Truth And Consequences

Part One

Black Crow, North Dakota
September 1995

He was fairly sure he'd never see the light of day again.

What he wasn't sure about was how long it had been since he had seen it.

He had absolutely no idea how long he'd been trapped here, in his own personal prison, but it didn't seem to matter much anymore. Very soon now, he thought, this prison was going to be his tomb.

In moments of full consciousness, which were now very few and very far between, he almost welcomed the idea of death, if only as a release from the torture he was now enduring. He didn't even remember how he got into this situation. His last coherent memory was of an airport bathroom in Hong Kong. The next thing he knew, he found himself in a cavernous, dimly-lit room, on his hands and knees on top of a strange craft that couldn't possibly be of this earth, with an oily substance dripping from his mouth and eyes.

That experience left him exhausted and drained; so much so that he didn't even realize for a while that he was locked in with this spacecraft, a vaguely menacing shape that scared the hell out of him. Once he'd discovered this, he spent most of his time banging on the door and screaming for somebody to let him out. By the time it finally sank into his desperate mind that there was nobody there, his voice was gone and both hands were cut, bruised, and painfully swollen. That was when he noticed the complete absence of food and water from this hellhole.

His intense hunger had actually passed rather quickly, but as time passed every cell in his body started to cry out for water, and the craving got worse and worse as he grew weaker and weaker. The urgent need for water overshadowed everything else; all the confusion, the fear, and the pain.

He'd almost given up then, pretty much resigned to his fate. He sat by the door, leaning against the cool metal wall of the dimly-lit chamber, and let images from his life cascade through his brain. That life, he had to admit, wasn't pretty. So many lies, so many people he'd hurt, so many things he'd done that he wasn't proud of... and so much pain that he'd suffered as a result. He understood now the full consequences of the things he'd done. <As if you could really make up for any of it,> he told himself. <Like anybody'd even let you try.>

Faced with that truth, he slowly became aware of a fierce desire to stay alive. To get out of this hellhole. And to exact revenge on the puppeteer who'd been pulling his strings all along; the one who'd forced him into the role he'd never wanted and wasn't cut out to play. <Maybe I'll burn in hell forever,> he thought, <but I'm not ready to go yet and when I do, I'm not going alone.> His voice somewhat restored, he began pounding and yelling at the door with renewed vigor, still clinging to a faint hope that somebody might be there. After another couple of hours doing this, though, nobody had come... and his voice was gone completely, and for a good long time this time.

Partly to keep his mind off the terrible burning in his throat -- and in an (ultimately futile) attempt to ward off the lapses of consciousness that would inevitably arise from his growing weakness -- he continued intermittently pounding on the huge steel door. This continued, as consciousness allowed... until he felt something snap in his left hand and wrist. Searing, white-hot pain shot up his arm; his world grayed out for a moment and he collapsed against the wall, cradling the injured limb. When his vision cleared, he found himself sliding slowly down the wall, staring at a hand with a jagged edge of bone protruding from its base, just above the wrist. Blood seeped slowly from the wound, moving sluggishly as though there wasn't enough fluid in his body for it to run as quickly as it should have.

<That's it,> he told himself, tying a strip torn from his shirt around his hand and pulling it tight. The agony this action caused almost made him pass out again, but his vision slowly returned before everything could fade completely to black. <You're done,> his mind went on. <If you don't starve to death or die of dehydration, you'll bleed to death.>

He lay down on the floor of the room, just inside the door. <Fitting end for a guy like you,> he told himself. <Not a soul on the planet gives a shit if you live or die anyway, so you might as well just give up. A worthless end to a worthless life.>

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the welcoming blackness.

Near Black Crow, North Dakota

Dana Scully watched the utterly unremarkable landscape of North Dakota roll by outside the car window, and sent up her hundredth silent prayer that her partner would finally turn off the Beach Boys tape and put on something else. When the last song on the tape ended and nothing followed, she silently gave thanks and turned her attention to her partner. "So, Mulder, you want to tell me now what we're doing back here?" she asked.

Fox Mulder didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was very soft, suggesting that he'd been thinking deep and private thoughts for the last hundred miles or so. "I've been thinking about what you said about the dead speaking to the living from beyond the grave, about crying out for justice," he finally said. "About all the things my father never told me... the things I think he was going to tell me just before..."

His voice trailed off. Scully knew it was difficult for him to talk about his father's death, because he still hadn't fully come to terms with it. "What does that have to do with this place?" she asked quietly.

Again his answer came at length. "There's only one voice my father can speak through now."

"Krycek's." Scully voiced what was on both their minds.

When Mulder didn't elaborate, Scully pressed on cautiously. "Mulder, what makes you think Krycek is here?"

"He was here, Scully. You saw the radiation burns too." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"But that doesn't mean he is anymore," Scully protested. "We don't have any idea where he is. He could be anywhere. He could be dead, for all we know -"

"He's not."

Scully looked at her partner thoughtfully. He seemed so sure, so positive... Did he know something... or was it only wishful thinking? "Mulder, how can you be so sure?"

"He has to be alive. He's the only one left." Mulder was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, and Scully could only guess at the complex mix of emotions swirling in his troubled hazel eyes.

"I want answers too," she said gently, "but I don't think this is the way -"

"Then maybe you can tell me what is the right way to explain this." Mulder dug in the inside pocket of his coat and tossed a photograph at her.

Scully turned the photo over and studied it. She recognized it instantly -- it was the one taken outside the Strughold Mining Company in West Virginia; outside the mountain vault filled with secret files. She studied the faces again. There was a young Bill Mulder, and Deep Throat... Victor Klemper... that cigarette-smoking bastard... the man they'd met in Klemper's greenhouse... She tapped the photo. "This is the man who warned me that they'd try to kill me."

Mulder glanced over. "That's the same guy I met in New York," he said. "The one who said he'd give me Krycek."

Scully looked up from the photo. "Do you think he knows where Krycek is?"

"No, but I know they want him. Which means he knows something they don't want anybody else to know..."

Scully sighed patiently. "And what makes you think they haven't already found him and killed him?"

"Why'd they lose him in the first place?" Mulder countered. "He was working for them. They should know his every move, and they don't... at least most of them don't. That means something happened; something big enough to push him into deep cover on the other side of the world for the last five months. If he was cunning enough to get away from them and stay alive for that long, he's probably cunning enough to do it again."

"That doesn't mean he's still in the silo," Scully reminded him quietly.

"Maybe not, but at least it's a place to start." Mulder fixed a steady gaze on her. "The chinks in their armor are starting to show, Scully," he said. "That I was even able to meet with one of them and get the information I got shows that. Their organization's almost ready to blow up; I can feel it. And Krycek is the one we need to light the fuse."

"Wait a minute. I thought this was about answers. When did it turn into revenge?"

Mulder's gaze never wavered. "The answers *are* the revenge, Scully."

She dropped her eyes and sighed heavily. "I hope you're right, Mulder," she said softly. "I just hope we won't be the ones to blow up."

"Okay, Mulder, this is it," Scully said. "The last chamber. If we don't find anything, we go home, right?"

Mulder didn't answer as he studied the door with the number 1013 painted on it. The Consortium's cleanup crew had done a remarkable job with this place; they'd found nothing so far. No bodies, no trace evidence, nothing. The walls had even been stripped of any and all evidence of the intense heat that had killed the guards they'd seen on their last trip here. There was absolutely nothing to show that this place had seen a human being in the last twenty years.

"Mulder?"

"They're good, Scully," he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. "There's no evidence that *we* were even here recently."

Scully stepped away from the door to Silo 1013 as Mulder peered through the door's small window. "Still think you can track Krycek from here?"

He hadn't been able to see anything through the windows of any of the other silos, and this one was no different. "This has to be it," he murmured softly, more to himself than to Scully. "He said it was here..."

Scully's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sometime today, Mulder?"

He shook his head, as if clearing away the last threads of a daydream. "Yeah, okay," he said, turning the wheel and pulling the huge door open. "After you, Dr. Scully."

Scully stepped inside and allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She heard Mulder move around her, further into the chamber... and heard his sharp intake of breath. "Mulder what is it?" she asked... then looked up and gasped softly herself.

Never in her wildest dreams could Dana Scully have imagined that one day she'd stand in the same room with a UFO, but here she was, in the room with one. The craft before her had to be alien; everything about it spoke of technology far beyond human capabilities. It was oddly beautiful, with its symmetrical triangular shape; the very soft glow that seemed to come from deep within it both accentuated that beauty and made it vaguely frightening. <This is what the alien was looking for,> she thought. <It wanted to go home. Is it still here? Is it inside that ship?>

She found herself circling it, following Mulder on his silent, awestruck journey around it. Closer in, she could see the barnacles that covered its smooth, gray skin; evidence of its fifty years on the ocean floor. Almost without thinking, she reached out to touch it, but the sudden deep revulsion she felt when she realized what she was doing stayed her hand. She wondered idly what the French were going to do with it if they had been the ones to raise it. <Does their government cover these things up like ours does? How many other countries have silos like this, full of salvaged UFOs?>

She stepped back away from the ship, mentally chastising herself for those very Mulderesque thoughts. <It's *not* a UFO,> she told herself. <It *can't* be. It's... something else. Prototype Stealth aircraft or something...> She moved backwards closer to the door... until her foot caught on something and she had to brace her arm against the wall to keep herself from falling. She looked down to find out what had tripped her, and was shocked to see a human form lying just inside the doorway.

"Mulder!" she cried, and bent down to examine the form. She rolled it over from its side onto its back... and found herself looking at a face she hadn't seen in over a year. "Krycek," she breathed softly, hardly believing what she was seeing.

It took her a moment to slip back into professional mode. "Mulder, over here!" she called again, and hardly noticed that she got no reply. She pressed her fingers to Alex Krycek's neck, not expecting to feel anything, but she did find a pulse. It was weak and erratic, but it was there.

Her fingers came away from his neck stained with what she suspected was fifty-year-old diesel oil, and she noted that his skin was coated with a thin film of the stuff. So Mulder had been right after all. That theory of his that she'd laughed at back in DC turned out to be right.

Pushing that thought out of her mind, she took stock of her patient's condition. He exhibited symptoms of severe dehydration, and starvation as well. His breathing was slow, so shallow as to be almost nonexistent, and about as erratic as his heartbeat. He was radiating heat, and she couldn't tell if it was because of fever or erratic body temperature brought on by the dehydration. She turned her attention to his left hand, which was bound up in a blood-soaked strip torn from his shirt and rested in a puddle of what had to be dried blood. If any part of his body could be called swollen, that hand was. She unwrapped it and noted the compound fracture. <Bet that's not the only broken bone in that hand,> she said to herself. The wound was very obviously infected, and the red lines snaking their way up his arm showed that the infection was spreading. The hand itself had turned a sickly grayish color. <Diminished circulation,> she noted. <Infection and fever. He needs a hospital *now.*> "Mulder! Come over here right now!"

Her partner finally obeyed, still looking over his shoulder at the spacecraft as he walked over to her. "Scully, did you see -" He stopped short in front of her. "Krycek?"

"We need to get him to a hospital right now, Mulder. Come on."

Mulder didn't move. "He's alive?"

"For now. He won't be for much longer if he doesn't get medical attention."

Mulder shook his head. "I came about this close to killing him in Hong Kong," he said softly, "and now you want me to save his life."

"You're the one who wanted to find him," Scully reminded him, a touch of exasperation creeping into her voice. "And if we don't get moving *right now,* you'll never be able to get what you want from him. I guess you have to decide just how badly you want those answers."

Mulder met her steady gaze for a full minute, then picked up Krycek's limp form and headed out to the car.

Seven Hours Later

Scully's eyes followed Mulder as he paced around the hospital room, and she found herself saying what had been on her mind for the last three hours. "Mulder, would you please sit down? You're driving me nuts."

He came to rest by the window and stared out. "How long till he wakes up, anyway?"

Scully rose from her chair and moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, picking up his chart along the way. "Might be any time now."

"'Bout time," Mulder snorted.

"Then again, it might be a while," Scully continued quietly. "It's hard to tell."

Mulder sucked in his bottom lip and said nothing.

Scully's perusal of the chart and the various machines around the bed told her that Krycek was responding well to treatment. The intravenous fluids he was receiving seemed to have his body temperature back under control, and Scully could now say for sure that the low-grade fever he still had was from the infection in his hand, for which he was on IV antibiotics. The dehydration-induced electrolyte imbalance that had caused his cardiac arrhythmia had also been corrected - the steady, reassuring beeps of the heart monitor told that story.

Surgeons had also repaired the shattered bones in his hand and wrist, using some permanent metal plates and pins to hold some of the bones together. The limb was now encased in a knuckles-to-elbow cast and rested across his abdomen. The surgeon had told Scully that he would probably regain up to 90% use of the hand, but she suspected that was the least of the problems Alex Krycek would have to deal with in the coming weeks.

The biggest one of those problems had moved away from the window, and dropped into a chair across the room with a sigh of annoyance.

"You know, Mulder, even if he regains consciousness soon, he's definitely not in any shape to go through the Inquisition," Scully reminded him.

"Well, then, do I at least have permission to go back and get a closer look at that spacecraft?" he fumed.

"It's been there this long," Scully said quietly. "It's not going anywhere."

"So I'm supposed to just sit here watching him sleep?"

Scully put the chart down and turned her full attention to her partner. "Well, there is something else you can do."

When she didn't elaborate, he sighed and asked wearily, "What?"

"Tell me what we're really doing here."

He just looked at her. "Scully, you know why we're here -"

"I know what you hope to gain with this. What I don't know is why you were so sure we'd find what we were looking for. How did you know Krycek would be in that silo?"

Mulder didn't move for what seemed like a long time. Finally he dug into the inside pocket of his coat and drew out an envelope, which he tossed to Scully.

She picked it up and leveled a stern gaze at him. "What else do you have in there that you haven't sprung on me yet?"

He spread his hands. "I'm clean, Scully. Scout's honor."

"Mm-hmm." She opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper inside. It was a photocopied map of North Dakota, with the area around Black Crow circled. A small green Post-It next to the circle bore the words, "The truth is in here," with an arrow pointing to the circle. "Mulder, where did you get this?"

"Found it in my morning paper yesterday."

"And you believed it?"

"We found what we came for, didn't we? And more."

Scully threw the envelope and its contents back at him. "Mulder, are you so desperate to find the so-called truth that you'd follow any wild lead that gets thrown in your path?"

"Moot point, Scully. We found -"

"Well, what if we didn't?" she interrupted. "What if there was nothing in that silo? What would you do then?"

"Scully, he killed my father!" Mulder shouted, gesturing toward Krycek. "I'd go to the ends of the earth to find him! Don't you know that?"

"How do you know?"

Her quiet question caught him off guard. "What?"

"How do you know Krycek killed your father? You didn't see him, did you?"

"Well, no, but -"

"He didn't leave any evidence, did he?"

"No -"

"He said he didn't do it, right?"

"Right, but... if he didn't do it, what was he doing at my apartment the next night? He was there to kill me next!"

"You don't know that either. The bullet that killed your father didn't come from the gun you took from him."

"Maybe he switched guns."

"Given the time frame, that hardly seems likely." Scully crossed to Mulder's side of the bed. "Face it, Mulder, you have absolutely no evidence to base that claim on. Do you really hate him that much? Do you really want that much for him to be guilty?"

Mulder couldn't meet her eyes. "Scully, I -"

His reply was cut off by the sound of Krycek stirring in the bed, and a soft moan.

Scully was immediately at his side, gently shaking his shoulder. "Alex, can you hear me?"

His eyes opened halfway, closed again, then snapped wide open. Terrified green eyes darted around the room, finally coming to rest on Mulder's face, and Krycek scrambled toward Scully's side of the bed in a desperate attempt to escape Mulder.

Scully took his hand and tried to soothe him. "You're safe here; we're not going to hurt you. You're out of the silo, and you're okay. Everything's okay." Her eyes strayed to the machines on the other side of the bed. His heart was racing and he was absolutely terrified; that was not good. "Calm down, okay? Everything's fine. Mulder won't hurt you; they made him check his weapon at the desk. Okay?"

After a long moment, she finally felt the tension start to drain from his body, and he settled back in the center of the bed. He was calmer now, but his wary eyes kept flicking in Mulder's direction, and she could still read fear in them.

"Don't worry about him," Scully said, drawing Krycek's attention back to her. She ignored Mulder's snort. "He promised me he'd behave." Krycek started to say something, but Scully held up her hand, stopping him. "Better not. The doctor said you really did a number on your vocal cords. They need complete rest for a while if you ever want to be able to use them again." She offered him the glass of water that was on the bedside table, and held it for him as he gratefully took a drink. "Can you do that for a while?"

He leaned back against the pillow again, shrugged, nodded. He caught sight of the cast on his left arm and lifted it slightly, raising a questioning eyebrow at Scully.

"You apparently did quite a job on that, too," Scully told him. "You managed to break quite a few bones in your wrist and hand - the doctors aren't even sure you'll get full mobility back when the cast comes off." She paused. "Does it hurt much?"

Krycek shook his head, then gestured toward his throat. That obviously hurt. Scully reached into her pocket and took out a lozenge, which she held out to him. "Try this; it should help."

Krycek reached for it, but then hesitated and dropped his hand. His eyes flicked in Mulder's direction again, then quickly back to the lozenge in Scully's hand.

Mulder gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, just take it, will you? If she wants to poison you, you really think she'd do it in a hospital?"

Krycek's green eyes met Scully's blue ones for a moment. Apparently deciding he could trust her, he took the lozenge. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and after a moment, relief flooded his features. His eyes met Scully's again and he mouthed, 'Thank you.'

She smiled and patted his hand. "Don't mention it." She got up and checked the various machines again, making sure everything was okay, then settled back on the edge of the bed. "Feel up to a little chat? Nothing major; just a few simple questions."

He shrugged, nodded, then motioned with his good hand, generally conveying the idea that he had no means of communication. Scully turned and looked expectantly at Mulder, until he produced a legal pad and pen and tossed them toward the bed. She shot him a glare as she retrieved them and placed them by Krycek's right hand.

"Okay," Scully said, "first question -"

"First question's an oldie but goodie," Mulder interrupted, moving toward the bed, "and I want the truth this time. Did you kill my father?"

Scully glared at Mulder and meant to override the question, but she could see that Krycek had been expecting it. At the very least, he didn't seem surprised to hear it. So she held her tongue, waiting to see what would happen.

Krycek tapped pen on pad for a moment, then began writing. Scully could see it took quite an effort - he was almost too weak to even hold the pen. When he was finished he turned the pad in her direction, and Mulder moved in closer so he could read it too. Krycek's handwriting was more of a scrawl than anything else, but it was readable, and what he wrote definitely didn't do anything for Mulder's temper.

'Does it matter what I say? You think I did it. Can't change your mind, no matter what the truth is.'

Mulder raised his eyes from the pad to meet Krycek's, and they were dark with anger. "You son of a bitch, what the hell kind of answer is that? We saved your miserable life; at least you owe us a straight answer!"

"Mulder..." Scully's voice held a tone of warning.

Krycek defiantly held Mulder's gaze for a minute, then wrote again. 'Think whatever you want. You won't believe anything I say anyway.'

"Why?" Mulder demanded, taking that as a confession. "Why my father? How could you just gun a man down in cold blood like that?"

'Like you were going to gun me down in cold blood in Hong Kong?'

"Just answer the goddam question!"

Krycek thought for a moment, then started writing again. It occurred to Scully that this whole thing was probably a bad idea. The necessity of having to write gave Krycek time to think, and if he had time to think, he had time to come up with plausible lies, or at least put a spin on the truth. At the very least, it gave him the opportunity to pull Mulder's chain, which Scully knew he could do very easily. She also knew Mulder wouldn't allow him to do it if this were one of their usual meetings - Mulder would more than likely have Krycek in handcuffs or at gunpoint.

No, this setup was definitely to Krycek's advantage. He had time to think, and Mulder wasn't thinking. Anything he said came from anger, emotion, hatred. He wanted so much to believe that Krycek had killed his father that he'd believe almost anything now. Even though Krycek's mind was clouded by exhaustion and fever, she was pretty sure he would take advantage of that. She had to level the playing field a little bit.

Hoping that the kindness she'd shown him merited some sort of loyalty, she touched Krycek's hand, stopping him in mid-word. "I think you should know that this isn't an official inquiry, and anything said here is off the record. So some semblance of the truth, please?" she said softly.

His eyes met hers briefly, then he continued writing. Mulder paced impatiently around the room - Scully could see he didn't much like this setup either - and raced back to the bed when he heard the sound of a sheet being torn off the pad. Scully scanned it and passed it to Mulder.

'Why your father? Ask yourself that - don't you know what he was involved in? And if somebody held a gun to your head & told you to kill some guy or you'd get killed, what would you do?'

Mulder wrinkled up the sheet and pitched it into the garbage pail. "Why don't you tell me what my father was involved in?" he fumed.

'You don't know?'

Mulder's anger abated a bit. "Not exactly, no," he admitted. "But you do, so spill it."

'All in good time.'

"Now," Mulder said.

'When my voice comes back? Want me to get writer's cramp too?'

"I really couldn't care less if your goddam arm fell off!"

"Mulder..." Scully warned.

Mulder sighed. "You said they told you to kill or be killed. Who told you that? Who was going to kill you?"

More scribbling. 'Them, the group. The bastard with the cigarettes.'

"Your boss."

Krycek glared at him.

"So you killed my father and tried to kill me just because they said they were going to kill you?"

'First, I never tried to kill you...'

Mulder, reading over Krycek's shoulder as he wrote, interrupted. "The hell you never tried to kill me! What was that with the tram at Skyland Mountain?"

Krycek ignored his interruption. 'Second, they don't make idle threats. What if they did that to you? You'd follow those principles of yours & let them kill you, wouldn't you?'

Mulder snorted. "At least I *have* principles to compromise."

Scully gently tapped Krycek's hand. "Will you answer a question for me?"

'Do I have a choice?'

Great, he was getting defensive now. Scully took a deep breath and concentrated on not making her question sound like an accusation. "Did you shoot my sister?"

Krycek studied her face for a moment, and she got the uncomfortable feeling that he was almost trying to read her mind. Finally he wrote, 'Cardinal tell you that?'

That reply surprised her a bit. <Well, he definitely knows who did it...> "Yes, he did."

'Forensic evidence...?'

No confirmation, but no denial either. A typical Krycek answer. "The forensic evidence points to Cardinal," she said slowly.

'So why ask?'

"Because you were there. Maybe you didn't fire, but you were there." It wasn't a question; Scully was suddenly very sure.

Again he studied her face, trying to read her emotions. That look was uncannily familiar... Scully realized with a jolt that she'd gotten the very same look from Mulder more than once when he was trying to hide something from her. She shook the thought from her head and looked down at the pad, where Krycek had written, 'Who do you think called 911?'

"Oh, you called 911 so that makes it okay?" Mulder interrupted, fuming. "That lets you off the hook? What would've happened if it was Scully who walked through that door?" He leaned in closer, and Krycek cringed away from him. "Would you be off the hook for that too because of that kill or be killed order? And what about her abduction? You knew where they took her, didn't you? You helped them take her. You know what they did to her. You killed Duane Barry so he wouldn't talk, didn't you?" He kept leaning in closer until his face was inches away from Krycek's, and Krycek continued to shrink away, fear and anger filling his eyes. "Didn't you? Damn you, answer me!"

Ominous beeps were coming from the heart monitor, and Scully knew she had to stop this now, just in case Krycek's cardiac function wasn't quite stabilized yet... "Mulder, back off!" she commanded, pulling at his shoulder. He wrenched away from her grasp and leaned back over the bed.

Krycek's breathing was now rapid and shallow; not a good sign, but Mulder didn't seem to notice. "I should've killed you when I had the chance!" he yelled, even as Scully grabbed his arm again and dragged him away from the bed.

"Mulder, I said *back off*!" Scully cried, and something in her voice and her eyes made Mulder actually decide to obey. He dropped into the chair on the other side of the room, glaring at Scully as she went back to the bed to calm Krycek down.

Very slowly, she was able to soothe him, to the point where his breathing was normal and the heart monitor was beeping normally again. By that time Mulder had cooled down somewhat, but his hazel eyes were still dark with anger when she came around the bed to talk to him.

"Scully, what the hell are you defending him for?" he demanded. "After all the things he's done?"

"Shh, Mulder, keep it down," she said quietly, drawing him further away from the bed and closer to the door. "Didn't you ever hear that old saying about catching more flies with honey?"

Mulder just looked at her. "You really think he'll tell us the truth if we're nice to him?"

"It's worth a try. It'll never work with you; he's scared to death of you and besides, he'd never believe it. But I don't really have a history with him. Maybe I can get him to trust me, but you have to back me up and stop attacking him all the time."

"Attacking? Scully, I was just asking questions --"

"You were attacking him, Mulder; you always do." She glanced back toward Krycek, who had leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "And I told you he's not physically able to handle that right now. That's why he's being evasive, you know -"

Mulder almost laughed. "Scully, being evasive is second nature to him."

"Whatever. The fact remains; he's sick, he's weak, he's in pain, and we need to give him time to recover."

"How the hell long will that be?"

"Depends. What kind of shape was he in when you found him in Hong Kong?"

"Not great. Looked like he hadn't been taking care of himself... Scully, what does that have to do with anything?"

Scully fixed a steady gaze on him. "That adds to the time he'll need to recover. Do you think we can all handle this like civilized, rational adults for a while?"

Mulder sighed. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll try to be good. I don't know how long I can do it, though."

"I guess I can't ask for any more than that. Just let me do the talking, okay?" Mulder nodded, and Scully went back to the bed and sat down on it.

Krycek's eyes opened again when she sat down, but the deep weariness she saw in them made Scully rethink her decision to continue the interview. "Feeling pretty lousy, aren't you? We can finish this later if you want."

"We'll finish this now," Mulder said, coming up to the bed. Scully turned around and shot him a warning glance, but he ignored her. "The tape. Where's the tape?"

Krycek looked to Scully, and she could clearly read the question in his eyes: <Do we really have to do this?> She glanced over at Mulder, knew he wasn't going to give up. <Must be a record for breaking a promise,> she thought. <Thirty seconds.> She nodded at Krycek.

With great effort, Krycek took pen in hand again and scrawled, 'Safe place.'

"If you mean the locker at Capitol Ice, it wasn't there," Mulder informed him. "You took it, didn't you?"

Krycek thought about that for a moment. 'How'd you know?'

"What, that you took it? Where else could it be?" Scully could tell from Mulder's voice that he was trying to keep his anger in check.

'No, that it wasn't there. I have the key.'

"You gave me the key when we got back to DC, remember?"

Krycek shook his head, a touch of anxiety coming into his eyes now.

"You don't remember that?"

Another head shake.

"What about the accident? Do you remember that?"

Another few moments of frantic writing. 'Last thing I remember is the bathroom in the airport. Next thing I know, I'm on top of that thing, coughing up oily stuff. What happened?'

"You don't remember any of it?" Scully asked.

Krycek shook his head again, clearly nervous now. 'What happened?' he wrote again, almost frantic.

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances, then Mulder took a deep breath and said, "You were possessed by an alien force."

Krycek didn't bat an eye at that news. <He knew about it,> Scully thought. <He knew it existed.> 'So what happened to the tape?' he wrote.

"Damn thing could be anywhere," Mulder said, getting up to pace around the room. Suddenly he stopped and whirled around. "Scully, who threw us out of the silo the first time?"

"The man with the cigarettes."

"Right, Cancerman. He had the UFO that the alien wanted. The alien, in Krycek, had the tape he wanted." He turned back to Krycek. "You gave that bastard the tape! How could you do that?"

'Not me.' The words were underlined vehemently.

"Mulder, if that's true, it wasn't Krycek who gave it to him," Scully said quietly.

Mulder didn't appear to have heard her. "We had the proof almost in our hands! Now we have nothing. *Nothing*! We can't prove any of it!" He shot a venomous glance at Krycek. "And we saved your miserable life for nothing!"

Krycek shot an equally poisonous glance back, then shoved the pad at Scully. After reading what was on it, she said, "Mulder, if you're done ranting and raving now, could you please get his jacket?"

Mulder went to the closet and brought out the leather jacket. "What for? Something in here we should know about?" He started digging through the pockets.

Scully sighed patiently as she read Krycek's next frantically-scribbled note. "Over here, please?"

Mulder came back to the bed, still digging through the jacket. "Why, so he can hide whatev -" He stopped in mid word, drawing his hand out of an inside pocket. "So he can hide this?" he asked, letting the key he'd found dangle from his fingers.

Krycek lunged for it, but Mulder snatched it away before he could reach it. "What's this for, Krycek?" he asked. "What secrets will this open up?"

Mulder let it dangle again, holding the chain it was on as Scully examined the key. It was a pretty generic key; could've opened any one of a million locks. No identifying marks at all other than a seven-digit number.

Mulder dangled the key just out of Krycek's reach. "What's it for, Krycek?" he demanded. "What are you hiding behind this?"

With concerted effort and desperation in his eyes, Krycek lunged for the key again, this time catching Mulder off guard. He snatched it out of Mulder's hand and closed his own tightly, possessively over it.

"Give me that key!" Mulder reached for Krycek's hand.

Glaring defiantly at Mulder, Krycek slipped the chain around his neck.

"Damn you, Krycek..." Mulder reached for the key again, leaning across Scully to do so, but Scully held him back.

"Mulder, stop it," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Swearing under his breath, Mulder got up and stalked toward the door, Scully's eyes following him. "I think we've all had enough," she said, getting up herself. "We'll finish this tomorrow."

Krycek tore a sheet off the pad and handed it to her. She read, 'Is all that stuff really necessary? The beeping's driving me crazy.'

Scully checked the machines again, noting that everything looked normal. "There's probably no reason to keep most of this hooked up," she agreed. "I'll mention it to the nurses and somebody will take care of it." She patted his hand and offered a small smile. "Get some rest, okay?"

The door had barely closed behind her when Mulder turned on her, fire blazing in his hazel eyes. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"I thought you were going to let me handle it!" she shot back.

"Encouraging him to keep secrets? Nice way to handle it, Scully!"

"Keep your voice down! This is a hospital!" She drew him further down the hall and closer to the wall. "You know, Mulder, letting him keep that key will probably help us in the long run."

Mulder started to say something, but thought better of it and chewed his lower lip instead.

"You have to look at it from his point of view," Scully continued. "Since he doesn't have the tape anymore, he feels he has no leverage. That he's useless to us now. There's nothing stopping you from throwing him in jail or putting a bullet in his brain right now. That key, and whatever he's hiding behind it, gives him something else to make a deal with."

Mulder just looked at her. "And when did you get your psychology degree, Dr. Scully?"

"Mulder, when did you lose your professional detachment? If you ever want to get any information from him, you have got to stop antagonizing him!" She paused, laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you. It's not easy for me either. He... he watched my sister die, and sometimes... sometimes the only thing I want is to watch him die..." Her voice trailed off and a tear formed at the corner of her eye, but she brushed it away before it could fall. "But we can't let our personal feelings get in the way of the overall objective. You're not having much success with that. I'm sorry, but unless you do that, you're just too close to this situation. You're too personally involved and you've lost your objectivity. You really do have to back off and let me handle this, at least for a while."

Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "He doesn't need the tape or that key," he said softly. "He knows enough just from his own experience to blow up that organization. That's all I want; just what he knows. It's all we need."

"I know, Mulder. And we'll get it; I promise." She squeezed his arm. "Come on, let's go find a hotel. I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

He slowly dug the car keys out of his pocket as they walked toward the elevator. "I'll drop you somewhere, okay? Just make sure the rooms have cable."

Scully stopped. "Where are you going?"

Mulder's eyes met hers, and she found herself confronted with a look uncannily similar to the one she'd gotten from Krycek. <That is just too weird,> she thought.

"I have something to do, okay?"

She sighed. "Mulder, you need some rest too. Can't that ship wait?"

"Not anymore. I might've waited too long already."

Scully sighed again. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Alex Krycek leaned back against the pillow and drank in the comfortable quiet of the room. A nurse had come in and unhooked most of the machines, cutting off that infernal beeping and leaving the room blessedly silent.

Not that there was total silence, of course. The usual assortment of hospital sounds filtered in from the hall, and he found these comforting. The sounds, and the occasional appearance of a nurse in the doorway, let him know that he wasn't alone. That there were other people around who could let him out if he should happen to be locked in the room...

He hadn't let the nurse close the door, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to sit in a closed room again. Certainly not any time soon, at least. And, although he knew for a fact that the door was still open, he couldn't fight the overpowering urge to check every so often to make sure it was. <If it closes I'm dead,> he thought. <Can't let them close it...>

He closed his eyes in the hope that sleep would come, but it didn't. Tired as he was, he still felt completely, totally awake. He thought he knew why, too. <Drug-tired,> he thought. <Anesthesia hangover. The kind of tired it's impossible to sleep off.>

It didn't take long for him to realize that the sleep thing just wasn't going to work.

At least the disconnection of the machines gave him some sort of mobility, and it occurred to him that a trip to the bathroom might be in order. <Boy, never thought I'd be so glad to see a bathroom again,> he thought, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He was instantly overcome by a wave of dizziness and had to lie down again, but once his head cleared, he sat up again. Fighting back the dizziness this time, he worked the IV pole around the bed until it was on the right side, the side closer to the bathroom. <Good thing I have that,> he thought. <Need *something* to hold myself up.>

Moving very slowly, stopping when necessary to allow any motion-induced dizziness to subside, he carefully sat upright at the edge of the bed. Then he slid forward a bit and slowly stood up.

Big mistake. A powerful wave of dizziness overcame him, causing his vision to gray out and making him stumble. He would've crashed to the floor if the bedside table hadn't been there. He stumbled into that instead, and the impact knocked him backwards, back onto the bed, where he lay on his side, silently praying that the dizziness-induced nausea would just go away. After a long few minutes it did, and his head was a little clearer. <Real bright,> he chided himself. <What would Scully say if she saw that?>

Scully. Krycek knew that she was only playing good cop to Mulder's bad cop (he wondered briefly if Mulder knew this), but it had been so long since anybody had treated him with anything other than hatred and contempt that he was almost inclined to trust her. Almost. He knew he couldn't, not completely, because she was still Mulder's partner and she had a personal stake in this whole mess too.

That personal stake was evidenced by her question about her sister. His own question about Cardinal had been a calculated risk; he had no way of knowing what, if anything, the Feds knew about his former partner in crime. Scully's answer, unless she was bluffing (and he didn't think she was), told him that they had Cardinal in custody. Of course, Krycek knew that meant that Cardinal was probably dead. After all, the Consortium couldn't and wouldn't allow anyone to remain in a position where they might reveal certain things, and Cardinal had been known to say practically anything to save his own skin. He wondered briefly what his former associate had done that led him into FBI custody. <Oh, Scully, if you only knew what else that scumbag did...>

He let his mind drift back to his first encounters with Dana Scully. It was pretty amazing, really, how she'd managed to completely blow him off or humiliate him every time they'd met when he was Mulder's partner. And now here she was making nice and pretending she cared what happened to him. Well, he had needed the help. Whatever that was that she'd given him had quenched the almost unbearable fire in his throat, for which he was very grateful. And he really didn't feel up to that scene with Mulder, so he was glad to have her running interference for him. Trouble was, eventually he would have to pay the price for her kindness.

The price Mulder and Scully had set was the DAT tape with the MJ-12 files on it. If what they said was true, Krycek knew he was no longer in possession of that tape; a fact which worried him, but not as much as his Fibbie friends might have thought. He fingered the key that hung around his neck. One thing his association with both the Bureau and the man Mulder called Cancerman had taught him was to always have backup. And since he was a good little soldier, of course he had backup in this case. Mulder and Scully would get their answers, all right. They just might not get them on the terms they wanted.

Mulder, Krycek thought, just didn't understand the situation. He acted like the whole government alien coverup was his personal crusade, like he was the only person ever hurt by it. What he didn't understand was that it was intensely personal for Krycek too. Not, of course, in the way Mulder would've assumed it was. Contrary to Mulder's belief, Krycek really had nothing against him. No, he had a much more personal stake in the whole matter, and any and all information he had would be used to settle that score before it went toward settling Mulder's. He would do anything he had to do to make sure he was able to exact his own revenge, and if that meant staying with Mulder and Scully until he recovered enough to do that, then so be it.

His head much clearer now, he hauled himself to his feet again, this time able to fight off the dizziness and nausea and actually stagger across the few feet between the bed and the bathroom.

Once there, it became crystal clear to him just how difficult life with one hand was going to be. <How the hell am I supposed to do this,> he asked himself, <when I have to use my good hand to brace against something to hold myself up? Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention...>

He found washing one hand (without getting the cast on the other wet) only slightly less difficult. Only after he accomplished this did he allow himself to look in the mirror and assess his appearance.

He was shocked at what he saw. He almost didn't recognize the face in the mirror as his own. Red-rimmed, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, deathly pale face, looked like he hadn't slept in a year... <Geez, pal, you really look like hell,> he thought. <You look about as good as you feel.> Between Hong Kong and that silo, he had lost a good ten to fifteen pounds; weight he had to put back on in a hurry if he meant to carry out his plan of revenge. He fingered the key again. <Oh, yes, you bastard, you will pay for this,> he thought. <You will pay dearly. It won't be as quick and easy as a car bomb, either. Maybe you'd like to go on the Missile Silo Diet too, hmm? Or maybe you'd like to experience firsthand what you put Dana Scully through? Or maybe I ought to just choke you with those damn cigarettes...>

He studied his reflection again. At least the nurses had managed to clean him up. The thin film of oily residue was gone from his skin, and somebody had even shaved him. Sure, all that did was accentuate how thin his face was now, but it was a nice gesture anyway.

As he made his way back to the bed, he became aware of a deep, dull throbbing in his wrist and a quickly escalating headache. <Fever's turning up a notch,> he thought, <and the painkillers just wore off. Great. How am I supposed to sleep now?>

But when he got himself settled back in the bed, he found he was tired enough to sleep now. Not just tired, but deep-down-to-the-bone exhausted.

Krycek's last coherent thoughts were of Dana Scully before he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It wasn't until he was almost halfway back to the missile silo that Mulder felt some of his anger start to dissipate and he was able to think clearly again. It was only then that he was able to think about Alex Krycek and this whole messy situation without practically ripping the steering wheel in half.

Deep down, he knew that Scully was right about how to handle Krycek. Knew it, and tried to practice it, but had failed miserably. Something about Krycek flipped some kind of switch in Mulder's mind, filling him with an incredibly intense, murderous rage he didn't even know he was capable of. It wasn't just because of his father's death, either. There were so many other things, like Scully's abduction, but Mulder had to admit to himself that it was probably the betrayal that hurt the worst.

Krycek's betrayal had cut like a knife for a lot of reasons, but primarily because he was Mulder's partner, and partners just don't behave like that. A partner was somebody you were supposed to be able to trust with your life, as he trusted Scully with his. No matter how much they might disagree about a case, Mulder knew that Scully would always back him up. He had thought Krycek would too, especially when he insisted on coming along on Mulder's unauthorized search for Scully...

Well, at least now he knew why Krycek had insisted on coming. Part of his mind wondered why it had taken him so long to see his new partner's true colors, but deep down he really knew the answer. He had actually started to like Krycek, and almost consider him a friend. That had to be why his betrayal had hurt so much.

Of course, none of that mattered anymore. They were all playing under a new set of rules now, and Mulder knew he had to keep his temper in check when dealing with Krycek if they were ever going to get anywhere. It wouldn't be easy, and he would absolutely loathe doing it, but he had no choice. He had to think not about his own personal grudges, as Scully had said, but about their current situation. However, if he didn't get sufficient answers, there would be hell to pay.

Fact: he and Scully were dependent on Krycek for the answers they needed and to help bring down that smoking bastard.

Fact: Krycek was dependent on them for the care he needed to recover.

Fact: somebody wanted Krycek dead. Locking him in that silo was clearly meant to kill him, in a particularly cruel and sadistic manner. Who had done that? Who had he given the tape to? Cancerman. Another fact.

Mulder turned that over in his mind for a few minutes. It certainly appeared that Krycek had fallen out of favor with his boss, and Mulder wondered why. He also wondered what implications that would have on Krycek's state of mind. Were they now united against a common enemy? Was it in fact possible for them to work together to everyone's satisfaction?

The more he thought about it, the more he thought it might just be possible. They had one big advantage on their side: Cancerman's little group didn't know Krycek was alive. And what they didn't know could very definitely hurt them.

Mulder's spirits were much improved when he pulled up outside the bunker housing Silo 1013 once again. The good mood continued, and plans were starting to form in his mind, as he made his way to the door of the storage chamber. It wasn't until he actually opened the door that everything fell apart again.

The chamber which had previously housed the alien ship was absolutely, utterly empty.

Scully settled the warm comforter over herself and allowed her body to relax completely. She hadn't even really realized how tired she was, but after the long hot bath and light supper, she was so drowsy she could barely keep her eyes open. She had intended to wait for Mulder to return, to get the report of whatever he might find out about the ship, but the bed looked much too inviting. Knowing that Mulder would probably wake her up when he got back anyway, she accepted that invitation and slid under the covers.

Once settled, though, she was dismayed to discover that sleep wouldn't come. Her body was relaxed, but there were just too many things spinning through her mind to allow her to sleep. Chief among those thoughts was Alex Krycek.

She had never quite known what to think of Krycek. When she'd first met him, she had pretty much dismissed him -- she certainly hadn't treated him like he was part of the case Mulder had been working on. It was pretty easy to see where that attitude stemmed from too, and Scully readily admitted it, if only to herself. It came from jealousy, that childish green-eyed monster. Krycek was Mulder's partner and she wasn't, and she was jealous.

That jealousy had prevented her from even attempting to find out what Krycek was like. Even after Mulder had said he was okay and had started to trust him, she had stubbornly refused to accept him and continued to act like she was still Mulder's partner. She remembered how she had gone charging in during the Duane Barry incident; taking over like it had been her case from the beginning. <Maybe if I hadn't done that,> she thought,

When she'd finally gotten the full story of her disappearance from Mulder, what really struck her about the whole thing was the intense hatred Mulder had developed for Krycek. Scully supposed that was understandable. Krycek's alleged betrayal had hurt Mulder deeply, but because of that fact, she knew she had to take anything Mulder said about Krycek with a grain of salt. There was no proof of anything, even that Krycek had betrayed him, but Mulder took all the circumstantial evidence as indisputable fact. Scully had to admit, though, that the cigarettes found in the car and the fact that Krycek took a powder just after her own disappearance and Duane Barry's death was pretty damning circumstantial evidence.

Even so, Scully just couldn't agree with Mulder's viewpoint regarding his former partner. Maybe there was enough evidence to say he was involved with Cancerman's group, but nothing gave any indication to what degree he was involved. He may have helped whoever took her, but she didn't know for sure. He may have tried to kill Mulder on the tram, but there was no proof. There was nothing linking him to the tram operator's mysterious disappearance, either. If he did kill Bill Mulder (and he had all but admitted that he had), they'd never be able to bring him to trial for it. And Scully just didn't believe that Krycek was at Mulder's apartment to kill him. She would never, ever let Mulder know she thought that, but the setup was all wrong. If he had been there to kill him, wouldn't he have been in the apartment already? Wouldn't he try to kill Mulder the same way he and his buddy Cardinal killed Missy?

None of that mattered anymore, though. Not even the fact that he had confessed to being an accessory to Missy's murder. She had to forget she'd ever heard that, because she knew she'd never see him brought to justice for it. Everything was different now. Cancerman had obviously tried to kill Krycek by locking him in that silo. He had been on the run before that - why? The Consortium wanted him eliminated - again, why? He seemed to be the key to unlocking this whole mess - just what did he know that was so dangerous?

Scully couldn't help but feel sorry for him now. He had to be feeling pretty miserable right about now, and it wasn't just because of his physical condition. Caught between a government that wanted him in jail and a shadow organization that wanted him dead, his present position was a very precarious one. And it was up to Mulder and herself to get him out of that position if they wanted to get any information from him.

<Ironic how things work out, isn't it, Dana?> she asked herself. <You and Mulder have to put your careers, maybe lives, on the line for a man you considered a nonentity and Mulder loathes. You actually have to help someone who was sent to kill you...>

She wasn't even aware that she had fallen asleep until the shrill ringing of her cell phone woke her. She picked it up and sighed sleepily into it, "Scully."

Mulder's voice. "Scully, it's gone!"

She was instantly awake. "Mulder, is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm at the missile silo. It's gone, Scully! They took it!"

"What, the ship?"

"Yeah. You know what that means, don't you?"

Scully sighed. "They know Krycek's alive."

"They were watching. They know he's alive and they know we have him. They probably know where he is, too. Scully, you have to get to the hospital now. He could be in real danger."

She was already sliding out of bed. "I'm on my way, Mulder."

"I'll meet you there as soon as I can," he said, and broke the connection.

It was a good thing the hotel was close to the hospital. Mulder had the car, and Scully didn't want to waste time with a cab or bus. She practically ran the whole way to the hospital, mentally kicking herself with every stride for not thinking to post a guard on Krycek's room. <Oh, stop it,> she finally told herself as she got to the hospital doors. <Where did you think you were going to find guards that Mulder would trust, anyway?>

Everything looked normal on the floor where Krycek's room was. Nothing but the normal quiet activity that usually goes on in a hospital late at night. Nobody acted like anything was out of the ordinary, and when Scully quizzed the nurses at the desk about any visitors to Krycek's room, they all said they hadn't seen anybody.

Scully crept down the hall toward the room, and was instantly on alert. The door, which the nurses had been instructed to leave open, was closed. Pulling her gun from its holster, she eased the door open and crept inside.

It only took a second for her to take in the scene inside the room. Krycek asleep. Dim light on over the bed. And a person not dressed in hospital garb poised at the side of the bed, a syringe in his hand.

"Federal agent!" Scully yelled, taking aim. "Drop it!"

The man beside the bed turned and looked at her... and then calmly injected the contents of the syringe into Krycek's IV line.

Part Two

From the moment Scully stepped into Krycek's hospital room, everything around her seemed to move too fast. She was just a split second too late to stop the assailant, and by the time she realized he was doing it, he had already emptied the syringe into Krycek's IV line. She fired her gun anyway, dropping the would-be assassin with a bullet to the leg. She took a moment to handcuff him to the bed rail before rushing to Krycek's side, knowing precious seconds were being wasted.

He had awakened at the sound of the gunshot, and she saw that he was already experiencing the effects of whatever drug had been given to him. He was having extreme difficulty breathing. His wide green eyes showed raw panic as he clawed at his throat with his good hand, choking and gasping for air.

Scully stood by the bed, her mind racing but her body utterly, inexplicably paralyzed. Even as she watched Krycek's struggle to breathe weaken, she mentally sorted through the accumulated knowledge of years of medical school, trying to get a handle on what drug might have been used. Krycek's hand fell away from his throat and his struggling subsided, but it wasn't until the choking sounds ceased altogether that her paralysis broke, and she called the code and started CPR.

Within seconds, it seemed, the room was teeming with hospital personnel. A young woman with short dark hair stepped in and smoothly took over what Scully was doing. "What do we have?" she asked. Scully stepped back, suddenly glad to relinquish control to the woman, who was apparently in charge. "Unidentified substance introduced into the IV line," she reported.

"Any idea what?" The doctor, Christie Ansen according to her nametag, accepted an endotracheal tube from the nurse at her side. Scully watched her quickly insert it, undoubtedly doing further injury to Krycek's already damaged throat. She suddenly felt very much in the way, and decided it might be best if she just stuck to doing the job she was paid to do.

"None yet, but I'll find out." She turned her attention to the would-be assassin, who was frantically pulling at the handcuff, and demanded, "What was it? What did you give him?"

The man declined to answer, and was decidedly uncooperative when she tried to search his pockets, but she managed and found nothing. Meanwhile the voices of the medical team surrounding Krycek grew more urgent, and she didn't like the rhythm of the sounds coming from the heart monitor, either. He might not have much time left if she didn't find out what the substance was. Then she saw it. A drug vial, lying on the floor against the wall, to the right of the bed. She dove for it, reading the label even as she scooped it into an evidence bag. "Pavulon!" she shouted to Dr. Ansen. "Vial's almost empty!"

She mentally recited the proper procedures even as Dr. Ansen gave the orders -- atropine and neostigmine to reverse the effects of the drug. She saw the medical team relax a little, and thought they might have just averted a disaster... when the too-fast beeps coming from the heart monitor were suddenly replaced by a flat, high-pitched whine.

<No,> Scully thought, a sharp pang of fear settling in her stomach. <This can't be happening. It just can't.>

But it was. The medical team gathered around Krycek really moved into high gear now. Scully watched as Dr. Ansen applied the defibrillator paddles to his chest; watched his body convulse as the electric shock ran through him, trying to restart his heart. Once... twice... three times... and nothing. Nothing but that high-pitched whine. They started another half-hearted attempt at CPR, only going through one complete cycle. "I guess that's it," she heard Dr. Ansen say. "Time?"

Was that it? Was it really over? Was he really dead? Scully's own words echoed in her mind -- <sometimes all I want is to watch him die.> And so she had. But his death gave her no satisfaction. No peace. No answers. <Now I'll never know why Missy had to die,> she thought. <We'll never know why Mulder's father died. Our quest ends right here. But everything else -- the secrets, the lies, the coverups, the *projects* -- it all goes on. And we can't ever stop it.>

"No," she heard herself say. She wasn't even aware of making a conscious decision, but there it was. She was at the side of the bed now, picking up the paddles. "No, he's not dead. You're giving up too soon." "What do you think you're doing?" Dr. Ansen asked her.

"Trying to save this man's life. Either help or get out of the way." She heard someone whisper, "Scully, FBI," to the doctor. The young woman tried to yank the paddles from Scully's hands, but she wouldn't let go.

"You're not qualif--"

"I'm a medical doctor and I will not let this man die," Scully informed her with as much authority as she could muster. "Now get out of my way."

Dr. Ansen stepped back, but the rest of the medical team remained to help Scully with the resuscitation effort. Another shock and second shot of epinephrine brought no result.

A crushing sense of guilt overwhelmed Scully as she waited for the machine to charge up again. <My fault,> she told herself. Another shock. Still nothing. Dr. Ansen's voice behind her. "Agent Scully --"

"Once more," Scully interrupted quickly. "One more time and it'll work." She wasn't sure if that statement was confidence... or a prayer. <Come on, Krycek,> she thought. <You survived that silo; you can do this. Don't let them win...>

One more shock. For a few long seconds there was no sound at all... then they all heard the familiar, steady regular beeps coming from the heart monitor.

Scully held her breath and waited until all reports were in. Normal heart rhythm (though still rather weak), improving vital signs, and reversal of the effects of the Pavulon. Everything she wanted to hear. It appeared that Krycek would make it after all. Only after she heard that would Scully let go of the paddles and step away from the bed.

She demurely accepted the congratulations of the rest of the medical team and stood by the window, rubbing her neck. Now that the medical crisis was over, she was ready to deal with the assassin. "Would somebody please call security and get him out of here?" she asked.

"Too late, Agent Scully," someone said.

"What do you mean, too --" Her voice died in her throat as she turned around.

All she saw was the handcuff still locked to the bed rail and a bloody handprint on the floor. Her prisoner was gone.

Mulder stood at the door of room 226 and surveyed the scene inside; a scene very different from the one he'd left not long before. There were about a half dozen medical personnel gathered around the bed, their attention focused on the various machines that hadn't been there before. A few security people were also in evidence, one of them examining a bloody handcuff still attached to the bed rail. And across the room Scully sat slumped in a chair, her elbows propped on her knees and her head resting in her hands. "Scully, what the hell happened?"

His partner raised her head slowly, fatigue deeply etched on her face. "They poisoned him, Mulder," she said softly. Her voice had a faraway quality to it. "They knew exactly where to find him and they poisoned him." She buried her face in her hands again. "It was a close call, too. We almost lost him."

Mulder stepped a little further into the room, to get a closer look at the area around the bed. Peering around the crowd of doctors and nurses, he could see that Krycek was hooked to a ventilator now, the heart monitor was back, and there were a host of other machines that looked all too familiar. "He going to make it?" he asked.

Scully looked up again and sighed deeply. "He should. We'll have to watch him closely for a while, but he's more or less stable now." Mulder crossed the room and knelt by Scully's chair, laying a gentle hand on her arm. "Are *you* okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, running her hands through her copper hair. "I just..." She sighed again. "It would've been so easy, Mulder. So easy to just let him go..."

"And that would've been a bad thing?" Mulder asked before he could stop himself.

Scully didn't appear to have heard him. "Much easier than the work it took to bring him back..."

"So why did you?"

Scully raised her eyes to meet his, and it was as if she really noticed him for the first time. "Because it wouldn't be fair. If he dies, your father and my sister died for nothing. Letting him die wouldn't bring either of them back, and it wouldn't make either of us feel any better." She rubbed her eyes. "The minute we do something like that -- have so little regard for human life that we kill just because we feel like it -- we start turning into them. We're talking about a human life here. Not a pawn, not just a source of information -- a human being." She lowered her face to her hands again. "I just couldn't do it, Mulder. I took an oath to save lives, not end them."

Mulder bit back the admittedly nasty comment that was on the tip of his tongue and wandered over to the bed. He watched Krycek for a few minutes, and the thought started to creep into his mind that Scully just might be right. The man in the bed in front of him didn't look like the liar, thief, traitor and murderer Mulder knew him to be. Now he just looked very young, very vulnerable... and very, very sick.

<Stop it,> Mulder commanded himself. <He killed your father, remember? He was going to kill Scully. Human being? Says who?> He caught sight of the chain that was still around Krycek's neck. It had been thrown to the side, and now its length pooled underneath his right shoulder. The key was visible under it. Mulder reached for it and fished it out from underneath the chain.

"Mulder, don't."

Scully's voice froze him in mid-reach. He looked back to find her watching him, ever-vigilant despite her obvious fatigue. <Too bad she wastes it on protecting that bastard,> Mulder sneered inwardly. He challenged her gaze with one of his own. "I -"

"Just don't." The words came softly, muffled by her hands as she leaned on them again. "He can't tell you what it's for anyway."

"Agent Scully?"

Both agents turned their attention to the security guard who now stood before Scully, a polybagged item in his hand. "Think we've got the weapon here," he went on, dropping the bag into Scully's lap to join the one that, Mulder now noticed, was already there.

She muttered an absent "Thank you" as she examined the item -- a syringe. The one that had already been in her lap was a drug vial. Mulder drifted over to take a look himself.

"What's that?"

"Pavulon."

Mulder inched closer. "Pavulon?"

Scully looked up as if just noticing him standing there. "It's a neuromuscular blocking agent, used during surgery as a muscle relaxant or when the patient is put on a ventilator," she explained. "When there's no ventilator, you get what we saw here tonight. Muscular paralysis, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrest... perfect choice as a poison. It's derived from curare; probably one of the most potent poisons around." She rolled the almost-empty vial between her hands. "If this much was used... Mulder, he would've been dead in less than two minutes if I hadn't been here."

"That long, huh?" He regretted the words the instant he said them.

His partner looked up at him, a spark of anger lighting her clear blue eyes. "If you want him dead so badly, why'd you even bother warning me?" she snapped.

Mulder backed off a little. "Sorry, Scully. I can't help it." He tried to take the edge off the words with a disarming smile, but she was having none of it.

"Oh, yes, you can," she fumed. "It might even be easier for all of us if you'd start thinking about the larger issues here and put aside your own personal little vendetta!" She got up and stalked over to the bed, checking the machines.

"Vendetta?" he cried. "What about *you* --"

"Just drop it, okay, Mulder? Please?"

Their eyes locked for a long moment, and Mulder found himself both swallowing what he was going to say and cursing himself for giving in. He shrugged and dropped sullenly into the chair Scully had vacated. "Fine," he snarled.

Scully rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ran her hands through her hair. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, her voice quietly resigned. "Really. I'm just tired... it's been a very long day."

As she spoke he felt some of his own anger start to dissipate. He grunted in grudging agreement.

An argument with Mulder averted for the moment, Scully turned her attention to Krycek. She noted that circulation had improved greatly in his broken hand -- the fingers exposed by the cast were now red and swollen. <Too long before it was set, though,> she thought. <It probably started healing wrong. He'll be lucky to get 90% mobility back.> She also noticed for the first time the cuts, scrapes, and dark bruises on the knuckles of his right hand and along its side. Even with this good hand, writing must have been extremely painful.

She gently brushed her hand across his forehead, and found his skin hot and clammy; much more so than before. She glanced up at the temperature readout: 103.5. <Much too high...> "When did his temperature shoot up like that?" she asked the nurse who was still in the room.

The nurse glanced at the chart Scully held. "I don't know," she told her. "Dr. Ansen thought the infection was under control, so there was no instruction to chart temperature." She was about to slip out of the room, but Scully held her back.

"Hold on a minute." Scully studied the chart more closely herself. Lab results she hadn't seen before were in it, and what she read alarmed her. It could account for the fever, but to have it come on so quickly? Something was not quite right... "I want to change the antibiotic," she told the nurse, "and I want blood tests. Test for... everything. Anything anybody can think of, test for it. And I want the results ASAP, absolutely as soon as they're ready. Got that?"

The nurse didn't move.

"Well, go!" Scully ordered, annoyed. Then she noticed the nurse's gaze directed over her right shoulder. She spun around to face Dr. Christie Ansen.

"Blood tests are a good idea," the young doctor said quickly. "I just saw those lab results and changed the antibiotic order myself, but something doesn't feel quite right. I feel like we're missing something."

"So do I," Scully agreed. She recognized Dr. Ansen's words as a bit of a peace offering, and knew that she owed the doctor an apology. She broke the awkward silence with, "Look, I know he's your patient, not mine, and I'm sorry. I apologize; I overstepped my bounds before, and just did it again now. I didn't mean to cause any trouble for you, and I really am sorry."

"Don't be," Dr. Ansen said quickly. "You were right before; I did give up too quickly. It's a good thing you were here." She smiled warmly.

"We're understaffed anyway, so it always helps when a patient comes with his own personal doctor."

"His own personal pathologist," Mulder muttered. "How convenient."

"Mulder..." Scully warned.

"Your input is gratefully welcomed, Agent Scully," Dr. Ansen finished, glancing over Scully's shoulder at the nurse who still stood by the bed. "Blood tests, Millie?" she gently reminded.

Scully glanced up at the temperature readout. 103.8 now. "Bring something for the fever. A cooling blanket may help too," she added. The young doctor moved closer to the bed and studied the readouts from the various machines. "I'd like to try taking him off the ventilator in about a half hour. What do you think, Agent Scully?" she asked. Scully held up the bagged drug vial still in her hand. "I have no way of knowing if the assailant used all of this, but just in case I'd like to wait a little longer."

"Tick tock, Scully," came from across the room.

Scully glanced quizzically at her partner, not quite understanding what he was getting at. "But we could try in a half hour and see what happens."

"I think I'll see if I can hurry those blood tests along." Dr. Ansen slipped quietly out of the room.

Scully paced slowly back over to Mulder's chair, watching as everyone else in the room finished up what they had to do and filtered out. When they were all gone, she faced her partner and asked, "Okay, Mulder, what was that 'tick tock' business all about?"

"Our window of opportunity is closing fast," came the answer. "He's a sitting duck here; we need to move pretty fast if we want to get him out alive."

Scully sighed. "Well, it is a lot easier logistically, but he'd be just as much of a sitting duck at Northeast Georgetown..."

"Which is why he's not going there."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have another suggestion? Another hospital?"

"No," Mulder said quietly. "Something else entirely."

It took a moment, but the real meaning behind Mulder's words finally struck her. "Absolutely not," she said flatly. "Completely out of the question --"

"We don't have a choice." Mulder's voice was still soft.

"Mulder, look at him! He can't breathe on his own, his fever is escalating and we don't know why, he has a potentially lethal infection... he needs to be in a hospital!" She stopped and took a breath. "Where were you planning to take him, anyway? Some safe house? You really want to get the rest of the Bureau involved in this?"

"Yeah, I was going to leave him on Skinner's doorstep!" Mulder snapped. "Come on, Scully, think! They'll find him no matter what hospital we check him into, even if we use a different name. They'll be looking now; it'll only be a matter of time. You know that. If we want to keep him alive, there is no way we can check him into another hospital."

"Okay, then, what do you suggest? And who's supposed to take care of him? If we're back in DC, I can't do it. We have to go back to work. I can't be with him 24 hours a day, and at least until we get that fever down, he needs round-the-clock care."

"He'll have it."

"From who?"

"From whoever's house he's at." Seeing that Scully was about to rip into him as soon as the words were out, Mulder went on quickly. "Think about it, Scully. No hospital, no safe house. That leaves our own apartments -- which is probably the first place they'd look for him anyway -- or the house of someone we know. Someone with the time to do the nursing you can't. Someone like... your mother maybe --"

"I'd never put my mother in a position like that!" Scully cried. "Do you know how dangerous that is? How can we ask anybody to do that?"

"Got any better ideas?" Mulder shot back.

Try as she might to come up with an argument, she couldn't. She knew Mulder was right. "No, I don't have any better ideas," she sighed. "I really don't like this, but..."

"We have no choice," Mulder finished for her. "So, I'll make the travel arrangements if you can find us accommodations."

"Accommodations?"

Mulder paced across the room. "I could ask the Gunmen, I can't promise that they won't try to dissect him to see what makes him tick..."

"You're probably right." Scully sank slowly down into the chair.

"Give me a minute, okay?"

She leaned back and massaged her temples, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand. Accommodations? Where? Mulder and his ideas... But he did have a point; they really didn't have much other choice. She still didn't like the fact that there were no hospitals in the picture, but what else could they do?

She sat up and opened her eyes suddenly as an idea struck her, and found that Mulder had been staring intently at her. "Come up with something already?" he asked. "I always said you were good, Scully, but I didn't think you were that good."

She smiled a bit, taking his words as an apology for their earlier argument. "Yes, I --"

Mulder held a finger to his lips. "Walls can have ears, Scully."

She just looked at him.

He retrieved the pad and pen from the bedside table. "You never know," he said, handing them to her.

"Mulder, did anyone ever tell you you're paranoid?"

He shrugged. "Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me."

They had been through too much together for Scully to dispute the truth of that statement. She wrote, 'Lisa McKenna, an old friend, has a cabin on Timber Lake, some distance west of Manassas. Most in the area are summer homes; hers is winterized -- she uses it as a kind of retreat. Nice place; I spent a couple weekends there this summer. Fairly remote; should be easy to spot anybody lurking around. She'll be there now -- she took this semester off to paint.'

Mulder, who had been reading over her shoulder, circled the word "semester" and wrote, 'Teacher?'

'Georgetown,' Scully wrote. 'Art history.'

"Should make for an interesting stay for our favorite felon," Mulder commented as he scribbled, 'Will she help?"

"It couldn't hurt to ask. The most she can do is say no."

"Well, let's go find out, shall we?"

She nodded and followed him out of the room.

Scully hung up the phone and turned away from the nurses' station. Mulder was talking quietly into his cellular phone. He raised his eyebrows in question and she nodded. Lisa McKenna had agreed to help them out. Scully only hoped that Mulder could devise a way to get them back to DC without having to drive the entire way. A road trip that long could have an extremely detrimental effect on Krycek's recovery.

Back in room 226, she dropped into a chair just inside the door and watched Krycek sleep. His skin was flushed and fever-slick with sweat, his breathing erratic. They must have disconnected the ventilator while she was on the phone. Apparently it was okay; labored though it might be, at least he was breathing on his own. Still, it bothered her that the staff had done that without her authorization. She was still in charge, wasn't she? She wondered what kind of long-term effects the poison would have on him. She also wondered where this fever had come from. It hadn't come from the Pavulon that his would-be assassin had administered. The infection in his hand could cause it, but his temperature seemed too high even for that. Where else could it come from?

In the back of her mind, alarm bells were ringing, telling her that there was something she wasn't quite getting... something that she was missing. She was afraid it was something obvious, too. The lack of sleep was starting to wear heavily on her, both mentally and physically.

"You know, for raging paranoiacs, they have an amazing pool of 'trusted resources'."

Scully looked up at the sound of her partner's voice. She had been so wrapped up in trying to muddle through what might be wrong with Krycek and come up with a miracle cure that she didn't even hear him enter the room. The look of self-satisfaction on Mulder's face made her hopeful. She mentally crossed her fingers.

"What were you able to come up with?" she asked.

"Well, our buddy Byers happens to be good friends with a former bush pilot who agreed to fly here, get us, and fly us back to DC, all discreetly and under the cover of night."

"And the medical supplies I requested?"

"All scavenged and stowed on board."

"At what price?" Scully asked warily.

Mulder flashed one of his patented smart-ass smirks. "Frohike was lobbying for an unchaperoned evening out with you, but the other boys were able to talk him down to three pairs of Redskins tickets."

For the first time that night, Scully allowed herself a genuine smile of relief. She was constantly amazed and amused at how well-connected Mulder's reclusive friends were.

"Thank heaven for-"

A groan from the bed stopped her mid-sentence. She pushed past Mulder to Krycek's side. By the time she had reached him, he had already fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

"It was only a nightmare," she muttered quietly, stroking Krycek's exposed hand softly, so as not to wake him.

Mulder snorted. "It would amaze me if that bastard ever had a decent night's sleep."

Scully resisted the urge to snap back at her partner, opting instead to count backwards from 100 to calm herself.

Mulder dropped into a chair across the room, next to a vacant bed. "So, when can we get out of here?"

<97, 96, 95, 94...> "As soon as Dr. Ansen returns with the blood test results. We need to know what we're up against."

"I thought you already knew it was Pavulon and had taken the appropriate counter-measures."

<83, 82, 81...> "Yes, Mulder. But something happened...something none of us can explain. His fever shot up, and isn't responding to any conventional treatment so far. That's why I ordered that full blood work-up," Scully explained, as patiently as she could. "A fever this high could at the very least cause brain damage, and worse, death. We can't afford for that to happen."

Mulder looked her up and down for a moment, as if re-evaluating her. "Just do what you have to do, Scully. But keep him alive 'til I can get my answers from him." With that, he turned on his heels and stalked out into the waiting room.

Knowing that the only way to keep from losing her temper completely was to ignore her partner's childish behavior, she turned her attention back to Krycek.

She laid a hand gently against his face. Still so hot to the touch. The cooling blanket and anti-pyretics weren't working as well as they had hoped they would. But the fever's rise appeared to be slowing -- it had only risen to 104.0 since the last time she'd looked -- and that much was promising.

Scully suppressed a yelp of surprise as someone behind her cleared their throat. She spun around, bracing herself for more of Mulder's acid tongue.

"Agent Scully. I have the results of Mr. Krycek's blood tests," Dr. Christie Ansen said, holding out a sheaf of paper. Scully was not encouraged by the look on Dr. Ansen's face. The usually smiling doctor wore a look of puzzlement. Her eyes were bright with fear - the fear of having seen something beyond her comprehension. Scully knew that feeling all too well.

"They, uh, the lab technicians found something. Something in his blood. It doesn't appear to be alive. But we aren't sure, because none of us have ever encountered anything quite like it." The young doctor paused, taking a deep breath. "I know that you can't tell us details of how Mr. Krycek got into his present condition. But I know that you are a competent doctor, and with your FBI background may have seen things that others of us have not." She stopped again to collect her thoughts. "Do you have any clue what this thing is?"

After glancing down the sheets that Dr. Ansen handed to her, Scully shuddered. "Yes, I do know. At least, I have a good idea." Visions of a lifeless Mulder, submerged in a warming tub, his eyes swollen shut, flashed in her mind. But whatever had invaded Krycek was different. Cold had reversed the effects of the retrovirus that had infected Mulder. The cooling blanket they had on Krycek was having no effect, either way. But she couldn't think about that. It would only bring thoughts she couldn't... wouldn't entertain right now. The progress of whatever infection it was that had ahold of him seemed to be slowing. He was by no means out of the woods, but he appeared to be stabilizing. She had to believe that he would stay alive long enough to supply her and Mulder with the answers they needed.

Forcing a smile, she turned back to the young doctor. "When can we move Mr. Krycek?"

"Well, we reversed the effects of the Pavulon with a good measure of success. And before this fever, he was progressing well. I am afraid that whatever has a hold on him now will only weaken him further."

"In any case, we have some time before we have to leave to return to Washington. All we can do is wait and see, and hope for the best." Scully softened her expression. "Go on, Dr. Ansen. He'll be fine. I plan on staying with him until he's out of danger."

"I'll check back in a little while. Take it easy. You haven't had much sleep, and it wouldn't help Mr. Krycek if I had to admit you for treatment of exhaustion."

"I'm fine," Scully lied.

The young doctor smiled briefly and turned to leave. She sidestepped, narrowly avoiding colliding with Mulder, who was carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

"Here, Scully. Thought you could use some coffee. Just how you like it... black."

She swallowed her reply. No need to bring up how she really took her coffee. It wasn't important. The only thing that mattered now was getting Krycek to Lisa's and getting him there alive.

The small airstrip reminded Scully of something out of an old movie. Mulder had said that the pilot would be meeting them there around 10:30 that night. They had gotten an unconscious Krycek into the car with limited difficulty and gotten underway.

The pilot was not quite what Scully had imagined he might be. The man that greeted them stood tall and proud, his face leathery, as if he had spent too much time in the sun. His eyes were what captured her attention. They sparkled brightly, as if this were exactly his idea of a great time. But his appearance of joviality did not disguise his paranoia as he requested the agents produce their badges.

"The name's Deke Barnes. Pleased to meet'cha, agents," the man said, grasping Mulder's hand firmly. He swung his gaze to Scully, grasping her hand and pressing it to his lips in a gentlemanly gesture. "I have heard quite a bit about you, young lady. That ol' dog Frohike truly understated your loveliness."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Barnes," she replied politely. There was no time for this. Krycek had to get to a safe place, and fast. He would probably be out of it for a while, with the fever and what he'd just gone through, but there were no guarantees. Sooner or later the pain medication would wear off, too; in fact, it probably already had. Demerol had been among the medical supplies she'd requested be put on the plane, but she had no idea yet just what the Lone Gunmen had been able to scrounge up.

"Let's get Krycek on the plane and get moving. Lisa is waiting for us." Deke moved quickly to Krycek's side and started to lift his right arm. Mulder stood there, looking off into the other direction. He had heard his partner, loud and clear. But he was still put out by all the attention that murdering bastard was getting.

Watching the pilot struggle with Krycek's limp form while her partner stood there, obviously ignoring what was going on, angered Scully considerably. Mulder's behavior had been less than cooperative these past few hours. It was beginning to grate on her nerves. "Mulder, help him!" she admonished from inside the plane. She would help Deke herself, but she was busy getting an area ready to accommodate Krycek.

"Oh, sorry," Mulder shot back.

The two men hoisted the sleeping Krycek up into the Cessna, one being much gentler than the other. These little things didn't escape Scully's notice. But there was no time to concern herself with her partner's petty behavior. She had to make sure that Krycek would make this flight comfortably.

Once he was settled, Deke did a final safety check of the outside of the plane. He then gave them an ETA and a rough idea of the route they would be traveling. He also added that he had filed dummy flight plans. "Just in case," he added co-conspiratorially. "Little lady, care to sit up here with me and take in the view?"

Normally, she would have said yes in an instant, but she didn't like the idea of having Mulder between her and Krycek if something happened. "No, thank you," she said with a gracious smile, "my partner is a much better co-pilot."

Deke shrugged and gave Mulder a big buddy-buddy slap on the back. Scully covered a grin as Mulder's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She knew he wasn't too keen about heights. <Serves him right!> she thought.

A half hour into the flight, Scully was satisfied that Krycek was not in any danger. The purring of the engine was calming her frazzled nerves, and she found herself fighting to keep her eyelids open. Up front, Mulder and the pilot were absorbed in a quiet debate about God-only-knew-what. Too tired to resist any longer, she succumbed to her tiredness and slipped into a much-needed sleep.

104.6 degrees.

Scully put the thermometer down and glanced at Krycek's unconscious form. Nagging worries about his condition had prevented her from getting any real sleep, so she'd come back here to check on him, and was very glad she had. What had been a low-grade fever only a few hours ago was now something infinitely more dangerous, and she had no real idea how that happened. She sighed, and her mind went back to the blood test results. Just what was it they had found? Was it the same retrovirus Mulder had been exposed to? Something else? Where had he picked it up? What would it ultimately do to him?

She shook her head slowly. Too many questions, and she was too tired to have any answers. She was also, she realized, almost powerless to help him.

She brushed her palm across his forehead, and was surprised when he stirred at her touch and opened his eyes. Those green eyes were glassy now, filled with pain and absolute, utter misery.

"Hey there," Scully said, trying to sound cheerful. "Welcome back. How do you feel?"

He made a weak writing gesture, and she guided his hand to where the pad and pen lay. He scrawled something, and Scully found his handwriting much harder to read than before. She was able to make it out, though.

'Awful.'

"I know," she murmured sympathetically. "Your chest hurts and it's hard to breathe, right?"

His eyes closed again, he nodded and raised his casted hand slightly. "The hand too?" Scully asked. Another nod. "Bad?" More emphatic nod, and she saw a tear slip from between his lashes.

It went against her instincts and better judgment to give him anything, but she did anyway. The narcotic painkillers he needed tended to be respiratory depressants, and his respiratory system was compromised enough already. On the other hand, it had been hours since he had last received any pain medication, he was already suffering enough, and constant pain would rob him of the sleep his body so desperately needed. Besides, she was right here if anything should happen.

The Demerol shot may have eased his pain, but it did little to relax him. His breathing was increasingly wheezy and hitched, and he was growing restless. The fever was really starting to take its toll on him. Scully soothed him as best she could, but her words didn't seem to register. <He needs something to take his mind off it,> she thought. <Give him something else to think about...> "Alex, look at me," she said, her voice gentle but authoritative.

He obediently turned his glassy eyes in her direction, and it occurred to her how very different this man was from the last time she saw him. <Is this really the same man that Mulder wants so desperately to kill? The same man who was sent to kill me?> Unwilling to dwell on those thoughts for the time being, she shook her head and concentrated on her patient again. His eyes were closed again, and Scully wondered if her chance to talk to him had just slipped away. She wouldn't really be surprised if it had. What did surprise her was how he could possibly be coherent with a fever that high. Still, it couldn't hurt to try... "Alex?" she said softly, tapping him gently on the shoulder.

His eyes opened slowly. "Did you see anyone in your room after Mulder and I left?" Scully continued.

Again he picked up the pen and scribbled, 'Nurses.'

"Besides nurses. Anyone who looked like they didn't belong there. Maybe... someone you recognized?"

Krycek shook his head, then wrote, 'What happened?'

She hesitated, but decided to tell him. "You were poisoned," she said softly. "They knew where to find you and they apparently still want you dead." She paused, then forged ahead. "Can you tell me why?"

She wasn't sure if he hadn't heard the question or just ignored it, but either way he declined to answer. 'Got him?' he penned gingerly.

"We did, but we lost him," Scully admitted, and again the question crossed her mind -- <How the hell did he slip that handcuff?> She banished the thought from her mind, only to find it replaced with the same sense of guilt she'd felt at the hospital. The words spilled out before she was able to stop them. "Alex, I'm sorry, this was all my fault. We should've protected you better..."

Her voice trailed off as she saw him slowly shake his head. 'Not your fault, mine,' he scrawled. 'You saved me.'

She smiled slightly. "Not me, the doctors."

Again the scrawl. 'No, you. Thank you.'

If he wanted to believe that, who was she to tell him not to? No need for anyone to know about her momentary brain-lock back there... "All in a day's work," she said with a smile. He continued to write slowly. Scully stretched her arms above her head and yawned. She really needed to sleep. He tapped the pen on the pad, and she read what was there. 'Never got to know you before - regret that.'

She looked up at him, surprised and strangely touched by the words.

"You really mean that?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I never got to know you back then, either," she mused. "Maybe things would've been different if I had." <Maybe I could've warned Mulder... maybe I wouldn't be missing three months of my life...>

She wasn't sure if he'd heard her. He was shivering violently now, deep in the grip of the fever's chills. She tucked the blanket more securely around him and laid a gentle hand on his forehead. "Sleep now," she said softly. "We'll talk later, okay?"

He reached for the pen again, and scrawled two words. 'Stay - please?'

She smiled warmly. "Of course I'll stay," she told him. "As long as you need me."

Krycek was asleep within minutes. Once she was sure he was comfortable and breathing as normally as possible, she slipped the ear-model thermometer from her pocket and took one more reading. She winced at the result - now 105.1

Scully moved up to the front of the plane, and found Mulder there instead of up front with Deke. "So, he still alive?" he asked. Scully sighed. "Yes, and the fever's getting worse. He did wake up, though."

Mulder didn't answer.

"He said he regrets not getting to know me before," Scully went on.

That brought a wry smile to her partner's face. "And you believed that lying rat?"

She bit her lip, trying not to say what she really wanted to. "Yes, I did. He's in no shape to make anything up now, so why say it if it isn't true?"

"Hmph."

She sighed again. "Mulder, I just don't feel right about this. Now, more than ever, he needs care only a hospital can provide -"

"We discussed this, Scully." Mulder's tone suggested that there would be no more argument on this point.

"I know," she said softly. "I just don't know how well I'll be able to take care of him without proper equipment."

"You'll manage."

She looked up, ready to argue anyway, and noticed that Mulder wasn't even really paying attention to her. He was staring out the plane's small window, a faraway look in his eyes. She was ready to settle back down to sleep when her partner's voice interrupted her.

"You talked to him. What do you think of his state of mind?" Scully sat up and looked at her partner. "State of mind?"

"Yeah. I know it's not going to be easy to get him to help us, and I was thinking about different approaches we might use."

That was a switch for Mulder. Actually thinking about the problem at hand. "Well," she said slowly, "I think that being sick like this scares him. He has to depend on us, and I don't think he likes it..."

"Ample reason to soften you up by telling you he regrets not knowing you before," Mulder commented.

"Mulder, there's a lot of issues he - and we - are going to have to deal with here," Scully reminded him. "He has nightmares, he's afraid to be alone, can't stand being in a closed room... You're the psychologist; somewhere along the line you'd better have some solutions for those issues or you can kiss your answers goodbye."

She knew he had taken what she'd just said under consideration (she could almost see the wheels turning in his head), but he didn't address it.

Instead he asked, "How do you think he feels about our friend the Morley Man?"

"The Morley Man? He just made two attempts on his life. How do you think he feels about him?"

"You think he might want revenge?"

"Anybody in his position would," Scully said. "It's a natural response."

"So we're more or less united against a common enemy here."

"Common enemy, yes. United? Hardly."

Mulder turned toward her. "We all want the same thing, don't we?"

"Mulder, united implies partnership," Scully sighed patiently.

"Partnership, as in working together. Giving as well as taking, and compromising. Do you honestly think you can do that?"

"Can I?" Mulder asked indignantly. "We already saved his miserable life -- twice! What more could he want?"

"I don't know, but it'll take more than that." Scully's voice was quiet. "Look at it this way. He thinks you see him as the enemy, and sees you the same way. How does he know we won't stab him in the back, like he did to you? He doesn't; not at this point. He trusts us about as much as we trust him. The only way to get him to work with us is to change that and gain his trust. And you've done a truly stellar job of that so far."

"Gain his trust? Come on, Scully --"

"What do you think you can do, beat the information out of him?" she interrupted. "You keep saying you want answers, Mulder. Well, here's how you can get them. The only way. You have to make him want to give them to you."

Mulder turned toward the window again. "Or I could just open the door of this plane and drop him out. End it right now."

That remark was met with a silence he could cut with a knife.

"He trusts you," he offered softly, after a minute.

"Only because he's so sick," Scully told him. "He needs somebody -- another natural response -- and I just happen to be convenient."

"Yeah, real convenient,"

Scully hesitated briefly, but decided it was high time her partner knew just how dire Krycek's situation was. "Mulder, he has the retrovirus." He turned from the window again, and she could see the flash of something like understanding in his eyes as the memories came back. "The same...?" He couldn't even say the word.

"Not the same, similar. That's why I'm so worried about his fever. I don't know what this thing will do to him. I don't know where he picked it up or how. I suspect that the poison might've acted as some sort of catalyst, but I don't know for sure. I don't know how bad it will or can get. You of all people should understand and maybe have a little sympathy. You know at least some of what he's going through."

"Serves him right," Mulder snarled, turning back to the window.

"I'm not saying it doesn't," Scully sighed. "I'm just trying to make you understand what I'm doing. You told me there was no choice when it came to keeping him out of hospitals; I'm telling you there's no choice now. There's only one way to make him want to help us. Let's face it, once he recovers, if he does, we need him a lot more than he needs us. I can try to gain his trust, but you have to stop undermining me at every turn." Mulder bit his lip, deciding not to argue that point for the moment.

"What about your friend?"

"I won't ask her. You can if you want, but be prepared -- you might not like what you hear."

"I thought you said she'd help us."

"She will, as much as she can," Scully assured him. "But she can't do our work for us. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to try and get some sleep."

No answer, so she settled down to sleep. Only then did she hear her partner's voice.

"After all this, whatever he has to say better be worth it, or I'll kill him myself."

At about the same time that Alex Krycek and Dana Scully were discussing his health, the would-be assassin stood uneasily before a desk in Washington. Clouds of smoke emanated from behind the chair, which was turned around, facing away from the desk. The longer the chair remained turned in that direction, the more uneasy the assassin felt. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, and immediately shifted it back. Even though it was only a flesh wound, his left leg throbbed horribly where Scully's bullet had hit him. He had managed to dig the bullet out with his pocket knife, but the wound was messy and needed medical attention. <If he lets me live,> he thought.

He could just see out of the corners of his eyes the two hit men behind him -- the short, stocky blond one on his left and the taller dark-haired one on his right. Both stood at the ready, weapons in hand, prepared if he should happen to run. The assassin didn't know either of them, but that wasn't surprising. The Man had many people working for him, and if half the rumors could be believed, turnover had been unusually high lately...

"So what you're telling me is, you failed." The tone of the voice that came from behind the chair was almost casual, but it chilled the assassin to the bone.

"N-n-no, sir," he stammered. "I got the stuff into him, but that redhead got there in time to save him."

The chair swiveled slowly around now, revealing the smoker. His face registered no anger, but his eyes, fixed on the assassin, were pure ice. "As I said, you failed."

"I did what I was supposed to do," the assassin said defensively. "He was dead, gone, flatlined. I saw it! *She* brought him back..."

His voice trailed off as the smoker took a deep drag on his cigarette. He blew the smoke out slowly, watching the assassin squirm. "The group does not tolerate failure," he said at length, his voice still calm. "I didn't fail! He was dead!" The assassin was aware that his voice was rising, but he didn't care. He was right, dammit, and they weren't listening... "Dead! I swear! It was that damn Fed --" He never saw the slight nod that brought the butt of the blond hit man's gun crashing into his skull.

The smoker rolled the cigarette between his fingers as the two hit men dragged the assassin into another room. <This always seems to be how it ends up,> he thought. <Forced to eliminate them, even when they're under your own thumb.> He puffed again on the cigarette as the two returned, weapons hidden now, and stood expectantly before him. <Pathetic sheep,> he mused, slowly expelling the smoke. <Pathetic, yet useful...>

"Orders... sir?"

It was the dark-haired one who spoke. <Cocky bastard,> the smoker thought. <No respect. None of them know anything about respect anymore.

Still, if this is best we have...>

He gestured with the cigarette toward the blond one. "It appears that we've developed an information leak. Find Mulder's source and fix it." He took another drag on the cigarette. "And see if you can find out just what it is our young crusader thinks he knows."

The hit man left, and the smoker turned his attention to the other man. <So like the other one, yet so different,> he mused. <Maybe this time we got it right.> He blew out another lungful of smoke and fixed his gaze on the waiting lackey. "Osborne," he said. "Find Alex Krycek. Bring him back to me... with what is mine. I've been waiting..." He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray sitting before him. "...to talk over certain things with our wayward friend."

The hitman grinned. "Easier said than done. Krycek knows me. He's also the luckiest son of a bitch I ever saw pass through here -- anybody else probably would've died in that silo."

The smoker leaned back in his chair. "I have confidence that you'll find a way around those minor annoyances. And when you find him, you can inform him that his luck just ran out."

Osborne moved toward the door, then turned. "What if it's not possible to take him alive?"

The smoker lit another cigarette, taking stock of the gleam in his employee's eye. "Then make it slow and painful," he said at length. "And bring me proof." Another puff on the cigarette. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it." Osborne's grin widened. "You bet I will."

After he was gone, the smoker removed a tape from the desk drawer and turned it over in his hand. he thought, <but not nearly as much as I will.>

To Scully's tired mind, it seemed like mere minutes had passed, rather than whole hours. The soft bouncing of the plane as it touched down on the rural airstrip woke her gently from her sleep. Behind her, Krycek moaned none-too-softly. She saw his eyelids flutter. She wasn't surprised that he was still asleep. The combined effects of the fever, the painkiller she'd given him, and sheer exhaustion would probably keep him out for quite a while. Eager to get off the plane and on the road to Lisa's, she unfastened her lap belt and leaned toward the cockpit. "Thank you, Mr. Barnes."

"Any time, little lady. Your partner makes, uh, interesting conversation."

"Doesn't he, though," she answered wryly. Scully wasn't sure what the man meant. He had a look on his face that wasn't too far from pained. A look she herself wore after being seated next to an intolerable bore on a plane. Not that she found her partner boring. Just predictable. Peering outside the small window, she saw her partner standing there taking larger than normal gulps of air. She had been hoping he'd been kissing the ground. That would've made for an interesting anecdote at the next office party.

Once Deke had the plane settled, they joined Mulder on the airstrip. After a few moments of discussion, they opened the plane's door and carried Krycek to the car, each of them supporting half his lifeless body. Scully groaned as she glanced at her wristwatch. It was well after midnight, and they still had quite a drive ahead of them. She hoped they would make it to Lisa's by dawn.

Making certain one final time that Krycek was as comfortable as possible, the agents bid farewell to Deke, and pulled away into the ebony night.

"Are we almost there? We really need to get him onto a stable surface." Scully cringed as she realized how her partner would react to her worried tone. However, she was not prepared for the pure venom in his reply.

"Well, we could just drop him here by the side of the road. I'm sure the wolves would take right to him, and treat him as one of their own," came Mulder's retort.

"That's enough, Mulder!" Scully exploded. "I have had it up to here with your juvenile attitude. I don't think you truly understand that this man may be our only hope of finding the truth we have gone to hell and back for."

"Scully, I heard you the first fifteen times you dropped that line. Save your breath for coddling that bastard."

"What's your problem, Mulder? Try and let go of your grievances for a short time -"

"My *grievances*? That man killed my father, Scully!"

"Mulder, we don't --"

"NO!" he exploded. "I will not sit here and listen to you defend that snake. I mean, how can you? Even your little scientist's mind has to realize he is at least partially responsible for your sister's death! Or does having a scientific mind mean you have no heart?"

Mulder regretted those words as soon as he spoke them, but he knew he couldn't take them back. It had gone too far for them to stop and shuffle their feet like shame-faced kids. His regret was short lived, though. He glanced up into the rear view mirror and caught sight of the angriest blue-eyed glare he'd ever encountered. He realized that she still thought bending over backwards for Alex Krycek was the right thing to do. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how a woman so committed to seeing justice done and righting wrongs was doing something tantamount to harboring a known felon.

Dana Scully had always considered herself to be a thick-skinned individual. But being accused of having no heart was over the bounds of civility. She knew if they didn't resolve this right now, one of them wouldn't make it to Lisa's alive.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull the car over. *Now*."

Mulder did as his partner asked, rather, as she commanded. He jerked the wheel angrily to the right. Scully was slightly shocked that he had listened to her, and she paled as the car skidded on the gravel and sand of the shoulder, the rear tires momentarily losing contact with the road. She was beginning to wonder if he had been serious about leaving Krycek on the side of the road.

In his anger, Mulder turned the key forward instead of back, and flinched as the tiny, slow-moving teeth of the starter attempted to engage the fly wheel. The sound was not at all unlike nails on a chalk board and it made Mulder's teeth ache. Turning the key towards him, he killed the ignition, and the car died with a shudder. He pulled the parking brake up so hard that Scully swore she heard it crack.

Yet through all the commotion, Krycek didn't stir once. After quickly checking his pulse, just to be sure, Scully joined her partner in the crisp night air.

"I'm guessing you barking at me to pull over will not involve leaving Mr. Dead-weight out here," Mulder spat out.

"Good guess; one that actually has some credibility, no less," Scully replied, surprising Mulder with her snide tone of voice.

Mulder stopped for a moment, before his mouth got too far out of hand. He needed to get his thoughts and arguments in order before unleashing them on her. He had never seen Scully like this. Her quick, acid-tongued retorts floored him. It was a lot like owning a docile, loving pet for years, only to discover it had vicious streak in a flash of fur and fangs. Scully studied her partner's face for any sign of an impending storm. She knew his temper well. She had seen it before, seen him fly off the handle, but she had never been at the receiving end of it. It wasn't something she was particularly looking forward to. She had never, before this moment, doubted the stability of their working relationship.

"I would like to ask you a favor, Mulder. One I should not have to ask for. However, it's painfully obvious that common courtesy is not your strong point. Please, try and put aside your personal feelings towards Krycek and let's just get him to Lisa's." She had tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice, but one look at Mulder told her she hadn't been too successful.

Mulder's hazel eyes sparkled with anger as he looked at his partner. He had trusted her. She had always done the right thing, even in the most difficult of situations. She had lied for him, she had risked her life for him, but now, she was doing nothing but pissing him off.

"Scully, I would appreciate it if you would drop your patronizing 'I'm-the-doctor' tone and try and understand how I feel about all this. As far as I'm concerned, that man in the back seat is the devil incarnate. And I couldn't care less if he died right now. He killed my father. He betrayed me. He had a hand in your disappearance. And he was standing next to Luis Cardinal when the man put a bullet in your sister's head. Yet, here you are, biting my head off for being honest," Mulder said, then paused to draw a breath.

Scully jumped in. "But what about your answers, Mulder, the answers you claim this man has? How important are they to you? Haven't you always said you'd do anything for the truth? Well, right now, anything includes keeping Alex Krycek alive. And as much as you hate to hear it, I am a doctor first, and an FBI agent second in a situation such as this. Stop throwing Missy's murder in my face, and stop beating yourself over the head with your father's death. There is nothing we can do about either of those things now. What if he can give us one tiny bit, one shred of evidence to back up one of your crazy conspiracy ideas -"

"Crazy conspiracy ideas?" Mulder sputtered. "For Christ's sake Scully! I can't believe you'd say that after what you've seen and been through! You saw the files, just like I did, you saw the creatures with your own eyes -"

"We don't know what those files were and that 'creature' was a human, probably a victim of some unsanctioned government testing. It was not an alien, Mulder. Why can't you just open your eyes and see the truth that's staring right at you?"

"You're really starting to piss me off, Scully. I know what I've seen. I know what you have seen. So, why don't you drop that holier-than-thou attitude and you open your eyes to the obvious truth. Open your mind while you're at it, maybe some sense will sneak its way in."

Scully had been angry before, but the wave of rage that surged through her scared her. It felt as if she was watching the scene from a few feet away as her fist flew back and then struck Mulder firmly on the left cheek.

His head rocked to the right and back to face his partner in disbelief. But he didn't strike back. They both knew that wasn't his style. He shook his head sadly, and a small smile crept onto his face as he gingerly touched his reddening cheek. "Anger. That's good, Scully. Anger is the first sign of acceptance."

"Mulder, I -- I'm so sorry. I don't know why I..." Scully felt tears well, and realized her hand stung from the blow she had delivered to her partner's face. But the tension, the aggression she had felt towards him was gone, or at least relieved for a while.

"Scully, don't apologize. I probably had that coming for 3 years or so. We're tired, we're stressed, we haven't eaten anything for hours. Let's get to Lisa's. I'll try and keep the smart-ass remarks to a minimum, if you keep that right hook of yours to yourself. You have one hell of an arm, and I'm willing to bet that if you'd set your mind to it, I would be on the ground, either seeing stars or looking for some teeth. Maybe both." Scully forced a wan smile and shook her aching hand. As much as she hated to admit it in this case, he was right, they were tired and stressed. But somewhere, deep inside of her, hitting him had been deeply satisfying, and she could honestly say he was right about something else. He did have that coming.

They both climbed back into the car, and Mulder steered them back on the road. The thick tension that had filled the air was now replaced by a weary acceptance of the situation. And a silent resignation that from this point on, nothing between them would be the same.

Scully wished she knew how long it would be until they got to Lisa's. She wanted to get Krycek to a stable place, and to start working on bringing that fever down. She would have loved to believe that Mulder had completely let go of his hostility towards Krycek, but she knew it was more likely that he chose to forget Krycek was there at all. <Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose,> she thought.

She picked up a magazine that she'd found tucked under the seat of their rental car. It wasn't anything that interested her, but it kept her from being crushed under the weight of the silence in the car. It also discouraged Mulder from trying to make small talk. Hell, she wasn't sure she'd have anything to say to him. They may have apologized, but they had both said some pretty hurtful things. Things like that took a long time to take back. She settled on watching the scenery zip by under the occasional working street lamp. Soon she drifted back into a light sleep.

Mulder looked over at his dozing partner and rubbed the tender spot on his cheek where she'd hit him. He'd meant it when he said that he'd had that coming. Though, there were moments he wanted to take her by the shoulder and shake some sense into her.

Part of him felt guilty about his resentment towards her treatment of Krycek. She was a doctor, just like she pointed out time and again. And she would do the same thing if it were him lying unconscious in the back seat. She'd do more. His anger where Alex Krycek was concerned was quick to flare. Scully was putting herself in the line of fire, every time she stepped between him and that murderer.

A quick glance at the map told him that they were almost to Lisa's. He would be glad to get rid of the rat, though he was a bit worried about leaving him here with this woman. How could Scully put her friend's life in danger like that?

<Because you asked her to, bonehead,> his conscience offered. He slowed, looking for the red mailbox he was told marked the entrance to Lisa McKenna's driveway. It was there, a few hundred feet up the road, under a sodium lamp. He reached over and shook Scully gently. "Hey, Scully, we're here."

His partner stretched and rubbed her eyes, straining to see ahead to the mailbox. "Lisa's waiting for us."

Mulder looked back at the mailbox and saw the woman's blonde hair shining under the street lamp. She hadn't been there a moment before. As the car drew closer, he could make out the woman's face. Pretty. Very pretty. Maybe this little stop over wouldn't be so bad after all. In the back of his mind, he began to envy Alex Krycek.

Part Three

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the car, taking in the surroundings of the FBI's newest unofficial safe house. Scully had found a good location, it seemed. The area was extremely secluded, the two-story house nicely unobtrusive. The only thing about it that might attract attention was that, now that tourist season was winding down, this house would be one of only a few that remained occupied. Still, Scully had assured him that, if anyone were checking up on the house's occupant, this wouldn't seem unusual. Lisa apparently came here quite often, sometimes even in the dead of winter. No one, Scully said, would think her presence here at this time out of the ordinary.

Mulder stole a surreptitious glance toward the mailbox, 10 feet away, where his partner was talking with her friend. The closer he got to Lisa McKenna, the prettier she was, even at this ungodly hour. Was it really a good idea to leave Krycek with her? With assault, treason and murder already on his resume, there was no telling what else he might be capable of.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice startled him out of his thoughts. He hadn't even heard them approach. Looking up, he found himself gazing into the loveliest pair of dark eyes he'd ever seen. "Mulder, this is Lisa McKenna," Scully continued.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mulder," Lisa said, holding out her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

He took her hand, eyes still locked on hers. "Whatever she said about me," he answered, "it isn't true."

"What a shame," she said with a loaded grin. Flustered, Mulder's grip loosened, and Lisa reclaimed her hand, then glanced at Scully. "So, where's our patient?"

Scully stepped back and stared at Mulder. He stared back for a moment until he realized what she wanted, then he moved away from the car. Scully opened the door he had been leaning against, bending inside and doing a quick check to make sure Krycek was okay before she moved back and let her friend see in.

Lisa gasped when she saw him. "Oh my God, that poor man!" she cried, leaning into the car and balancing next to where he lay on the back seat. "What happened to him?"

Her words broke the spell her looks had cast over Mulder. He watched her gently brush her hand over Krycek's forehead, smoothing back the dark hair. "Add another member to the Alex Krycek fan club," he muttered.

Scully pretended not to hear her partner. Now was definitely not the time for his infantile behavior. Turning to Lisa, she said, "It's a long story. I probably shouldn't get into it right --"

Her voice trailed off as Krycek stirred, moaning softly and murmuring a few unintelligible words. Scully instinctively moved in closer to quiet him, but Lisa was already there, speaking to him softly and trying to soothe him. His disgust growing more evident, Mulder gave an exaggerated sigh and started unloading bags from the trunk of the car.

Scully watched him for a moment and was about to say something, but Lisa caught her attention. "I'm sorry, what?" she asked, having completely missed her friend's question. She had tried to keep her voice even, but her partner's behavior was irritating her greatly. That, in addition to the almost overwhelming fatigue she felt, kept her mood dark. And Lisa, bless her heart, was either oblivious to this or pretending not to notice.

"His name, Dana?"

"Oh! Krycek, Alex Krycek," Scully said absently, still watching Mulder. She watched his attitude change by the second, from captivation with her friend to increasing annoyance, and was just waiting for him to say something again.

She didn't have long to wait, either. Slamming the trunk closed, Mulder glanced into the car, at Lisa murmuring softly to Krycek. "Save your concern. He's not worth it," he snarled, then stormed off toward the house.

Ignoring Lisa's confused glance, Scully took off after him, and caught up to him at the doorstep. "What the hell is with you, Mulder?" she demanded. "Haven't we been through this already?"

"I didn't know then that you told your friend to coddle that bastard too!" Mulder fumed, turning on her.

"I didn't tell her any such thing! She --"

"What *did* you tell her, Scully?" he demanded.

Scully took a deep breath. At least one of them should try to remain reasonable, and it was apparent that she was going to have to be the one, as usual. "I only told her that he's an important witness and that he's very sick. That's *all* I said. All she's doing is showing a little compassion for him. At least she's dealing with the biggest problem at hand!" She knew the last was a mistake the second the words left her mouth, but it was too late.

His hazel eyes turned dark with anger. "The problem at hand --"

"Mulder, wait."

He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it and glared at