughed at her, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "This is Caleefornia, Mama, it doesn't rain here. Poppa said so."

Lana grabbed him about the waist and drew him to her in a great big hug. He squirmed to get away, but not in earnest. "Poppa also said to be a big boy and do as you're told, da?" she reprimanded.

Piotr's response was to give her a peck on the cheek. "Da, Mama" he replied. "I mean, yes, Mom." Piotr spoke in an exaggerated American accent.

"Da Momma is fine with me, LITTLE MAN" Lana answered, smiling. "How did I get such a wonderful son?"

Piotr merely shrugged and went about the business of gathering up his toys. Lana helped him, and in a few minutes, they were on their way back home.

"Mama, can we to go to McDonald's when Papa gets home,?" Piotr asked. "All of my friends eat there every day."

Lana grimaced at the idea. "Everyday? I think they tell you tales, little rabbit. We'll see, Piotr. Ask your father."

"Papa's home? Yaaaaay!!" Piotr began skipping once again and singing to himself.

"Piotr, he may not be home just yet..." Lana interjected, but it was no use. Her son was in a world of his own, skipping merrily and engrossed in childish song.

As they made their way onto the street, Lana noticed a solitary car parked in front of their building.

<Tsk> she thought to herself, seeing the ticket on the windshield. Obviously the owner was either a tourist or new to the concept of street cleaning day. She recalled with a smile the numerous times it had taken Alexei to grow accustomed to the idea.

As she ushered Piotr into the building, a sudden chill crept up her spine. She had the sudden, unshakable feeling that she was being watched. An eerie sense of déjà vu, and it made her uneasy. "Hurry up, Piotr" she instructed, taking a quick glance back at the van as the door slammed shut behind them.

Acting on instinct, she quickly motioned her son up the stairs.

Mulder awoke with a start. He glanced at his watch. It had been less than five minutes, but still. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. "Shit!" he swore, as a figure moved into the building and the door slammed shut. He felt for his gun before throwing the door of the van wide open. He raced up to the front door of the building and felt the handle. Miraculously, the lock hadn't clicked, and the door opened effortlessly. He glanced up the stairs in time to see Krycek's front door slam shut. "Krycek!" he called out. He moved into the building and a door to the left of him opened. Without missing a beat, Mulder flashed his gun to the elderly woman, motioning her back into her apartment.

"FBI" he called, grabbing for his badge. "Get inside and lock the door!" Before he could even show her his badge, the door was slammed shut.

Lana closed the door behind her, heart racing. A shadowy figure had appeared at the front door just as she turned the key in their lock. For a moment, she thought their eyes had met-that she felt some kind of recognition. It was the man-the same man who had been in the airport that day-the man from her nightmares.

As calmly as she could, she shoved Piotr inside and secured the lock behind her.

"What is it Mama?" he asked nervously.

Nothing, my angel," she reassured him, listening intently at the door. She heard the front door close, and a voice. Then nothing. She let out a breath. Perhaps it was just her overactive imagination. She was letting her nightmares take over her waking hours. Absentmindedly, she felt for her pulse. It was probably time for her insulin, she thought, when the sound of footsteps at her door made her jump.

"Piotr, she whispered urgently. "Do not be afraid. Go into your room and hide. No matter what, do not come out, understand?"

"But Mama..."

NO, buts, my love. Go now, shh, be quick. Like my little rabbit, da?"

He obeyed silently, but his eyes spoke of his fear.

When the banging on the door began, Lana tightened her grip on her scarf instinctively, and backed away.

Mulder raced up the steps, two at a time, and made it to the top just as Krycek's lock clicked. He slowed down, and listened intently at the door. He heard muffled voices. He hesitated for a second, letting his head fall back as he thought. "Fuck" he exclaimed quietly. He moved away from the door, then hurled his weight against it. The door creaked with his assault, but did not open. He retreated, and tried it again. On the fourth try, the door finally groaned, and with a shuddering crack of wood gave way.

Mulder raced inside, leveling his gun as a woman retreated into another room.

"Federal Agent!" he shouted, waving the gun around. "I'm armed. Get down and keep your hands where I can see them!"

He moved around the corner and saw the woman splayed out onto the hard wood floor.

"Where is he?" he screamed. The woman on the floor flinched, her hands raised above her head. Mulder got the uneasy feeling that she was not unaccustomed to being rousted in her own home and felt immediately ashamed. He softened his tone somewhat.

"I'm looking for a man. He lives here. His name is Alex Krycek and he's a wanted criminal. Tell me where he is and I will leave you alone."

The woman remained still, face down. She was making soft whimpering noises and spoke unintelligible broken English, mixed with Russian.

She wore a scarf about her head and kept repeating the same phrase over and over.

Mulder took a quick glance into the other rooms. There was a bedroom, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen. The dining area looked to have been converted into a small nursery of sorts. Realization dawned on him.

"The boy...where is he?" Mulder demanded. "Is Krycek with the boy?"

The woman began to shake and cry softly.

"Hey!" Mulder exclaimed, "Take it easy. I'm not here to hurt you." He moved towards the woman, reaching for the scarf tied about her head.

As he was about to make contact, the creaking of the floor and the rushing of air beside him made Mulder realize he was not alone in the room with the woman. He moved to intercept, two seconds too late.

He stumbled momentarily as a child threw himself at Mulder, screaming.

Mulder cried out-more from shock than actual pain, until the small boy began to beat at him with his tiny fists. It was the boy from the airport. The boy in the picture.

"Stop it!" he commanded, trying to push the young child away. He held his gun up in one hand, stumbling as the boy continued his assault. He kicked at Mulder's shins, pummeling him about the waist.

Mulder began to get angry.

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP IT!" he hollered, grabbing the child by the shoulder. "I'm not here to hurt you or your mother-"

He didn't have time to complete his sentence because the boy sank his teeth deeply into the meat of his left hand.

Mulder reacted, more to the pain than to the child. Without thinking, he wrenched his hand away from the child, shoving him, harder than he intended to, with the back of his hand, carefully keeping his gun pointed away.

With a gasp, the young child fell backward, striking his head on a corner of the coffee table behind him.

The woman, who had remained prone on the floor, looked up just in time to see her son's head connect with the edge of the table.

With a sharp cry, she leapt to her feet and raced to her son.

The boy lay limp, and Mulder could already see the beginning of a large, ugly bruise forming to the side of the boy's forehead. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, "I'm so sorry-I didn't mean to hurt him." He moved beside the woman, intending to help, but she muttered something angrily and brushed him away.

Horrified, he watched the little boy mutely as his mother fretted over him, feeling his head, gently easing her fingers over the knot on his head.

She called to him, softly, cradling him in her lap. "Piotr? Piotr ma drolya minskaya?"

"Please--I'm so sorry," he began, as the woman gently laid her child's head back upon the floor.

"Shut up, Mulder." the woman commanded brusquely.

Mulder turned to look at the woman with surprise. "How did you know my name?"

She pushed the edges of her scarf back, and it fell away behind her head. Her attention remained focused on her child. Without a moment's hesitation, she loosened the buttons of his shirt, listened to his breathing and felt a hand upon his wrist to check his pulse.

It was a scene Mulder had witnessed a thousand times. In Idaho. San Diego. Edmonton. A hundred other cities. The expert hands of a doctor skillfully determining the degree of injury. He caught his breath in his throat, moving to reach a hand to the woman.

The woman let out an anguished cry and turned, fixing her accusing eyes on Mulder. Time stood still. He lost all ability to speak. His heart quit beating.

Those eyes, her face. It was the same face he'd looked into a million times before. For comfort. For reassurance. Acceptance. For explanations, whether he agreed with them or not.

"Scully?" he managed, after a lifetime of disbelief had passed, and he remembered to breathe.

The woman tensed her fists for a second, then released it, looking back at him with a strange, unreadable expression. She frowned. "Na?" she asked in a puzzled, frightened voice. <What?>

Mulder paused, momentarily confused then reached out to her. "Scully..." he repeated, more insistently this time. He tried to smile.

The woman's eyes widened in what Mulder thought was recognition. He grinned openly, overcome with joy.

Until he followed her gaze behind him. Until he felt, then heard the click of the gun beside his head.

"That's about enough out of you, Mulder," Krycek hissed.

"Like hell it is," Mulder seethed. "What the hell is going on? Why is she here with you?"

"Get up" Krycek commanded. He glanced over at Lana & Piotr and said something to her in Russian, as she clasped her child's hand in her own. Lana looked frightened, answering in their native tongue.

Mulder couldn't follow the conversation, stood completely bewildered.

"You clueless prick!" Krycek exclaimed. "If you've hurt him, so help me god...."

"I didn't mean to hurt him, Krycek, it was an accident. Now tell me. Why is she talking in Russian?" Mulder demanded. "What have you done to her?"

Krycek whispered something to Lana again. She looked at Alex with a measure of confusion. Alex nodded at Mulder then looked at her again. "Lana!" he urged, more insistently.

Hesitantly, she rose up, leaving Piotr on the floor. She moved over to where Mulder stood, avoiding his eyes. She kept her head down, looking away when he tried to meet her gaze.

Krycek grabbed him roughly by the back of the coat. "Leave her alone, Mulder. Don't even fucking think about touching her." Mulder bit his lip ands narrowed his gaze, looking only at her.

She reached into Mulder's coat and felt around. She removed a small glass vial. She shook it and it made a tiny metal rattling sound. Her eyes took on a distant, faraway look, as she slowly turned the bottle over in her hands.

"Careful," Mulder exclaimed.

Krycek turned to see what Mulder was complaining about. When he saw the slight glass container in Lana's hand, his eyes widened.

"Bozhe Moy!" he exclaimed, moving swiftly to Lana's side. He looked to Mulder. "You are one creepy motherfucker, Mulder," he exclaimed. "Do you sleep with this?"

Lana turned sharply to look at her husband, confusion in her eyes. Their eyes locked, and Krycek's hand snaked over hers, encircling it. She shot her husband a bewildered look, protesting as he removed it from her palm.

Alex took the vial and shook his head, silencing any further protest before pocketing it, then turned away.

"Scully," Mulder pleaded, but Lana refused to look at him.

Gruffly, Krycek said something to her in Russian, and again, Lana reached hesitantly into Mulder's coat.

"Her name is Lana, you idiot," Krycek muttered. "Now either shut up or I'll make you."

She stepped back, producing Mulder's wallet and handcuffs. Krycek took them and barked something else at her in Russian. She nodded her head, and went into the kitchen.

While Lana was in the kitchen, Krycek grabbed Mulder by the wrists and handcuffed his arms behind his back. Having accomplished that, he used the heel of his boot to knock Mulder onto the floor. "That's for Piotr," he muttered, before stowing his gun in his jeans. He then moved to where his son was sprawled out upon the floor.

"Christ," he exclaimed, as he gingerly lifted Piotr up off of the floor. He moved into the tiny dining room that served as a nursery and laid the boy down upon a little mattress.

"Is he going to be all right?" Mulder started, halting as Lana came into view, beside Krycek. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she looked pale and afraid.

"You'd better hope so, you bastard" seethed Krycek.

"Scully, it's me" Mulder pleaded with her, "don't you recognize me?"

She turned away and spoke to Krycek, gently laying a hand upon his arm in a most intimate fashion. She murmured something into his ear, gesturing to Mulder. Krycek shook his head whispering something in return, twisting a lazy finger around a strand of her hair. She smiled shyly.

Mulder's blood boiled.

"God dammit Krycek, what the hell is going on? Why doesn't she recognize me?"

Krycek's eyes darkened and he moved closer to where Mulder lay.

Lana sat on the bed beside Piotr, murmuring softly as she applied a cool compress to the swelling on his forehead.

"I told you, her name is Lana" Krycek replied coldly. "Scully's dead, or have you already forgotten that?"

"Listen to me," Mulder began, when Krycek planted a swift kick to Mulder's ribcage.

"No, Mulder, now you listen to me. If you want to know what is going on then just shut the hell up. I don't know what you think you're doing here, but I assure you you're only making things worse. And after what you've done to our son, if you think it wouldn't please the hell out of me to put a bullet in your head, you need to rethink things a little."

"Your SON?" Mulder exclaimed, horrified. "You expect me to believe that boy..."

He halted when Krycek slammed the heel of his boot into Mulder's lower back.

Mulder made a sharp gagging noise.

Lana shouted out something to Krycek and he raced over to Piotr's bedside.

She stole a worried glance over to the injured FBI Agent before speaking to her husband. He lay there, motionless, gasping hard for air.

Piotr gave a soft moan then whispered something feebly.

Krycek and Lana exchanged smiles and Lana leaned in to give Piotr a soft kiss.

Krycek's smile faded as he glanced back at Mulder.

"Piotr, can you sit up?" Lana asked softly.

"Da, Mama, I think so," was his timorous reply. His eyes were round, unfocused...and for some reason that made her afraid.

Lana helped Piotr to sit up. Krycek gently tousled his hair, then reached his arm beneath the boy. Piotr complained softly as Krycek lifted him up gently.

The three of them looked over at Mulder, who had rolled to face them.

Krycek sneered at him for a moment, then grinned wickedly. He leaned over to his wife, and planted a soft lingering kiss on the bewildered Lana's mouth.

"Vozme Piotr v spulnu e uckzoy dver!," he commanded her. <Come with me--take Piotr into the bedroom & then lock the door.>

Quickly, she complied and they moved past Mulder into the master bedroom.

"Scully!" Mulder protested weakly, squirming around to face them, "Scully!" As his stomach and back seized up with pain, Mulder made a sharp rasping noise.

After a few minutes, Krycek emerged, closing the door to the bedroom behind him.

"What did you tell her?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek sat in front of Mulder, an evil smile upon his face. "I told her to stay in there with our son, no matter what. To keep the door locked until I told her otherwise."

"You sonofabitch!" Mulder cried.

"Watch your mouth, Mulder," Krycek admonished him, "this is our home. Our happy happy home. But you probably wouldn't understand that, since you lost your chance when your Scully died."

"Jesus Christ, Krycek, what the hell do you mean my Scully?"

"Use that tiny little brain of yours, Mulder, Krycek teased. "I don't know how you found me, but I know you must have found out about the airport."

"How did you do it? How could you fake her death like that?"

Krycek actually looked disappointed. "Faked? Mulder you should know by now I had nothing to do with that." He frowned. "Although I can assure you, nothing was faked. Scully-your Scully died that night. I'm sorry, but I had nothing to do with it. As I am sure by now, even you must realize."

Mulder's brow furrowed with momentary confusion. "But she's-I mean, look at her, she's..."

Krycek nodded eagerly, as a teacher might when encouraging a particularly slow student. He made a circular motion with his prosthetic hand.

"Think. Yes, Mulder, and that would make her a...?" . Mulder closed his eyes and turned away. "I don't believe you, Krycek, you're lying. Why the hell would they make a clone and give her to you?"

"OH they didn't give her to me, Mulder" Krycek taunted, "She came to me on her own. But come on, use your imagination. What do you think?"

"I don't know," Mulder roiled, "And I don't care. How do I know you're telling the truth? You've always been a piece of shit liar."

He gave Mulder a wink. "I guess you'll just have to trust me. And I'll tell you, they are identical. Down to that cute little mole. The one the real Scully *almost* always hid. Kinda makes me feel sorry for you, all that you missed. Kinda, but not quite."

Mulder's face turned beet red--as if he was about to explode. He wriggled, cursing as he attempted to scramble to his feet.

"Whoa there," Krycek said, with a hint of amusement. "Where do you think you're going?"

He yanked Mulder to his feet by the handcuffs, and Mulder yelped in pain.

Krycek stepped away for a moment, glancing outside the window.

He turned back to face Mulder.

"You know Mulder, asshole personality aside, I kind of owe you one." He cracked the knuckles of his remaining hand.

Mulder sneered at his with utter contempt. "Kiss my ass" he scowled, spitting at Krycek's shoes. "You couldn't fight me when you had two arms, so give it your best shot."

Krycek circled around behind Mulder. "You know, I ought to just kick your ass now, but you'd probably like that."

He moved closer, grabbing Mulder by the cuffs once again. "Even if I did beat the crap outta you, you'd just blame it on the handcuffs." He assumed the congenial tone of a midway carny hawker. "So I tell you what I'm gonna do." Krycek removed his leather jacket, setting it on the couch, dropping Mulder's wallet beside it. He reached into his jeans and took out the gun, releasing the clip and letting it fall to the floor.

"I'm going to fight you fair and square." He unlocked one side of the cuffs, holding Mulder fast.

"But before I do," he purred, "let me tell you what a delicious piece of ass you missed out on with the original. Having experienced the next best thing, I can't begin to describe what an incredible f...."

Krycek didn't have time to finish his sentence.

Mulder wrenched the other hand from Krycek's grip, slamming his head square into Krycek's nose.

Taken off guard, Alex stumbled backwards.

"You arrogant little shit!" Mulder raged.

Mulder slammed a fist into Krycek's face, knocking him down. Mulder grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and pulled him up.

"Is this how you were going to kick my ass?" he asked, spitting in Krycek's face. Mulder threw him back against the wall, and strode to the locked bedroom door. He began to bang wildly at it, screaming Scully's name.

After a moment, he could hear Krycek laughing humorlessly in the other room. Blood poured from his nose and mouth as he grinned through darkened teeth. "She isn't coming out, Mulder. What a fucking idiot. She's terrified of you. You just hurt our son and you think she's going to rush into your arms? Hello?"

"SHUT UP!" Mulder hollered, grabbing him by the shirt again. "Tell her to come out of there. Do it!"

"Like hell I will." Krycek's green eyes blazed with hatred.

Mulder looked around the room, and caught sight of his gun. He grabbed it and held it against Krycek's temples. "Do it, Krycek. Tell her to come out or I'll blow your brains all over the wall!"

Krycek merely shook his head. "Tsk tsk Mulder, where did you learn to handle women? Shooting a woman's HUSBAND isn't exactly the best way to earn her trust, now is it?"

"Husband? You sonofabitch! I don't believe you!" Mulder retorted, "now get up!"

He motioned Krycek across the room, and when they came to the door, he pushed Krycek's head against it with the barrel of the gun.

"Tell her to unlock the door. Tell her I won't hurt her."

Even with his face smashed against the door, Krycek scoffed. "Oh yeah, Mulder, she'll believe that."

"TELL HER!" Mulder raged, pressing the barrel into the back of his neck.

"Poshol ty kuda podal'she , krysha poekhala!! Y dvinut po rylu!"

"IN English," Mulder demanded, "what did you just tell her?"

"I told her to try to get away, that you went crazy and hit me in the nose" Krycek sneered.

Mulder smacked him savagely in the back with the but of his gun. He pulled back the hammer of the gun and pressed against the back of Krycek's head once more.

"I told you, Krycek, I'm not afraid to kill you right here. Now tell her to open the door or so help me God..."

"Schtob ty sdokh" Krycek muttered, "Drop dead!"

"You first, Krycek," Mulder began, releasing the safety and preparing to shoot.

A soft, barely audible click sounded behind him.

"Freeze, L.A.P.D!" A deep booming voice bellowed out. "Slowly slide the gun onto the ground and then put your hands in the air. Slowly!"

Krycek sagged against the door and sank to the floor. "Thank god!" he exclaimed. "This man is insane. He thinks my wife is someone else and he tried to kill me-the bastard injured my son! Please he needs medical attention! He's in there with my wife," Krycek gasped, gesturing to the bedroom door. "It's all right Lana," he called out, "the police are here."

"Krycek, you rat bastard," Mulder spat angrily, lunging out at him again.

The cop holding onto to Mulder tightened his grip. Take it easy, there pal, he warned Mulder.

"I'm a Federal Agent" Mulder protested, My ID is in my coat pocket. Just check. This man is a criminal, wanted in conjunction with several murders..."

The policeman holding him gave a questioning look to his supervisor, moving his gaze over to where Krycek still sat, breathing hard. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. He looked up at the policeman, giving him an uneasy smile.

"See? He's crazy! That's what he told my wife-and then when she let him in, he attacked her. My name isn't Krycek, it's Vasily-Alexander Vasily. He never showed us any identification, and then he, oh God, I have to see my son-is he all right?"

Krycek moved towards the bedroom door, faltering a little as he got up.

The policeman to Mulder's left grabbed his arm to steady him, surprised to discover it was a prosthetic.

Krycek beamed a grateful smile. "Thank you, officer."

He observed the young sergeant staring uncomfortably at his prosthetic arm, and knocked on it softly. "Lost it over in Kuwait. Friendly fire, if you can believe that."

Krycek sighed, shaking his head, as his look deepened. "Still, what can you do? You can't feel sorry for yourself. A man is responsible for his own fortune. I just thank God I have a wife and child who love me."

At this he started, looking anxious again. "Please, can I go in and see them?"

The senior officer pushed the door wide open. "Absolutely, son, you go right on in."

Krycek moved past him and entered the room.

Mulder struggled against the officer holding him fast.

"Now hold on a second there, sir," the officer in charge admonished him. "Let's see about that ID you mentioned."

He motioned the younger man to reach into Mulder's coat.

"Nothing here, sir."

"My wallet is on the couch-he took that, but my ID badge-it should be in my left inside pocket," Mulder instructed the man.

He patted Mulder down.

"Sir, there's nothing in your top pocket. I'm afraid you're going to need to come with us down to the station."

"NO!" Mulder insisted. "Look again. It has to be in there. I'm telling you, I'm a Federal Agent. That man in there, Alex Krycek, is a wanted criminal. You have to let me go!!"

"Sir, you're going to have to quit shouting, and come with us. Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"All right, all right. Get me to the station and get me a phone call. But keep one of your men here, keep that man under custody. I'm telling you, he's dangerous. That woman in there, she needs your protection!" He struggled again, trying to see into the bedroom. "Scully!" he shouted, "Scully! I'll be back-I won't leave you with him...you have to try to remember me-remember him-he killed your sister-my father...."

The cop grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away.

"I think that's about enough, sir."

"No, wait..." Mulder protested, as he was ushered out the front door. Lana had moved towards the bedroom door. Her blue eyes were clear, her expression cold. There wasn't a hint of recognition.

Mulder tried to break away from the policeman's hold. Another cop grabbed his left arm. "SCULLEEEEEE" he howled.

Policemen milled about the building, standing back as Mulder was brought down the stairs. Before they herded him out, Mulder stole a final glance at the second story window. Krycek stood at it, waving smugly. He produced a small black billfold just as Mulder was being shoved into the car.

"Watch your head sir," the young officer admonished him.

"MY wallet-that man up there he has my wallet!" Mulder fought against the hands that forced his head into the waiting car. The car door slammed and Mulder leaned against the window, peering up towards Krycek, who gave him the finger, then blew him a kiss before shutting the blinds.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed loudly, slumping against the seat of the squad car.

The two cops in the front seat exchanged glances. It took all kinds, but this guy was really gone.

Krycek let out the breath he'd been holding as the police car pulled away.

"Thank God," he murmured.

"Sir?" asked the young officer who was trying his best to entertain Piotr while the paramedics checked him out.

Lana looked up towards him with a worried expression. She was confused, afraid, and more than just a little bit freaked.

Alex strode over to them, placing an arm around Lana while talking to Piotr. "Vse budet normalno" he whispered consolingly. < It'll be all right.>

"He's got a possible concussion" Lana replied, fear in her voice. "I don't know how I knew it, but he does. He's going to have to go to the hospital-we have to go with him, Alexei, he'll be so afraid."

"It's all right," Alex soothed, brushing away the tears that welled up in her eyes. "Of course we will, Mulenkuy Mumu, (Little mother) of course we will. Let's grab a few things to take with us, da?"

Tearfully, she nodded, hesitant to let go of Piotr's hand. She knelt down in front of him.

"Piotr, Mumy and Papa are going to gather a few things, then we're all going to go visit the hospital, ok?"

Piotr's tear streaked gaze regarded her with a measure of confusion.

"Ilochy mumy," he breathed softly, his pupils dilated, his focus unsteady. "Skuchuy po ney." His lashes fluttered as his eyelids drooped a little.

"What did he just tell you?" the paramedic inquired.

Lana turned and buried her face against her husband's chest.

Krycek held her tightly against him, stoking her hair softly.

He blinked away something in his eye. "He asked for his mother," he said softly, "he said he misses her."

The paramedic frowned in momentary confusion, his expression softening as he understood. "It's ok," he tried weakly. "It's very common for children with head injuries to sustain a certain measure of disorientation and confusion, even memory..."

"Even memory loss, yes, I know that." Lana snapped angrily.

Krycek started, surprised by the sudden angry tone of her voice.

Lana noticed, and shifted her balance away from him. She pushed herself free of his embrace. "Well what are we waiting for?" she demanded hotly.

The ride in the ambulance was spent in relative silence. Alex took care of the admitting papers and Lana accompanied Piotr through the examination process. By the time the admin people were finished with their questions and documentation, Piotr had been examined and was already in a room. His wife looked up from her bedside perch when Alex came in.

An orderly was in the process of explaining to her how the call button mechanism worked.

"I got it," she said impatiently, surprising the poor man, who set to making notes in Piotr's chart. He shot an injured look to Alex, who forced a pale grin, shrugging his shoulders.

Lana seemed preoccupied and hostile with him as well, her mood shifting only when Piotr stirred. He looked up once, caught her face and smiled softly. "Mumy," he exclaimed softly, in the barest whisper of a voice. Lana beamed, cupping his cheek in her hands.

"Da, moy mulenkuy rabbit," she teased, "you know I can't leave my little rabbit."

Krycek's heart blistered as he watched Lana with his son. He pushed down the anger and tried to quell the resentment that tore away at his insides. It wasn't fair. They so obviously belonged together.

His head hurt. Krycek turned away, staring out the window. There was an unbearable tightness in his chest.

She was his as much as he was hers, and God forgive him, he was hers. And Piotr, Jesus...Piotr, he was theirs. There had to be another way...there had to be...

"Alex?"

Suddenly aware that Lana was speaking to him, Krycek blanched. < She called me Alex.>

Her expression was no longer hostile, but her face had a quiet serene calm that was far worse.

It was the same look he imagined on Adam at the moment he'd bitten into the apple. The look of someone on the verge. The verge of what, he wasn't quite sure, but he had a pretty strong feeling he didn't like it.

"Alex?" he repeated slowly.

She blinked. "Alexei," she corrected herself, frowning. She spoke slowly, deliberately. "That man, Alexei-I recognized him-not just from the airport. Why? Who is he--why is he here? What does he want?"

Alex dropped his gaze to look at Piotr.

"You know him, don't you? What is it you aren't telling me? Those things he said, Alexei, they weren't true...."

"Of course not!" Alex hissed with a ferocity that startled them both. The orderly turned to regard them and Krycek shot him an evil look. He lowered his voice.

"How can you even ask me that, Lana? The man is a nutcase, like I told you. And if you remember him at all," he struggled for a reasonable explanation, "if you remember him it's because he had a hand in what happened in Tunguska. The tests. Your nightmares."

Lana paled visibly, reaching to touch a hand to the back of her neck. Alex continued, his anger and resentment-his frustration getting the better of him.

"I know you're beginning to remember Lana, and I know you've been trying to keep it from me. Can't you understand that can only hurt us both? You have to trust me Lana, you have to let me in. For us...."

He gestured to Piotr, who had lapsed into an uneasy slumber, "For him. Are you willing to let everything we have fall away because some lunatic from the FBI claims you're his dead ex-partner?"

Lana rose from her chair, watching Alex very intently. "Dead? His partner?"

The fiery anger in her expression had faded away. What Alex saw now was something akin to a curious pity.

"Mulder..." she said softly, repeating the name again, rolling the r's off of her tongue.

"He is an FBI agent then. I knew that. How did I know that? How did I know his name?" She shook her head, closing her eyes.

Krycek saw his opportunity and grabbed for it. He moved to her side, taking her in his arms. "I told you, Drolya, because of who he is. What he did."

Lana turned her head up, confusion and curiosity in her eyes. Krycek brushed a strand of hair back off of her face.

"Your nightmares, Svetlana, tell me what you see, so I can help you to understand."

It was Lana's turn to look away.

"Well,' she began hesitantly, "I see lots of things. He's there sometimes, and sometimes so are you. I see him holding a gun on you, he wants to kill you."

Alex tightened his grip around her, resting his chin on her head. Knowing the story, he asked all the same, a lump in his throat. "What happens?"

"I...I think he's going to shoot you" she sobbed. "So I shoot him first. But you run away, and I-I don't go after you, you don't wait for me. I go to him."

Krycek turned his head a bit sideways. "What else?" he breathed softly.

"I see monsters and other men. Other men who want to hurt me-a bright light and blinding pain. My head-oh god, my head feels like it's on fire, "Lexei, and then my stomach. I can't move but they hurt me and then he's there, and I can't find you."

Lana started to shake almost uncontrollably. Alex supported her weight, holding her against him. "Let it out," he encouraged her, "just get it out of your system."

"I don't want to," she protested, sobbing softly. "It's horrible, the things I see-the things I feel-all wrong-all mixed up, Alexei, you don't want to know what I see."

"But you must," he insisted. "It's the only way I can help you."

"Well I remember Tunguska more clearly. I have memories of a woman, I think she is my mumya, she is very kind. I remember seeing you when they brought you in-you were so pale and the blood-your arm-it was horrible. You screamed for help in a fever sleep every night for a week."

Alex winced, the memory of that night not far enough away.

Nonetheless he continued on. "And do you remember him?"

Lana grimaced, blinking back tears. "Yes, I remember how he came with the others, he was looking for you-he-he was angry and mad and shouted at all of us-I couldn't understand him then, he spoke in English."

Alex was triumphant. "You see? He hunted me, found you and delivered you to the butchers, Lana. I was too weak to help you, to save you from the men who hurt you. From that man."

Krycek pushed himself at arm's length away from Lana. He looked her squarely in the eyes. "They try to make you forget Lana-what they did to you. They tried to make you forget me. They used this..." he produced the glass vial she had taken from Mulder in their apartment.

Lana shook her head violently. "It's all too much Alexei," she protested weakly. "My head hurts, I need my medicine."

"When did you last eat?" he inquired, more than just a trace of concern in his voice.

"Oh," she murmured softly, "I'm not sure. Please Alexei, I need the insulin." Lana slumped down into the chair beside Piotrs bedside, head in her hands.

Alex frowned, moving over to where Lana had left her bag. He rummaged through it, dismayed to find Lana's injection supply lower than he had anticipated.

"Lana, what happened to the insulin?" he asked. There were less than a dozen pre-measured syringes in the zippered case.

Guiltily, she raised her eyes to meet her husband's.

Alex's eyes widened.

"Lana! You can't be serious? Bozhe moy! Do you how dangerous it is to be taking this like that? You have to stick to the regimen Dr. Auerbach prescribed."

"Doctor Auerbach isn't here," she protested weakly. "You said it yourself, Alexei-you know the headaches and nightmares have worsened. If you're so damned concerned, give me the insulin, or get the Doctor to come see me. I'll call him myself, if you..."

"NO!" Krycek roared, frightening Lana & waking Piotr, who began to cry softly.

Lana flashed him a pained expression before turning to their son.

Gently, she stroked Piotr's forehead, brushing back his hair from his eyes, humming and whispering soothing words. He closed his eyes, clasping her free hand with one of his and drifted back into a fitful slumber.

Content that Piotr was resting again, Lana turned a weary eye to Alexei. "What was that about?"

Krycek had to think fast. "I suspect he might be working with them," Alex blurted out. "He's the only person who knows where we went and now all of a sudden that FBI Agent shows up?? I don't like it one bit. We should avoid contacting him, I think."

"Well if he already knows where we are, then what's the harm?" Lana objected. "You can see that the medicine is almost gone, what becomes of me then?"

"Then we'll find a new doctor, *I'll* find a new doctor," Alex insisted. "You just have to have faith, Lana. Trust me. Haven't I taken care of us up till now? Didn't I rescue you from the tests in Russia?" He stepped forward, offering her his hand.

She took it, somewhat unsteadily rising from her seat. Alex took the syringe in one hand, then held it in his mouth, between his teeth. He gestured for her to roll up her sleeve.

She shook her head like a petulant child. "Please, not the arm again. It hurts so much and I can barely lift for hours afterwards. Can't we do the leg?"

Alex wanted to protest. It was faster and more effective injected into the bloodstream. He knew it, but Lana didn't-couldn't. Enough of her medical background was resurfacing that while she wouldn't understand why, she would be suspicious.

"All right," he conceded, unable to contain a twinge of excitement as Lana reached down to lift the hem of her skirt up to her thigh. She caught the sudden glassy expression on Alex's face and grinned feebly. "Izvraschenet!" she exclaimed.

Alex responded as if his very character had been affronted. He removed the syringe from his mouth. "Pervert?" he repeated in mock dismay.

"Da," Lana responded coyly as he moved closer.

He came up behind her, using his prosthetic arm to brace her firmly against his body. He pushed himself into her, forcing his leg up beneath the one she had bared. With his free hand, he danced his fingertips across the smooth, pale skin. Lana sighed with pleasure, leaning her head back and against him.

Alex moved to plant a kiss upon her neck, momentarily forgetting the syringe. He reached up, removing it once more. Alex brought his mouth, hot and hungry, against her neck. She arched against him, gasping as he sank his teeth his teeth into her flesh. He bit softly at first, then more boldly until she cried out.

At that exact moment, he plunged the syringe into the side of her thigh, near her hip. She exhaled sharply as he depressed the plunger, torn between the pleasure of his kisses and the burn of the insulin. Before she could cry out again, he covered her mouth with his, parting her lips with his tongue. The syringe dropped to the floor, emptied. Lana turned towards Krycek, stumbling slightly, her eyes dark and heavy. He supported her with his good arm, returning her look with piercing intensity. At that moment, Alex Krycek never felt closer to oblivion. Never wanted it more. But as was often the case, the moment passed and he found himself staring blankly into the face of the woman who had come to depend on him. His gut tightened as an internal battle was fought, casualties be damned.

"Lana," he breathed as she nestled herself against his chest.

"Mmm?" she sighed, with barely more than a breath.

Alex turned to look at Piotr, who slept on, unaware. "Lana" he repeated, more insistent this time.

Svetlana Vasily looked up slowly, and Alex recoiled slightly as he looked into her eyes. The pupils were dilated and almost hazy. Why the fuck hadn't he noticed this before?

Lana smiled lazily, calm but unfocused. Alex pressed his hand alongside her face, trying to gauge her state.

Lana giggled almost drunkenly.

"Shit" Krycek exclaimed.

"Shhh," his wife whispered, "Such language-not in front of Piotr!" She raised an eyebrow, then sighed and sank back against her husband.

Eyebrows knit, Alex gently stroked her hair. Chamber had mentioned a toxic effect but he hadn't expected everything to snowball like this. Probably a result of the increased frequency with which Lana had been taking the "insulin." Fuck. Enough of that. It really *was* over. He tried to ignore the part of him that was pained by the realization. Defragment it, dissect it, deal with it. Move past it, past her.

Chamber was right. How in the hell had he allowed an assignment to become his life? The answer in part he knew, lay sleeping in a hospital bed not five feet away. The other part was pressed against him, her head nestled beneath his chin.

He needed to contact Magellan right away, which meant he had to prepare to leave right away as well. Though he could depend on the technician to help him, he couldn't really trust him. Duplicity was a given in his field. It wasn't a case of who you knew, but what you had on who you knew that mattered.

He moved Lana over to the chair beside the bed. "Stay here with Piotr," he cautioned, frowning as she rewarded him with a drunken half smile, "I'll be right back."

She nodded rather complacently, turning her regard to the sleeping boy as she relaxed her head on her folded arms on the bed beside him.

With Lana's attention focused on their son, Krycek slipped out of the room and into the hallway. He nodded amiably at the two policemen who lingered by the nurses' station. Apparently Mulder's tirade had left a lingering impression. Good. That meant he had time, protection. Two things he was unaccustomed to having.

He moved past them to a vacant waiting area and pulled out his cell phone. Magellan first, then Skinner. Mr. Clean had some answering to do.

Mulder paced anxiously in his cell. To say he was a mass of nervous energy was an understatement. More like a grenade, pin pulled but not released.

His mind was whirling. Scully was alive! He didn't know how and at the moment, he didn't care.

"Fuck" he cursed under his breath, running his fingers along the bars of the cell. He had to get out, he had to go to her and find her. He was starting to feel claustrophobic when a sudden idea hit him. "Of course," he thought, mentally kicking himself.

"Dammit, he shouted between the bars, "Is anybody there?"

A few of the other occupants hollered at Mulder to shut the hell up, offering him creative suggestions as to just how they would accomplish that.

Mulder persisted, and after a few minutes, an officer appeared, looking none too pleased. He tapped on the bars with his billy club. "Listen you, either shut your trap or we'll find you a roommate who will shut it for you."

He turned to go when Mulder spoke. "Look, this is urgent. I need to get out of here, you don't understand. I'm a Federal Agent. Since you can't get a hold of my superior, call Detective Munson. He's in Homicide. I helped him with a murder case a few years back, he can vouch for me."

The officer looked unimpressed. "And what case would that be?"

Mulder grabbed the bars. Multiple Homicide. The Trinity Killers. Maybe you heard about them?"

The man's eyes widened measurably. "Th-that was you?" he inquired, "the vampire thing?" "*You're* the weird FBI Agent that...."

Mulder extended his hand through the bars. "Special Agent Spooky Mulder, FBI...pleased to make your acquaintance. Now please, call Detective Munson and get me out of here. Have you been able to contact anyone at the Bureau yet?"

The man moved slowly away, his expression one of disbelief.

"Wait!" Mulder fairly screamed as the man turned and left much more quickly than he had entered. He craned his head against the bars.

After a few minutes Mulder heard the main door open again. Moving to the edge of the cell, he could make out a small assemblage of policemen.

"Hey" he shouted to them, but they remained where they were, quietly discussing something too softly for Mulder to hear. Every now and again they would stop and turn towards him with wary eyes.

Mulder was about to begin yelling when the door opened again. He couldn't make the face out, but the figure was not attired in the traditional black of the LAPD, which meant he was either a civilian or a detective. The way the crowd of cops reacted to his presence, Mulder guessed the latter.

Once more, Mulder called out. He was beginning to get nervous. Time was being wasted-valuable time. His voice was tinged with the slightest of tremors. If he didn't get to Scully soon, there was no telling what Krycek would do with her, where he might take her. It was a miracle he'd discovered her at all. The magnitude of the "what if" -if he hadn't found her-- was overwhelming.

The group of policemen parted and the tall man strode through them making his way towards Mulder. When their eyes met, the man nodded in acknowledgment.

"Agent Mulder, we meet again."

Mulder heaved a sigh of relief. "Munson, thank God-you've come to get me out of here?"

The man shifted a little, somewhat uncomfortably and scratched his head. He avoided making eye contact. "Well actually, Agent Mulder, yes and no."

Mulder frowned. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Munson took a more direct approach, looking him squarely in the eye. "What it means, Agent Mulder, is that yes, you are being afforded a few concessions as a law enforcement officer, as someone who helped me out quite a bit. But no, we're not releasing you. The matter remains that you broke into someone's home and assaulted a minor."

Mulder's eyes bulged. He took a step towards Munson, stopped only by the bars.

Instinctively, Munson drew back. He wasn't afraid of Mulder like the others, but he had a healthy respect for the state Mulder was in. He wouldn't underestimate the man.

"What?" Mulder roared. "You don't understand! I have to GET OUT of here!"

Munson tried to avoid looking or sounding smug. "Agent Mulder, I do understand that you're upset. But what you don't understand is the position you are putting me in. If you can't calm down, then I will have to leave you here. What I'm offering you is a slightly more hospitable environment. My office. Use of my phone, and some really hideous coffee." He tried a weak smile, gauging the FBI Agent's reaction.

Mulder's mind raced. The urge to reach between the bars and grab Munson's keys was there. He glanced up at the affable man who gestured somewhat impatiently.

"Agent Mulder? What'll it be?

He came to his decision. No good would come from his incarceration. The detective was no fool. This was an olive branch, and likely the only one he'd get. For the first time in a long time, reason won out over emotion. Scully would have been proud.

"OK," he conceded, "I'll behave."

Munson accepted this, then called to one of the policeman standing by the door. "Hey Andrews! Bring me those keys, will you? We're going to move Agent Mulder up to my office."

Mulder's eyes widened. Munson was pocketing the keys he had held up so close to the bars. Shit! They weren't even the right keys! It was a test.

Munson grinned at Mulder, a twinkle in his eye.

Well, at least it was a test he'd passed. He'd earned some level of trust. Nervously, Andrews fiddled with the key in Mulder's cell, stepping back as the door clicked open. He regarded Mulder warily, as one might regard a stray dog approaching them on the street.

The way you look at a crazy man.

Fair enough. Mulder left the cell, glad to be free of the confinement if nothing more. He looked to Munson. "So were you able to get a hold of AD Skinner at the Bureau?"

"Um, not exactly." Munson led Mulder through the main door of the holding area, guiding him towards the stairwell. The cop named Andrews followed fairly closely behind.

Before Mulder could ask what that meant, Munson answered.

"We were able to get a hold of his Secretary, amidst some...confusion. She called us back a little while ago--told us to expect him on the 4:30 flight from Dulles."

"He's coming HERE?" Mulder scratched his chin nervously.

< Of course he's coming here, Mulder thought. We were supposed to fly out together. Shit.>

Munson continued. "Apparently he requested that we detain you here. I wasn't clear whether or not he realized that was something we'd be doing anyway."

They emerged from the stairwell into the typical bustle of a busy day at the precinct.

A few faces turned to watch them as Munson showed Mulder the way to his office. Munson turned as Andrews moved to follow them into Munson's glassed in office.

"Andrews, would you mind waiting here? I'm sure Agent Mulder is willing to cooperate fully. I don't think an invasion of his privacy is necessary, is it?" Munson and Andrews both looked expectantly at Mulder.

Mulder feigned an innocent smile, holding up a hand. "I'll be good, honest. Scouts honor."

Andrews looked unimpressed but turned to stand guard outside of Detective Munson's office.

As Munson closed the door behind them, Mulder let out a long whistle.

"Jeez, he murmured, nodding towards Andrews.

Munson smiled. "Oh, Andrews is a pretty decent guy. Given the general impression of what you did, I'm surprised he volunteered. He's a little old fashioned, but the kind of guy you want watching your back." Munson frowned. He's got a son about the same age as that little kid you... you could have done worse, Mulder. Much worse. Jesus Christ. What happened back there? Every officer I've spoken to has you pegged as a raging psychotic. It wasn't easy getting you up here, Mulder. Care to tell me about it?"

"Well first off, that was an accident." Mulder's eyes flashed with anger. "It's not what you think. I wasn't trying to hurt the boy, I just wanted to get him off of me so I could..."

Detective Munson moved closer, placing himself directly into Mulder's field of vision. "So you could do what, Mulder?" he asked gingerly, concern evident in his face.

"The report mentions the woman, that you thought she was your partner. A call to the bureau confirmed that she was killed not that long ago. I'm sorry. Lost a partner myself, back when I was green. Almost ended my career."

Mulder rubbed his face with his hands. "I know you think I'm crazy, think I've lost it, but it *was* her. That's the reason why things...why why I..."

"Well if you were looking for her then why would you be so surprised to..."

Mulder turned. He stepped forward, talking in low tones. "All this is off the record, right? Between us?"

Munson frowned again. "Yes, between us."

Mulder paused to consider the detective's reply. Trust had never been something he gave freely, but Munson had proven himself enough, he supposed. "I wasn't looking for her. That's the thing. Why I got so unhinged. I was looking for him."

This made Munson even more confused. "Wait, Mulder...you thought she was dead, but you were looking for her kid?"

Mulder shook his head. "No!" he insisted defensively, "not the kid!" His eyes took on a sudden faraway look. "I wasn't...I wasn't expecting him either." Mulder's tone had dropped to an almost whisper.

"So you weren't after the mom or the kid," Munson said slowly. "The father then? The husband? You were after him?"

Munson's words registered slowly. When Mulder finally heard them, he reacted quickly. NO! He shouted, grabbing Munson by the shoulders.

"You weren't after him?"

"Yes him, but no-he's not her husband-not the father-not with her..." Mulder protested.

A light went on in Detective Munson's head. The door cracked open and Andrews peeked in. "Sir, is everything all right in here?" he inquired. "I heard shouting and..." Andrews stiffened when he saw Mulder's hand on the lapel of Munson's coat.

Munson followed his gaze, yanking Mulder's hand away and brushing off his coat. "It's fine, Andrews. Agent Mulder and I were just talking and he got a little emotional. Perfectly understandable. Thank you."

Still wary, Andrews accepted his dismissal nonetheless and shut the door.

"OK, Mulder, help me understand this here. None of it is making sense. This man..."

"I told the others. This man is a professional killer. He's not somebody's dad or husband. He's a liar, and a cold-blooded killer. He's responsible for what happened to Scully..." Mulder trailed off again, frowning blankly.

Munson was starting to understand. "So this guy killed your partner and you were going to?" He paused, waiting for Mulder to fill in the blanks.

"I was going to kill him," Mulder muttered darkly.

"What about the serial killer? I thought..."

"I know. But he couldn't have found her without help."

"That's where this guy comes in? You think he led the killer to..."

Mulder's head was beginning to ache. His throat felt suddenly dry and tight. He sank onto one of the chairs beside Munson's desk. He rubbed his temples and tried to think. Unwelcome questions had presented themselves and he didn't have the answers anymore. "I did. Now, I'm not so sure. But Krycek's the one you should be questioning, not me."

"Krycek? You mean Alexander Vasily?"

"NO I mean Alex Krycek. If he's going by Vasily, it's an assumed name, trust me."

"Mulder, I'm trying to understand, really." Munson's tone was guarded, cautious. "But you say this woman is your partner-if that were true then who was killed before?"

"I think you need to consider that you're wrong-in an emotional state you've been through some trauma and that will make you prone to suggestions that..."

"Look, it was months ago, OK?? I'm not in shock anymore-not from that. As to what happened-I'm not sure, I don't have a rational explanation. I just know what I saw."

Munson let out a long slow breath. "And that is?"

Mulder looked at him sidewise. "I don't know how, but that was her. It had to be."

Munson nodded gravely. "Had to be Mulder? I think you need to choose your words more carefully." He regarded the haggard FBI Agent with a sympathetic look. "I believe that you really think that, Mulder. But belief doesn't solve cases, or make convictions. I need more. You have to stay here, but I'm going to go out and find them--try to talk with her-and him. Try to find some answers that will make sense on paper."

Mulder shot up out of his chair. "You know where she is?" he asked excitedly.

Munson put a hand up. "Whoa there, Mulder. Take it easy. Yes I do. Not surprisingly, after your attack, they are not staying in their apartment."

Mulder winced inwardly at Munson's choice of words.

"Well where is she?" Mulder demanded.

"Mulder, you know I can't tell you that, so don't even ask me."

"Well you need to tell her....you need to give her a message..." Mulder's eyes lit up. He reached beneath his shirt and removed a small gold cross. "Here! Give her this-she'll remember this," he jabbered excitedly.

Mulder tried to press the cross into Munson's hand.

Munson in turn, grabbed hold of Mulder's hand, turning it back over. He shook his head sadly as he released the chain back into Mulder's palm.

"Now you know I can't do that for you. Or maybe you don't. The husband-er,-the man," he corrected, seeing the blaze in Mulder's eyes-he filed a restraining order against you, and not surprisingly, under the circumstances, a judge approved it."

Mulder's mouth dropped as he stood there, dumbfounded.

"She wouldn't do that-she...she *knows* me-knows I would never hurt her..." he started.

"Sit down, Mulder," Munson directed. "I'm sorry but she did. I was there. She told the judge how you'd broken into their home, hurt the boy. She started crying and babbling in Russian or something. What about that? Your partner spoke Russian?"

Mulder's expression soured. "No, not that I'm aware of," he retorted, "but that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Munson walked towards the door, shaking his head. "Maybe it doesn't Mulder, but then again, maybe it does. It seems to me you need to do some soul searching here, consider the other possibilities. You can't blind yourself to the most rational explanation, simply because it isn't one you want to hear."

"You sound like her," Mulder muttered darkly.

"From what I know of her, I'll take that as a compliment, then," Munson replied. "Did you listen to her much? I mean, before?"

"Always."

"Well then, you might consider listening to me. Consider the possibility that you could be wrong. That maybe it isn't her. At least give it some thought."

Mulder watched silently as the detective closed the door behind him. He could hear him giving directions to the blonde Nazi he called Andrews. He exhaled loudly and moved behind Munson's desk, dropping into his more comfortable leather chair.

He spun round and examined his surroundings. There was a small black couch which looked hauntingly inviting. Munson had his own coffee maker on a file cabinet, and an array of James Ellroy books on the case behind him.

A more comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless.

That is, until Skinner got there. He paled somewhat at the prospect. He hadn't really given much thought to what he was going to do once he had gotten there and killed Krycek. At the time, getting there and doing it was all that mattered to him. He was embarrassed to admit he hadn't given anything much thought since he'd arrived. Now...now, he didn't have the faintest idea what to do next.

His gaze moved past the various papers on Munson's desk, and came to rest on the phone.

He had no idea what had happened-how Scully could possibly have survived, but he knew a couple guys who could help him find out. He didn't have much time to make his case. They would need to get an exhumation, prove that Scully's coffin was empty. That would be evidence enough to garner him some credibility. He reached for the phone and dialed the Gunmen's private number.

"He what?"

Langly and Frohike chimed in unison, appalled.

"You heard me" Byers replied quietly.

"Is he nuts?" Langly demanded, throwing his hands up in the air. "This is it. Confirmation. Mulder has completely lost it. He is officially gone."

Frohike just stood there, shaking his head. "We're not going to do it. Have her body dug up? We can't. I can't. I won't!"

Byers scratched the back of his head. "Don't shoot the messenger, guys. What was I supposed to tell him? Forget it?"

"That would have been a good start," Langly said, moving past his friend.

Frohike was looking off into space with a blank, unreadable expression. "He said that guy was there-with the kid? The same one from the surveillance photos?"

Byers nodded. Both he and Langly watched their friend with interest. What was he getting at?

"And Scu..this woman? She was with them?"

Byers nodded again.

Frohike moved over to a terminal and began typing away.

His friends followed close behind him.

"What are you looking for, Frohike?" Langly asked, leaning in to examine the monitor. "The surveillance tapes from the airport? What for?"

"A ghost" was his cryptic reply.

Byers exchanged glances with his lanky companion.

After a while, they left Frohike to his hacking. He didn't ask for help, so they didn't offer. Sometimes it was best just to let the man work out his demons. They sat down and tried to determine the best possible way to let Mulder down easy when a strangled noise from Frohike made them turn.

"Jesus," he whistled softly.

"What is it?" Byers inquired.

"Come over here," Frohike called. No wonder Mulder thinks she's Scully." He peered intently at the screen before pushing a button and printing it out. "Check this out."

Langly and Byers took turns examining the photograph. It was a grainy image at best, but there was no mistaking the woman in the picture bore a striking resemblance to Agent Scully. Their height and build were similar. But she was paler, her hair was longer and a much darker brown, and her appearance overall was a stark contrast to the polished, suited look that had been Scully's trademark. No wonder Mulder was confused. She held the hand of the child who had appeared later on in the surveillance tape with the man Mulder called Krycek.

"Where is this?" Byers wanted to know.

"It's from the main concourse," Frohike answered matter- of- factly. "I figured that since we knew the man passed security with the kid, there was a chance that the mother was there as well. That maybe she'd gone on ahead or followed afterwards. So I went through the tape that covered the entrance to the terminal. I just looked for anybody well, for anybody who resembled Agent Scully. And there she is. We weren't looking for a woman before," he added, sadly.

"So what does this mean?" Langly wanted to know.

"What it means," Byers explained, "is that now we know why Agent Mulder is so delusional. And it's proof that he's wrong about Agent Scully being alive, not that we're the ones that needed it."

"Look," he continued, pointing to the time counter at the bottom of the screen. "This is about 20 minutes before Mulder & Scully's flight even landed. It's not her." Byers peered intently at the screen. "Amazing, but obviously not her."

"Well they say that there is a twin for every person on the planet," Langly offered.

"So now what?" Frohike asked.

Langly shrugged, deferring to Byers, who crossed his arms across his chest. "Well for starters, I suppose we need to send a file of this image to the precinct where they are holding Mulder, and recommend they call in a good therapist."

Both Langly and Frohike began to nod before doing a double take.

"*Holding* Mulder?" they both repeated.

Byers sighed. "Oh. That's the other thing. Let's just say that when he saw this other woman, he thought she was Scully. Mulder got more than just a little excited. So excited that he's being held on assault charges. In any case, his boss is on the way and should be arriving in a few hours. We should get this thing to Mulder before he makes an even bigger fool of himself in front of his boss. Let him know that there is no way Scully could have been at the airport with him and simultaneously with that other guy." Byers sighed softly, eyes downcast. " It's someone who looks a lot like her, sure. But that's all. "

The others agreed and Frohike set to saving the image to be forwarded to Mulder at the LAPD.

Skinner tapped his foot anxiously as he waited for the desk sergeant to return with someone who would take him to Mulder. Waiting around police stations was becoming a habit he didn't care for one bit.

< Damn him,> Skinner thought angrily. < He should have known this was his chance to demonstrate readiness to get back in the field. Why'd he have to go and blow it?>

The answer which immediately presented itself wasn't an easy one to consider. That Mulder might be so far gone he would literally toss his career and life in the toilet. That he would simply commit murder in the name of justice, gladly even spend the rest of life in prison for that justice. It occurred to Skinner that perhaps Mulder never intended to see the rest of his life through, justice or no. He shook his head sadly, disappointed to think Mulder could break faith so easily with all that he and Scully had worked for.

He straightened up as the desk Sergeant appeared in the back of the room, pointing him out to a tall, friendly looking man. The gentleman nodded in his direction, and strode briskly towards him, extending a hand as he drew nearer.

"Assistant Director Skinner? Detective Munson. I worked briefly with Agent Mulder a few years back. The Trinity Murders?"

Skinner took the hand that was offered, shaking it. The man had an iron grip. He continued speaking, guiding Skinner through the obstacle course of desks to the back of the room.

Skinner nodded, vaguely recalling the case. "It was during the period where his partner had gone missing, right?"

Munson nodded. "Exactly. Since I actually worked with him, they've given me some jurisdiction in this case. But mostly as a courtesy to the Bureau. He's in my office right now. I've been trying to piece together some of the details, maybe find something that might help him. I know how hard it can be to lose a partner. Anyway, my apologies for the wait, I was actually speaking with Agent Mulder when something arrived in my email."

He handed Skinner a folder.

"I was debating on showing it to him when the Sergeant informed me that you had arrived. I trust you haven't been made to wait long?"

"No, not really."

"Good. Can I offer you anything?"

Skinner adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and gave a pained smile. "If you can offer me any explanation as to Agent Mulder's actions, that would be helpful."

Munson nodded, then shook his head. "I'm afraid the only here qualified to do that is Agent Mulder himself."

Skinner opened the folder. "Where did you say this came from?" he asked.

"The email address was a general one, but the sender claims to be a friend of Mulder's. Said that this would help him understand and accept that his partner was really dead. There's two surveillance photographs, taken from an unknown source in an airport. One is quite clearly Agent Mulder and a woman-his partner. The other is a photograph of another woman with her child. Svetlana and Piotr Vasily. The woman he attacked yesterday and her son. She does bear a striking resemblance to his partner. Assuming these images are legitimate, the time/date stamp disproves Mulder's theory that his partner somehow survived."

Skinner absorbed all the information Munson was giving him before examining the photographs. The picture of Mulder and Scully seemed legitimate enough. As to the other one...Skinner paled when he examined the photograph.

"You ok?" Munson queried.

"Yeah," Skinner nodded, holding the photograph to the light. This is remarkable, though. I would like to speak to the woman directly, however, if you think that would be possible..."

He trailed off to see Munson examining him with a curious, critical eye.

"What?"

"You don't think it's her, too, do you?" Munson blurted out.

Skinner balked at the idea. "Of course not. I simply want to convey my apologies on behalf of the Bureau. However, it might be a good idea to gain an understanding of how much they are alike however, in Mulder's defense..."

It seemed a reasonable enough request.

"So do you think that we should show this to Agent Mulder?" Munson asked.

Skinner thought for a moment before nodding his assent. "He won't like it, but the sooner he faces facts, the better off he'll be."

Munson agreed. "Oh, there is one other thing..." he paused, turning to face Skinner. "Mulder insists that the man-the woman's husband, Alexander Vasily is a former FBI Agent--a wanted felon in connection with several murders by the name of Alex Krycek. I searched our databases but found nothing to match. Do either of those names ring a bell?"

"Alex Krycek was a Bureau agent who disappeared some years back" Skinner conceded. He was partnered with Mulder briefly. Other than that, there is no official record of any wrong doing on his part. He disappeared around the same time that Agent Scully did. I think Mulder took that as proof of his involvement and subsequently, his guilt."

Munson's eyes widened. "Then if this guy Vasily, *is* the same man, it makes sense for Mulder to fixate his anger on him and his family."

Skinner pursed his lips. "If you're trying to imply that Agent Mulder is unfit to..."

Munson interrupted. "No, hear me out. I'm trying to defend Agent Mulder. Even the most stable person can crack in moments of extreme emotional distress. Agent Mulder's actions would be perfectly understandable in such a situation."

Skinner narrowed his gaze. "Of course" he agreed, nodding.

Munson moved towards the door that bore his name. A tall blonde man, taller than Skinner himself stiffened as they approached. He gave Skinner an appraising look before reporting to Munson.

"He's still in there, detective, been pretty quiet."

"Thanks, Andrews" Munson replied approvingly. "You can go now. This is Assistant Director Skinner from the DC Bureau. He's here to deal with Agent Mulder on their behalf."

Andrews looked mildly uncomfortable, but strode away.

Munson turned to face Skinner. "Look, from here out, most of this is between you and Mulder. It's none of my business. I'm glad to offer you whatever help you may require."

"Understood," Skinner replied. "And appreciated. If it's all right to remove Agent Mulder from your custody, I thought I'd take him with me. As I understood it, the arraignment is Tuesday?"

"That's right," Munson explained. "I'm sorry you have to wait that long even, but in LA terms, that's damn fast." He handed Skinner his card. "This has got my pager number on it. You can tell the dispatch operator your name and she will see to it I get the message if you need anything."

Munson rapped lightly on the door. "Agent Mulder? I've brought someone to see you."

As the door opened, Mulder turned casually around in his chair. When he saw Skinner standing behind Munson, the smile on his face faded. He fought the urge to stand, opting instead to remain seated. He nodded casually. "Detective Munson." He looked at Skinner. "Sir."

Skinner returned the nod curtly. "Mulder. I see you've made yourself comfortable."

Sensing the tension, Munson decided to break it up a little.

"But not too comfortable, I hope. Remember whose office this is, Mulder. Come on, get up. Time to go. We can't afford to keep you around here any more. You eat too much," he exclaimed, looking at the array of crumbs and empty food containers.

Sheepishly, Mulder attempted to tidy up the desk.

"That's ok," Munson replied. "Just remember your own your own recognizance here. There is a restraining order that forbids you to come within 500 yards of the Vasily family until the arraignment. So don't muck it up. You know where I am if you need anything."

Mulder nodded. "Thanks," he offered, extending a hand.

"You're welcome" Munson answered, turning to look at Skinner. "Will you get him out of here?" he mumbled, smiling.

"Mulder?" Skinner began, opening the door. "After you."

"Sir?" Mulder started to question.

"Later" Skinner responded. He looked to Munson. "If you need to contact us for any reason, we'll be at the Cienega Suites."

Munson nodded. "Will do."

The majority of the car ride was spent in silence.

Except for a few mumbled responses, it was obvious that Mulder didn't want to discuss things. Which was just as well. Skinner wasn't looking forward to having the conversation he needed to have Mulder while driving anyway. So he let it go.

He thought quietly to himself, pondering Krycek's most recent and cryptic phone call. He'd known where Mulder was, and more alarmingly, that he'd been on the way to bail him out. Krycek had never been much for veiled threats. His were more obvious in nature. But there was an undercurrent of restraint to his angry accusations. Like suddenly he needed Skinner more than he wanted to admit.

Skinner had no idea what had happened to change the tone of things, but was willing to bet it involved both Mulder and the Smoking Man.

And if it gave him further leverage to nail the armed bastard, so be it.

He just wished Mulder had been on board enough to be more of an asset than a hindrance. This crazy attack on the woman Krycek claimed to be his wife was going to screw things up for Mulder at the Bureau big time.

Almost subconsciously Skinner shook his head.

Breaking in on a woman? Injuring a child? What the fuck had happened that Mulder could be so far gone? He glanced at the brooding slumped figure beside him.

At that moment, Mulder looked aside to him.

Dull brown eyes regarded him with disinterest.

Skinner almost shuddered. The eyes which normally burned with fire or shone from excitement seemed dead. Haunted.

It figured that losing Scully could do this to him. Skinner often wondered about the true nature of their relationship.

He'd known about the office polls and betting pool