DISCLAIMER:  The X-Files universe and characters belong to 
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement 
intended. Any hints of other faintly recognizable universes 
is to be viewed as coincidental homage. :) No infringement 
intended anywhere. And no, this story is not a crossover, 
in case, knowing me, you were beginning to expect the 
worst. All songs quoted are given with the names of their 
authors - still no infringement intended.

RATING:  Chapters 17 and 19 contain NC-17 sex scenes, 
fairly graphic. If your culture or your mother would 
object, please skip. Chapter 19 in particular might not be 
to everyone's taste - if you can't stand blood except in 
connection with violence, better skip this. The rest of the 
story is pretty straightforward X-Files standard.

KEYWORDS:  Scully/Krycek, Romance, UST, RST, NC-17, 
Conspiracy 

SUMMARY:  Mulder has gone missing, and Scully and Krycek 
form an uneasy alliance with the purpose of locating him, 
since they both need him back. They are trapped and 
isolated in the wilderness by the Smoking Man, who as usual 
has his own agenda. Or rather, Diana Fowley's.

FEEDBACK:  Yes, please! :) You can reach me at the address 
given on my main page
http://home.swipnet.se/evas_fanfic

ARCHIVE:  As stated on my page, my stories are usually free 
for all; just let me know where they go, and please keep my 
name and headers in.

SPOILERS:  Loads of them. Everything up to and including 
the Biogenesis trilogy - but no further. Have to put in a 
breakpoint at some time. There might be a foreshadowing of 
Closure but not enough to be called a spoiler.

COMMENTS:  This is *not* a sequel to my story Samhain . I 
think I might still write a sequel to that some day, but 
the challenge I set myself here was to put together a 
believable SKipper story and still adhere strictly to 
canon. Therefore, Scully and Krycek have no past history 
when this story begins, other than what has been 
established in the series, up to and including Amor Fati. 
The only deviation from canon background is in the 
timeline. I haven't seen all the non-mytharc eps of Season 
7 yet, so if Mulder's and Scully's every move is accounted 
for between Amor Fati and Closure, then this is a slightly 
alternate timeline. Mulder has disappeared, at a time when 
he probably did not in the series. There are other minor 
discrepancies, but Diana is explained, and the CSM's health 
can be. It seems to have had its ups and downs. In here, he 
did not go into a steady decline immediately upon surgery. 
Started on Wednesday, 2000-06-07, and due to an extremely 
hectic year 2000 not finished until now, in early 2001. 
Parts of this story were written at the height of a 
scorching Californian summer, which might to some extent 
explain my main choice of scenery.

COLD TRUCE
by
Eva A Enblom

- 1 -

J Edgar Hoover building, July 22nd

Scully walked briskly towards the elevator. Her visit to 
Skinner's office had proved largely a waste of time. He had 
given her absolutely nothing, although she was sure she had 
pressured him hard enough. She couldn't shake the feeling 
that he either knew where Mulder was, or had a fairly good 
idea. And yet he wouldn't tell her anything. It didn't use 
to be like that. He used to come around, after some 
cajoling on her part. Now he wouldn't. Yet this was the 
very reason she felt that her visit had not been a complete 
waste. At least she now knew that something had changed, 
and she didn't think it was anything she had done. Possibly 
something Mulder had done, but even so, Skinner would have 
told her where the man was. Back when the Assistant 
Director was also her ally, though he'd never admit it 
openly, for fear of who might listen.

The elevator door plinked open, and she stepped in. She was 
alone. Good. She had the time to breathe a small sigh of 
relief, then a man forced his way in past the closing 
doors. As soon as the elevator had left the floor, he 
slammed the emergency stop, and she recognized him.

"Krycek!" she spat, reaching wildly behind her for her gun. 
As she got it out and pointed it at him, she saw that he 
was holding up his hand to reassure her. She kept her gun 
trained on him just the same.

"I'm unarmed", he rasped. Scully remembered his voice well 
enough to know that it had always had a husky tone to it, 
but this time she unerringly diagnosed a traditional, old-
fashioned sore throat. Then her gaze drifted to the left 
sleeve of his worn leather jacket, and her eyes widened. 
The sleeve was hanging empty by his side, and blood was 
dripping from it, slowly but persistently.

He made a face, presumably at his own choice of words. 
"Okay, understatement of the year. What I meant was, I 
don't even carry a switchblade at the moment. You can tuck 
that gun away."

"Alex Krycek weaponless?" she taunted him. "I'll believe 
that when pigs come flying through my window."

"They might yet", he muttered. "Come on now, what are you 
going to do - arrest me? You haven't got anything on me you 
can make stick, and you know it."

Scully hated to admit it, but he had a point. His crimes 
might be legion, but there was no convicting him as long as 
any remained of his powerful employers, and she knew of at 
least one who had not gone down in the fire - or up in 
smoke. Reluctantly, she put her gun back in its holster. 
She hoped she wasn't doing it just so as not to seem 
stupid. False pride had killed agents before.

Krycek breathed out and leant heavily against the door for 
a moment.

Scully finally relaxed enough to switch on her doctor's 
mode rather than the Special Agent one. The man looked 
decidedly ill. It had been a while since she last saw him, 
but she didn't think he could have lost quite that much 
weight in any healthy fashion. Also, he was positively 
white-faced, and the black stubble certainly didn't do 
anything to mediate that impression. Funny, she had never 
even noticed a five o'clock shadow on him before, but now 
that she thought of it, with his colouring, he ought to 
have the problem.

And then there was that arm... or rather, there obviously 
wasn't.

"What happened to you?" she asked, not really caring that 
it came out as an accusation.

"Rough voyage", he said. Damn, did it really show that bad? 
Then again, he reminded himself, she *was* a doctor.

She nodded toward his empty sleeve. "Sharks?"

He followed her gaze. "That? It's old. What, Mulder didn't 
tell you?"

She covered her surprise instantly. Her lips pursed. 
"You're not exactly topmost on our list of conversation 
topics, Krycek."

He nodded. "Nah, I guess not. It's just, he was with me 
when it happened. Well, almost. In fact, we had just - 
split up. Tunguska. A mob of local peasants decided they 
knew what was best for me." Suddenly, he banged his head 
against the elevator door in frustration - so hard that she 
was sure he must have added to his already deplorable 
condition. "I hate ignorance", he said, vehemently enough 
that she believed him. "Ignorance and superstition - 
they'll conquer this world eventually. Who knows, they 
might even beat the aliens to it.." His lips quirked a 
little. "That's something we have in common right there, 
Agent Scully. I take it you're not big on ignorance and 
superstition either."

"Why are you here, Krycek?" Scully asked frostily.

"I need to find Mulder."

She gave a curt laugh. "Don't we all?"

His eyes widened, and she noticed in idle surprise that 
they were not black or brown as she had always assumed, but 
rather a soft, dark green. Somewhat like the muddy water of 
a forest lake, she mused irrelevantly.

"Oh no, don't give me that", he said, shaking his head. 
"You must have a clue. Something he said or hinted, 
something he left behind, something only you would be able 
to interpret..."

"Zip", she said succinctly.

He eyed her for a moment, wondering how well he really knew 
this woman. It had to be, what - four years? More? - since 
he did surveillance jobs on her. Back in those days, she 
had looked like any up-and-coming agent, elegantly styled, 
yuppie fashions, the works. He had stopped watching when 
she contracted the cancer. Talked himself out of further 
assignments like that. True, it was her own fault for 
removing the chip, as the smoker had endlessly told him, as 
if it were in any way important. But Krycek had never liked 
the idea of slow death. Death should come clean, sudden and 
precise, the way he always dealt it himself.

But death had not claimed Scully after all, and now she 
herself seemed deadlier than he remembered, even from when 
he last met her, just before Tunguska. Maybe it was an 
effect of being on her own now, without Mulder, but somehow 
Krycek didn't think so. Even if there was something about 
those hard, turquoise eyes, that strictly practical hair 
cut, that he doubted Mulder even liked. Mulder might have 
endurance, but he was a lot softer than this.

Krycek was about to offer a calculating I don't believe 
you, but to his surprise, he found that he did. "Then he 
didn't leave of his own free will", he said instead.

"The thought has crossed my mind", she countered 
derisively. "What's the matter - your buddies, smoking and 
otherwise, don't tell you anything any more?"

"You're beginning to sound like Mulder", he said tiredly. 
His eyes drifted closed - but only for a moment. "I'm not 
so sure they're the ones who've got him."

She looked him over. He really was in bad shape. Sick as a 
cat, and unwashed. The latter disturbed her. He had a 
strong, natural scent the way some human males did, a 
function designed to attract, not repel, only now it was 
rather overbearing, at least in any civilized parts of the 
world. All the same, it was bothering her hormones which 
were far less civilized than she might have wished, and her 
conflicting emotions enraged her. But she'd be damned if 
she'd give in to childish anger, especially when she fully 
well knew it was based on confusion caused by a simple 
biochemical reaction and nothing else.

"You need medical attention", she informed him coolly.

"Care to do the honours, Dr Scully?" he taunted.

"You're not that sick", she clipped back.

"How do you know?"

"You're injured and exhausted, and you've probably been 
starving lately, but you're not diseased". In fact, if he 
had been, his scent would have been far less intriguing, 
but she was not about to tell him so. "What about that 
arm?" she asked hastily. "If it happened when you and 
Mulder were in Tunguska, how can it still be bleeding? And 
didn't those peasants know enough to cauterize it?"

He groaned. "They fired it at once, or I might have found 
someone to reattach it for me. Unless I bled to death 
first, which was a distinct possibility."

She noted that he knew exactly what had been done to him. 
Well, she hadn't exactly visualized Russian peasants as 
toting any large supply of anaesthetics around. Such things 
were probably black-market stuff, far beyond their 
economical reach.

"So how come it's bleeding now?"

"Just my luck. The prosthetic got torn off while I was 
escaping, and..."

Scully held up her hand. "Wait. How about you take this 
from the beginning?"

"No time. Someone is bound to make a fuss about the 
elevator being out of order."

"If they do, I'll deal with it. Now tell me."

"Tell me where Mulder is, I'll tell him."

"I said I don't know. But if I ever find out, I'll need to 
know what you want him for. Or I won't ever say another 
word to you, until he comes back of his own accord."

Krycek stared at her. "You'd tell me where to find him, if 
you knew?"

"If I can be sure you're not after him simply because you 
have a contract on him."

Krycek nodded. "All right then. You know about the vaccine 
for the alien infection? Or rather, the experiments aimed 
at inventing one?"

"I should. I was saved by a weak but functioning Russian 
vaccine, myself."

Krycek hadn't known that. "You were? Then you're in danger 
too."

Scully sighed. "When am I not? What is it this time? My 
immune system will suddenly up and eat me alive?"

Krycek almost smiled, but caught himself. "Further 
experiments. They want anyone who's ever been infected, and 
they're getting desperate."

Scully's eyebrow rose. "They?"

"You know who they are."

"We have every reason to believe a lot of them were just 
incinerated - possibly by alien rebels."

Krycek shifted slightly against the doors, hoping his 
makeshift bandage would prove enough to keep him from 
passing out. The wound had been slowly dripping since he 
left the ship, and he really had no way of knowing how much 
blood he had lost. Under the circumstances, he'd have to be 
careful.

"That was just the American phalanx", he rasped. "It wasn't 
a world wide operation, if that's what you think. 
Thankfully, there aren't that many alien rebels on Earth. 
As yet."

Scully's mind reeled a little at his casual dismissal of 
the American phalanx. She clamped firmly down on any 
misguided hints of patriotism. The Consortium was nothing 
to feel protective about. "Go on", she said.

"I knew the Syndicate wanted the vaccine badly - I had been 
trying to supply them myself." His lips quirked 
mirthlessly. "I may even have saved your life. If you're 
sure what you got was Russian, chances are it was from the 
batch I stole."

She gave him a look that told him clearly not to push that 
particular line of reasoning.

"Anyway", he resumed his tale, "in my own case, there's a 
slight twist. I was subjected to the Black Oil too, but it 
left on its own. The guy in charge of the Syndicate's 
vaccine research - a British surgeon, he's dead now - 
always believed my blood could be used as the base for a 
serum. After the rebel attacks, they're expecting colonist 
retaliation - with humanity caught in the middle. They left 
me alone before, concentrating on finding a vaccine, but 
now they've started looking for more. Now they want an 
antidote.

"There are only two other people still alive, who meet the 
same criteria that I do - a married couple by the name of 
Gauthier. He's French, she's from San Fran. I went looking 
for them, but they had disappeared. Nobody by that name had 
ever lived there - that sort of thing. Guess the Syndicate 
was behind that, or maybe the other colonist minions got to 
them first. Either way, it looked bad for me, so I ran. Got 
as far as Amsterdam, Netherlands. I was supposed to meet my 
contact there. I always had good connections to the Russian 
mob, most of them are old military."

He cast a quick glance around, mostly out of habit. He 
really had no reason to believe the FBI would bug its own 
elevators. Besides, he was too worn out to care. If he were 
caught now, he could always have Skinner pull him out 
later.

"Turned out, I had - for once - underestimated the Smoker. 
I never expected him to risk spreading the news about the 
aliens. But he had bought the people I was seeing. They 
took me to Bucharest, on the pretext of protecting me from 
the Syndicate. Instead, they handed me over to the Romanian 
branch."

He stopped, reluctant to go into detail about his 
imprisonment.

"Romania has a long tradition of vampirism", Scully 
prompted. "Or so Mulder tells me."

"No need to be sarcastic about it", Krycek said tiredly. 
"Traditional vampires have nothing on the Syndicate. They 
drew the stuff regularly for weeks, keeping me at the 
barest minimum level needed for survival. I was so weak, 
they didn't even have to chain me up. Then they got orders 
to take me to Russia, and - I managed to escape."

"Just like that? In your condition?"

He sighed. "If you must know, someone sprung me. A whole 
group, actually. We went by Kirgisia for some reason known 
only to the Syndicate, and we ran into The Union of 
Extemporate Cossacks." He made a face. "Upholding and 
practising the Cossack ideals or some such nonsense, much 
like SCA knights in a way. They don't traditionally belong 
in Kirgisia, but I understand they were run out of a lot of 
other places, notably the Ukraine. Anyway, they rescued me. 
I don't know who had been talking to them, I guess the 
Smoker's money ran out and some of my old friends got 
miffed."

Krycek made a renewed attempt to close his narrative, but 
Scully was looking far to intrigued - and amused. She 
probably didn't believe a word, and he could hardly blame 
her. All the same, her obvious interest was hard to resist. 
Must be her Irish roots, he mused. Always eager for a tall 
tale...

"One of the Cossacks grabbed my arms and yanked me on to 
his horse - of course he didn't know I was wearing a 
prosthesis.. Somehow I managed to hold on to the thing, but 
it had been torn loose, and I really didn't need to lose 
any more blood right then. When we made camp that night, 
they managed to reattach the fake arm - with leather straps 
of all things, but they couldn't fit the titanium screws 
again, as the bone had been damaged."

Scully shuddered involuntarily. To her resentment, she saw 
that he noted it. For future use? Well, if he was counting 
on her compassion to sway her in favour of anything he was 
up to, he was grossly miscalculating.

"Well, at least they fed me and let me rest as much as was 
possible on the run. Eventually, they dumped me on a tanker 
- as a stowaway, because they had no connections to the 
crew, or so they told me. They left me a four-day supply of 
food that I managed to stretch to last a week. After that, 
I tried stealing, and of course I was caught. I thought I'd 
had it, because it's common practice to simply pitch 
stowaways overboard, and we were nowhere near land. The 
Cossacks had given me a gun, but I was no match for a crew 
of twelve, I couldn't keep them all covered for hours, let 
alone for the rest of the voyage. So I was disarmed, and 
most of them were in favour of tossing me to the fish, but 
for some reason, the captain said no. I don't know if it 
was his own idea, or if someone had paid him alone without 
telling his crew or the Cossacks, but I wasn't about to 
question it. He asked if I was strong enough to work my 
passage, and considering the alternative, I said yes."

Scully looked pointedly at his dripping sleeve.

"The ship's doctor tried to make a better attachment", 
Krycek said in reply to her look. "But the wound was 
infected, and he had to open everything up again and clean 
it to make it heal properly. Meanwhile, I had to wear the 
straps, or I couldn't work. It wasn't an optimal 
combination. The straps would chafe, and I'd start bleeding 
again. Just as I left, I took the thing off and bandaged 
the stump. Guess I'll have to leave it off now, until I 
heal."

"You should see a doctor", Scully said. Then something 
occurred to her. "Or is that what you're doing now? Were 
you about to ask for my help? Because there is no one left 
for you to go to?"

His mouth quirked a little. "You'd be likely to poison me 
or something. There are places I can go. But first things 
first - I have to find Mulder."

"And you still haven't told me why."

"I was coming to that. The last I heard, the Smoker -"

"We know his name now, Krycek", Scully informed him. "CGB 
Spender."

"I doubt it. Nobody knows his real name, though he's been 
going by several, including that one. Anyway, I heard that 
Mulder got hold of some alien artifact that made him 
telepathic. Except it hit him fully grown, and he had never 
learned the first thing about blocking out the noise, so he 
went insane."

Scully closed her eyes momentarily. Then she nodded. "I 
wish we had made that connection earlier. He's better now 
though. Or he was, before he disappeared."

"What happened to the talent?" Krycek asked, and the green 
intensity of his eyes startled Scully. "Does he still have 
it - or some of it?"

"Is that what you came to find out?" she asked.

"Partly. I have reason to believe Mulder's still telepathic 
to some extent, and I need to know his range. It could be 
that it's abated, but it could also be that he has learned 
to control it. Like the aliens. Or like that brat - Gibson 
Praise. Like anyone who was born with it."

Scully knew she didn't want to hear this, let alone believe 
it. All the same...

"He always was intuitive..." she mused. "Are you saying he 
might have adapted, and he's just not telling anyone?" Not 
even me, she added in her thoughts, and the idea left her 
strangely empty inside.

Krycek waited, watching his words sink in.

"I suppose it's possible", Scully finally admitted. Then 
she flared. "So what's in it for you? Why do you need to 
know?"

"Because if Mulder is telepathic", Krycek said, "chances 
are that the Smoker is too. They say there was an 
operation... he took something from Mulder, some of his 
DNA, and he had them put it in himself."

Scully actually staggered, and Krycek, for all that he was 
quite probably the weaker one at the moment, reached out 
and steadied her.

"It's only a Syndicate rumour", he said, almost as if to 
reassure her. "Only the Smoker and his closest associates 
know if there's any truth to it. But I can't afford to 
dismiss the possibility. I have to assume that 'worst case' 
is true. It's kept me alive so far."

"I take it you and the Smoker are not on speaking terms at 
the moment?" Scully asked, trying to get some of her 
composure back.

"He wants me dead", Krycek said simply. "He used to try to 
have me killed, any opportunity he got. What bothers me is 
that he's stopped trying lately. He was giving me 
assignments up to the point where I ran away. I think he 
has some plans for me, and considering what he had them do 
to me in Romania, I don't think I'd better let him find me. 
I need to find Mulder. I need - his help."

Scully nearly laughed out loud. "What makes you think 
Mulder will help you?"

"I could help him too. I'm an enemy of his enemy."

"For the time being", Scully said caustically.

Krycek nodded. "For the time being."

They both heard footsteps now, running, and voices 
shouting.

"I think the alarm is automatic", Scully said. "After 
fifteen minutes, it goes off even if nobody triggers it 
from inside the elevator."

Krycek was inclined to agree. "Standard security procedure. 
So, you're sure you don't know where he is? Not a clue?"

"Anybody in there?" The voice came strongly, enhanced by 
the elevator shaft, startling them both. Krycek motioned 
for Scully to answer.

"Yes!" she shouted back up. "This is Agent Scully."

"Are you alone, Agent? We need to know how many are 
trapped."

Krycek nodded vehemently.

"It's just me!" she shouted, watching him, wondering how he 
was going to get out of this one.

"Thanks", he whispered.

"I said I'd take care of it", she reminded him coolly. "How 
are you going to get past them?"

"Through the garage", he said. There was a thump outside, 
suggesting someone was applying tools to free the elevator. 
Krycek put his hand on the emergency brake. "Scream!" he 
said curtly, as he loosened it. To his surprise, she did, 
and quite convincingly too, just like someone who had just 
lost their balance through an unexpected movement of their 
surroundings.

"What d'you know", he muttered as the elevator descended, 
"Partners in crime..."

"Don't get your hopes up, Krycek", she clipped back. 
"Besides, there's still the blood. You've been dripping all 
over the place."

"Tell them you had a nosebleed or something. They have no 
reason to check the DNA, or even the blood type, unless you 
ask them to." She nodded, and he just had to ask, "Why are 
you helping me?"

"It's not you I'm helping", she stated calmly. "I just had 
the thought that with both of us looking for Mulder, 
there's a better chance of one of us finding him. 
Especially as we're not likely to look in the same places."

The elevator touched down on the garage level and came to a 
halt. "I don't think that's it at all", Krycek said. The 
doors opened, and he stepped out. He turned to flash her a 
grin just as the doors were closing. "I think you just like 
screaming."

Scully stood unmoving for a moment, trying to recall if she 
had ever seen him smile before. She did not think so, not 
like that anyway. Not that incongruous, toothy, sun-edge 
smile. She shook her head in amazement. If he could still 
smile like that, after all he had been through.. She was 
beginning to see why this particular sewer rat was not so 
easily exterminated. In fact, she had to admire his 
resilience, if nothing else about him. With a shrug, she 
pressed the button for the floor they had just left. She 
had a few colleagues and security people to reassure.


*  *  *  *

Krycek emerged into the sunlight, hoping to get a lift out 
of the area. The man who had taken him to within a block of 
the J Edgar Hoover building had kept staring at his 
passenger's dripping sleeve. Krycek had assured him he had 
every intention of getting to a hospital as soon as he 
could, he just had a few things to take care of first. This 
time, he really did need to seek out a doctor before he did 
anything else..

A wisp of smoke drifted over his shoulder. "Going 
somewhere, Alex?"

Krycek knew he ought to run. He'd know that well-modulated 
voice anywhere. Only the cold conviction that escape was no 
longer an option, made him pause and turn around.

"A wise decision, Alex", the smoking man said. "You look 
rather the worse for wear. I can help you. Care to join 
us?"

The woman who got out from behind the wheel of the black, 
nondescript car with diplomat's plates ought to have been 
dead. Unfortunately, she wasn't. Very much alive, Diana 
Fowley was smiling insincerely as she held open the back 
seat door. Krycek got in the car. There really wasn't much 
else to do.

- 2 -

Syndicate cell HQ, September 1st

The smoking man threw the letter down on the small, 
polished jacaranda table and gave his associate a 
questioning look. "Well? Have you read it?"

The hard-faced woman nodded. "I have. Most of it anyway. I 
must say Strughold's encoding staff is getting better and 
better. Wonder who did that."

"He does it himself", the smoker said. "Always has. He used 
to be an expert - in that as well as other things." He put 
out his cigarette in a gleaming ashtray of an indeterminate 
shape, made of some black, volcanic stone. "You got his 
meaning then?"

"Loud and clear. He wants Agent Scully away from Fox, and 
no screwing up this time. He seems convinced we have Fox. 
Do we?"

The elderly man succumbed to temptation and dug out his 
Morley packet again. "All in good time", he said. "Mulder 
isn't our problem right now. Scully is."

Diana sighed. "I have an idea, but I need you to tell me 
something first. Do you trust me?"

"Can I?" the other said, bringing his reliable lighter to 
his cigarette.

"Why don't you just read my mind and find out?" she 
challenged.

He did not answer that directly. "You want to know why I 
didn't have you killed, after you betrayed me?" he asked, 
exhaling. "Simple. The man I sent didn't do his job."

She smiled politely. "I see. Your assassin didn't fulfil 
his assignment, so you took me back." Better not dwell on 
that subject. "I didn't betray you", she said calmly. "It's 
just that - well, I suppose there's no point in trying to 
hide it now - I do love Fox. There was no conflict at all, 
as long I was sure you wanted him alive. But then, as I saw 
what you were planning, what you were doing to him, I began 
to have doubts. It appeared as if you only wanted him as 
DNA spare parts for yourself, that you would throw him away 
when you were through with him. And that's the one thing I 
couldn't let you do."

"I have no intention of killing Mulder", the smoking man 
said, exhaling an abortive ring. "He's my one hope of 
holding off the colonists, when the day comes", he added 
cryptically.

"I'm with you, as long as I know Fox is alive and likely to 
stay that way", she said.

He nodded. "That's what I - gleaned. So, there's still no 
conflict. What's this idea you have?"

"For getting Agent Scully off his back?"

The smoker nodded.

"Simple. Send in Alex. As soon as he's fully recovered. How 
is he doing, by the way?"

"Still convalescing. The reattachment of the prosthesis 
proved rather difficult, as there were new and deep cracks 
in the bone. But he's healing fast. We made a few 
improvements while we were at it. He should have better 
mobility now. Still can't take much weight on that arm 
though."

"What made you keep him?"

The smoker looked directly at her through the bluish wisps 
filling the air. She couldn't be sure, but she thought 
there was a smile playing around his wrinkled features. "I 
may still have use for him", he said lightly.

She nodded, accepting the warning. She knew as well as he 
did, what kind of work they were using Alex for. "That's 
not quite what I had in mind for Agent Scully", she said. 
"After all, we failed last time."

He should be able to read her plan right off her mind, but 
she wasn't sure how far his powers extended, and she 
thought it safer not to ask. Seeing that shadow of a smile 
again, she hastily went on, 

"Strughold doesn't say he wants her dead. He just wants to 
pry them apart. Well, so do I. And I think there's a much 
better way. She's the only one - excepting possibly myself 
- that Fox has ever trusted. He doesn't trust his own 
mother, yet he trusts her. What if he gets a reason to 
doubt that trust, to question her loyalty? That ought to 
drive a wedge between them just as surely as death itself, 
and with the same finality. It's even better, because if we 
kill her, he'll try to avenge her death, and he'll do 
anything he can to hurt us. If she lets him down, there'll 
be no reason for revenge, and what's more, he'll be 
weakened, not strengthened. I think that's what Strughold 
wants, if he has given any thought at all to particulars."

The smoker nodded thoughtfully. "An interesting plan", he 
admitted. "But if we don't want Scully killed, why Alex?"

Diana smiled a little, folding her long hands and 
stretching them a little, palms outward, as she leant back 
in her chair. "He's an attractive man."

The smoking man did not drop his cigarette, but for an 
instant it wavered precariously between his lips. 
"*Alex??*"

She had the time to wonder why he had not seen that coming, 
before he had once more composed himself.

"You're suggesting Alex for a honey pot operation?" he 
mused, and she could have sworn he was chuckling secretly. 
He shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't know Agent 
Scully."

"Maybe not, but I know Fox", Diana said calmly. "I know 
what it takes for him to place his trust in someone. I know 
she'll prove a hard nut to crack. But I think Alex can do 
it. If you give them time. Time is essential, you must give 
them lots of it - and only each other to rely on."

This time, he actually did chuckle. "You've given this a 
lot of thought, haven't you? Well, why not? The time factor 
would keep Strughold off our backs for a while. He's quite 
content to work slowly, if the results justify it." The 
mirth died from his eyes as if it had never been. "Which 
means, we shall have to get results", he said in a voice so 
flat that only those who knew him well could have detected 
the threat. Diana knew him well enough. "Your idea has 
merit", he finally decided. "I'm willing to try it."

"Just one more thing then", Diana said. "Don't let Alex 
know what his assignment is. In fact, don't even let him 
know he's been given one."

The smoker gave her a surprised look, as he put out his 
cigarette. "Why?"

"Because I have the feeling he'll be more willing if he 
thinks it's his own idea", she said. "Also, it saves you 
the trouble of paying him for it."


*  *  *  *

Krycek watched the broken smoke rings rise toward the 
ceiling. To his knowledge, the smoker had always been 
smoking, and yet he had never mastered the art of blowing 
rings properly. Amazing.

The older man gave his visitor a slightly annoyed look, 
then turned his attention to putting out his cigarette. 
Without looking up from what he was doing, he said, "I have 
a mission for you, Alex."

Aside from: 'Drop dead, Alex'? Krycek thought, but he 
carefully avoided making the suggestion aloud.

The other leant back in his chair, and his creased face 
crinkled further. If Krycek hadn't known better, he could 
have sworn the man was smiling.

"There's no love lost between us", the smoker said lightly, 
confirming Krycek's thoughts. "But the fact that you're 
here alive, should have convinced you that I might have 
some use for you still."

"All right", Krycek said in a tone that advised the older 
man to cut the crap, "who is it this time?"

"It's not that kind of assignment", the other informed him 
casually. "We need you to find Mulder."

Krycek nearly laughed. "Yeah? You mean, *you* don't know 
where he is?"

"Regrettably, we don't", the man said, shaking out another 
cigarette and lighting it.

I don't believe you, Krycek thought. You've got him, you 
old fart - this is some sort of a game. Aloud, he said, 
"Why me?"

Again, he thought he could discern a smile on those 
wrinkled features. But the smoker was not looking at him as 
he said, "Simple. We have exhausted our resources. Right 
now, I have no one else to send. It has been suggested that 
you might have a few more sources to - research than we 
do." He took a draught on his cigarette, and as usual 
seemed to exhale more smoke than he had inhaled.

A fire-breathing old dragon, Krycek thought, and the old 
man's eyes widened in amused surprise.

"I suggest you seek out Agent Scully", the smoking man 
resumed. "She must have some idea where her partner is. She 
won't talk to me or Diana, but she might talk to you."

Krycek clamped down hard on the thought that he had already 
approached Scully in this matter, for his own ends. The old 
man had no need to know that. No need to know that his 
mission had already proved futile, before it was even 
assigned. Krycek had no way of knowing if he had managed to 
block the thought; he could only hope. "She isn't likely to 
talk to me either", he said. I helped getting her abducted, 
I betrayed her precious Mulder, I've been killing her 
contacts left, right and center, I was there when Luis lost 
his speed-riddled head and killed her sister, I...

"How much does she know of what you've done?" the smoking 
man asked easily.

He *is* telepathic, Krycek thought. He has to be. "Mulder 
always suspects me first", he said aloud. "Anything he's 
told her, she knows."

The smoker tipped off some ash, barely missing the ashtray 
and ignoring the resulting mess on the polished table. 
"Agent Scully has always impressed me as someone who craves 
proof." For once, he looked straight at his interlocutor.

"Give it a shot, Alex", he said, obviously enjoying his 
choice of words. "It might be worth it."

Krycek knew he really had no choice. And things could have 
been worse. Much worse.. Besides, Scully had half promised 
she'd let him know if she learnt anything about Mulder's 
whereabouts. And he still had his own reasons for finding 
Mulder.. He took care not to dwell on that line of thought, 
though he suspected the old man already knew. Then 
something else occurred to him. "I might have to deal with 
Skinner too", he said. "Could I have the device back?"

The smoker put out his cigarette. "I'll see to it", he 
said.



- 3 -

J Edgar Hoover building, October 4th

"Really, we must stop meeting this way", Krycek said as he 
got into the elevator behind Scully. This time, he did not 
touch the emergency brake. She gave him an icy glare in 
return for his feeble joke. "There's not much point", she 
said. "I still don't know where Mulder is." Her doctor's 
eyes looked him over for any traces of his ragged condition 
last summer. She did not find any. He was obviously back to 
normal, fit as ever and cocky as hell. She was beginning to 
understand Mulder's urges to slug this man whenever he laid 
eyes on him.

Krycek nodded. "Okay. But you'll be the first to know, 
won't you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Krycek blinked at the hostility in her voice. "Only that 
he'll contact you first, whenever he reappears."

"That's assuming he still can reappear."

So that was it. Time had passed, and she was beginning to 
fear the worst. She was definitely on edge.

"Don't give up, Scully" he said. "He's been gone before, 
remember? You've found him before, haven't you?"

"If I did, I had Skinner's help", she said. "And indirectly 
that of your associates. This time, I'm on my own."

The elevator hit the garage level, and the doors opened. 
Scully walked out without looking to see if Krycek was 
following. He was.

"Skinner won't help you?" he asked.

"Either he won't or he can't, but I don't think he knows 
where Mulder is, any more than I do. Skinner's like a caged 
tiger these days, pacing in circles with no way out. I 
don't know what's come over him."

Krycek carefully kept his face blank. "Maybe I could talk 
to him."

"You?" Scully challenged. "What dealings do you have with 
Skinner?"

Damn, she was quick. Krycek had learned long ago not to 
underestimate his enemies, but occasionally someone still 
got the better of him. "Nothing", he shrugged, but he could 
see that she did not believe him.

"You leave Skinner alone, do you hear?" Scully said, her 
voice low and menacing.

"He's got enough problems, that much is evident."

"Nothing he doesn't deserve, I'm sure", Krycek said. After 
all, his soured relationship with the AD was hardly a 
secret.

But Scully flared. Apparently her personal loyalty to 
Skinner was stronger than met the eye. "What did he ever do 
to you?"

Krycek knew he ought to shut up, he wasn't here to alienate 
her. Unfortunately, he was getting angry too. "You mean, 
aside from slugging me in the gut, hard enough to make me 
cough up blood, and then chaining me to his balcony in the 
freezing cold, leaving me as a sitting duck for the next 
assassin who happened by? Why, nothing I guess..."

Scully took his sarcasm in her stride. "He *chained* you? 
What is this, some Russian melodrama?"

"Cuffed me, then. Same difference."

"When was this?"

"Just before Tunguska. Indirectly, it led to my arm being 
hacked off. If Skinner hadn't taken me prisoner..." Krycek 
made a face. "He was supposed to provide me with a safe 
house. Some safe house.."

They had arrived at Scully's car. She did not get in at 
once, but stood pondering his words for a moment. Could 
this be true? Mulder hadn't mentioned anything like this, 
but she had long known that he didn't always tell her 
everything. And try as she might, she wouldn't really put 
this kind of behaviour past Skinner. She knew the AD hated 
Krycek, and who could blame him? The ex-marine getting a 
little over-zealous, yes, she could well believe it.

"You don't forgive easily, do you, Krycek?" she said as she 
opened her car door.

"I don't forgive at all", he said, his voice nearing 
absolute zero. "And I don't forget."

Scully said nothing, because there was nothing to say. 
After she got in and was clicking her safety belt into 
place, Krycek bent down to speak to her through the still 
open door. "But I don't waste time on revenge when it's not 
practical. The cost is usually too high."

He straightened, and shut her door for her. Then he started 
walking towards one of the exits, a lonely figure, dressed 
in the same colour as his mood. Scully never knew why she 
didn't just let him go. Maybe it was her persistent, 
rebellious streak. Or maybe she was just growing soft. 
Whatever the reason, she let her car glide up slowly, until 
she was alongside him. She rolled down the window. 
"Krycek!" she called, and he glanced at her but kept 
walking.

"You really need to find Mulder, right?" she said, and this 
time he stopped to listen, and she braked, engine still 
running. "Well, so do I. What do you say we collaborate? 
Instead of just keeping each other posted and hoping for 
the best?"

His jaw dropped momentarily. He had just been thinking over 
what to say to the smoking man - besides telling him that 
this approach certainly wouldn't help them locate Mulder. 
He sure hadn't expected Scully to offer an alliance, 
however temporary. Pulling himself together, he nodded 
curtly. "What did you have in mind?"

"You told me not to give up. Thanks, because I think I was 
beginning to. We should be searching actively, not just sit 
around waiting for news." She hesitated for the barest 
moment before adding, "You go and have that talk with 
Skinner. Maybe you're right, maybe he'll talk to you. He 
certainly isn't talking to me. Then meet me at the Hong 
Kong Paradise at six-thirty. Corner of 6th and Fuller. 
We've got to plan this."

"I'll be there", he said simply, too astonished to say 
anything else. Her lips quirked a little. "Truce, Krycek? 
For this mission at least?"

He nodded. "Truce."

Then he turned on his heel and headed back towards the 
elevator.


*  *  *  *

Skinner looked up at the black-clad figure who had just 
invaded his office. "What d'you know, the rats coming out 
in broad daylight now?" he muttered between clenched teeth.

Krycek let the insult wash over him and pass on. He was 
used to those comments, they didn't matter. "Tell me where 
I can find Mulder", he said.

There was an unmistakable hint of glee behind Skinner's 
glasses. "What, your boss won't tell you?" he taunted.

Krycek secretly suspected he was fighting a losing battle 
here. He was almost sure himself that the Smoker had 
Mulder. Still, why leave any stone unturned? With a sigh, 
he whipped out a hand-held computer - his remote control 
for the nanites in Skinner's body. "*You* tell me", he said 
calmly.

Skinner eyed the device, steeling himself for what he saw 
coming. Then his gaze drifted to Krycek's face, and the 
hatred in the AD's eyes was almost palpable, almost 
thickening the dry office atmosphere. Krycek was suddenly 
glad he had the controlling device. It was slow death all 
over again, and he hated it, but he'd better not lose it. 
Given half a chance, Skinner would kill him with his bare 
hands and worry about the legal implications later.

"I've no idea where Mulder is", Skinner finally admitted. 
"And if I did, I sure wouldn't tell *you*." He knew it was 
a stupid thing to say under the circumstances, but he just 
couldn't help himself.

"Oh, I think you would", Krycek said, letting the stylus 
slide slowly towards the right end of the scale. His fake 
hand was holding the device steady enough that he could 
operate it with his real one. From a distance, the little 
computer looked much like any other variation on the Palm 
Pilot theme, at least as long as the antenna went 
unnoticed. But it had no writable screen, and its inner 
workings were to some extent - out of this world.

Skinner gasped, slumping forward over his desk. "Damn you, 
I said I don't *know*!" he forced out.

"I know what you said". Krycek adjusted the setting a 
little further, and soon Skinner groaned in agony, no 
longer able to speak. One more carefully calculated touch 
of the stylus, just enough to induce panic, to let the man 
realize that his condition was worsening and he could not 
even speak a lie to save his life. Then Krycek abruptly set 
the control back to zero. The tension gradually left 
Skinner's body, and he remained for a moment where he was, 
half lying across his desk like the proverbial puppet whose 
strings have been cut. He was breathing heavily, which 
spared Krycek the danger of moving close enough to check 
the man's pulse. The AD was useful. There'd be hell to pay 
if he was killed accidentally.

"You can quit playing the hero, Skinner", Krycek said. "It 
doesn't pay. Heroes don't last." With that, he tucked the 
device back inside his jacket and left. Skinner would know 
better than to try and stop him.


*  *  *  *

The Hong Kong Paradise, October 4th, 6:30 p m sharp

Scully hardly recognized him as he entered the restaurant. 
Sure, she had seen him in a suit and tie before, but that 
was a very long time ago. These days it seemed like another 
lifetime. 'Were we once so young?' she quoted to herself, 
her lips pursed in amusement. Krycek had seemed very green 
then, but now she doubted that he had been. His overly 
straight, right-side parting ought to have given her and 
Mulder a clue that he was faking it. Nobody looked so well-
brushed in real life.

Now, he moved quickly through the room, his sharp eyes 
darting everywhere in search of her. For some reason she 
refrained from waving to get his attention. Those eyes 
would spot her sooner or later anyway, she was sure of 
that. He should have come in his usual pickpocket black, 
she mused. It would have gone better with the ubiquitous 
red of the walls and carpet, the tassels of the Chinese 
lamps. Yang red for happiness. The only shade of red she 
knew to be actually soothing, rather than just 
exhilarating.

He saw her and raised his chin a little in greeting. A 
perfunctory greeting, as if they were old acquaintances. 
Well, after all, they were, even though they had hardly 
met. He sat down opposite her, asking casually if she had 
ordered yet. She had not. She was about to say she had been 
waiting for him, but the words would not come out. It's 
never easy to deal normally with the enemy.

She had already made her decision - prawns with cashews - 
so she had plenty of time to observe him as he was perusing 
the menu. It seemed strange to watch him doing something so 
mundane, but of course, even sewer rats had to eat 
sometimes. She wondered why he had bothered to change. She 
had not; she was in her usual pants suit working clothes.

A waiter appeared silently, unobtrusively, to take their 
orders. Proud of his talents, the man insisted on 
memorizing their requests rather than writing them down.

"Want me to choose the wine?" Krycek asked, and the simple 
question angered her beyond proportion. Who the hell did he 
think he was? The sleek, presumptuous rat, acting as if 
this was in any way a normal business dinner.

"With you, I'd need vodka", she said coolly. "Jasmine tea 
will be fine, thanks", she added to the waiter who 
memorized the order with a light bow.

Krycek pushed his fork to the edge of the table, catching 
the waiter's eye. The waiter picked up the utensil with 
another bow, went away and returned after a moment with 
chop sticks. He set a pair for Scully too, but without 
touching her fork, leaving the choice up to her.

Krycek caught Scully's openly wondering look at his chop 
sticks and smiled a little. "Actually, it's easier", he 
answered her unspoken question. He eyed her - a little 
apprehensively, she thought. "You suggested a truce. Care 
to discuss the terms?"

"This mission only", she answered at once. "We both need to 
find Mulder, and that's all the truce applies to. We share 
any information we come across that might lead to his 
whereabouts, and if we find him, we both go. Neither tries 
to double-cross the other to get to him first", she warned.

Krycek nodded. "Fine with me." His green eyes searched her 
face. "You realize you have to trust me, if this is going 
to work?"

She made a face. She trusted him exactly as far as she 
could throw him, and given their respective sizes, that 
said it all. "I know. That's why I said this mission only. 
Let's not touch upon anything else you've been doing, or I 
just might have to kill you."

"What, you're not even curious?" he said recklessly.

She had to admit she was. "Just one thing. Were you in any 
way involved in my sister's murder?"

"You really want to know?"

She hesitated only briefly. Then she nodded. "I've always 
assumed Luis Cardinal shot her", she said. "That's what I 
was told. But lately, I've begun to wonder."

"He did", Krycek said. "Trigger-happy son of a bitch, too 
frazzled to wait until he could see who -" he broke off. 
This wasn't the best of occasions to remind her who had 
been the intended victim. "I was there", he said instead. 
"I was sent as his backup, to see that - the assignment got 
carried out, even if he screwed up. But he screwed up 
royally, and there was nothing for it but leave the weapon 
and run. I knew they were making a mistake sending him, but 
I guess they needed a hold on him. Still, they must have 
known he was on speed and paranoid as all hell. I should 
have gone alone. I wouldn't have made that kind of 
mistake." He looked straight into her eyes. Turquoise ice. 
Belatedly, he realized that something more was needed. "I'm 
sorry", he said, surprising her.

She resisted her urge to shoot him then and there, but she 
could see now that this truce would prove harder than 
anything she had ever done. "The assignment, as you call 
it, was to kill me", she said evenly. Too evenly. "Would 
you take such an assignment again?"

His eyes never left hers. "You know I would. Not by choice 
though, if that makes you feel better. But choice is a 
luxury I don't have. If they want you dead, I'll come after 
you. It's my life if I don't."

"Touching", she said, her lip quirking disdainfully. "So 
you live by killing others. Nothing but a predator."

He sighed. "If you'd rather call off this truce now, just 
tell me, okay? I'll be out of your life in a cold minute."

"Until they send you to kill me."

He nodded. "If they do."

Their food arrived, and she said, "At least you've been 
honest, which is actually more than I expected. Let me 
think it over while we eat, and I'll let you know whether 
the truce is on or not."

He accepted that, as calmly as he had told her he would 
kill her if so ordered. They both ate in silence, neither 
of them bothering with small talk. They weren't here to 
socialize.

After the meal, Scully leant back in her seat, watching 
him. "I still think two have a better chance of finding 
Mulder than one", she said. "Particularly as our 
connections are slightly different. But if we're really 
going to work together, I want you to answer two more 
questions, as honestly as you answered my first one."

He nodded. "As long as I know the answers."

"You do. First, I never saw a reliable profile on you - are 
you a psychopath?"

His eyes widened. Obviously, that wasn't what he had 
expected. "No", he said. "Just desperate. And pragmatic."

"Okay. Because if you have a mental defect, I can't take 
you on. The other question then: do you have a contract on 
me - or Mulder - at this time?"

He shook his head. "No, you're both quite safe. From me 
anyway. And for what it's worth, I don't know of any plans 
to kill either of you at the moment."

She waited a full minute, trying to come up with anything 
else she might have overlooked. Then she said. "Okay, 
Krycek. You're on. But only until we find Mulder."

"And if we never find him?" Krycek asked quietly.

She glared at him. "That's not an option."

He was silent for a while, then he said, "I think you may 
have to get used to the idea that he might not always be 
around."

"What do you mean?" she asked, instantly on edge.

"Fully developed telepathy is an alien trait. It might not 
be compatible with the human brain. I have reason to 
believe it's fatal, in the long run."

"Do you have any proof of that?"

"No. But they say Gibson is dying."

Scully felt an infinite sadness at the thought of the 
telepathic little boy, precocious because of his - 
affliction, and used by everyone. And what if Mulder.. "How 
- how long.."

Krycek found himself putting his hand over hers to reassure 
her. She withdrew hers immediately. "I don't know", he 
said, pretending not to have noticed her reaction to his 
touch. "Anyway, it's just a rumour. I haven't seen the kid. 
All I'm saying is, it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

She nodded, fighting to match his pragmatic outlook. She 
knew she might need it before all this was over. "All 
right, thanks for warning me. Did you talk with Skinner?"

"Yes. He doesn't know anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She eyed him suspiciously. "I guess I don't want to know 
how you know."

"That's right", he said. "You don't."

Like hardened conspirators, they left separately. After 
Krycek had gone, Scully broke open her fortune cookie. The 
barely legible slip of paper read,

Keep your friends close to you, but your enemies closer. Be 
sure you can tell the one from the other.


- - <> - -

Mulder was standing in a vast hangar, empty but for some 
hospital gurneys and some sinister-looking equipment 
hovering over them. Leather straps were hanging loosely 
from the gurneys. There was nobody on them. For a long 
while, the only sound in the place was some kind of 
dripping in the distance, as from a leaky faucet. Then, 
there were footsteps. He felt the whiff of smoke already 
before the elderly man entered from one of the storage 
rooms off the main building. There was a bright, almost 
happy look about him, a near smile around the cigarette, a 
definite spring in his step.

"Is this where you took her, you cancerous bastard?" Mulder 
wanted to know.

The other took his cigarette from his lips momentarily, 
breathing out smoke unshaped. "Took whom, Agent Mulder? 
Your sister? No, she was never here. The clones have been 
helping out though, occasionally."

"Agent Scully, you murdering sonofabitch. Was this where 
you had her violated? Sterilized?"

The older man did not seem rattled by the accusations. 
"There was a preliminary examination, or so I'm told", he 
said indifferently. "It might have been done here. Why? Is 
this important to you?" The question floated lightly on the 
air, like the smoke that had expelled it.

Mulder clamped down on his temper. He had assaulted this 
man before, and so far he had never gained anything by it. 
"Why take all of her ova?" he asked quietly. "Why render 
her barren?"

The smoking man inhaled thoughtfully. "The process is not 
selective", he said. "No doubt it will be perfected in 
time."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly. He could not afford to lash 
out just yet. There was one more question he needed an 
answer to. "I seem to remember you saying you are my 
father. Are you?"

The thin lips smiled. The cigarette was carefully dropped 
to the floor and stepped on. "I am now. We share the same 
DNA, Mr Mulder."



- 4 -

Georgetown, October 9th

Five days into her uneasy alliance with a known felon, 
Scully found a message on her answering machine. A dark, 
somewhat husky male voice that she now realized she would 
have known anywhere. Odd, she had never thought before that 
she would recognize Krycek's voice quite that easily.

"Yukon", it said curtly. "Bring your warmest clothes and 
meet me at Harting airfield, strip 4, tomorrow, 5 a m." The 
closing click sounded sharply, as if he had thrown down the 
handset in haste. The background noise had suggested he was 
calling from a phone booth. She could not remember ever 
seeing him with a cell phone, not since he went rogue. She 
assumed that in his line of work, he sometimes had one. On 
the other hand, he travelled all over the globe; maybe it 
wasn't practical.

She debated with herself how much to tell Skinner. In the 
end, she simply called in sick, telling his secretary she 
had caught the flu and expected to be laid up for at least 
a week. As she hung up, she realized she had to admit it 
now, if only to herself; she didn't trust Skinner any more.

With a sigh, she started packing.


*  *  *  *

Harting airfield, October 10th

The wind swept icily over airstrip 4, hitting Scully in the 
face, as she stepped out of her car. As if the winter 
awaiting her in Yukon had decided to come and meet her 
already before she left. To dissuade her.. Except for a few 
sparse lights, it was pitch dark, and she stumbled over the 
raise of pavement, nearly taking a plunge on the hard 
concrete. Somebody caught her - with considerable speed and 
strength at that, and she cried out in surprise.

"You okay?" Krycek asked.

"I'm fine. Get your hands - hand - off me", she spat. She 
had not known he was that strong, and it worried her. Oh, 
she knew he was tall and athletic, but at some time she had 
fallen into the habit of regarding him as a cripple. Only 
now it dawned on her that he might be even more of a threat 
than she had calculated with.

He let go at once, as if he had guessed her thoughts. 
"You're welcome", he said, sarcastically, but without any 
real resentment. "Where's your baggage?"

She got her single suitcase out of her car, and to her 
surprise, he took it for her. She noticed then that he was 
wearing a backpack, leaving his arm free for other things.

"The pilot is waiting", he said in explanation, as if he 
didn't want to be suspected of gratuitous chivalry.

She tied the hood of her parka firmly beneath her chin, and 
trudged after him against the wind, in the direction of the 
waiting plane. After a few steps, she began to walk 
directly behind him, using his larger bulk as a wind 
shield. It was the least he could do, she mused. Protecting 
her against the wind, at least he was of some use on this 
trip.


*  *  *  *

The pilot was a taciturn man who simply motioned them to 
their seats - apparently they were to take their pick among 
the twenty available. The plane was small and would not go 
above the cloud layer. They were in for a bumpy ride.

Despite the number of vacant seats, Scully had half 
expected Krycek to sit next to her, but he picked the seats 
across from her, on the opposite side of the narrow aisle. 
He lay down across them, stretching out his long legs as 
best he could. "Might as well sleep", he said. "It's going 
to be a long ride."

She wasn't prepared to let him off that easily. "Do you 
know how long it took me 
to find this place?" she asked. "Once I managed to find out 
it wasn't anywhere 
near DC.. you could have been *a little more* explicit on 
the phone!"

"I had to assume your phone was bugged", he said calmly. "I 
said as much as I had to. I knew you'd find it."

"What is it anyway - the field of a disused air base?"

"Something like that. I got a tip that Mulder had been seen 
in Yukon - my informant was 98 percent sure, he said. I 
called in a few favours and found a pilot to bribe, and 
here we are."

"You don't fly planes yourself? Or - not any more?" she 
suggested, looking pointedly at his fake arm.

"Not hay wagons", he said.

"Hay wagons?"

"These 20-seaters. It's what they call them. They're mainly 
for local runs, but they cover a little more distance than 
a helicopter."

She nodded, her eyes drifting closed. She was suddenly very 
tired. Nothing strange about that, she had been up at 
three. All the same...

She never finished the thought.


*  *  *  *

The sun was glaring into the cabin, when Scully woke up. 
She was aware that someone was shaking her, and dispelling 
the last remnants of sleep, she opened her eyes - and 
screamed. She was suspended in mid air; white light and 
tilting grounds all around her.

"You ok�, miss?" said a man's voice, thick with an accent 
she could not place. Of course, the pilot. Wait a minute... 
a different pilot. This wasn't the one she had seen last 
night - if indeed it was last night. How long had she...

"Sure she's okay", Krycek's voice said from somewhere on 
the other side of the pilot. "She just likes to scream."

Scully closed her eyes for a moment, determined to kill him 
personally, as soon as this blasted truce was over. 
Fortunately for him, she thought, she did remember their 
truce. The pilot though.. She opened her eyes again, 
peering cautiously at her surroundings. Of course. She was 
in a helicopter. That explained the view. Then again, she 
had started this trip in a 20-seat aero plane. There really 
wasn't any of course about it.

"What happened?" she asked. "When did we change from plane 
to helicopter?"

The pilot looked puzzled for a moment, and she had time to 
suspect he had a less than perfect grasp of English. Then 
he said, "You no change from plane to helicopter, miss. You 
change from helicopter to helicopter." He brightened. "Of 
course, you asleep then. You no remember."

"All right, what day is it?" Krycek rasped tiredly, and 
Scully marvelled that he sounded as far out of it as she 
felt. It had to be a trick though. She was being abducted 
again, and like a fool, she had walked right into it. How 
could she ever have trusted Krycek, even for a minute? She 
was certifiable. Still, what was he doing here? Didn't a 
spy and assassin have better things to do? Why hadn't he 
just sent her off like some parcel and moved on to other, 
more rewarding assignments?

"October 13th", the pilot said, nodding repeatedly for 
emphasis. "Almost eleven hundred hours." The military time 
format seemed to come natural to him.

Krycek groaned. "Three days! We could be anywhere. What the 
hell did they do to us?"

"Nothing!" the pilot assured him. "You sleep, that's all. I 
think, you tired. Long journey."

Krycek's right arm shot out and caught the pilot by the 
lapel. "Where are we?"

"Please sir", the pilot said, carefully detaching himself 
from Krycek's grip,

"Must steer helicopter. This Yukon", he added civilly.

"The hell it is", Krycek said.

"So it's not", the pilot agreed pleasantly, as if humouring 
his troublesome passenger. "You tell me what it is."

"I don't know", Krycek admitted. "But I'll swear it isn't 
Yukon."

"Why not?" the pilot wanted to know.

"Because that's where we wanted to go", Krycek said simply. 
"Would've been no reason to put us out for three days to 
take us where we were headed anyway. The snow looks right, 
and the fir trees look right, but this is somewhere else. 
And something tells me we won't be provided with a compass, 
let alone a GPS device."

The pilot shrugged. "Can't help you, awfully sorry", he 
said cryptically. "Going to land now", he clarified, and 
the helicopter began its somewhat wobbly descent.


*  *  *  *

The elderly man flicked open his storm proof lighter and 
brought it to his cigarette. His coat and trousers were 
fluttering in the wind from the rotor blades, as the 
helicopter set down at a barely safe distance before him. 
He wasn't dressed for the climate, but then, he wasn't 
planning to stay long. Two figures emerged from the 
helicopter and made their way towards him. Behind them, the 
machine took off immediately, revealing a camouflage-
painted version of itself, standing some sixty yards 
behind.

"I should've known", Krycek said as he and Scully came 
within speaking distance.

"So what do you hope to gain by this? I thought we had a 
deal."

Scully shot him an ice cold glare which did not pass 
unnoticed by the smoker. In fact, he seemed highly amused 
by it.

"That's your problem, Alex", he said. "Always assuming you 
have a deal."

Krycek glanced quickly around him and saw the army 
helicopter, its pilot in plain sight, a machine gun trained 
on him and Scully. It figured. This man never came 
unprotected. Krycek reached for his own gun. Gone, of 
course. Scully saw what he was doing and felt for hers. 
Nobody had seen fit to trust her either.

The smoker held out his hand. "The device, Alex. If you 
please."

Krycek stared at him. He definitely hadn't wanted Scully to 
know about this. He pretended to search his pockets. "Your 
minions must've taken that too. Same one as took our guns, 
probably."

"Don't lie to me, Alex", the old man said, his voice light, 
but as cold as the snowy field around them.

With a sigh, Krycek handed over the remote control. He 
could feel Scully's eyes boring into him. "Guess it never 
occurred to you to make it easy on yourself", he muttered.

The smoker gave him a disdainful look. "I never trust my - 
minions as you call them - with more than they have a need 
to know."

"Then why not let me keep it?" Krycek asked. "Considering I 
already had it."

"You won't be needing it where you're going", the old man 
said, with an eerie finality. He tucked the small computer 
inside his coat, as if to emphasize his words.

"And where is that?" Krycek challenged, refusing to accept 
a death sentence from this man - or anyone else for that 
matter.

The smoker chuckled slightly. "Anywhere at all, Alex. Take 
your pick." For the first time, he looked briefly at 
Scully. "You're both free to go. Of course, you're kind of 
limited to walking distance." He looked at their booted 
feet.

"Pity I didn't think to bring snowshoes..."

"You can't just leave us here!" Krycek roared.

Like only a confirmed crook can protest his just fate, 
Scully thought. Oddly, she wasn't afraid. There was 
something about this that didn't make sense. Why go to all 
this trouble just to leave them here? There had to be 
something they were expected to do, in this place at this 
time. The smoking man had use for them. Or he would simply 
have had them shot and taken that gadget, whatever it was.

"Which way do you recommend?" she asked the smoker. He had 
to give them a clue, send them off to where he wanted them.

His eyes lit up with - appreciation? "North-west", he said. 
"It's that way", he added, gesturing with his cigarette in 
the direction of the woods behind the elicopter. "Does 
either of you have an analog watch?"

Scully nodded. "I do. And I know how to use it."

The smoker actually smiled, his face creasing further in 
the process. "Good. I see I can depend on you then." He 
turned to Krycek who was still seething with outrage, while 
watching the interchange intently. "Take care of her", the 
smoking man said lightly. "You'd be lost without her." With 
that, he left them and made his way towards the waiting 
helicopter, a hunched-over figure, his coat fluttering in 
the wind from the starting rotor blades. An old man, 
unbeaten and undefeated, still battling the elements.


*  *  *  *

"So what was that all about?" Scully asked calmly. "Things 
didn't go as you planned?"

"You could say that again", Krycek sighed. "He sent me out 
to find Mulder. Don't know why, because if anyone knows 
where Mulder is, it's got to be that old fart. Anyway, I 
thought that's what I was doing, then he pulls this trick. 
Why give me an assignment he doesn't want carried out?"

"Did he tell you to involve me?" Scully wanted to know. Her 
voice had a dangerous quality to it.

"Yeah, but I already had. Last summer, in the elevator - I 
was telling you the truth, I swear. I need to find Mulder 
for myself. To defend myself against that fire-breathing 
Methuselah there. His assignment played right into my 
hands, I just went along with it."

"Hand", Scully reminded him unnecessarily.

"There's no need to be rude." He held up his left hand. 
"Besides, don't dismiss this gadget so fast; it's seen some 
improvements lately."

"Speaking of gadgets", she said, "what was that thing?"

"What thing?"

"Don't be cute. The one Spender wanted."

He shook his head. "Sorry. Can't tell you."

"You mean you won't. Since you had it, you must know what 
it is."

"Okay, I won't. Satisfied?"

"No. I thought we had agreed to share information.."

"Information that has any bearing on our attempts to find 
Mulder, yes", he interrupted her. "This hasn't. So leave it 
alone, okay?"

"What is it, a state secret?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Which state?"

"All of them. And then some. Now, will you drop it?"

She gave him a long look. "Can you say with absolute 
honesty that it has no bearing on - our case?"

He nodded. "None whatsoever."

"Okay", she said. "Then it'll have to wait - until our 
truce is over."



- 5 -

In the middle of Somewhere, October 13th

"You know, I could take that for you." Krycek gestured in 
the direction of Scully's suitcase. It had to be about the 
thirtieth time it dragged in the snow and she had to pull 
it up, carrying it uncomfortably with her arm half bent.

"Why should you?" she asked irritably.

"You've been cursing it under your breath for the last hour 
and a half. I could carry it normally. You'll contract 
tennis elbow."

"Yes, that's one thing you wouldn't have to risk", she 
said. She knew she was being childishly cruel. Besides, it 
wasn't even true, he did have one arm left. The endless 
trudging in heavy snow was getting to her. "I'm sorry", she 
said, but she could not find it in her to elaborate.

"It's okay", he said, to her surprise. "Finding someone to 
hurt is sometimes the difference between staying alive and 
- just giving up."

"Speaking from experience?"

He didn't answer that. There was no need to.

"I'll carry it", she said, ignoring the low points of their 
conversation. "It keeps me warm."

He nodded. She had a point there. They were both dressed 
for the climate, and there was no wind to speak of, so they 
would probably be all right until nightfall. Which wasn't 
all that far off at this time of year.. A thought occurred 
to him. "Are we still going in the same direction?"

Scully checked her watch. "As far as I can tell."

"Your makeshift compass seems to work okay?

She nodded. "The few times the sun comes out."

"Okay, then we're not in the Antarctic", he said, trying to 
make a joke out of it and falling short.

"Or else we're not headed northwest", Scully said.

Krycek looked doubtful. "Wherever we are, we're past the 
equinox. If it was the vernal equinox, we'd have more 
daylight left than we appear to." He looked at his own 
watch, berating himself for getting a digital one last time 
he lost one and had to replace it.

"We only have the pilot's word for the time of day", Scully 
reminded him. "Also, it would help to know if this place is 
still on daylight savings. So far, I've been assuming it 
is." She squinted up at the sky. It was once more a 
uniform, dim silver. "What'll we do when it gets dark? Hole 
up in the snow somewhere?"

"Yeah", he said curtly. He was getting hungry, and he 
suspected she was too. Though maybe it didn't take much 
fuel to keep that small frame going.

Abruptly, her leg vanished in the snow to above her knee, 
and she cried out, dropping her suitcase and falling across 
it.

"Don't thrash!" he warned. He was kneeling by her side in 
an instant, holding out his right hand to her. "Just keep 
still and hold on to me, I'll pull you out."

She did as she was told, and he pulled her to her feet. The 
suitcase was easier, as it was wide enough to have stayed 
afloat.

"Don't leave the trail", he said simply, as they started 
walking again.

"What trail?" she asked, shuffling her feet through the 
strength-sapping snow.

He stomped his foot briefly to show her. "This is a beaten 
track. Or at least, people have walked here before. Two, 
three days ago maybe." He nodded towards the place where 
Scully had fallen. "Out there, the snow is loose. If you 
sink, you're lost."

She gaped at him. "You mean, we really had no choice but to 
follow this - trail?"

"Not really. The smoker didn't bother to provide us with 
skis. Or snowshoes." He glanced at her briefly. "Doesn't 
hurt to know which direction we're going though."

Only slightly mollified, she glared at her watch. 
Compasswise, it was useless at the moment. The sun was 
firmly hidden.

That's when they both heard it. No bird, however exotic, 
could make a sound like that. No other forest-living animal 
either, for that matter. The closest analogy might have 
been a distant sawmill, but it wasn't that either.

Incredibly, it sounded like sixties disco music.


*  *  *  *

The small way station was sprawled over an area that was 
little more than a clearing in the forest. Three buildings: 
a main one that seemed to be partly store, judging by the 
somewhat larger windows on one corner, a garage, complete 
with a gas pump of a rather outdated design, and a 
windowless, barn-like construction that looked like it 
might be used for storage. The snow was well trodden around 
all three.

The music was coming from the main one, which seemed to 
have a back door ajar. The audible onslaught was now 
recognizable as I'm Gonna Knock on Your Door, performed by 
a very young Eddie Hodges.

Krycek glanced at Scully and shrugged. "Might as well take 
his advice."

"What?" she yelled back, over the tinny percussion.

Krycek just shook his head and made for the building.

Thankfully, the noise stopped just as they entered, after a 
perfunctory knock that nobody could possibly have heard, 
even though Krycek had used his left hand for better 
effect.

The room inside was hardly the last word on domestic 
comfort, but it looked cosy enough after their long walk 
through the snow. Just large enough to accommodate a 
kitchen area as well as a table and two chairs, the room 
also had a shallow alcove along one wall, with a neatly 
made bed in it. The kitchen area consisted of an old stove, 
a newer gas cooker, a small working space, and a sink, 
complete with water taps. Two of them, separate. Obviously 
there was - or had been - running hot water in this place.

At the table, two men looked up from their chess game, 
showing only marginal surprise at the sight of the two 
newcomers. "Well, what d'you know, getting quite a crowd in 
here today", one of them drawled in an amused, friendly 
manner. He was elderly but strongly built, as if he had 
spent all his life cutting timber in these woods. His 
drooping, grey moustache gave him a slightly dejected 
appearance, but he did not sound morose. He wore a hat even 
indoors, possibly to conceal a balding spot.

The other man was younger and bigger, with dusky blond 
hair. He was clean-shaven, and indeed there was something a 
little too clean about him generally. At first, Scully had 
an inexplicable notion that she had seen him before. 
Something in his movements, as he turned to face the door. 
Then she saw his face, and knew she had been mistaken. 
Perhaps it was just his type she recognized. It might be 
common enough.

Both men wore plaid shirts in roughly the same shade of 
red. Only the pattern varied slightly, wider and blacker 
lines on the older man's shirt. A well-worn down jacket was 
hanging over each of their chairs. Dark blue for the 
younger man, off-white for the older.

"You gonna stand in the door all day?" the older man said, 
his tone still amused, as if he relished their obvious 
surprise. "Come in, and get those parkas off you. There's 
beans on the stove. From the stock here, so I'm afraid 
that's all there is, the meat was spoiled. Freezer's been 
out again. Guess the power went in the latest blizzard. 
Happens all the time.."

Krycek didn't move. "What is this place?" he asked quietly. 
"And while we're at it - who are you?"

"Sorry", the older man said, "lonely life out here, makes 
one forget one's manners. He stood, extending a hand. "John 
Anderson", he introduced himself. He nodded carelessly in 
the direction of his companion. "The kid's Brian Lofberg."

The younger man stood too, nodding politely enough, if a 
bit sullenly. Obviously, he wasn't the gregarious type.

"Alex Krycek", Krycek said, pausing briefly but noticeably, 
before taking the older man's hand. He had said his name 
like a whip-crack. For a moment, Scully wished she could 
make hers sound as impressive. The moment passed, and she 
introduced herself civilly, surprised at the green glare 
Krycek gave her as she said her name.

"Oh sorry, I thought you folks was married", Anderson said.

Scully smiled at him. "No, we're just travelling together." 
She returned Krycek's glare, certain now that he had wanted 
her to pretend she was his wife. Lofberg seemed to note the 
exchange with some interest, and she realized Krycek's 
intention. Damn the murdering lowlife - what reason did he 
think he had to protect her?

Of course, she could have said she had kept her own name.. 
but that seemed exactly like the childish subterfuge it 
would be. Truth to tell, she wasn't even sure these men 
would have heard of such urban practices.

"As for your other question, Alex", Anderson said, 
innocently assuming anyone he met would be on a first name 
basis with him, "This is an old way station. It isn't used 
much these days, since the road was moved, but we locals 
still keep it stocked and functional - after a fashion. 
Weather still hits it badly from time to time, but we try. 
Wouldn't do to let it fall apart."

"Since the road was moved?" Scully asked. "What road is 
that?"

"Why, the old one to Vittangi of course."

"Vittangi?" Krycek reacted instantly, stressing the first 
syllable rather than the second, which the other man had 
favoured. "This isn't Yukon?"

Something passed over the old man's eyes. It was gone in an 
instant, but Scully could have sworn that he had not 
counted on his visitors to recognize the name. In all 
fairness, she wouldn't have.

Anderson chuckled. "Oh sure it's Yukon", he said calmly. 
"That's Vittangi, Alaska. On the other side of the 
mountain."

"Sure it is", Krycek said, his tone a hair's breadth from 
the irretrievably insulting.

The old man just grinned in reply. Scully had the 
impression he thought they all knew where they were and was 
just making some sort of inane joke.

"Now if you're planning to stay a while.." he began.

"Not if we can help it", Krycek shot back. "How did you get 
here?"

Scully wished he wouldn't antagonize the two men, but she 
had no way of telling him. Besides, she doubted he'd 
listen.

"Snowmobiles", Lofberg said, in a voice that sounded 
slightly gravelly - possibly from disuse. He said it as if 
it was self-evident. Then something seemed to dawn on him. 
"Sorry we can't take passengers."

Anderson nodded. "Afraid you'll have to wait until we can 
send a helicopter for you. Fire guard's got one. Got two 
actually. Can't be till tomorrow at the earliest though - 
hope you're not in a rush?"

"We are", Krycek said. "Just leave us your skis, we'll make 
it on our own."

Anderson shook his head. "Sorry son, can't do that."

Krycek gave him a pleading look that somehow came out 
commanding instead. "Come on, there are two of you. You can 
keep an eye on each other, you'll be all right."

Anderson shrugged. "Sorry. I'd help you if I could, but we 
didn't bring any skis. Didn't expect to meet anyone."

"I see", Krycek said, in a tone that indicated he saw more 
than the other might think. Scully shot him a puzzled 
glance.

"Well", Anderson said - a bit nervously, Scully thought - 
"Guess I'd better show you around. In case you'll have to 
stay for a while. We'll try to be back tomorrow - ain't 
that right, Brian?" he added unnecessarily, as if in sudden 
need of support, "But the weather is fickle in these parts. 
Might get held up.. Anyway, this place is well stocked, we 
try to keep it in order. Survivalist goods mostly, as you 
can imagine, no fresh stuff, and as I said, the freezer 
packed in again. But there's provisions to last for half a 
year at the least. Now, have a bite to eat and I'll take 
you around the place after.."


*  *  *  *

Fifty minutes later, they had made the tour of the storage 
building. It was as Anderson had said, dried and canned 
goods only, nothing fresh. A decent stock of vitamin pills 
though, to prevent deficit. Scully noted it without 
surprise. Obviously, travellers in these parts had to be 
prepared for anything.

"Toilet and shower's over there by the door to the common 
room", Anderson said, as they got back inside the main 
building. "Though if the water goes, you'll be better off 
with the outhouse. It's on the far end of the garage - big 
enough for natural recycling. Guess nobody wanted to get up 
here just to.." He glanced at Scully as if suddenly 
uncertain of how much detail to treat mixed company to. He 
coughed softly and changed the subject. "TV doesn't work. 
Hasn't for a long time. Wasn't prioritized, nobody stays 
very long here anyway, these days", he added, almost as if 
he wanted to reassure them. "What's worse, the radio's bust 
too. Not sure what happened, it worked last time we had our 
way past here.."

Scully thought his last sentence sounded oddly roundabout, 
but she assumed it was the local idiom. They were now 
approaching the old store that was still a part of the 
building.

"This works though", Lofberg said casually, walking over to 
an old jukebox. The machine was standing in an area which 
had undoubtedly been a caf�, between the store and the 
living quarters. He dropped a coin into the worn antique 
and made his selection. Wheels on Fire blared out of the 
tinny speakers. "You know Dylan wrote that?" he asked them. 
"There's a lot of Dylan on this thing.."

The back door was next to the machine, and Lofberg kicked 
away some snow that had held it open, and pulled it closed. 
Maybe he had left it ajar to air out the place, when he 
last used the machine. The caf� was already fairly chilled 
out, but the living room was still a bit stuffy.

"That's Julie Felix singing", Anderson informed them 
happily. "Not Julie Driscoll - Julie Felix! Half-Mexican 
girl - really great!" He eyed them thoughtfully. "Though I 
guess you won't have heard of her. You must have been just 
toddlers then.."

Krycek's eyes seemed close to shooting green sparks of 
impatience, but Scully was hard put not to laugh. For some 
reason, the image of Krycek as a toddler was outrageous.

"Store hasn't been used for years", Anderson said. "I'd 
advise you to keep the door closed, so you won't waste heat 
on it. With the freezer broken down, you might even use it 
as a cold storage, in case you find anything to hunt."

"'Xcept the only other bed is in there", Lofberg pointed 
out. "Along with some other pieces of furniture and an old 
bathtub. People stick anything they don't need in the 
store."

"Can't the bed be moved?" Scully asked.

"Sure", Lofberg shrugged. "It's under a pile of other 
rubbish, but it can be moved."

"You help the lady get it out, Brian" Anderson said. 
"Better get it right away, give it time to thaw out. It's 
probably frosted over."

"Don't bother", Krycek said. "She can have the one in 
there." He nodded casually in the direction of the main 
room. "I'll be fine on the floor."

Anderson pretended to be impressed. "Quite the gentleman."

Krycek looked genuinely surprised, as if that thought 
hadn't occurred to him at all. Scully suspected it hadn't. 
More likely, he was simply used to sleeping rough.

"Where's the power coming from?" he asked. "Is there a 
generator somewhere?" "In the garage", Lofberg said. "Gas-
driven. Pump still works, we try to keep it tanked. Mostly 
for snowmobiles and bikes; not many cars make it up here, 
even in summer."

"There's also a backup system", Anderson informed them. 
"Wind power." He pointed out the window. "See that mast 
over there, with the spinning blades on top? That's it. 
Yields a little extra, and it's good to have when the 
generator is down. They run the house between them most of 
the time. Of course, in an emergency, you might have to 
switch some gadgets over from the one to the other, you'd 
have to do that by hand, I'm afraid. Just switch the leads 
in here or the garage, that's all there's to it. Not that 
we're supposed to be getting any blizzards within the next 
two days.."

Lofberg squinted against the overcast sky outside. "We 
better be going, Jack", he said. "It's well past noon, 
it'll be dark in a few hours."

Anderson nodded. "I hear you, boy, I hear you.." he 
muttered as he made his way to the main room. He kept 
talking while gathering his thermos and a few other 
scattered belongings which he put in his backpack. "We'll 
talk to the fire guy", he said. "Send him back for you 
tomorrow or the day after, whenever we can get hold of him. 
You just stay put, you'll be all right. Got everything 
here.." He donned his jacket and shouldered his pack. "You 
comin', Brian?"

The young giant joined him wordlessly, jacket and backpack 
already in place.

Krycek's arm shot out and held him back. "Not so fast. I go 
with you." He nodded in Anderson's direction. "He stays 
here."

Lofberg looked down at him, inscrutably. He stood that way 
just long enough to drive home the idea that it might not 
be in anybody's best interest to anger him. Then he gently 
detached Krycek's hold on his sleeve. "Try to be 
reasonable", he said.

Anderson chuckled in an obvious attempt to alleviate the 
tension. "I wouldn't lend you my snowmobile anyway, Alex", 
he said. "I'd be doing you a bear service, as they say. The 
old thing kicks like a mule. Likely as not, Brian will have 
to tow me part of the way."

Krycek's eyes were promising mayhem, but if Lofberg 
noticed, he made no sign of it. "You're better off waiting 
for us here", he said calmly. "After all, you haven't got 
much of a choice, have you?"

Krycek of course had no weapon, but Scully had no doubt he 
would have attacked the bigger man anyway. Quickly, she 
stepped in and put her hand on his shoulder. That gesture 
had turned Mulder once, put him off his meaningless 
purpose. She could only hope it would work on Krycek.

Unexpectedly, it did. At least he paused long enough for 
the two locals to get out of the door. Then he spun around, 
and she caught the full force of his deep green glare. "Why 
did you stop me?" he snapped.

As if she could have. "I just thought we'd stand a better 
chance if we kept this civil", she said. "Why did you let 
me?"

"I thought you might have a reason", he said. "A better one 
than that", he added sarcastically. He went to the door, 
but he made no move to follow their recent hosts outside. 
Instead, he contented himself with watching them.

"You really don't trust anyone, do you?" Scully said, 
wondering if Mulder and Krycek had ever known how much they 
had in common. "Okay, so how about this: they are most 
likely armed, and we're not."

Krycek did not answer.

It looked indeed as if Anderson had some trouble getting 
his snowmobile to start, but after repeated efforts, it 
finally spluttered to life. Just as the two were mounted 
and ready to go, Anderson turned and shouted back, "Oh, 
there's an old rifle in the store as well. Not that I think 
you'll need it, not much to hunt around here. Wildlife 
keeps to itself, doesn't like the generator." With that he 
took off, and his companion followed suit. Clouds of snow 
whirled up, obscuring their tail lights. The snow had 
settled again long before the sound of the engines had died 
in the distance.


*  *  *  *

"Think they'll send help?" Scully asked. "After all, we 
didn't exactly antagonize them. Besides, people living in 
the wilderness usually help each other in an emergency."

"Yeah? I don't trust them." Krycek closed the door against 
the cold. He searched for a key to the simple lock and did 
not find any. There was a heavy bolt though, and he threw 
it one-handedly, with some effort and a curt, Russian 
curse.

"It's a way station", Scully said reasonably. "Open to all 
who happen by, but if anyone's here, they can bar the door, 
and the travellers may knock. You think those two will be 
doubling back to attack us or something?"

"Can't hurt to be careful", Krycek said. He dropped his 
parka on the single bed, and Scully noticed he was wearing 
his leather jacket underneath. Prepared for anything, not 
least the sub-zero weather. She took off her own parka and 
threw it casually over his. She had settled for a couple of 
layers of good, knitted sweaters. One of them was hand 
made, by an old aunt still living in Ireland.

"I'll go get that rifle", Krycek said, heading for the 
store area. "I just hope someone thought to leave some 
ammo."

He was gone for a while, and Scully could hear him rummage 
about, cursing to himself. She busied herself looking over 
the stove - it seemed to run on firewood and didn't appear 
to have been used in years. She supposed it had been left 
in as a backup, for the cooker as well as the electrical 
heating. The cooker took propane tubes, and she had seen a 
fair amount of those out in the storage building. Good, at 
least not everything was dependent on the generator and the 
wind power station. The place would be fire-prone though. 
She made a mental note to check the expiration date on the 
fire extinguishers as soon as possible.

Krycek came back in, closing the door behind him. It would 
have been better if the old caf� had been outside that door 
as well, Scully mused. But there was no door between the 
all-purpose room she was in, and the caf�. Whatever heat 
they managed to get going, it would warm the caf� as well. 
Perhaps the old jukebox didn't respond well to freezing. On 
the other hand, the back door had been left open when they 
came, and the machine seemed none the worse for wear after 
that. Oh well, when nobody was here, the heat was probably 
off anyway.

"Starting to relax around me, Krycek?" she taunted.

He gave her a questioning look, and she explained, "I don't 
think you make that much noise when searching someone's 
apartment."

He shrugged. "Found the rifle though." He held it up. "And 
eight rounds, that's all there is. Unless there's more out 
in the barn."

"Well, it should see us through the next couple of days 
till the helicopter shows up."

He stared at her for a while. Then he said, "There won't be 
a helicopter, Scully. Just get that into your pretty head, 
will you? We may be stuck here for a long time."

The prospect of spending an indefinite period of time 
cooped up with Krycek while Mulder might be in grave danger 
somewhere, angered her out of all proportion, and she 
flared, "You're a paranoid maniac, Krycek! What the hell do 
you base that on?"

For a moment, he was actually fascinated. She looked like 
she might bite. He couldn't recall ever having seen her 
like this. But he had to tell her.

"Nobody above the age of fifteen goes out on a snowmobile 
without packing skis, Scully."

"Why not?" She felt stupid for asking, but she wasn't that 
well versed in the rules of the wilderness. "They've got 
the snowmobiles."

"Yeah? And what happens when the engine gives out for some 
reason? You were caught in loose snow yourself back there."

Understanding finally dawned. "They can't just walk away 
from it."

He nodded. Suddenly his head dipped and turned quickly. He 
came up blinking as if he had been diving for a memory. She 
had the feeling it was not a happy one. "That's putting it 
mildly", he said. "A classmate of mine - 14 years and too 
young to drive, but who cared - took his brother's 
snowmobile out, just for a short ride, so he didn't bother 
to bring skis. He took the route he always took, over a big 
cliff. Only, this time it had been snowing quite heavily 
during the night, so he must have misjudged where the edge 
was. Fell right through an overhang of nothing but snow, 
and several feet deep into the same stuff below. Like the 
bottom of a well. They found him three months later. I'm 
not saying he'd have had a better chance with skis, but..."

Scully watched him, uncertain of whether to say she was 
sorry or not. She was tempted to ask him just where in the 
world he had gone to school, but this did not seem like the 
right moment.

Krycek shook himself - like a wet rat, she thought. "His 
engine had run dry", he said. "His brother swore it had 
been nearly full. That's something, anyway. Makes me think 
he wasn't conscious for long down there." He looked at her, 
almost apologetically. "I'm not big on enclosed spaces."

That was probably true, she thought. Something about a very 
abandoned missile silo.. As for their current situation 
however, she was not willing to give up hope so quickly. 
"Those two men - did you see their skis?"

He shook his head. "No, but that's not to say they didn't 
have them. I only saw one side of the snowmobiles before 
they got the engines started and the snow hid them."

"So either they were unusually careless, or they had skis, 
but they wouldn't lend them to us. That actually makes 
sense. If skis are as important as you say, they might not 
like the idea of going without, and since they were - are - 
going to send back help for us anyway, they felt we could 
wait."

Krycek wasn't convinced. "I take it you noticed they didn't 
tell us about the rifle until they were safely out of range 
- or would be before we could get the thing."

Scully chewed her lip. "They forgot?"

That earned her a look of pure, pine-green derision.

"Maybe they were right to wait", she said coldly. As he did 
not rise to her bait, she continued, "Would you really have 
shot them?"

He shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

She flared. "Two quite possibly innocent men?"

"We could have used their snowmobiles."

She nearly struck him then, but thought it best not to 
attack him while he had the rifle. The rifle... Cautiously, 
she edged toward a drawer where she had previously noticed 
a large kitchen knife. He followed her movements, but he 
said nothing, and as far as she could see, he didn't tense.

"So, is the truce still on?" she asked lightly.

"Why shouldn't it be? We haven't found Mulder yet."

"No, but the odds have changed, haven't they? We didn't 
count on being stranded in the wilderness - if indeed we 
are stranded. You've got that rifle, and you'd probably 
make it out of here faster without me."

He stared at her for a long moment, and for the life of her 
she could not make out what that look really was about. 
Then he said, "I never back out of a deal if I can help 
it."

Both her eyebrows rose. "You don't?"

"Luis Cardinal did", he said cruelly, as if deliberately 
reminding her. "In fact, all those who helped you and 
Mulder did. They're all dead now - except for Diana 
Fowley", he added as an afterthought.

"Don't they tell you anything any more? She was found 
murdered..." Scully's words trailed off. "That's true, you 
*would* know, wouldn't you?"

He nodded. "I had been given the order, but it was 
countermanded at the last moment. Guess the old man had a 
change of heart for once. Apparently they decided to spread 
the rumour anyway - or it was too late to stop it. As far 
as I know, she's alive and kicking."

Scully looked at him. "I know you said you never back out - 
but haven't you ever had the urge to make Spender - I mean, 
the smoker - your next victim?"

The long, thick lashes were lowered slightly, as if to hide 
the green fire behind them. "Constantly", Krycek said with 
more venom than she had expected, even from him. "But he's 
been in the game longer than I have. I'm not suicidal."

"What game? Conspiracies?"

"Assassinations. He was their number one hit man before I 
came along."


*  *  *  *

Syndicate cell cabin, October 13th

The door to the small surveillance room opened, and an old 
man entered. He stopped to light a new cigarette even 
before removing his coat. "How is it going?"

Diana looked up from the monitors and smiled benignly. "The 
quality is no better than can be expected, but so far, it's 
going great. Alex has just declared his loyalty for you. 
How was your flight?"

"Good. Good.. There's something to be said for a company 
jet after all. Even if I do prefer a trusty old army 
helicopter.."

Trailing smoke, he went to hang up his coat.



- 6 -

Just as he reached for her hand, the fire alarm sounded, 
and he crouched down, paralysed with fear. Gradually, the 
diner dissolved around him, and he found himself on a bed 
in a small room, the alarm clock blaring away at him from 
the bedside table. Mulder groaned and shut it off. The room 
looked like any number of motel rooms he had been in. 
Curtains matching the bedspread on which he was stretched 
out fully clothed, as if he had been taking a nap in broad 
daylight. Had he been drugged? If so, he had no memory of 
it. Nor of how he got here.

Someone moved just outside his field of vision, and he 
raised himself on his elbows to see who it was. She was 
still there, flowery-patterned print dress and all. Maybe 
he hadn't really woken up. "Samantha?"

Her dark brown curls stirred slightly as she shook her 
head. "Not really, Fox - if I may call you that?"

"If you're not my sister, why would you want to use my 
first name?"

She looked infinitely sad. "Because I feel strangely close 
to you, even if I'm just a clone. They say it's the 
telepathic streak. It's latent, but some of her thoughts 
spill over to us."

"Her?"

The artificial Samantha nodded. "The original. Your sister. 
That's what I came to tell you about."

"Where is she?"

"She isn't here. But she's alive." The clone sat down on 
the bed and put her hands on his shoulders, imploringly. He 
resisted an involuntary flinch. After all, she seemed 
genuinely concerned about something. Maybe even about him.

"Please remember that, Fox. They'll try to make you believe 
she's dead, so you'll finally give up your search. They'll 
tell you she died within a few years after she was taken. 
They'll let you believe you found this 'truth' yourself. 
But it isn't the truth, Fox. Don't forget what we told you, 
back at the Women's Health Services Clinic, that the 
original still lived."

Mulder shook his head. "You gave me nothing conclusive. You 
said - under duress: We know where your sister is. Ask 
yourself, how else would we know so much about her? That's 
pretty evasive."

But she crept closer, staring deeply into his eyes as if 
she were trying to read his mind. Then she nodded, 
satisfied. "But the bounty hunter told you", she said. "He 
was not supposed to, but he did. That same year, in the 
Arctic, he said, She's alive."

"He was your enemy. Now you're suggesting I believe him?"

"What reason did he have to lie? All you wanted was 
confirmation. She's dead would have done just as well, but 
he said, she's alive."

"He might have had his own agenda. After all, he dragged me 
out in the cold where I could survive long enough to be 
found. He hinted that he had not wanted to kill me earlier. 
Guess he considered me an ace up his sleeve. Apparently, 
the colonists make lousy employers. Everybody tries to 
cheat them."

The copy of Samantha looked sadly at him. She looked 
suddenly very young. Younger than his sister would be now. 
Odd that he hadn't thought of that before. She'd have to be 
younger. Eight years at the very least, probably more.

"How can I convince you, Fox?" she asked helplessly. "The 
bounty hunter did not lie to you. She was alive in 1998, 
and she still is. Keep in mind what I've told you, about 
her thoughts spilling over. Do you think anyone could lie 
to us about her? She's alive, Fox. And she's as much our 
sister as she is yours!"


*  *  *  *

Forest way station, October 13th

Darkness had fallen fast. Outside the windows, the world 
was already pitch black, unless one stood close enough to 
look out at the snow, softly lit by a nearly full moon, all 
but faceless in its bright glare. Yet on the ground 
beneath, the light was milder than street lights. For some 
reason, it seemed to tint the snow green. A very light 
touch of green, almost too soft to be eerie.

Scully pushed her emptied soup bowl away. "That was good", 
she said, as if surprised by her observation. "Didn't know 
you could cook, Krycek." It was true that the stock for the 
soup had been some dried preserve, but he had added 
selected vegetables from a couple of different cans, and he 
had chosen well. A thought struck her, a memory of her 
father saying something about the only men who could truly 
be relied upon to fend for themselves.. "You been a 
sailor?"

"That too", he said curtly as he stood to gather up the 
dishes and put them in the sink. He turned on the tap and 
let them soak. Cold water, she noticed. Unless the taps 
were reversed, which was always a possibility.

"Then you can sew too?" she asked.

"Better than you anyway", he said. "And that's one-handed, 
in case you were wondering."

She frowned. "How do you know you're better than I?"

He gave her a quick smile. "Sorry, bad joke. I was thinking 
of your post-op sutures."

She nearly laughed but thought better of it. It wouldn't do 
to relax around him. "How many have you seen?" Then she 
relented a little. "Actually, you're right. I can't sew 
worth a damn."


*  *  *  *

An hour later, they had verified that the TV set was indeed 
broken beyond repair. It had power but the tube was shot, 
and nobody had seen fit to keep a spare around. The 
communications radio might be reparable with a little luck.

All power lights came on, it only needed replacements for a 
few components, and they expected to find what they needed 
in the storage barn, come morning. At this hour, the few 
light bulbs out there were not enough for a serious search, 
but at least they now had some hope. As soon as they got 
the radio going, they'd be able to call for help. Anderson 
and Lofberg could keep their promise or not, as they damn 
well pleased.

When the world is a-coming down, you make the best of 
what's still around, the jukebox kept encouraging them. 
Krycek had found Sting's Turn on Your Radio, less as an 
incantation against their current communications problem, 
than because it was about as contemporary as the old 
machine would get. Pouring out into the empty caf�, the 
lyrics sounded decidedly doomsday-like. When the song 
finished, neither of the marooned allies felt like putting 
on another.

For want of anything better to do, they wound up over the 
same chessboard as Anderson and Lofberg had been using. 
Apparently, it was part of what little entertainment the 
house had to offer.

Fortunately, they were fairly evenly matched. Krycek was 
the better strategist, always viewing the long battle 
lines, never missing an opportunity. But Scully's 
analytical mind helped her anticipating most of his moves 
and countering them while she still could. At least she 
*could* anticipate him. She had played against Mulder a 
couple of times on long stakeouts or while waiting for a 
contact to show up, but he was too unpredictable. An 
intuitive player, he often won by surprise tactics. But he 
could never use the same method twice. After each new one, 
Scully would win until he thought of another. They might 
take turns winning, but she still wouldn't have said they 
were evenly matched.

She noticed that Krycek was mainly using his left hand, and 
after a while she had to comment.

"Quite deft with that thing, aren't you? No audible servos 
though."

"Oh, it's got a few servos", he said. "Now. It didn't use 
to. The hand was quite immobile to begin with." He flexed 
the fingers slightly. "I always could lift small things 
with it though. It just took more effort before. Still 
can't do any heavy lifting."

"May I?" She touched his artificial hand, raised it a 
little, examining it. It was about the right size and 
slenderness to match his real one, but it still didn't look 
quite right. From a certain angle, it was almost 
translucent.

"They made a good job on the colour", she said approvingly. 
"When you can't achieve a proper skin tone, it's always 
better to go a little heavy on the yellow side. In the old 
days, they used too much pink."

He shrugged, indicating that he couldn't care less, as long 
as the thing worked. The movement carried over to the hand 
Scully was holding. She gave him a puzzled look.

"How can you control it with your shoulder muscles only? I 
mean, the arm seems to flex at the joint; how do you do 
that?"

"Neural impulses", he said curtly. "It's connected to parts 
of my nervous system. The rest is shoulder muscles. Now, 
are you going to move or not?" He withdrew his hand, and 
the movement seemed almost natural. She frowned.

"That doesn't explain.." she began, then broke off. "Alien 
technology?" she wondered innocently.

He shrugged again. "In part. Biotechnology is what they do 
best." He looked up from the board, and his green eyes hit 
her full force. "You should know. You've been in the way of 
it."

Unable to take his stare in connection with that particular 
subject, she lowered her eyes - and saw her opportunity. 
"Check."

His mouth quirked a little. Finally. She had just made the 
move he had been waiting for. His bishop slid along half 
the board, coming to the assistance of his rooks. "And 
mate."


*  *  *  *

Scully avenged herself twice, but the next time he defeated 
her, she stood, abandoning the game. "It's getting late. 
I'd better see to the dishes. Don't get any chauvinist 
ideas", she answered his questioning look, "I just don't 
want you to accidentally short out that arm. We have work 
to do, come morning."

"The circuits are quite well insulated actually", he said 
as he started to put the chessmen back into their box.

Scully was tempted to say, Well, in that case, and leave 
him the dishes, but - it would have been petty.

The cold water worked, the hot was just a trickle, but she 
didn't need much anyway; there were only their two soup 
bowls, spoons and a pan to do. All she found by way of 
detergent was half a bottle that appeared to have been 
frozen. The label hinted at sixties design. Perhaps it had 
been fresh then. It still worked though. Dishwashing fluids 
would keep forever.

"Thought any more about sleeping arrangements?" she asked, 
uncorking the bottle with some effort. It hadn't been used 
in a while.

"You get the bed, I'll be on the floor like I said. Of 
course, if you could see your way to lend me a mattress... 
looks like there might be at least four on there. Guess 
that's where all the bedclothes are stacked, there weren't 
any out in the store."

"You're going to sleep in here?"

He shoved the chess box aside and stood. "Scully, it's a 
damn fridge out there."

He gestured towards the only inner door, the one separating 
the store from the rest of the house.

"All right, all right, I didn't mean the store. Out in the 
caf� will do fine."

"Okay - what about the shower?"

"What about it?"

"I doubt there's enough hot water for the two of us. Which 
do you prefer - night or morning? I'll take the other."

"Hmm, I could do with a shower now. You get yours in the 
morning."


*  *  *  *

Krycek curled up on a mattress he had dragged over to the 
jukebox, and pulled his leather jacket and parka over 
himself for cover. He had kept most of his clothes on for 
now, he'd shower and change in the morning. He rarely 
stripped for bed anymore, and never in unknown 
surroundings.

He heard faint sounds and low curses from the shower, where 
Scully was trying to lock the door, prior to undressing. 
There wasn't much room in there. He wondered idly how she 
was planning to keep her clothes or at least her bathrobe 
dry. Apparently, the door wouldn't lock. He heard her give 
up on it with a few well-chosen expletives most likely 
picked up on various naval bases during her formative 
years. He grinned a little. He had to admit he liked her 
better when she was not being ladylike.

It took him less than five minutes to drift asleep.

Her shriek rent the night, and he was on his feet before 
coming fully awake. He was over by the shower in a second, 
pulling the door open before he thought. He swore later it 
had not been intentional, but he caught a full and very 
rewarding glimpse of her petite but well-proportioned shape 
before she snatched a bath towel - her own, probably - from 
an old, three-legged stool that was crammed into the small 
space, and wrapped herself in a protective sheath of white 
terrycloth.

"What the hell is the matter?" he roared, annoyed at being 
abruptly roused and yet relieved that no catastrophe seemed 
imminent. As if that conflict wasn't confusing enough, she 
also looked rather cute in that white, fluffy towel, her 
hair partly wet and plastered to her cheek on one side. He 
tried not to think of how she had looked without that damn 
towel...

"There's no hot water", she accused. "None."

He almost laughed out loud. "That's all?"

She glared at him for a moment. "I thought the taps were 
reversed", she finally admitted - a bit sheepishly, he 
thought. "That is, I tried the hot one and nothing 
happened, so I tried the other one, and..."

"While standing right under it?" he asked, not quite able 
to keep the amusement out of his voice.

That earned him another turquoise glare. "Well, this is a 
rather confined space, in case you hadn't noticed."

It certainly was, she realized with some alarm. He was 
blocking the doorway, and with the shortage of space, he 
almost had her backed up against the wall. She felt 
suddenly very vulnerable, though she was determined not to 
show it. "Get out", she said. "I'll handle this."

"How? The hot pipe is probably frozen. You got a hair-
dryer?"

"Yes, but I don't think it's safe to bring it in here. 
Besides, there's no outlet, which is probably a wise 
precaution. The wiring in this place..."

He shrugged. "It would take all night to thaw it out 
anyway, so you'd have to give up on taking a shower now. 
Boiling water would be better for thawing the pipe, but 
we'd have to heat it on the cooker, and there would have to 
be lots of it. Would still take time."

"Just get out", she said, snatching up a small wash-cloth 
from the same stool where she had kept the towel. "I'll 
manage."

Docilely, he returned to his mattress. He heard only a 
faint trickle of water now, as he tried to shut out the 
images of her applying that wash-cloth. In the morning, he 
took his own shower. Cold.



- 7 -

October 14th

After breakfast, the temporary allies went in search of 
spare parts for the radio. There weren't any. "It's 
probably broken down before", Scully said. "Someone forgot 
to replenish the supply last time."

"They also forgot to replenish the ammo", Krycek said 
evenly.

Scully put the lid back on a crate of canned food and 
straightened. "Look, I know you think this is a trap..."

"A prison anyway. The garage is full of fuel for the 
generator and the cooker. There's even a pile of firewood 
stacked against the wall of the store. I checked - that's 
what's under the tarp on the side without windows. Looks 
like a month's supply or thereabouts. This place is stocked 
with everything we might need for an extended stay. Even 
the fire extinguishers have been kept up to date. All we 
lack is communications, or any means of getting out of 
here. Unless your laptop happens to have some kind of a 
radio connection."

Scully shook her head. "Just a modem, I'm afraid. And 
there's no phone.." He eyed her suspiciously. "I saw you 
with it this morning."

"I was just checking that it had made the journey here in 
one piece. If we're stuck here, I plan to use it 
standalone, for my field journals."

Krycek's penetrating gaze never wavered. "You're not 
exactly on an official assignment."

"I know, but depending on how long we're stuck here without 
any means of communication, I might have a lot of 
explaining to do when I get back. I'd feel better if I had 
some dated documentation to back up my story."

He was still glaring at her, so with a sigh she added, 
"Look, you can check for yourself that my laptop doesn't 
have any fancy communications device. My files are 
confidential, but you're quite welcome to look over the 
hardware."

"No, I believe you", he said abruptly, looking away from 
her.

"I should hope so", she said calmly. "We're allies, 
remember?" It was obvious now that trust didn't come any 
easier to Krycek than to Mulder. Somehow that thought 
saddened her, although she had no reason to expect 
differently.

"We're completely isolated then", he remarked, back to 
taking stock of their situation. "Well out of cell phone 
range of course, and no weapons to speak of. Other than 
that, we have all we could want."

"Look, what reason could those two men possibly have..." 
she broke off, eyeing him in silence for a moment. "You 
think they work for Spen- the Smoker."

"I'd be stupid to rule it out. After all, he sent us in 
this direction. Those two could have been planted to see 
that we got here. The way they kept the jukebox going just 
inside an open door, we'd have to be deaf to miss the 
place."

Much as she hated to admit it, his theory made sense. 
"Okay, let's assume you're right. What could the Smoker 
hope to gain by trapping us here?"

Krycek shrugged, his eyes nearly emerald with frustration. 
"I wish I knew. Keep us out of circulation for a while? 
Prevent us looking for Mulder?"

"You think he's got him?" Scully's voice was tense.

"Either that, or he wants to conduct his own search, 
unhampered by ours."

"Then why send you to do it in the first place, just as a 
ruse? He could have let us find Mulder, then moved in at 
his own leisure." She chewed her lower lip a little, 
thinking. "What I don't get is why he didn't simply have us 
killed, if he wanted us out of the way?"

Krycek shook his head. "I've been expecting his next 
attempt for years now. I can only assume he still has some 
use for me. For us, in this case. He's a hard man to 
second-guess, I'll give him that. These days, I rarely even 
try."

"So what do we do?" Scully asked. "How hard is it to make a 
pair of skis each?"

He almost smiled. "Snowshoes would be easier. They'd hardly 
be recognizable as such, but they'd be usable. A few thin 
planks would do - there are plenty of crates here. There's 
one catch though; we have no idea how far we'd have to go 
to find any signs of civilization. What's worse, we don't 
even know the direction."

"It hasn't snowed since yesterday", Scully pointed out. "If 
we hurry, we could follow the tracks of the snowmobiles."

"Even if that only takes us to some clearing in the woods, 
some landing space for helicopters?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

Krycek nodded. "Glad to hear it. I'm not staying here any 
longer than I have to. With any luck, we'll at least find 
the snowmobiles."


*  *  *  *

By the time they had built the shoes, it was almost noon. 
Making snowshoes was not as easy as they could have hoped. 
They had no means of making them anywhere near the 
classical snowshoe shape; these would be as far from the 
brand designs as they could get. The bare necessities, no 
more. The things had to be sturdy enough, yet light, which 
meant they could not be quite compact, and yet they must 
not get snow-clogged easily. Scully couldn't help admiring 
Krycek's building techniques; there was a very strange flow 
to his movements as he kept changing hands more often than 
she herself had to. He used his artificial one to help with 
delicate work, but as soon as he had to put pressure on 
anything, he used his right hand only. Occasionally, he had 
to ask her to press down on a knot for him, or hold the 
boards in place while he tied them. He couldn't use force 
on anything and brace against it at the same time.

They ate a light meal before setting out, then packed their 
things quickly. Scully was also using a backpack now, a 
fairly small one she always brought along in her suitcase 
on assignments that might end up in the woods sooner or 
later. It was enough for a day trip, and whichever way 
their excursion turned out, it wouldn't amount to more 
than.. Her eyes widened, as she saw Krycek get out the two 
sleeping bags that were stacked among the mattresses in her 
bed and awkwardly start rolling them up. They looked 
practical enough, with a waterproof underside, and they 
even had Velcro straps attached, to facilitate packing them 
up. Krycek used his knee to hold the rolls down while 
tightening the straps, one at a time. He then tossed her 
one of the rolls.

"You expect to spend the night outdoors?" she asked. "Isn't 
it a little cold for that?"

"I expect nothing", he said. "I just like to be prepared."

It made sense. She nodded, and secured the roll to her 
backpack.

As they left the way station, Krycek glanced up at the sky, 
and Scully thought she could detect a hint of worry in that 
pine-green stare.

"Anything wrong?" she asked.

"We're running late. It'll be dark in a couple of hours."

"Krycek, we can't put it off. It might snow tonight, and we 
won't have a chance of finding those tracks again."

He shot another glance at the uniformly grey sky. "It might 
snow even sooner. That sky is bad news, and the temperature 
is dropping, I can feel it." He turned to look at her, 
intensely, as if willing her to understand. "If I say to 
turn back, we turn back. Got that?"

"As you wish", she agreed, a little too readily perhaps, 
but he seemed to accept it, and they set out.

Scully was getting increasingly fed up with his attitude, 
but she knew she couldn't afford to be annoyed. He probably 
did know a whole lot more about life in these climes than 
she did. Nevertheless, she *had* been in the Arctic a 
couple of times and the Antarctic once; he could at least 
have conferred with her before simply flinging decisions in 
her face. She wished her previous experiences of near-polar 
climes had left her more to draw on for situations like 
this. But the truth was, she had hardly been outdoors. 
Hell, in the Antarctic she had hardly even been 
conscious...

Almost an hour later, the snow set in. At first only a few 
flakes, then a steady but gentle fall, like a Christmas 
card, Scully thought. Mild and sweet against a background 
of dark pines and firs.

Krycek stopped. "That's it", he said. "Back to the station. 
We'll have to think of something else."

"You're kidding, right?" She couldn't quite keep the ice 
out of her voice. "This pretty little snowfall, and you 
tell me we have to give up? I mean, it's hardly a 
blizzard."

He nodded towards the trees. "How well can you see the 
pines over there?"

"They are a little misty, but I can see them."

"Could you find a special one?"

"Of course I could! What are you.."

"Don't be too sure. A light snowfall can be very deceptive. 
Besides, we're losing the tracks, and we're losing them 
fast."

"Then we shouldn't stand around here wasting time."

He sighed, as if not really believing he would have to 
spell it out to her.

"Scully, the tracks will be gone in about fifteen minutes. 
That goes equally for the ones ahead and the ones behind. 
If we don't turn now, we won't be able to find our way 
back. Your watch won't be much help in this weather."

She glared at him for a moment. "Oh very well", she said, 
not even bothering to sound civil. They were not exactly 
equipped for running, but what if they were only a hundred 
metres or so from the end of the track? If he would only 
give her a few more minutes... But he would not, she could 
see that. Yet for all her frustration, she might have taken 
his advice, had he not been so annoying. She knew that, all 
things being equal, she would probably have taken Mulder's, 
for all that Mulder probably knew less than Krycek about 
these things, and was far more reckless.

Krycek turned and looked back the way they had come. There 
were fewer trees in that direction, the world was 
predominantly white. He brought out a pair of sunglasses 
from somewhere and put them on. Scully nearly laughed.

"The complete Man in Black", she said. He had his parka on 
over his leather jacket, so the observation was less than 
correct, but there was just that something about his 
attitude...

The sunglasses turned her way, inscrutable.

"Not complete", he said. Then he started back, without 
looking at her again.

As soon as she was certain he would not look back, she set 
out along what she could still see of the tracks they had 
been following. Part of her told her she was being every 
bit as reckless as Mulder, but she rationalized it by 
telling herself that she was only going on for ten minutes 
more. Then, if everything looked the same, she would turn 
back. Truth to tell, she had been wondering for a while 
now, if Krycek might not have orders he had not told her 
about. What if this whole charade was only to make her 
believe they had done all they could, when they really had 
not? After all, she could still make out the tracks. She 
couldn't believe he would give up so easily, if this really 
was his only chance of getting out of their confinement. 
True, he guarded his life carefully, but he was not a 
coward. This behaviour simply did not add up.

The snow still fell gently, but it was becoming 
increasingly difficult to make out the tracks. Also, her 
head was beginning to hurt, and there were little red and 
green sparks in her field of vision, like miniscule, 
metallic confetti. The beginning of snow-blindness. Great. 
She hadn't thought it possible in the fading light, but 
white was still white, as long as everything else was 
darker. She wished she had brought out her sunglasses 
earlier, now she dared not use them, dusk was too near, and 
she had to be able to see her way back. She glanced at her 
watch. Twenty minutes since she parted from Krycek, and she 
had only intended to be out for ten more. Damnation, she 
had better turn after all. At least she had verified that 
she was nowhere near her destination. She turned, and 
looked into a white void. Or rather a grey one, as dusk was 
beginning to make headway. She could see her own tracks for 
a short distance, but even they were being blurred as she 
watched. There was no sign of the snowmobile tracks.

Swallowing her pride, she started calling his name. No 
answer. Well, if they had been moving in opposite 
directions for twenty minutes, they could be far apart by 
now.

Resolutely, she fought down her incipient panic. She could 
do this. After all, she had a pretty good idea which way 
they had come, all she had to do was walk in a straight 
line, or as near to it as she could. Her head still hurt, 
but sunglasses would not help now. Instead, she brought out 
a flashlight. At least she wouldn't be totally helpless, 
even when it got dark. It was awfully cold though. Maybe 
she should have stopped to eat, but she was feeling an 
increasing urge to hurry back. She could do this. She had 
to believe she could.


*  *  *  *

The snow was falling more densely now, and Krycek was 
beginning to doubt they would make it all the way back 
today. He turned to suggest to Scully that they make camp.

There was no one there. And all the tracks he could see 
were his own.

"Chort!" he exploded into the empty air. Empty of anything 
but snow. He tore off his sunglasses and shoved them back 
into his pocket. It wouldn't help him catch sight of her, 
but dusk was falling, and they were mostly in the way now.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that calling Scully herself 
might be more rewarding than summoning the Devil just yet. 
He started yelling her name, kept it up until his voice 
cracked.

For a moment, he stood weighing his chances. She was gone. 
There was no chance he would find her in this weather. He 
should do what he always did, cut his losses and move on. 
Strangely, this did feel like a loss. A severe one. It came 
as a complete surprise. Even as they set out, he had not 
thought he cared either way whether she came along or not. 
He didn't feel in any way responsible; he had warned her. 
This was on her own head. All the same... The memory of her 
in the shower crept up unbidden. Not, oddly enough, the one 
of her without a stitch on, but the way she had looked in 
that terrycloth, small, wet and vulnerable.

He knew she was still alive out there. She must have 
realized her predicament by now. Hell of a situation to be 
in. Anyway, there was nothing he could do, he'd have to 
give up on her. Leave her to fend for herself, or die. 
Anything else would be lunacy. He couldn't go looking for 
her now. He'd be risking his own life, and he wouldn't save 
hers. In all likelihood, he wouldn't find her. He had no 
tracks to follow, and the snow was coming down in 
bucketfuls now.

Still enumerating all the reasons against it, he started 
back the way he had come, the one they had originally set 
out on.


*  *  *  *

Darkness dropped fast and heavy, and it was still snowing. 
Krycek had a flashlight, but it shone only a few metres 
ahead, where the beam hit the snowfall like a solid wall. 
There was no chance of finding her now, as if there ever 
had been. He should have been furious with her, and he 
tried to be, but that strange sense of loss was too great. 
In fact, it was downright painful. She was so tiny, and yet 
so plucky. And for all her powers of rational reasoning, 
yet so stupid, he reminded himself. He amended that almost 
immediately, trying to remember how he himself had viewed 
snowfalls like this during his first year in Siberia. He 
supposed it wasn't immediately obvious how treacherous they 
could be. Not until you had experienced it for yourself. 
Then again.. he would have expected Mulder to pull 
something like this, but Scully? Well, they had been 
partners for a long time, something must have rubbed off.

He started looking for a place to spend the night, and he 
found a gigantic fir-tree, its branches heavy with snow. 
All around it were hulking junipers, like bears, or cave-
men standing guard. Using one of his snowshoes as a shovel 
while kneeling on the other, he dug in under the big tree, 
taking care to strengthen the 'walls' of snow around it on 
all sides but the entrance. After he got in, he shored up 
the entrance from within. He left a small hole for 
ventilation under a branch, where it would not get snowed 
under. It wasn't enough to make a fire in such an enclosed 
space. He'd have to rely on his body heat. He sure could 
have used another body in here, though. He dismissed the 
thought immediately. By now, he'd have to think of her as 
dead. He'd have another look around in the morning, but 
he'd be a fool to get his hopes up.

He ate half a can of beans unheated, before crawling into 
his sleeping bag. As usual, it took him less than ten 
minutes to fall asleep.


- - <> - -

Mulder was running, always running. Running through the 
woods, after something or away from someone. Maybe both. 
But what was it he sought, and from whom was he trying to 
escape? Sometimes he had a feeling they might be the same. 
Other times they were not, but he never got a good look of 
either. Just a presence in his future, and one in his past. 
But the one from his past was up ahead, and the one in his 
future had fallen behind. Exhausted, he stopped, bending 
nearly double to catch his breath.

A pair of polished shoes appeared in his field of vision, 
just under trouser legs adorned with a discreet, thin 
stripe. He straightened to look the man in the eye. Deep 
Throat, his first informant.

"Fool me twice, shame on me", Mulder said.

The older man gave his characteristic little laugh, hardly 
more than a snort.

"You think you're being fooled, Mr Mulder?"

"Either that or you're a genuine hallucination. The last 
time I saw you, you were a figment of somebody's pipe 
dream. Possibly mine, but I can't rule out the possibility 
that you were planted. Either way, I'm not interested. Go 
away."

"You're not at all interested in what I have to say?"

"No, you're dead. Stop bothering me."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I should have known the last time I 
saw you, guess I was confused. I've remembered something 
since then."

"And what would that be?"

Mulder gave him a look somewhere between exasperation and 
compassion. "I saw you in the Spirit World, sir. I can't be 
talking with you now, unless we're both in the Spirit 
World. And somehow, I don't think that I am."

The other nodded. "I see. Well, I really only came to tell 
you one thing. But perhaps you already know?"

Mulder sighed. Apparently, this particular ghost wasn't 
easily laid. "All right, what is it?"

"Just this: The one who stays alive has met the one who 
cannot die. The survivor is now working with the immortal."

"What are you talking about?"

The older man shrugged. "Just thought you'd like to know."



- 8 -

In the woods, October 15th

Krycek woke up at first light - at the first light strong 
enough to penetrate the small ventilation hole and change 
the illumination of his quarters to any significant extent. 
He drew a handful of snow over his face by way of washing, 
then ate the other half of the bean can. He rolled up his 
sleeping bag and put it on top of his backpack. The 
entrance wall was thicker now than it had been, and it took 
him a while to dig his way out.

It was full daylight as he emerged, and his heart sank. 
Nights lasted many hours, this time of year. But the sun 
was out, and he made use of it to pick his direction. He 
knew he was probably off by a bit, but at least he had some 
idea where he was going. He needed to find her, even if she 
was dead. He didn't know why. Some time yesterday, he had 
ceased to try and make sense of his actions. As fate's sly 
humour would have it, it was her red hair that led him to 
her. She was lying in the snow among the trees, a little 
off his path, and the hood of her parka had fallen back. 
She was almost snowed under, but the faint sunlight struck 
her hair, showing it up redder than anything had a right to 
be, in this world of white, black, dark green and more 
white.

He took the few steps necessary and crouched beside her. 
Her flashlight was next to her, glinting dimly, its 
batteries nearly depleted. Almost reverently, the hardened 
assassin pushed his recent ally's hair out of her face. One 
ear and the tip of her nose were white, but other than 
that, her colour looked healthy enough. Not that this was 
necessarily a reassuring sign, given the climatic powers of 
preservation. Using his teeth, Krycek pulled his right 
glove off and felt for her pulse. Faint, but it was there. 
He knew he wasn't feeling his own; his heart was beating so 
hard, he had difficulty breathing. Unconsciously, he passed 
his sleeve across his eyes in a quick wipe. Then he set 
about her rescue. Not for the first time, he cursed his 
disability as he rolled out her sleeping bag and put her 
inside it. He managed to tie her snowshoes underneath, thus 
turning the sleeping bag into a makeshift sled. It would 
take inhuman strength to drag it all the way back to the 
way station single-handedly, but right now he felt he had 
that strength. After all, he had no alternative.


*  *  *  *

Syndicate cell cabin, October 15th

"They've been out all night." Diana's voice held a slight 
edge of weariness and apprehension. "I saw them leave 
yesterday, and they're not back yet."

Her companion exhaled smoke so close to her face that she 
was hard put not to cough. To her surprise, she found that 
she was afraid to. "Think we lost them?" he asked lightly.

She did not trust herself to answer. She knew that if they 
had, nothing would save her this time. How could she have 
been so sure of her plan as to place herself in a remote 
cabin in the company of this man? She was already 
officially dead, there'd be no questions asked. As if there 
ever were.

He let her stew for a bit, then he said, "I shouldn't 
worry." He reached across the table to carefully put out 
his cigarette in the ashtray. "They'll be back. They can't 
escape, you know. There's nowhere to go."

She had to say it. "I wasn't thinking of escape."

He looked at her for longer than she liked, judging her. 
Belatedly, she realized what she had said. Protesting too 
much...

But he let it pass. "I have great confidence in Alex' 
talent for survival", he said, and she was almost certain 
there was a self-ironic smile lurking around his withered 
lips.

"And Agent Scully's?"

"He'll save her." A brief glitter in pale blue eyes. "Don't 
you have faith in your plan?"


*  *  *  *

In the woods, October 15th, 1:56 p m

The brief day was already dimming again, when Krycek 
realized that he must have passed the way station. He 
cursed himself for not having left a light on, but he had 
not really been planning on being back this way. For once 
however, he was in luck, or the next thing to it. The sun 
could be vaguely glimpsed through the thick layer of 
clouds. It was hanging low, and as weak as the moon in 
daytime, but it was just visible. Now if he could get 
Scully's analog watch quickly, before the faint wraith of a 
sun disappeared again...

That's when he saw it. She had lost her left glove, and her 
hand was trailing in the snow. He had no idea how long she 
had been like that, maybe ever since the outset of this 
miserable journey. By the look of it, it was already too 
late to save her hand. He might have to cut it off. Phantom 
pain slashed through him at the thought, and not just 
through the nerve endings of his arm. In a way, the thought 
was almost more unbearable than the idea of losing her 
altogether. He didn't want to take any more away from her 
than he already had. To make her like himself. She hadn't 
deserved that. Not to mention that she'd never believe he 
hadn't done it out of malice. He chuckled, but it came out 
oddly like a sob.

Another quick wipe across his eyes, and he was back in 
shape. Resolutely, he stripped off her watch and checked it 
against the bleak sun. He'd been right. He'd have to turn 
almost 180 degrees. He only hoped he had not overshot his 
destination by too much. Scully wouldn't last another night 
out in the cold. He tucked her bare hand inside her 
clothing, inside the sleeping bag, where it should have 
stayed in the first place. That would have to do. Once they 
got back to the station, he'd take care of all her frozen 
spots. Whatever it took...


*  *  *  *

He reached the way station before dark, but by then he was 
so exhausted he fell twice within the last 100 metres of 
the main building. The second time he nearly passed out. 
Fear galvanized him, and by sheer will power he somehow 
managed to half push, half drag Scully through the door, 
makeshift sled and all. He got her out of sleeping bag and 
parka, out of everything that had melting snow on it. The 
collar of her Irish sweater was soaked through, but her 
shirt was all right and he let her keep it. She was wearing 
the same kind of thermal trousers he was, so by right her 
legs should be safe, but he had to make sure. He removed 
her jeans along with the thermals and examined her 
carefully, cursing the bad light. As far as he could see, 
she hadn't frozen any other parts than the ones he already 
knew about.

He wrapped her in several blankets and put her to bed. Then 
he looked through the medicine cabinet. The aspirins were 
past their due date. He shrugged; they might be a little 
weak, but they wouldn't be harmful. The antibiotics were 
ok; good, he didn't need her to catch pneumonia on top of 
everything else. He wasn't going to give her anything right 
now though, better wait and see what she might need when 
she woke up. He noted the small supply of anaesthetics. If 
only there were some way around that part of it.. He knew 
he was being irresponsible. By right he should do it now, 
before she woke up. The sooner the better. But - she was a 
doctor, for crying out loud, shouldn't she be given a 
chance to diagnose herself? Yeah, and take him off the hook 
for doing it to her - was he really that pathetic? What did 
he care what she thought anyway? He was used to being 
blamed for just about everything from the Black Death to 
the Sixth Extinction, and most of the time he didn't even 
object. An overly impressive record came in handy 
sometimes.

He went in search of some liquor. Not for himself, because 
he feared it would put him to sleep in an instant, and he 
could not afford to sleep just yet. But Scully might need 
it when she woke up, especially if he had to... There was a 
bottle of plain but pure vodka under the sink, about three 
quarters full. He smelled it cautiously, to verify that the 
bottle hadn't been reassigned to some other use. It smelled 
okay, very faintly sweet, nothing else. He heated some 
water till it was warm but not hot. Then he sat down on 
Scully's bed and started washing her face and ear with it. 
He was careful not to rub the white spots, just warm them. 
She mumbled something and tried to turn away, but she did 
not wake up. That surprised him; he would have expected her 
to be out cold, but she behaved more as if she were 
sleeping. He was further surprised to notice that the 
frozen spots responded almost immediately, taking on some 
colour. Well, he certainly wasn't giving up without trying, 
so he took her left hand and submerged it in the warm 
water. She tried to withdraw it, and he had to hold it in 
place and hope that his artificial arm would be up to the 
task of supporting the bowl of water. He stared at her 
hand, willing it to improve, for all that he knew it was 
futile. Her left hand too.. If the worst came to the worst, 
they'd be oddly symmetric. A painful symmetry. Or more 
likely, a parallel...

It seemed like only minutes, and then her hand which had 
seemed completely dead, began to flush a little. At first 
he wasn't sure, then the change was becoming more and more 
apparent. If she had seen this herself, she might have 
called it a miracle, he thought. And maybe she'd be right. 
He sure as hell didn't have any explanation for it.

When her hand was back to near normal, he let her take it 
out. He put the bowl away, dried and massaged her hand and 
swathed it in a fresh towel to help it stay warm. It didn't 
look like this was needed, but he wasn't about to take any 
chances now. He felt as if he, rather than she, had had a 
very narrow escape. Then she surprised him again. With her 
other hand she reached for his, for the artificial one 
which happened to be next to hers. Without thinking, he 
shifted so she could take his right one instead. Only later 
did he realize that he had not wanted to startle her.



- 9 -

October 17th, 6:22 p m

Scully awoke rested and generally at ease, as if her 
endorphins had been hard at work for some time. She glanced 
around her, convincing herself that she was in her bed at 
the way station. Somehow that did not surprise her, 
although she could not remember getting back here from 
their outing yesterday - or whenever that was. It was dark 
again, but the weather had obviously cleared, she could see 
a few stars outside the window above the table. There was 
something slightly unusual about them though.

Her mouth tasted faintly of alcohol, and she remembered 
half waking up in broad daylight and having something 
poured into her - probably vodka, or the taste would have 
been worse by now. Idly, she tried to remember how he had 
managed that... could he really pour with his left hand? 
Maybe he could, but he hadn't.

Now that she thought of it, the way they had been sitting, 
he must have supported her against his body and poured 
right-handed. A quick flash of another memory hinted that 
he had even managed to help her to the toilet on at least 
one occasion. She'd rather not dwell on that.. She was 
curious though. Why had he taken care of her?

Where was he, anyway? She couldn't hear him in the 
building. She sat up in bed and waited for the expected 
dizziness to pass. She had the feeling she had been asleep 
a long time; her blood pressure must have tried to go into 
hibernation. Oddly, she felt refreshed rather than 
weakened, so she got up, feeling no ill effects. She 
squeezed past the table to look out the window. The stars 
still seemed a little off, but nothing moved out there. The 
window could not be opened. It was screwed and taped shut, 
for insulation. By the look of the tapes, it had been like 
that for years.

She made a hasty visit to the toilet, then got back and 
threw her parka on over what little she wore - he must have 
undressed her, damn him. She didn't feel exactly 
comfortable about that, but he probably thought he had to. 
She couldn't really blame him, it was standard procedure. 
Always check for injuries. Not that she felt injured - 
exactly what shape had she been in? The last thing she 
remembered from the forest was being lost in it. She had no 
difficulty imagining what that might mean. Frostbite at the 
very least... She felt her face and ears and was relieved 
to find everything there, no numb spots that would not 
respond to touch. No pain either.

She shoved her bare feet into her boots and went out. The 
air was icy cold around her legs, but she wasn't going to 
be outside for long. Just see if she could figure out where 
he had gone. The weather was very still now, there ought to 
be tracks.. The area immediately in front of the door was 
dark, just failing to be lit by any of the feeble cones of 
light falling from the windows.

For some reason she looked up at the stars - and forgot 
everything else. They were in colour! That must have been 
what she had glimpsed through the window, though it was 
much more obvious out here. She just stood there, staring, 
wondering if Mulder had ever seen this, and if so, whether 
it had rendered him slack-jawed for the next half-hour.

"Quite determined to catch your death, aren't you?"

The sharp, dark voice startled her; she had not heard him 
coming. "Just wondering if I was hallucinating", she said, 
pointing at the stars. "But they really are in colour, 
aren't they?"

He glanced up briefly. "Sure they are. We're a long way 
from any cities here, you can tell by the darkness of the 
sky all around. No spots of reflected light on the horizon. 
No artificial light to bleed the colour out of the stars."

"But I don't remember having seen this on our first night 
here."

"The moon has waned a bit since then. It usually steals the 
show when it's nearly full, it's so bright. I thought you'd 
have seen this in Alaska?"

"The weather was very bad. I wasn't out much, and when I 
was, the stars were not."

"What about the Antarctic?"

Scully shook her head wistfully. "The sky is so empty on 
that side. Nothing like this. Besides, I told you I was 
unconscious most of the time. When I finally got out, it 
was full daylight."

"Yeah well, you can usually tell the planets. Saturn is 
yellowish, Mars sort of pink, Jupiter is white, but it's an 
obvious disk, you can't miss it. Of the stars, you should 
be able to spot Betelgeuse."

"I already have", she smiled. "It's the bright red one 
there."

He nodded, although she wasn't looking at him. "At least we 
know we're still on Earth", he said dryly. "And definitely 
in the northern hemisphere. Now get in before you freeze 
your legs off - what are you doing out here anyway?"

She turned then, and saw that he was not wearing his parka, 
just the leather jacket. He couldn't have gone far then. "I 
was looking for you", she admitted. He held up something 
for her scrutiny. A packet of some kind; she couldn't read 
the label in the dark. "I was just over to the barn. We 
were all out of coffee."

Once inside, she crawled back into bed for a moment, to 
warm her legs. Krycek was keeping busy at the cooker. It 
was impossible not to give in to the misleading atmosphere 
of peaceful domesticity, and Scully found herself drifting 
off again, although she was not really tired any more. She 
awoke to the sound of plates and spoons being set on the 
wooden table, and she got up, this time finding her jeans 
and slipping into them.

"Oatmeal?" she questioned as she sat down in front of the 
steaming plate. She tried to keep the disappointment out of 
her voice, but he picked up on it.

"I know you're probably ravenous, but it is quite filling, 
and at least it shouldn't harm you. I wasn't sure you could 
take a heavy meal just yet."

She looked up sharply. "How long was I out of it?"

"You were sort of in and out all night after I brought you 
back. Toward morning you seemed to - I don't know, enter 
into some healing trance or whatever. I couldn't wake you, 
but you weren't exactly in a coma either. You woke up 
twice, to go to the head, but I doubt you were really 
awake. Then you went right back under, and you slept 
through the rest of yesterday. I assume you slept through 
today as well, but I nodded off myself sometime in the 
night, and I only awoke a couple of hours ago, so I can't 
say for sure. Now eat."

He sat down opposite her and started in on his own portion. 
She had the impression he had lived off food like this 
often enough. Perhaps he even considered it luxury. She 
glanced down at her plate. It didn't look bad, and she was 
hungry. She took a spoonful and discovered that he had even 
scattered raisins in it. She reached for the jug in the 
middle of the table and was surprised to find milk in it. 
Then she realized. Dry milk of course. He had whipped up 
just enough for two portions, and she poured some of it 
over her oatmeal. It tasted slightly stale as she had 
expected, but it would do to counter the dryness. Then 
something occurred to her. "How long has this grain been 
stored? You sure there aren't any bugs in it?"

"If there are, just think of them as additional protein", 
he said curtly.

She had no impression that he was joking.


*  *  *  *

October 17th, 8:15 p m

Scully pondered her next move. It would appear that no 
matter what she did, she would have to sacrifice one of her 
bishops.

They had brought out the chess board again after washing 
up, and she was already wondering if this might become a 
habit. If they didn't get out of here any time soon, at 
least she would have improved her skills at the game. "Can 
I ask you something, Krycek?" she said, as if merely hoping 
to distract him from her current predicament.

He grunted acquiescence, and she continued,

"Why did you save me? I mean, I'm grateful and all that, 
but what were you thinking? I know we both agreed we'd 
stand a better chance of finding Mulder if we collaborated, 
but was it really worth all the trouble you must have gone 
to?"

"The word is *cooperate*, not *collaborate*", he said 
noncommittally.

"The hell it is. We're sworn enemies in a temporary 
alliance. Which makes it all the more impractical for you 
to waste time and effort instead of just letting me die 
when you had the chance."

"Your bishop is history. Move, and be done with it."

She did, with a sigh. His knight immediately moved in to 
take the unfortunate bishop's place, and things were 
beginning to look ominous.

"Don't tell me you saved my life just because you don't 
like to renege on a deal", she said.

He glared at her, but she was eyeing the board. After a 
while, she moved a pawn, as if trying to throw a belated 
wrench into his strategy.

"Maybe I just don't like giving up", he said, planting his 
queen firmly in front of her king. "Check - and mate."


- 10 -

October 18th-31st

Scully did not know when they had resigned themselves to 
spending the winter in this lonely place, but it seemed 
that they had. She had expected Krycek to be restless in 
confinement, but as far as she could tell, he was not. 
Instead, he seemed to be reserving his energy, generally 
poised for action in case a new opportunity would open up, 
but as long as it did not, he merely waited. His state of 
alert preparedness was affecting her too. Occasionally, she 
would worry about Mulder, but most of the time she accepted 
the fact that there was nothing she could do for him at the 
moment. She kept her field journals diligently, however. 
She found the habit oddly comforting. It was as if for that 
little while late at night when she sat down to write her 
journal, she still had some connection with her normal 
life. If what she and Mulder had, could ever be called a 
normal life.

One morning she was just entering the main building after a 
tour to the storage barn, when there was a desperate 
whirring from the living area, like a small engine running 
amok. It was soon followed by a strong smell of burning 
plastic.

Scully rushed in just in time to see Krycek gingerly using 
his left hand to unplug her hair-dryer from a wall socket. 
He blew out the few open flames and straightened, giving 
her an accusing look.

"230 volts", he said. "You could have warned me."

Well, obviously he had survived. Scully turned her 
attention to the ruined hair-dryer. For some reason, there 
was something so pathetic about it, being held out like 
that, the pitiful casualty of incompatible technology. 
"Sorry", she said, sounding a little too amused to be quite 
convincing. "I had no idea... I mean, all I've plugged in 
so far is the adapter for my laptop, but that of course is 
convertible. It takes whatever voltage it gets." She 
frowned. "I didn't notice anything funny about the outlet 
though..."

In answer, he bent over and plucked something from the wall 
socket. A plug converter. "Looks like you aren't the 
first", he said. "Someone had left this in, presumably for 
a laptop adapter or some such. It looked like it was part 
of the socket, so I didn't notice at first. Why the hell 
couldn't you have gotten yourself a convertible hair-
dryer?"

"I never thought I'd need one. We don't travel much outside 
the US."

He gave her a long look. "No, you don't, do you?" He 
sighed. "Well, at least we know we're not still there. In 
case we were wondering. And I think we can safely assume 
we're not in Yukon. Maybe Anderson's mention of Vittangi 
was a genuine slip after all. Even if he didn't know how to 
pronounce it."

"There really is a place by that name? Where is it, and how 
come you know about it?"

"North of Sweden, and you don't want to know. It's inside 
the Arctic Circle and fairly close to the Finnish and 
Russian borders. It's a reasonably large community though; 
if it was anywhere near, we'd see it on the night sky. In 
fact, almost anything big enough to have street lights 
would show up on a clear night."

Scully nodded. "Guess we'll have to keep looking for clues. 
What were you doing with my hair-dryer, by the way? Or 
don't I want to know that either?"

Krycek gave the burnt item a disgusted look and threw it in 
the waste bin under the sink. "I managed to thaw out the 
hot water pipe in the shower - using boiled water - but now 
the one in here is frozen. They're running too close to the 
walls, and the walls are too thin, or the insulation layer 
is on the wrong side or the plumbing. Happens all the time 
at these latitudes. They've got miles and miles of forest, 
and they still can't build properly..."

"You know, they wouldn't have to use 230 volts", Scully 
mused. "This place has its own power system; it's self-
sustained when it comes to electricity. It could have any 
kind of voltage."

"Maybe someone found it easier to shop for light bulbs if 
they stuck to the local norm", Krycek offered.


*  *  *  *

They did their best to fortify the place against the winter 
storms Krycek was certain would come. The buildings seemed 
strong enough to withstand rather extreme weather, but they 
brought in considerable supplies from the storage and 
stowed them in the caf�, so they would be well stocked in 
case they were snowed under. Krycek finally managed to thaw 
out the hot water pipe in the living area too, and they now 
took care not to let anything freeze. All taps were kept at 
a very slow trickle, just barely enough to keep the water 
in motion.

In the evenings, they played chess. Since these quiet games 
were their best opportunity to talk, they sometimes did not 
play very seriously any more, but they usually finished a 
game or two before going to bed. Krycek had stopped nagging 
Scully about keeping her mind on the board. Perhaps, she 
speculated, he stopped being afraid of her. The thought 
amused her, but somehow she wouldn't rule it out entirely. 
Perhaps he *had* been afraid of her. For what reason she 
could not imagine, except that he never was one to 
underestimate his enemies.

Did that mean he trusted her now? Not likely. Did she trust 
him? No further than their truce, and never when he was out 
of sight. But she had to admit she did not fear him. Had 
she ever? Oddly, she could not recall. She did not think 
so, but she knew she was feeling more relaxed now that he 
had saved her life. Also, she was growing accustomed to 
him. She knew she would have to watch out for that - all 
she now thought she knew about him could change in an 
instant. On her first day alone with him, she had 
contemplated how best to take him out if he became a 
threat. But there had been ample opportunity for him to 
take advantage of her since then, and he never had. Maybe 
there was something in Mulder's often voiced conviction 
that Krycek was gay. But - hadn't he had something going 
with Marita Covarrubias? Why bother with that relationship, 
if he really didn't go for women? If he was bi, the 
question remained, why hadn't he tried anything by now? It 
seemed they were here for a long time. Maybe he just didn't 
like redheads. She smiled briefly at her wandering 
thoughts. Most likely, attacking her wasn't in his plans. 
Somehow, she could believe it was as simple as that. Enough 
to rely on it. For now. 


*  *  *  *

Syndicate surveillance cabin, Hallowe'en

The smoker glanced thoughtfully at the screen. "Saving her 
life doesn't seem to have gained him anything."

"It hasn't changed anything for her", Diana said 
defensively. "She wasn't in control, it was his decision to 
save her. It may sound callous, but I think it will take a 
little more than that."

The smoker lit a new cigarette, possibly to conceal his 
surprise. "More than saving her life?"

"He's a killer. He was in on killing her sister. It will 
take a lot for her to get around that."

He gave her an ice-blue look. "Shouldn't you have thought 
of that before you suggested this course of action?" he 
asked lightly.

"I told you to give them time", Diana said, the barest hint 
of annoyance in her voice. "She'll come round. But it will 
take time."

"Too much time and they'll kill each other out of sheer 
boredom", the smoker said.

Diana smiled a little. "I don't think so. There's too much 
fire in them for that. In both of them. They'll take the 
other option first."


*  *  *  *

Forest way station, November 2nd, 8.09 p m

"..and mate", Scully said. "Or - no, sorry, not quite. Care 
to go on?"

Krycek gave the board a quick once-over. Then he toppled 
his king. "No, I fold."

"I thought you didn't like giving up." Childish under the 
circumstances, but it just slipped out.

He actually smiled a little. "I can always come back."

Outside, the temperature was dropping. They could feel it 
inside the house too. Scully took a sip of her tea - they 
usually kept a pot on hand during their evening game. She 
looked out the window. "Think it'll snow tonight?"

He nodded. "Probably." He gave her a searching look. "You 
know if we lose power, we're likely to lose the water too? 
I'm not sure where the pumps are, maybe up on the hillside 
somewhere, but I doubt they've got an independent power 
supply."

Scully pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking. 
"Even so, we should be all right, I think. We brought in 
enough propane bottles for the cooker, we could always melt 
some snow."

"True", he agreed. "I'm glad they dropped us here and not 
in the Tunisian desert or something." He glanced quickly 
out the window, then he stood. "Better start bringing in a 
few bucketfuls now, just to be on the safe side. It'll give 
us a head start on the melting. And while we're at it, 
let's get some of that firewood inside. We can store it in 
the caf�, there's still plenty of room."

Scully stood too. "What do you say we get the old bathtub 
from the store? We could fill that with snow, that way we'd 
have a considerable amount of water. I mean, a few buckets 
won't last long, the volume will decrease as the snow 
melts." A pause, then, "I could get the snow. I think we 
have two buckets in here. The ones out in the garage aren't 
any too clean."

"Good idea", he said. A moment of hesitation, barely 
noticeable, then, "Thanks."

She nodded. She had not mentioned the time factor, but they 
both knew the gales could be over them long before he had 
brought in any significant supply of snow by himself. One 
bucket at a time wouldn't cut it. Besides, someone would 
have to get the firewood.

For all their misgivings about the weather, when they got 
outside, the night was perfectly still, and but for the 
cold, there was no hint of snow in the air.

Krycek looked up. "We're inside the Arctic Circle", he 
said. "Just as we thought. Now we know."

Scully looked up too, and reeled at what she saw. Directly 
overhead, the sky was aswirl with light. A gigantic golden 
eye seemed to be staring down at her from around the 
zenith, long streaks around it, tinted with green and red. 
It kept moving, changing, turning into a crown, a dragon...

Krycek let go his wood basket to reach out and steady her. 
Not that she was in danger of losing her balance exactly, 
but she had to admit to being a little awed. She leant on 
him without really noticing. "Isn't the aurora supposed to 
be gently undulating draperies on the horizon?" she asked. 
"That's the description I've heard anyway."

"That's farther south", he said. "Up here, it looks more 
like that."

He was still holding her, and she was still leaning on him, 
craning her neck to follow the spellbinding transformations 
overhead. Softly, tunelessly, he began to whistle.

She turned her head to stare at him, and he flashed her 
that sun-edge grin she had not seen since last summer. 
"Just something they tried to make me believe as a kid", he 
said. "I guess I knew already then it was an old wives' 
tale..."


- - <> - -

Mulder looked warily at the alien bounty hunter. Hell, he 
didn't even know the man's - or being's - name. If indeed 
such as he had names. The shape shifter stared back, 
waiting. His currently rugged features seemed at ease, 
confident. As if he were quite at home in these woods. Or 
anywhere else on Earth, for that matter.

"You - or someone like you - once told me my sister was 
alive", Mulder said.

"Was that true? Was she alive in 1998?"

"Only humans lie", the being said.

"Why is that?" Mulder asked, trying to determine whether 
the other was being disdainful or not.

"Because they still can."

Mulder made the connection with lightning speed. "You're 
all telepathic?"

"Not all. But too many to make lying safe."

Mulder nodded. "So she was alive in 1998. Is she alive 
now?"

"She is. She can be returned to you."

Mulder's jaw fell open. "She can?"

"Yes. But there is a price."

"Name it."

"You must give up your partner. Exchange her for your 
sister. You can't have them both."

"Why? A double anima is not allowed?"

Mulder's display of self-knowledge was lost on the alien. 
"It's the deal. You have to choose."

"No deal. I can't give you Scully. I won't."

The alien seemed genuinely puzzled. "Strange. They told me 
you were not close anymore."

Mulder let out an exasperated sigh. "She can take care of 
herself. It doesn't mean we..." He sighed again and started 
over. "I can't... there are things I have to do. Things I 
don't want to expose Scully to."

"And that is your decision to make?"

"What's it to you? But yeah, I always thought it was. Look, 
I'm not free to..."

"Indulge yourself? Isn't that exactly what you have been 
doing?"

"... to devote myself", Mulder found himself saying.

The alien nodded, and began to change. His face became more 
sharp-featured, and he seemed to shrink a little, his build 
becoming less compact, almost elegant. Even his clothes 
changed, something Mulder would not have thought possible. 
He was now in evening dress, a cane in his hand, and a 
chapeau claque on his head.

"Know me like this", he said, "when we meet again next 
cycle."

He walked into the forest and was gone.



- 11 -

Forest way station, November 2nd, 9:43 p m

"There", Scully said, dumping a last bucket of snow on to 
the growing mound in the tub. "I think that'll last us a 
while."

Krycek merely nodded and went to hang up his parka. Scully 
took hers off as well and went to make more tea. When it 
was done, she brought the pot over to the table. She poured 
herself a cup, then decided it needed something more. She 
went to fetch the bottle of vodka and put that too on the 
table.

"Doctor's recommendation", she said, adding a few drops to 
her tea. "The temperature is still dropping." She shoved 
the bottle across to him, but he shook his head.

"Sorry, I rarely drink."

Her eyes went big and turquoise, as if he had said 
something completely outrageous.

"Can't afford to", he said.

"I thought they paid you quite well."

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "The Smoker is quite a 
miser. The whole thing is run more on threats and blackmail 
than any real money. That's not what I meant though. The 
last time I relaxed in the field, it cost me an arm. If I 
had a drinking habit... my aim would be a lot less 
accurate", he finished, though Scully was certain that was 
not what he had been about to say.

She wondered a little that he would associate a shot of 
vodka on a cold night with a full-blown drinking habit, but 
maybe it was true what they said about Russians. In fact, 
there was something of a coiled whip about him. As if he 
was always holding himself back, because if he ever let 
himself go, he would cause some kind of disaster. The trait 
seemed to apply to all aspects of him. She suddenly 
understood why he had taken so many beatings from Mulder. 
He must have been under orders not to kill Mulder. On the 
day that order was rescinded, Krycek would strike back. She 
wondered if Mulder knew. Maybe he did. Contrarily to 
Krycek, Mulder had his suicidal moments.

"And yet, in the Hong Kong Paradise you offered to choose 
the wine?" she said, in an effort to take the edge off the 
subject.

"I'm not a teetotaller", he amended. "You'd have gotten the 
lion share of the bottle though."

It figured that he'd remember. She had learnt by now that 
he rarely forgot anything. Probably couldn't afford that 
either.

"I can understand it if you don't drink on assignments", 
she said. "I guess I just thought things were quiet enough 
out here in the wilderness."

He shook his head. "There's a storm coming. I can feel it. 
In fact, we'd probably better stay up tonight." As if for 
emphasis, he started setting up the chess board again.

"Feeling defensive tonight?" she asked innocently. She 
nearly laughed at his questioning look. "You played black 
last time too."

He made a face and spun the board around, giving her the 
black side. So he *could* forget minor things, once in a 
while. She wondered if that should please or worry her.

She opened with her queen's pawn rather than her king's, 
signaling an open game.

This time, there would be slaughter.

"If they don't pay you, what do you live off?" she asked.

He countered her move in silence, and they exchanged a 
quick sequence of measures and counter-measures. Finally, 
he said, "Others pay me. The Syndicate is not the only game 
in town - or on the planet. Besides, I steal from that 
fuming bastard when I can. Remember the tape Mulder got 
hold of? It lasted me a long time. Kept me independent for 
months."

"You didn't steal that from the Smoker", Scully said 
sternly, snatching one of his pawns off the board.

Krycek shrugged. "Whatever. He would have had it in the 
end. In fact, he did. Check."

Scully glared at the board. Now where the hell had that 
bishop come from...


*  *  *  *

Syndicate surveillance cabin, November 2nd, time zone 
unknown

"Well, that's good to know." Diana gave the screen an 
amused look. "Did you know Alex was stealing from you?"

"Of course", the smoker said indifferently. "I never said I 
trusted him. I just use him."

"You sure he isn't using you?"

The smoker didn't reply right away. Two thoughtful puffs 
later, Diana was almost certain he was considering the 
possibility.

"All his attempts so far have failed", he said at last, his 
voice as mellifluous and unconcerned as ever. "I trust he's 
learned his lesson. If not, I'll deal with the problem when 
it arises." He leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke 
towards the ceiling.

"Yes, we all know the price for betraying you", Diana said, 
a little sarcastically.

"Oh, Alex won't betray me", the smoker said. "He can't. You 
see, he works for me on an assignment basis, but I never 
had his loyalty. He doesn't give that to anyone. Keeps it 
strictly for himself." He stared vacantly through the smoke 
overhead. "Perhaps that is why I haven't killed him yet."


*  *  *  *

Forest way station, November 3rd, 1:30 a m

Scully had lost two games on end, but she felt strangely 
tranquil about it. There was something so peaceful, so 
ordinary about sitting up playing while waiting for a 
blizzard that might never come. After her second defeat she 
got up and stretched, then went over to the stove to heat 
some more water. While waiting for it to boil, she made a 
quick tour to the toilet and her gaze fell on the silent 
jukebox out in the caf�. Why not? As she returned to the 
main room, Janis Joplin's husky voice followed her:

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
Nothing ain't worth nothing, but it's free.
Feeling good was easy, when Bobby sang the blues,
Feeling good was good enough for me...

Krycek looked up at her, and for a moment she was afraid he 
would ask. But he said nothing, and she breathed a sigh of 
relief at not having to explain. She wasn't sure herself, 
why she had chosen that particular song. He was setting up 
the board, but she remained standing for a while, looking 
thoughtfully at the chessmen. He noticed of course. Idly 
she wondered if Mulder would have.

"Not keen on losing another one?"

She managed a smile and sat down. "What makes you so sure 
you'd win again?"

He pushed back a little from the table and said, "We could 
just talk, you know. If you don't care to play."

She nodded. "What about?"

He shrugged. "Pick a topic."

She chose the one that had recently surfaced and subtly 
managed to destroy her mood. "I wonder what Mulder is doing 
right now."

It wasn't Krycek's favourite topic, but he accepted it.

"If he's doing anything. If he's capable of doing anything 
anymore."

She marvelled at his casual cruelty, yet wondered why it 
should come as a surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm not saying he's dead", Krycek amended, "Not 
necessarily, that is. He could be captured or unconscious 
or both. But if he were quite free and healthy, wouldn't he 
have come looking for you by now? Wouldn't he have caused 
an uproar in seven states and fifteen counties, diverting 
most of the FBI to find you?"

Scully smiled, fondly but sadly. "Maybe he *is* looking. 
There's no real way of knowing, is there?"

"With the bond you two have, I wouldn't be surprised if 
you'd know anyway", Krycek said dryly. "Besides, if he's 
telepathic these days, the least he could do would be to 
try and contact you."

She sighed. "Maybe you overestimate 'the bond we have', 
Krycek."

"Come on, you're joined at the hip. Not to mention other 
places."

"If you're implying what I think you are, you're grossly 
misinformed. And here I thought you knew all there was to 
know about us. I heard you were in surveillance."

Krycek shook his head. "I haven't done any of that for 
years." Then her words registered. His eyes grew so wide 
and green that it gave him an almost innocent look. "Are 
you telling me you never slept with the guy? Come on, be 
serious. Everybody knows..." His voice trailed off as he 
began to reconsider his words.

"Everybody assumes", she corrected him. "I'm well aware of 
that. But everybody is wrong."

Krycek couldn't help himself. "But - but why the hell 
*not*??"

Scully couldn't hold back a brief smile at his almost na�ve 
astonishment. But the smile died quickly. "It's not as 
simple as that. Mulder is a driven man, Krycek. I think I 
wanted him from the moment we first met, I know I tried my 
best to challenge him, to make him notice me. For years I 
wanted him, and I thought he wanted me too, that it was 
just a matter of time..."

She looked absently toward the darkened window. The night 
was opaque, devoid of stars.

"Then I - fell in love with him. It was so easy. He was so 
sensitive, so vulnerable, so considerate..."

"Mulder *considerate*??" Krycek couldn't help challenging.

Scully smiled a little. "Once upon a time, I thought he 
was. Perhaps it was a consideration born out of the famous 
Mulder guilt - guilt of Weltschmerz proportions - but I 
know it was there. Once, when he still had hope. Now I 
think that all he has left is desperation."

She sounded tranquil enough, but Krycek thought he could 
detect a trace of defeat, possibly even resentment. Or 
maybe he was imagining things.

"He was so protective in those days", she resumed, almost 
wistfully, and Krycek's eyes widened again, but he said 
nothing this time. He'd never have thought the self-assured 
Dana Scully could dream of male protection. Then again, 
maybe all women did. Once in a while.

She shook her head - he assumed at her younger self.

"I was even beginning to weigh my alternatives, what would 
I do about my career, could we go on as before, better not 
let Skinner find out... that sort of thing. I honestly 
thought that Mulder loved me too - or wanted me at least, 
though I always had the feeling the two were the same with 
him, that those porno movies he'd always fall asleep to 
were just a front, a joke, or a mundane excuse to keep the 
TV going at night, in case the aliens would come... I was 
sure he cared, I thought I could feel him holding back, 
refraining from touches, acknowledgments that might have 
led somewhere.. and I thought he was just being cautious 
and considerate. I tried to let him know it was all right, 
and well, of course he noticed. How could he not? But he 
never acknowledged my gestures, instead he avoided me on 
those occasions. I grew more uncertain, less and less 
explicit. Then I realized - or thought I realized. Mulder 
has his quest - for the truth, for his lost sister, for 
whatever he can be reasonably sure he'll never attain. 
Something happened to him the day she disappeared, whatever 
may or may not have happened in the objective world. He 
grew - if not insane, then at least obsessed. Now he can't 
live without his quest. The day it is resolved, is the day 
he dies. Inwardly, if nothing else. It prevents him from 
leading a normal life - or shields him from it."

"I thought *he* was the psychologist?" Krycek remarked 
softly.

Scully nodded. "As it turned out, I wasn't a very good one. 
This is what I thought, till a few months ago. I had built 
up all this romantic nonsense about him like some hero-
worshipping school girl, and I was dead wrong. The minute 
Diana reappeared, he suddenly didn't have any problems with 
a normal life any more. Apparently, it's me he's having 
problems with. Or I with him. Used to, I mean. I don't 
know, it's as if when Diana showed up, he even lost some of 
his zeal for finding the truth. As if it didn't matter as 
much any more. As for me, I just - well, I'd had it. Nearly 
six years and then... I had stood by him in so much for so 
long, no matter the cost, and now - I guess I just tired."

Krycek muttered something, and she had to ask what it was.

"Time is an ocean, but it ends at the shore. You may not 
see me tomorrow", he quoted. "Just something I heard on 
that jukebox. Another Dylan, I believe. So why are you 
still looking for him?"

Her eyes were large and turquoise, and not quite dry. "I 
have to. I think I always will, until he is safely out of 
my life."

"You want him out of your life?" Krycek sounded as if that 
could be arranged.

"I don't know what I want. But I know I'll lose him. Maybe 
he'll get abducted, I think in a way he always wanted that. 
And I - well, sometimes I think I'll join a convent."

"Precious little use for forensic pathologists in a 
convent", Krycek said, and she was surprised at how raspy 
he sounded. 6

"Forensic pathology is what I do, it's not who I am", she 
said.

He merely nodded. They sat in silence for a while, then she 
said, "You know what? I haven't told anyone about this 
before. Not even my mother. I couldn't. I think she's still 
hoping for 'Fox' as her son-in-law..."

Krycek looked up. "Then why tell me? I mean, I'm glad you 
did, don't get me wrong, but..."

There was a good deal of irony in her smile as she said, 
"It's not as if there was anyone else around."


- - <> - -

Mulder looked around him. There was nothing much to be 
seen. A softly lit floor, whether metal or concrete he 
could not be sure. The walls appeared round, but it could 
be a trick of the light. They might not be where he thought 
they were but farther away, hidden among the shadows. A 
faint sound, like a dripping faucet - or footsteps. He 
waited, and just as he had decided on footsteps, someone 
walked out of the shadows. A sharp-featured man in evening 
dress, cane in hand, chapeau claque on head.

He tossed Mulder what looked like a pair of handcuffs, 
though there was no connecting chain between them. "Put 
them on."

"Why?" Mulder wanted to know.

"Come now, you can take them off at any time. But if you 
do, you'll never learn the truth. And I should have thought 
that is why we are here."

He spoke with a British accent, Mulder noted. Funny, he 
could not recall any such characteristics of the shape 
shifter's speech before. Maybe that shifted too.

"For me to learn the truth?" Mulder challenged.

"For us both to learn it. This interchange will be to our 
mutual benefit. If you cooperate."

More out of reckless curiosity than anything else, Mulder 
put on the strange-looking cuffs. He had to remove his 
jacket and roll up his sleeves to do it. As an 
afterthought, he discarded his tie as well and loosened the 
two top buttons of his shirt. Might as well get 
comfortable. He had a strong suspicion he would come to 
appreciate it before long.

"Let's begin with a simple question", the man said. "Who 
are you?"

"Who're *you*?"

"I should have thought it obvious. I'm your inquisitor. 
Now, who are you?"

"Fox Mulder", Mulder said. To his surprise, this rendered 
him a sharp pang, starting around his wrists and coursing 
quickly through his body. He staggered, but remained 
standing. Apparently, the cuffs were electric.

"As I said, you can take them off at any time", the other 
reminded him. "Now, try again. Who are you?"

"Agent Mulder?"

Same result, perhaps a little more painful this time.

"I'm not asking your name. I know that already. Who are 
you?"


- 12 -

Forest way station, November 3rd, 4:13 a m

The winds had risen steadily through the night. Soon the 
windows were rattling with the sudden gusts, and the two 
exiles had been out twice to check on the roof. It seemed 
sturdily built, as by someone who knew what to expect.

"No hurricane shutters", Scully remarked as they stamped 
off snow on the porch, prior to getting back inside.

"No, and that worries me", Krycek said. "I hope they didn't 
rely on the pines for protection when they built this place 
- pines fall easily. Long roots, but they run wide rather 
than deep. Good thing there aren't any too close."

"How do you know all these things?" Scully asked. At his 
glance, she amended, "I see. I don't want to know, right?" 
She took another look at the front of the building. 
"Shutters or no, this place must have seen a few gales. It 
might be good for one or two more."

"Don't count on it. Storms are getting worse every year. 
All over the globe."

"I know. Mulder keeps telling me."

He shot her a quick look. "Yeah. But as far as I know, we 
can't blame that one on the aliens."

Scully gave him a quick, sideways glance, but there was no 
telling whether he was joking or not. She shivered 
involuntarily as the wind tore at her. Hastily she opened 
the door, almost tripping over the threshold in her 
yearning to be inside.


*  *  *  *

Toward morning, the blizzard started. The windows were 
quickly covered, and there was no way of knowing how the 
storm progressed. The whole house was rattling in the wind, 
but so far nothing seemed to have been shaken loose. The 
jukebox was ambling its way through one of the obscure 
Dylan songs that seemed to be the mainstay of its 
repertoire. The music wasn't any too cheering.

"We might as well get some sleep", Scully said soberly. 
"Whatever happens will happen whether we stay awake or not. 
There's no way we can check on any damage until this is 
over. And by then we might need our strength. To dig our 
way out, if nothing else."

"You go to sleep. I'll stay up and watch."

"You're far too edgy, Krycek. Anyone ever told you that?"

He spun around to look at her. But whatever he had been 
about to say, she felt certain he had thought better of it. 
"Frequently. Good thing I never believed him, I'd be dead 
by now." He turned back to the snow-covered window, as if 
willing it to clear. For a moment she had the idea that 
that green gaze would actually have the power to melt snow. 
She shook her head silently. She had to be more tired than 
she thought.

"The weather is not your enemy, Krycek. It doesn't know 
you're here, it doesn't know anything. And frankly, if it 
did, it probably couldn't care less. Get some sleep, at 
least you'll be fresh in a few hours. And that's your 
doctor speaking."

He actually grinned a little at that, and he turned away 
from the window. "*My* doctor? Don't think I ever had one. 
Not for years anyway."

She wished she had phrased that differently. Why the hell 
hadn't she just said, doctor's orders? "Look, before you 
get any funny ideas about huddling close to share warmth, 
I'll just have to tell you..."

She wished she hadn't said that either. His grin was 
teasing enough, but not in the way she had anticipated.

"No need", he said brightly. "We've still got electricity."

Right then, the room went pitch black.


*  *  *  *

In the end, Krycek did stay up, tending the stove. He made 
the most of the firewood they had brought in, keeping the 
stove at a slow glow rather than building a roaring fire 
time and time again. The heat would have to do. At least it 
was permeating the main room now, even if some of it was 
always leaking out into the caf�.

Krycek cursed himself for having relied on the wind power 
station to take over, in case the generator failed. In this 
weather, it had seemed like a good chance. Except that when 
the generator finally gave out, the wind mast was already 
clogged with snow and wouldn't move. In his less tired 
moments, Krycek knew that there would have been no way of 
knowing, and no way he could have done anything, had he 
known. He'd have to wait till the blizzard was over - 
whenever that would be. Chances were, this would keep up 
for a couple of days. He wondered idly if he'd be able to 
clear the snow off the porch one-handed. He could not ask 
Scully for help. He had always done his best to cover up 
his few vulnerabilities. He was not about to break he habit 
now.


*  *  *  *

It took a day and a night - during which they took turns at 
the stove, one sleeping while the other watched. But the 
second morning the gale had gone, leaving everything in 
silence so deep that it seemed as if nothing had ever 
happened here. That's how storms are, Scully thought. As if 
they weren't real. 
Fewer houses might be left standing, fewer people left 
alive, and yet, when all that fury is gone, there is no 
trace, no evidence whatsoever that anything really caused 
all this. As if it were all in our minds.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, as she felt Krycek's arm 
around her shoulders.

"Ready? Guess we'd better start digging."

His arm fell back casually, as if he had not really meant 
to touch her. He took a step past her and opened the door. 
His eyebrows rose slightly, and he did not frown. Good news 
then. Well, obviously the door was not as blocked as they 
had feared, or he couldn't have opened it so easily.

The roof over the porch had caved in on one side, but it 
had kept the door free. Further out was another matter. I 
would take some digging to find anything like a path again. 
Or rather, to build it anew.

"Breakfast first", Scully said. "Then I'll break out the 
shovels. I think I saw a couple in the store yesterday."

Something told her she'd have to do most of the shovelling.


*  *  *  *

Getting the generator up and running was another matter. 
For some reason it seemed to relish its idle state, as if 
it had not known rest for years - which was probably true. 
In the way of so much old and faithful machinery, it ran 
only until it was turned off. Once stopped, it stayed 
stopped. In the end, it seemed easier to start up the 
backup system. At least for now.

Krycek went out on his makeshift snowshoes, nearly losing 
his way twice on his way to the wind mast. Luckily, someone 
had had the foresight to paint it red. If it had been white 
as was customary farther south, he never would have found 
it. It was too narrow to be much of a landmark.

He started climbing it gingerly, hoping that it would not 
be rotten through. He had no fear of heights, but he knew 
that if he fell from somewhere near the top of it, he would 
plunge so deep in snow that Scully would never find him 
till spring. Provided she bothered to look at all...

Snow cascaded off the structure, landing on his face. He 
grimaced, trying to shake it off, but some of it still 
stuck to his eyelashes, restricting his vision.

Finally, he reached the blades. He had brought a rope, and 
he lashed himself to the mast as well as he could, enough 
to let him use both hands to wipe off snow.

At least his artificial one was good for some things. Of 
course, he always kept his right one free anyway, for 
emergencies. Sometimes he still had nightmares about trying 
to save himself by catching on to something. Invariably, 
the wrong hand was the only one free, and the prosthetic 
would come off as he tried to hang his weight on it. He 
rarely remembered his dreams anymore, and given this 
recurring one, he thought it was just as well.

He cleaned off the blades one by one, meticulously. There 
was no wind now, he had to make certain they would turn 
when it rose again. He used his right hand to spin them 
tentatively. They turned, but not as easily as he had 
hoped. Something was slowing them down. A lead of some 
kind, a small, insulated wire. In fact, there were probably 
more than one, sheathed together. He followed them down, 
brushing off snow from the mast itself along the way. When 
he hit the ground, he was certain what those leads were. 
Ingenious really, who would look for them here? If it 
hadn't been for the blizzard, and the ancient generator 
giving out, he never would have climbed this thing. The 
leads looked new, or newly replaced. But why? He had to 
assume he was the target. If he was not, no harm in being 
over-cautious, but if he was, and he ignored it.. The 
question still remained though: why? If this was because of 
him, then he knew who was behind it. He frowned. Didn't 
they already know everything there was to know? What could 
they possibly hope to gain by..?

It hit him all at once; their reason, and the reason for 
that reason. Rage flamed cold in his eyes, and his face 
turned white with it. A month or so earlier, he might have 
laughed. In fact, it wasn't until now that he realized what 
futile hopes he had been harbouring, against all reason. 
Only now, when it was too late. They could have told him 
what his mission was, he probably would have accepted it 
then. Now, there was no way he'd play into their hands. And 
he knew just the way to let them know.

Even if he wasn't all too clear about his motives.


*  *  *  *

Scully looked up from a list of things to check for damage 
after the storm. She couldn't recall having seen Krycek in 
quite this mood before, even if she had always imagined him 
capable of great anger. Things must be really bad out 
there. She hoped he had not found the wind mast broken. She 
opened her mouth to ask, but he walked right past her, 
without stopping to take off his boots inside the door. He 
paced - or rather prowled - around the room, checking every 
nook and cranny. Now and then he nodded bitterly to 
himself, as if he had just been proven right about the 
wrong thing. First inside the main room, then the caf�, 
muttering to himself. Had he finally snapped? After all he 
had been through, she never would have expected him to lose 
his mind over a few weeks of isolation.

He came back in and held out his hand to her. "Come here."

She was about to object to being ordered about unless he 
explained himself, when he clarified, "Come and stand right 
here. A little to the right of the stove."

Curious now, she did as she was told.

He gathered her up in a one-armed bear hug that threatened 
to squeeze the breath out of her, and he kissed her 
roughly. The kiss was hard, but deep and insistent as if 
his life depended on it, or as if the world were coming 
apart around them. It went on for a while. Scully had the 
time to overcome her first shock, to almost respond in 
kind, then to remember who this was, to feel fear and 
anger, and finally to tear herself loose and scratch him 
hard across the cheek.

He stepped back and nodded - almost triumphantly, she 
thought. So it had been a test after all? But why now, 
after all this time?

"Krycek", she began, but he wasn't listening or even 
looking at her. Instead, he walked back out in the snow, 
and the door caught behind him, getting propped slightly 
ajar on a chunk of ice on the porch. It rather ruined his 
exit, and Scully smiled, feeling some of her anger vanish. 
She hated to admit it, but there was something almost 
endearing about a bumbling top op for the Consortium.

Moments later, Krycek was back up the wind mast, furiously 
disconnecting the leads. He had not been able to follow 
them all the way to the miniscule surveillance apparatus in 
the house, but he knew that had to be where they went, 
using the mast as an antenna. As he had noted before, 
ingenious really. The one place with a free view of the 
next mountain, and nobody would think to look twice at it. 
Except in case of really foul weather, and then only if the 
generator gave out too. Well, he had shown that old smoking 
voyeur what he could do with his secret plans. Maybe now 
that helicopter would finally be sent for them... He gave 
his eyes a quick wipe, not even noticing, until his sleeve 
came away bloody. He stared at it for a confused moment, 
until he remembered that she had scratched him. He touched 
his glove to the spot, wondering how long the mark would 
keep.


*  *  *  *

Syndicate surveillance cabin, November 4th

"Is everything down?" The smoking man eyed the flickering, 
empty screens with some impatience. Damn nuisance. Who 
would have thought the generator and the auxiliary power 
source would give out at the same time? There should have 
been no reason for the two captives ever to go near the 
wind mast. Someone was guilty of sloppy thinking, and it 
wasn't himself. Once he found out who had planned the 
wiring he had ordered...

Diana shot him an apprehensive glance. "The IRC still 
works, but all sound is gone."

"LLC", the smoker corrected her. "It's low light, not infra 
red. It works even in daylight, as long as its LCD filter 
reacts as it should. Or so I'm told. Is that all we have?"

"Yes. It was never wired to the wind mast. John says it 
uses the antenna of the old TV set. Now that Alex knows, it 
might be just a matter of time before he finds those leads 
also."

The old man put out his cigarette, meticulously folding the 
butt in on itself.

"That problem might well be academic. It's obvious that 
he's not going along with your little scheme. Perhaps we 
should have told him what was expected of him."

*Your* little scheme. Not *our* little scheme. Diana 
swallowed. "I said he'd prefer it to be his own idea", she 
said. "This is just a reaction. Give them time."

"He blew it deliberately, just to thwart us", the smoker 
mildly pointed out.

"He's got Scully up in arms now."

"She'll be in his before long", Diana said, wishing she 
were as sure as she was trying to sound. "That defiant 
gesture of his was a mistake. It will work in our favour. 
It will wear on her resistance."

The smoker shook out a new cigarette and lit up. A long, 
thoughtful pull, Bogart style, squinting through the smoke. 
Then he said, "You don't know Dana Scully."

Diana stood her ground. "Men generally underestimate the 
impact of their touch", she said. She glanced toward the 
now empty screens. "Especially a touch like that...", she 
added almost wistfully.

The pale blue eyes widened momentarily behind her. Then the 
squint was back, the information filed.

"Very well. We'll give them more time. But we'll have to 
send someone in for repairs. And I'm afraid whomever we 
send, will be expected..."



- 13 -

Forest way station, November 5th

Scully stood watching Krycek as he was working on the 
generator. Occasionally a tool would slip and fly off, and 
he would spit a brief curse in the first language that 
occurred to him, and go get the offending object. It was 
weird, but she dared not offer to help him. She had 
followed him out to be of assistance, and to learn 
something about maintenance of the generator, but as long 
as he ignored her, she could not bring herself to say 
anything. She wasn't afraid of him - at least she kept 
telling herself she was not - but his black mood seemed to 
demand some respect.

All the same, the silence was wearing on her. They had not 
spoken since he kissed her the day before, and to her 
surprise, she found that she missed him. Missed their chess 
games, their conversations. As she had pointed out earlier, 
it wasn't as if there was anyone else around.

A spanner flew out of his hand and landed neatly in the 
open toolbox.

"I'd say that means your work is finished for today", she 
said. "Why not let me take over for a while, and you make 
dinner? You're a better cook than I am."

Wordlessly, he picked up the spanner again and went back to 
worrying the generator.

"You're as bad as Mulder sometimes, you know that?"

That finally earned her an emerald glare.

"All right, so you won't talk about it. Fine. I'm not angry 
with you - I think. I had a look around, myself, and I 
found the cameras. So you pulled that idiotic stunt for the 
benefit of anyone who might be watching. Beats me why, but 
as long as it was nothing personal... Still, as I have no 
way of knowing your plans anymore, I'll have to assume the 
worst." She crouched by the toolbox and started to rummage 
through it. "The knives are gone", she said evenly.

He looked genuinely puzzled. She could tell by the frown 
deepening horizontally across the bridge of his nose. 
"What?"

"There were two all-purpose woodcutter's knives here. 
They're gone."

His brow cleared. "I've got them. What do you want them 
for?"

"I'd appreciate it if you let me have one. It would make me 
feel less vulnerable."

He shrugged, let go of the spanner and unhitched one of the 
knives from his belt. "Sorry", he said casually, handing it 
to her. Then, just as she was about to take it, he held 
back. "Wait a minute - you think you're in danger from 
*me*?"

She snatched the knife from him and hitched it to her own 
belt. "Don't get cute, Krycek. You're a professional 
killer. If you're not talking to me, I have to assume you 
want to keep me out of your plans. I can think of one very 
good reason you might want to do that."

He sighed. "Scully, we've been through this before. I said 
I won't go back on our deal. If you want to break our 
alliance, fine, just let me know, but I won't be the one to 
do it."

"Then why the knives? You haven't been carrying them 
before."

"I disabled the monitors. They're bound to send someone to 
check up on the malfunction."

Understanding dawned on her - but not yet relief. "Are you 
sure you got them all?"

"Pretty sure. Don't fret about it - we couldn't have used 
them to get help anyway. The Syndicate people are the only 
ones who'll ever see the footage."

"Aren't we doing their work for them by not talking to each 
other?"

He ran his artificial hand through his hair, inadvertently 
disarranging it even further. "Okay, maybe you're right. 
It's just that - they tricked me again, and I hate it."

"Don't you mean, they tricked *us*?"

But he shook his head. "Not this time."

She touched him lightly on his good arm. "Go in and make 
dinner. I'll finish up here. And after we've eaten, we'll 
set up the board. I feel like retaliating."


*  *  *  *

Krycek was using the stove to cook, since they had to keep 
it going anyway, for the heat. He had switched over two 
small radiators to the wind-powered system, but he had not 
wanted to lay the big one on it as well. There was no real 
need, as long as they kept the stove running.

It was dark outside by now, and the overhead lamps did not 
provide much light. He wondered idly how long it could 
possibly take Scully to pack up the tools and get her ass 
back in from the garage.

Suddenly, the lights in the caf� came on, and the jukebox 
started up like a chain saw taking off from an airstrip. 
Dylan's raspy voice filled the house:

...a heart attack machine
is strapped across his shoulders, and then the kerosene
is brought down from the castle, by insurance men who go
check to see that nobody's escapin' to
Desolation Row...

Scully came back in, stamping off snow. "Hey", she said 
brightly, "I got the generator back up. How are you doing 
in here?"

"Speaking of heart attack", Krycek muttered. "You could 
have warned me, you know."

She glanced toward the caf�, and the situation dawned on 
her. She started giggling. She knew she probably shouldn't, 
but she just couldn't help herself.

"Sorry", she managed to get out between the attacks, "I 
didn't realize the jukebox was on the generator..."

He tried to glare at her, but somehow it wouldn't quite 
work. It was too good to see her so cheerful, even if it 
was at his expense. "Glad I could make you happy", he said, 
and to his amazement he found it was true. He gave in, 
flashing her a wide smile.

For some reason, that sobered her. She gave him a long look 
that he couldn't quite interpret, then she went to hang up 
her parka.


*  *  *  *

They had set up the board, but Scully was less intent on 
retaliation than she had pretended in the garage earlier. 
After all, there were still issues to be cleared up.

"So why did you do it?" she asked.

"What, disconnect the cameras? Don't you think those things 
went out of fashion in 1984?" His tone was light, and she 
suspected he knew precisely what she was referring to.

"Then why give them a show?"

"I felt I owed them one."

"It never occurred to you that I might take that as a 
threat?" She cursed herself for her unwillingness to 
mention the word rape. It wasn't as if she could give him 
any ideas he hadn't already had, if that was what was on 
his mind.

"Not at the moment, no", he admitted. A brief pause, then, 
"Scully, are you afraid of me?"

She wanted to say of course not, but she knew exactly how 
that would sound. She wished there were any way of escaping 
that pine-green scrutiny. In the end, she didn't find 
anything to say.

"I won't harm you as long as we're allies, I thought I had 
made that clear. If it makes you feel any better, I won't 
even break truce first, no matter what. You tell me when 
it's over, until then I'll assume it's on. Okay? And even 
when it is over, I promise you that I won't hurt you unless 
I'm under orders. Will that do?"

She shook her head slowly. "You've been known to lie, 
Krycek."

"I have?" He sounded genuinely surprised. Apparently he was 
a better actor that she had given him credit for. "When?"

"Well, for one thing, Mulder told me you claimed not to 
have killed his father."

"I didn't. Whiskey killed him. The old man was already 
dead, his liver was gone, you should have seen his eyes. 
Whites all yellow."

"But you pulled the trigger?"

"Okay, so I bent the truth a little."

Scully nodded. "That's what Mulder thought. Do you know he 
actually believed you? He knew you were the shooter, but he 
felt you were trying to tell him something. That Mulder Sr 
really wasn't his father for instance. Then, when Spender 
told him *he* was..."

"The Smoker is dreaming", Krycek cut her off. "As far as I 
know, the older Mulder was the father of the younger. The 
Smoker has this thing about a dynasty, though. For some 
reason, he's always wanted Mulder for a son, beats me why. 
Maybe because he could have been, I don't know. But nobody 
has measured up to Mulder in the old man's eyes, not even 
the son he actually had." And certainly not me, he nearly 
added but didn't. Some of his ambitions were better left 
unvoiced, even now.

"Poor man", Scully said absently, and was rewarded by a 
glare of green surprise. She shook her head. She wasn't 
actually feeling sorry for the man who had made a hell out 
of hers and Mulder's lives, was she? "Back to the matter at 
hand", she said resolutely. "Let's say I believe you're not 
'bending the truth' at the 
moment. You won't kill me, and you won't rape me." She knew 
as she said it that 
she had actually come to believe him. For now.

He stared at her. "Is *that* what you..?"

"Never mind", she cut him off. "Why would they keep us 
under surveillance, do you have any idea? The obvious 
reason would be to see that we don't escape, but there 
seems to be little danger of that. Certainly not enough to 
warrant all the trouble and technology."

He didn't answer.

"So that's it, is it?" Scully probed. "That's what you 
don't want to talk about? Which means you know. Look 
Krycek, we're in this together, whether we like it or not. 
I'm under surveillance too. I have a right to know."

He looked away, out the window. No stars out.

"And what the hell did you mean, they had tricked you and 
not me?" Scully persisted.

Absently, he moved a knight. The move was legal and even 
strategic, but he did not seem aware of it. "Okay. The 
Smoker told me he wanted me to find Mulder and to get you 
to help me. He was lying through his teeth as usual, that 
much is blatantly obvious. But he had another mission for 
me, only he didn't bother to tell me." He hesitated, then 
sighed and gave up. "He wants me to make out with you."

Scully's eyes grew wide and incredulous. "*What*? Or more 
precisely, why??"

Krycek shrugged. "Don't know. But from the surveillance 
apparatus, I'd say some kind of blackmail."

"What, I quit the FBI or he proves to Skinner that I've 
been fraternizing with the enemy? Wouldn't it be easier to 
just threaten to kill me?" The amusement went out of her 
eyes, to be slowly replaced with pure ice. "This isn't 
about me at all, is it? It's about Mulder. It's him he's 
after. And apparently he's jumped to the same conclusion as 
everybody else."

"Maybe", Krycek said. "Maybe not. Does it really matter?"

"Probably not", Scully admitted. "Assuming Spender was 
right. Apparently, he still doesn't know Mulder. Mulder 
would never doubt me."

Krycek looked up from the board, his eyes hitting her full 
force. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive", she said, with more confidence than she felt. 
Mulder did have his insecure moments.

"Good. Then all we have to do is wait for that puffing 
bastard to realize that's how things are."

"Why the sarcasm? You have no faith in your employer? 
Speaking of that, why didn't he tell you what he wanted? 
Wouldn't it have helped if you knew?"

"It sure would. In that case I might actually have gone 
along with it."

She eyed him frostily. "Don't worry, *I* wouldn't. Besides, 
isn't that what you were doing, just before you shut down 
the cameras?"

He shook his head. "I was trying to get you angry. And to 
show them that that's what I was doing. Ruining the whole 
idea." He grinned suddenly, touching the mark on his cheek. 
"Looks like I succeeded too."

"You'd better see to that so it doesn't get infected", she 
said matter-of-factly. "But if that's what you thought you 
were doing, why not tell me?"

"Because I..." There was no way of putting this civilly. "I 
was afraid if I told you what his plans were, you might - 
get used to the idea."

She stared at him for a moment. Then, "Don't flatter 
yourself, Krycek."

Like a whiplash. Okay, he probably had it coming. But 
somehow he wished she hadn't put it quite like that.


- 14 -

Forest way station, November 5th, 10:58 p m

Scully won two games, then Krycek one. Domestic calm seemed 
restored for the moment. In fact, Scully thought, it was as 
if they had been sitting here for years, never doing 
anything with their spare time except playing chess in the 
evening. She wondered if she was beginning to come to terms 
with her captivity, even to like it - or aspects of it 
anyway.

"You know you look quite at ease here, Krycek", she said. 
"Did you grow up in a place like this? Or is it just that 
'anywhere you hang your hat is your home'?"

"No", he said, his eyes still on the board. "Anywhere I 
know the dangers." His head lifted suddenly. "Snowmobiles", 
he said curtly. "They're here."

He was on his feet in a second, flinging her her parka and 
throwing on his own. She had no time to see how he managed 
that, but it was as she had always suspected; in an 
emergency, his disability didn't count. He was every bit as 
deadly as he'd always been, or the Consortium would not 
have kept him on. He snatched the rifle from its corner and 
checked it briefly. He had done maintenance on it that 
morning.

"Krycek!" she said, "They might be perfectly innocent 
people! Distant neighbours or something!"

He looked at her as if to say, Yeah, you go ahead and 
believe that. Then, surprisingly, he held out the rifle to 
her. "How good is your aim?"

"With that? It's not exactly a Sig."

"That's why I asked. I know you're good with a Sig."

True, she had once saved his life with one.

She shook her head. "No, you keep it. I'll make do with a 
knife. Or preferably, without."


- - <> - -

The trees lit up with an eerie sheen which could have been 
the sun rising, had it not been in a totally different 
direction from where he had last seen a sunrise. Mulder 
started running towards the forest and the light, 
momentarily forgetful of any dangers of radiation.

At the edge of the forest, he paused to catch his breath. 
And that's when he saw her. She was walking in his 
direction, cautiously and yet purposefully, he thought. She 
wasn't looking at him, but he knew she had seen that he was 
there.

She stopped in front of him, a few steps away, as if she 
were less certain than he. She was looking at him askance, 
her face turned half away from him. As if she were shy. For 
the life of him, he could not remember whether she used to 
be shy as a child. He did not think so, but it bothered him 
that he could not remember. Her dark brown hair was as 
thick as ever, and loosely braided. Some wisps of it had 
escaped confinement and were now gently stirred by the 
wind. She looked very pale, almost death-like.

Slowly, she turned her head to face him. He gasped as the 
right side of her face came into view. It was covered by 
some sort of prosthetic appliance, making her look half 
like a robot. He wondered what horrible disfigurement could 
have merited such treatment.

"Did they do that to you?" he asked, trying to keep the 
trembling out of his voice. She did not need a horrified 
reaction from her own brother. "Was it part of the tests?"

"No tests", she said. "Enhancement. It works."

"But they did it to you?"

She seemed puzzled. "Who are *they*?"

"The men in favour of colonization? Or the alien colonists 
themselves?"

Her voice drained of all emotion, she told him.

"Colonization is irrelevant. The colonists have been 
assimilated."

He woke up sweating.


*  *  *  *

Forest way station, November 5th, 11:21 p m

Scully never knew whether the two men had planned to keep 
up their deception or not. The moment the snowmobiles came 
into view, Krycek fired. A warning shot, she noticed, over 
their heads. It surprised her; she knew he only had eight 
rounds in all. And if the intruders were the same men they 
had met earlier, chances were that they knew too. Then it 
dawned on her. Krycek felt he had a round or two to waste. 
He knew he wouldn't miss except intentionally. Scully shook 
her head in frustration. That kind of cockiness might be 
the end of him yet.

"Get off those snowmobiles", she heard him shout over the 
engines. Damn him, was he really trying to hijack those 
things alone against two? The answering shot was hardly 
unexpected. 6

She had no time to worry; Krycek's next shot fell 
instantly, and it was no longer a warning. She could not 
see much in the dark, but from the way the headlight of one 
of the snowmobiles wobbled and then seemed to lead the 
vehicle on an erratic course ending in a slow, persistent 
spin, she knew its rider was no longer any concern. Well, 
at least there was something she could do. She made a 
beeline for the circling light, hoping to shut down the 
engine and retrieve the snowmobile.

The machine was gliding toward her, and she poised herself 
to intercept it. It wouldn't be hard, it was coming in 
slowly, almost dignified in its independence. Just as she 
prepared to spring for it, she was knocked brusquely aside, 
landing in the snow while the vehicle passed her yet again.

She recognized the man who had hit her. Lofberg. Then 
Anderson was probably the one killed by Krycek. She felt a 
pang at that; the old man had seemed kind of nice. He was 
working for the Consortium, she reminded herself, but 
somehow it wasn't quite enough to colour her memory of him. 
Krycek could probably claim self-defence, but she knew he 
had provoked the situation. She hoped she would never come 
to understand that aspect of him. The ease with which he 
killed even when there was no need.

Lofberg wasn't looking at her. He was standing as she had 
been, intent on catching the errant snowmobile on its way 
back along its wide circle. She wondered what had happened 
to his own vehicle. Why had he abandoned it? Wasn't this 
the less functional one? Most likely, he was just 
determined not to leave it for them to make use of. 
Whatever his plans, she felt she had better try and thwart 
them. He was strongly built and she knew her chances were 
infinitesimal, but maybe she could at least distract him...

She leapt up and threw herself at him, her knife drawn - as 
a threat, nothing more. He caught her by the throat of her 
parka, holding her aloft as if to throw her off.

"Let her go." The cold, raspy voice came disembodied 
straight out of the dark, surprising them both. But only 
for a moment. Then the approaching light fell on Krycek's 
face, and Scully shuddered. He was looking positively wild, 
teeth bared as if he would bite, green eyes cutting her 
assailant like lasers. The rifle was in his hand; she 
wondered briefly if he could use it one-handed, or if his 
artificial arm was strong enough to assist his aim.

Lofberg's face began to shift. As if he were grimacing, or 
had developed a strange form of tic. Then it changed 
further. Scully felt a chill along her back. She had seen 
this man - this being - before. Desperately, she tried to 
yell at Krycek not to shoot, but the shape shifter's iron 
grip prevented her, turning her warning into a mere croak.

"As you wish", the being answered Krycek's challenge. 
Indifferently, he threw her away as if she had been a rag 
doll. She hit the ground several feet from him, but the 
snow and her thick clothing shielded her nicely from the 
impact, and she was not hurt.

Right then she heard the first shot. She looked up to see 
Krycek still with his rifle low, hanging over his right 
arm. Then the next shot fell, and she realized he was 
shooting from the hip, not even raising the rifle. Well, at 
that distance he could hardly miss...

The first glimpse of acid green emerged through the alien's 
clothes, and she ran. Just far enough to put some distance 
between herself and the toxic fumes, after all she was 
outdoors, the vapours should dissipate before they could 
travel very far. She seemed to remember that they were 
heavy, they would drift low, especially in this cold. She 
stood, the better to avoid them. The circling snowmobile 
had finally toppled against a drift, its engine still 
roaring in frustration. Its headlight illuminated the scene 
caught directly in 
its beam.

Krycek hadn't run. He had thrown down the rifle and was 
wiping his eyes furiously, but he still stood. Surely he 
must know the alien's blood was deadly to humans? Scully 
would have expected him to be writhing on the ground by 
now. Instead, she saw him draw his knife and more or less 
blindly attack the shape shifter, vaguely aiming for the 
neck.

Apparently, the alien was as puzzled as she was. For a 
moment, he simply looked at Krycek, frowning slightly at 
the red scratch marks on his cheek. Then Krycek's vicious 
attack seemed to bring the alien back to his senses. He 
shrugged, and Scully saw something gleaming in his hand.

"Alex!" she called out, and Krycek reacted to the warning 
instinctively, even though he could hardly have seen the 
weapon. He twisted and ducked, just enough for the point to 
miss his neck and plunge deeply into his left shoulder.

The alien quickly withdrew his weapon and ran, making no 
renewed attempt. In a moment he had retrieved the fallen 
snowmobile and made off with it. It cost him no effort at 
all to get it upright. In fact, he looked strong enough to 
handle two of them. Perhaps that was what he had been 
planning all along; ride one and tow the other.

Scully ran over to where she had last seen Krycek. He was 
lying on the ground, and she nearly tripped over him. She 
cursed under her breath, she could not see well enough to 
determine how badly hurt he was. The toxic vapours seemed 
to have dissipated though; at least she felt no immediate 
effect. She tore off her glove and felt for his pulse. 
Okay, it was there. He groaned slightly, and she wondered 
if he might be capable of walking back to the house on his 
own. Probably not, the retrovirus must be getting to him. 
His blood should be clogging up already. Maybe she'd better 
keep him out in the cold to slow the effect. Then again, 
she had no means to cure anything like that here. He was 
done for, whatever she did. She might as well accept it. 6

"Alex..." she said, running her bare hand through his hair.

He coughed a little, then, to her surprise, he spoke. 
"That's Aleksei Nikolayitch to you. You can't go directly 
from familia to imya, you know..."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't 
sound as if he were dying quite yet. Very well then, she'd 
have to get him inside, so she could at least see what his 
condition was. She shook him gently, but he seemed to have 
passed out. Okay, she'd have to drag him. It would be slow, 
but they were fairly close to the station. Resolutely, she 
put her shoulder under his right arm, reached around him as 
well as she could, and started pulling.


*  *  *  *

By the time she got him indoors she was exhausted, and she 
never knew where she got the strength to tip him on to her 
bed. It meant she would be the one to sleep rough for a 
while, but her medical training wouldn't let her tend him 
on the unswept floor, as long as it could be avoided. 
Besides, chances were he 
would not last long...

Wishing she could go to sleep right now, she started her 
examination. After all, she had to know. First his face... 
she frowned. There was some redness around his closed 
lashes, but nothing like the acid burns she had seen on 
some other victims of similar exposure. Gently, she raised 
one eyelid to check, but there 
was no obvious damage. Odd. She thought about taking a 
blood sample, but she had no means of analysing it. Well, 
if his red corpuscles were multiplying, there was nothing 
she could do for him anyway. Should she try to reconnect 
one of the cameras, to let the Smoker know? As if he would 
help. Most likely, he'd simply write Alex off as 
expendable. Besides, once his alien minion made his report, 
the old man would know anyway. She did not have to inform 
him.

She had got Krycek's parka and jacket off by now - she 
feared the process had been hard on his stab wound, but she 
wasn't strong enough to be gentle. She started in on his 
shirt. It was dark - whether navy or black she couldn't 
tell in the bad light - and she had no way of detecting any 
blood stains on it. 
Because of the climate, she had half expected him to wear 
an undershirt, but apparently all the layers he needed were 
worn outside the shirt. Well, it made things a little 
easier. Gently, she bared his chest and was surprised to 
find it entirely smooth. With his colouring and going by 
his eye-brows and forearm, she would have expected at least 
some hair. The absence of it made him seem strangely 
vulnerable.

She pushed the shirt off his left shoulder and saw the 
wound. Not good; it looked decidedly infected. So soon? 
What the hell had been on the shape shifter's blade? Maybe 
he didn't clean it between victims.. Well, all she could do 
for now was wash the wound, but at least she'd do that 
much. She got Krycek out of his shirt with some effort and 
went for disinfectant and bandages.

She wasn't sure the injury was responding to her 
ministrations, but she felt better now that she was doing 
something about it. After putting on the bandages, she sat 
watching over him for a while. The fake arm looked 
detachable, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. The 
juncture was inelegant; clearly marked due to deviating 
colour and visible technology. The prosthetic might well be 
uncomfortable if left on for long periods of time, but she 
really couldn't tell, better leave it alone for now. She 
could always keep an eye out for skin irritations around 
the juncture. She smiled a little sadly. He was very 
slightly asymmetric; the muscles in his left side and 
shoulder less well defined than the ones on his right. She 
wondered how much effort and persistence it had taken to 
keep them as tuned as they actually were. How did he do it 
- special workout tools or odd, acrobatic movements? More 
to the point, why? Was it really necessary to the kind of 
life he led, or was it just vanity? Vanity was the last 
thing she would have expected from Krycek. Probably one of 
the many luxuries he could not afford.

She considered the antibiotics in the medical cabinet, but 
they were pills. He was deeply unconscious, there was no 
way she could make him swallow anything. In the end she 
just covered him up so he'd stay warm. She dragged in his 
mattress from the caf�, partly because it was warmer in the 
main living quarters, but mainly to be close to her patient 
in case there was any change during the night. Then she 
collapsed on her makeshift bedding and slept till noon the 
next day.


*  *  *  *

Syndicate surveillance cabin, November 6th, 4:14 a m

"Well", Diana said, "It looks as if we can finally close up 
shop."

Thin veils of smoke were idly seeking their way to the 
ceiling behind her. "What makes you say that?"

She gestured toward the single, still functioning screen. 
The one connected to the LLC, showing Krycek unconscious on 
the bed in the main room. The camera was functioning well 
in the low light, the picture coming through clear and 
almost sharp. "He's dying, isn't that obvious?"

The smoker smiled. There was even an unmistakable glitter 
in his eyes. "Now who's giving up too soon? But that's 
right, you never saw the reports from Romania, did you?"

"I didn't know we were doing any work in Romania. I suppose 
that means I had no need to know."

He leant over her shoulder to watch the screen. His 
cigarette was wafting smoke in her face. "He's sleeping", 
he said. "Some kind of healing trance, I imagine. It might 
take a while, but he'll pull through. Alex is quite strong, 
you know", he remarked, his tone only half implying that he 
had had cause to regret that fact. He straightened, took a 
long pull on his cigarette and added thoughtfully, "Of 
course, there could have been rat poison on the blade..."

Diana craned her neck to stare up at him. "Rat poison?"

"Figure of speech."



- 15 -

Forest way station, November 6th, noon

Scully awoke in broad daylight - as broad as it ever got 
this time of year. Her dreams had been strange and 
confused, involving aliens and Mulder and a freight train, 
shaped like a Morley cigarette. Good thing she didn't 
remember any more than that. She checked briefly on Krycek 
and changed his bandage, but there was no improvement. The 
wound did not look any worse though, even if it was still 
infected. It worried her that he was still in a coma. It 
made it fairly impossible to get any nourishment into him; 
needless to say, there was no IV equipment around. Also, 
brain damage was a distinct possibility if he kept this up.

She made breakfast for herself and ate it, staring at him 
the while. The silence was harder to bear than she would 
have thought. Having him there, but not present... Suddenly 
she couldn't stand it any longer. She needed some air. She 
wouldn't be gone long.

There had been no snow since yesterday, and what traces 
remained were still visible. The tracks from Anderson's 
snowmobile ran on for a while, then they were suddenly 
doubled. As she had half surmised, the shape shifter must 
have taken both vehicles. Well, he looked capable. There 
were stains in the snow, some red, some a faded green. No 
body. Maybe Anderson hadn't been killed after all. She 
sighed. No use deceiving herself. Alex wouldn't have 
missed, even in the dark. The alien must have taken the 
body. Probably loaded it on to the spare snowmobile and 
taken that in tow somehow. Idly, she wondered why. It 
wasn't as if a dead body could be used as evidence, except 
possibly against Alex. Maybe the creature simply wasn't 
brought up to leave a mess.

Tiredly, she returned to the station. Her patient was lying 
as before, but just as she pulled the door closed, she 
thought he stirred a little. She walked over to him, pulled 
off her glove and put her hand on his forehead. He was 
flaming hot. Damn. She warmed her hand a little and tried 
again, but he was still hot, his face so flushed she could 
not make out the red marks around his eyes. She checked on 
the wound again. It was changing, and she could not even 
tell if it was for better or for worse. It looked darker 
than before, almost black around the edges. She thought 
about antibiotics again, and even aspirins, but the problem 
remained, she could not get him to swallow anything, and 
there was nothing injectable in the cabinet. Finally, she 
picked up the two buckets and went back out.


*  *  *  *

She kept him packed in snow all through the day. It soaked 
the bed, but right now she couldn't care less. Once the 
snow came into contact with him, it melted quickly, and she 
had to bring in more. But it seemed to work. As far as she 
could tell, his temperature was no longer rising. She 
didn't think it was subsiding, but at least it wasn't 
rising. There was a thermometer in the cabinet, but it was 
an old mercury model, and the liquid metal bar was split in 
two, with one elongated drop stuck firmly off scale. She 
doubted the thing had been functional since the fifties. 
Toward evening, she changed the bedclothes as best she 
could, mainly by removing the wettest layers of mattresses 
and sleeping bags and leaving the dryer ones in. She did it 
by rolling the things in and out under him, hospital style. 
No need to break her back trying to lift him. As far as she 
could tell, the snow was all that had wet the bed. It 
worried her, but after all, he had had no liquid going in. 
And that in itself was yet another cause for worry...

She slumped beside him, her face in her hands. How could 
she ever have hoped to deal with something like this alone, 
and with only the barest bones of a first aid kit? After a 
while she lifted her head. "Damn you", she said succinctly, 
staring out into the darkening room, pretending some camera 
was still back on and that she was looking straight into 
it. "I'm paying you a compliment, do you hear? Damn you to 
hell..."


*  *  *  *

He was still burning up as she went to bed, but if she did 
not get any sleep, she wouldn't be any help to him in the 
morning. Provided she was still needed then. She slept 
fitfully though, waking up every other hour or so, to check 
on him. There never was any change. She could only hope 
that was good news. Toward morning, he stirred. She was at 
his side in an instant, but the movement was not repeated. 
The room was dark, with the sole exception of a small lamp 
she had left on in a corner. She squeezed his real hand 
hard and remained like that for a while, sitting on the 
edge of the bed, hoping. A Sarah MacLachlan tune started 
coursing through her head, nothing she had heard on the 
jukebox, it was too recent:

Now you're sleeping peaceful, I lie awake and pray
(that) you'll be strong tomorrow, and we'll see another 
day...

Had she really come to believe her survival depended on 
Krycek? She didn't know. She hadn't prayed for him yet 
though. Maybe she should. She had always hated to lose a 
patient. Maybe that was part of the reason she had come to 
concentrate on the ones already lost...

She slipped down from the bed to kneel on the cold floor 
beside it. But she did not fold her hands. One of them was 
still holding Krycek's, and somehow she could not bear to 
let go. After all, that was what all her prayers were about 
now. Not letting go.

An hour later, she awoke with a start and realized she had 
better go back to her mattress. It was too cold, kneeling 
on the floor. Gently, she detached her hand. He caught it 
again immediately, and she stared at him in shock. His eyes 
were open, almost black in the faint light. "N'e pokeen' 
m'enya", he whispered, and though she could not understand 
the words, she thought he looked frightened. With a sigh, 
she slipped back into her former position, leaning her head 
on the bed. Her hand was caught firmly in his.


- - <> - -

Mulder was on his knees, shaking.

Images flicked on around the room. Screens hidden in 
shadows. One showed Mulder as a boy, watching his sister 
vanishing into the night. Another showed him by a hospital 
bed, his face in his hands. On the bed was a well wrapped, 
almost swept Scully on life support. Yet others showed him 
crying over a mysteriously drowned Lucy Householder, over a 
flannel heart, over his comatose mother, his recently 
murdered father.

"Well?" said the man who had styled himself inquisitor. His 
voice was suddenly sharp. "Are you the boy who mislaid his 
sister? The man who abandoned his partner once too many? 
Who ruined many lives in order to save a pathetic few? Who 
let his parents down and went in pursuit of his obsession?" 
The voice grew more highly strung by the moment, and the 
acoustics of the room complimented it.

Mulder groaned, burying his face in his still cuffed hands. 
The inquisitor barked a short laugh.

"I see you plead guilty. Mea maxima culpa. But are you 
really all these men? What if you are none of them? What if 
you can stand up on your own two feet, even take a few 
steps forward?"

Mulder remained where he was, softly sobbing.

"Who do you think wants your guilt?" the inquisitor roared 
at him with sudden vehemence. "Not I. I'd rather have your 
responsibility. Oh, but that's true, guilt absolves you of 
responsibility, doesn't it? How convenient. Feeling bad and 
getting a pat on the head by your mother, your god? And 
then you won't have to stand up and say, I did this, and I 
meant it!"

Mulder finally looked up at his tormentor. "You think I 
meant to do that?" He gestured toward the screens.

"Weren't you seeking the truth? Well then, what matter a 
few lives along the way? Nothing can be allowed to stand in 
the way of a truth-seeker. A chosen one..."

"You're twisting it all around..."

The inquisitor beamed at him. "No, in fact I'm trying to 
unravel it. But you've made that next to impossible."

"Look, if this is about my hidden motives..."

That earned him a quick burst of electricity. "I care 
little whether your motives are hidden or not. As long as 
they are known to *you*."

Mulder's shirt had come undone somewhere in the course of 
his lengthy interrogation, exposing damp curls on his 
chest. Forlornly, he used a shirttail to wipe his face. 
Whether of sweat or tears he could no longer tell. "What do 
you want?" he asked. It came out more like a plea than an 
actual question. The damned cuffs started burning him 
again. Soon he was writhing on the floor, screaming in 
agony.

"Never ask me that", the being told him curtly. The pain 
stopped. Intrigued against his will, indeed against his 
survival instinct, Mulder asked,

"Why not?"

"Because I ask the questions", the man said, and Mulder 
could have sworn he was hiding something.

The images changed, most of them darkening into nothing, 
leaving only one. Scully dying of cancer, Mulder on his 
knees by her bed, agonizing. Apparently this wasn't going 
to get any easier.

"Are you crying over her?" the inquisitor wanted to know. 
"Or over yourself?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" Mulder taunted him. "You 
keep telling me I don't know who I am." He braced himself 
for another jolt, but it did not come. For a moment, he 
thought the inquisitor was actually smiling. Then he heard 
the cold voice and knew he had been mistaken.

"I tell you nothing. I ask you. Who are you? Evading the 
question won't bring any answers, neither to me nor to you. 
Over whom were you crying?"

Mulder found himself faced with the scene in the hospital 
room. He did not want to look at it, but somehow he had to. 
Deep down he knew the answer. But he had been playing his 
cards close to his chest all his life, he could not throw 
away all caution now, especially in front of this man, this 
- torturer. And yet - he could not lie either. The time for 
lies was past.

"Over her", he said truthfully. "She means a great deal to 
me."

The inquisitor nodded. "Would you die for her?"

"Am I being asked to die?"

The pain lashed through him, but only briefly.

"I told you not to evade the questions. It's tedious and 
time consuming. Would you die for her?"

"Yes."

"'Yes'. Yes, of course you would. You'd die for anyone, 
without thinking twice. Is guilt so hard to bear? You might 
not believe me, but responsibility is actually much 
lighter. However, it has a certain disadvantage. It doesn't 
often lead to splendid martyrdom."

"You're a very small man", Mulder tried.

The inquisitor took that in his stride. "Yes, I've been 
called that before." He looked down at the kneeling Mulder. 
"And yet here I stand, taller than you."

Mulder was about to ask, what do you want from me? but 
thought better of it. Instead, he just shrugged. "I told 
you the truth."

The inquisitor looked bored. "Yes, I believe you did. Pity. 
For a while there, I thought I glimpsed something, but - 
no. Well, under the circumstances, I can hardly blame her. 
Can you?"

The image changed again - into one that had almost the same 
composition as its predecessor. But this time the woman was 
the one kneeling in apparent despair beside the bed, and 
the man was on it. Scully and - Krycek.

Mulder erupted to his feet and stood for a moment, swaying. 
"Dammit, why are you doing this? What do you get out of it, 
you sick sonofabitch? I told you already - I love her! I 
love her, what more do you need to know?"

The inquisitor shook his head sadly. "No, I don't think you 
do. In fact, I think you love only yourself."

"I told you the truth!"

"Yes, your truth. But frankly, I don't think you'd 
recognize the truth if it hit you over the head."

Mulder locked eyes with him. They stood like that for a 
while, neither of them wavering. Finally Mulder said, 
"You're wrong about me. Dead wrong."

The being bowed slightly, accepting the challenge. "Then 
prove it to me", he said airily. "There will be no time 
limit, other than your allotted life span. Prove it to me 
before you die, that's all I ask."

Mulder nodded, keeping his temper in check. "Where can I 
find you?"

"You don't need to find me. I'll find you. Oh by the way - 
when you do prove yourself to me, please do so without 
unnecessary theatricals..."

Look who's talking, Mulder thought. Clear case of 
projection if I ever saw one.

"...There is a fine line between vulnerability and 
narcissism", the being concluded. The cuffs opened and fell 
to the floor. Somehow the inquisitor gathered them up 
without moving. Mulder could see them vanish into his 
pocket. Maybe this was not the bounty hunter in disguise 
after all.

"Who are you?" he asked, quietly.

The inquisitor smiled. "I'll give you exactly what you have 
given me. The name is Sebastian."

And with that, he was gone.


- 16 -

Forest way station, November 16th

Krycek was still weak, but definitely on the mend. He 
hadn't slipped back into his coma, even if he hadn't 
exactly been fully conscious either. His temperature was 
almost back to normal, and there were no traces of red 
around his eyes. Even the wound looked better, though it 
seemed likely to leave a black scar for some reason.

On his first lucid day he was sitting up in bed, eating 
soup from a bowl Scully was holding for him. She eyed him 
critically. He still wasn't strong enough, she could see 
that he was trembling with the effort of staying upright, 
even if he was doing his damnedest not to let on. 
Eventually she sighed and moved to readopt the method she 
had been using this past week, propping him against her 
while she fed him.

But he shook his head. "No, it's okay. Just help me stay 
up, will you? I can do the rest."

She did as she was asked, placed herself close to him, 
still holding the bowl while he ate. Neither of them 
mentioned it, but she was pretty sure he could have 
supported himself if his other arm had been any good.

"How long was I out of it?" he asked.

"Ten days. Today's the 16th."

He ate in silence for a while, then, "You've been doing 
this all along?"

"Doing what, feeding you? Well, as soon as I could get 
anything down your throat without choking you..."

"Dressed like that?" he wondered a little too innocently.

She looked down at her shirt. It was oversized, one she 
used only for a nightgown. The buttons didn't start until 
way below her neck. Also, at the moment it was all she was 
wearing.

She sighed, torn between exasperation and relief that he 
was well enough to be exasperating. "Krycek, you're too 
sick to care."

He grinned at that, but he did not push the issue. After a 
while he asked, "Why did you take care of me?"

"I'm a doctor, remember?" The words sounded cold even to 
herself, but he seemed to accept them. There was something 
tragic about the way he had to look a gift horse in the 
mouth. Always double-check on a favour, before he could 
even thank anyone for saving his life. If anything good 
came to him with no strings attached, he would probably 
always mistrust it.

He finished his soup, and she set the bowl aside on the 
floor. She'd pick it up later. It was hard to leave his 
warmth for the icy room. She had kept the radiators low for 
a while now, so as not to aggravate his fever. He passed 
his hand over his face briefly. The scratch marks were 
almost gone by now.

"Did you shave me too?"

Of course he would notice.

"Once or twice. Didn't think it would make that much 
difference, it was sort of a losing battle. But I guess 
you'd be more overgrown if I hadn't."

"Could you do it again? Please? This is kind of itchy."

Her eyes challenged him. "You trust me?"

"We have a truce, remember? Besides, it wouldn't make much 
sense for you to save my life only to take it. And, you've 
already wielded that razor twice and I'm still alive." His 
tone was bantering, stating the obvious, but she had no 
doubt the reminder was in earnest.

"Aren't you well enough to do it yourself now?"

He grimaced. "Still a bit shaky. As you said, you're a 
doctor. Your hand would be steady with a knife."

She nodded and slipped out of bed to get his razor. It was 
the old-fashioned kind and too sharp to be safe. She had no 
doubt it had seen other uses at times than it was designed 
for, but right now she did not feel like asking. She used 
no soap so as not to make a mess, but he did not complain.

"Where did you learn?" he asked once.

"I grew up with a father and two brothers. I used to watch 
them. The procedure seemed simple enough. Of course, a 
little knowledge of anatomy comes in handy."

After she was done, she got up to put away the razor, then 
she finally picked up the bowl and spoon too and placed 
them in the sink, splashing water on them. All the while, 
she felt his eyes in the back. He had lain back down, but 
he was still watching her.

She turned. "What?"

"Nothing. But I still haven't thanked you for saving my 
life."

"You're welcome."

He smiled a little. "Did I talk in my sleep?"

"I don't think you were spilling any state secrets. If so, 
I couldn't understand them anyway."

"I was speaking Russian?"

She came back to stand by his bed, looking almost kindly at 
him. "I think so. I didn't get the words, but the meaning 
was pretty clear. I think you were asking me not to leave 
you." She sat down, taking his hand. "I thought I'd lost 
you", she said. "In fact, I still don't know why I didn't."

His eyes were very green in the greyish daylight. 
Carefully, she leaned over him to give him a kiss on the 
forehead, the kind of sisterly caress she had sometimes 
treated Mulder to. But Krycek quickly detached his hand 
from hers, got his arm around her and pulled her down on 
him. Her lips were firmly against his before she knew it, 
and he seemed intent on keeping them there. She opened her 
mouth to protest, and his tongue darted in like a viper, 
taking every advantage of the opportunity.

When he finally let her breathe, she disentangled herself 
as fast as she could and got up - on somewhat shaky legs. 
She didn't trust herself to speak even to yell at him.

But this time, she hadn't scratched him.


*  *  *  *

Syndicate surveillance cabin, November 16th

"See? It won't be long now." Diana leaned back in her 
chair, looking pleased.

"Sure you won't send another repair team?"

The smoker dug through his pockets, came up with a somewhat 
shapeless Morley packet. "Not yet. I'd rather let them 
think we've forgotten all about them. Besides, the next 
time they're looking for things to disable, they might find 
the LLC. I'd like to keep that. It's been quite useful, 
wouldn't you say?"

"But we have no sound."

He brought a lighter to the tip of his cigarette, applying 
the flame slowly and carefully. "You'll have to do 
without."

Diana looked up hastily. "Me? Where are you going?"

"You have no need to know. Be glad you don't." Answering 
the question she had not yet asked, he added, "I'm leaving 
today. With luck, I'll be back in the spring. Maybe 
sooner."

For a moment, she watched the smoke floating about the 
small room. It would be nice to be rid of that for a few 
months. "I'm to keep up the surveillance here?"

He smiled thinly. "You have proved yourself eminently 
suited."

For some reason, that incensed her. Mainly because of his 
tone. Why did he always sound as if he were insinuating 
something? "You're missing the best part, you know."

"I'll catch it later." He paused, as if something had just 
occurred to him. "You sound very sure."

She nodded toward the screen. "After going through so much 
for someone, it's hard to keep convincing yourself you 
don't care."


*  *  *  *

Forest way station, November 21st

"I must say I never thought I'd see you on your feet 
again." Scully pushed a pawn across the midline of the 
board, hoping to sneak it past Krycek's knight.

"Likewise, back when you were out of it." He snatched her 
pawn and she sighed in frustration. "Check. I didn't think 
you'd make it without pieces missing. Hell of a recovery."

"As was yours. Any theories on that?" She moved her king. 
There wasn't anything else left to do.

He hesitated for a moment, then he said, "Guess you're 
entitled to them.

Besides, I already told you I'm immune to the Black Oil."

"Is there a connection?"

"I think so. I think I may be immune to other alien 
substances as well."

She looked up from the board. "That why the shape shifter's 
blood didn't kill you?"

He moved his knight again, without checking her this time. 
"What blood?"

"That green acid that flows out of them whenever they 
sustain puncture wounds. That isn't their blood?"

He shook his head. "No, it's a defence mechanism, like 
skunks or porcupines have. They start oozing it to disable 
any attacker who might do them actual harm."

"And it isn't harmful to them?"

Again, he hesitated. "I'm not sure I should tell you this, 
but then you might need to know some day. It can't harm 
them as long as it doesn't get into their bloodstream. The 
only way for it to do that is... you know about the special 
weapon against them?"

"Of course. That's what he used on you."

Krycek closed his eyes briefly. "Damn, that's true. It must 
have been coated..."

"Poison?"

"Something like that. Anyway, that green stuff is generated 
by a gland at the back of the neck. What's the matter?"

Scully shook her head. A painful memory had just surfaced 
unbidden. A small girl, with what looked like a fistula at 
the back of her neck. Oozing green acid.. "Nothing. Would 
this be true of any alien-human hybrid?"

"As far as I know. Probably some of the other crossbreeds 
too. The only way to kill them is by stabbing them in the 
neck, and it takes precision, because the weapon must 
penetrate the gland as well as the major vein that runs 
just past it. That will pollute their entire circulatory 
system with the acid, which will then dissolve them."

Scully shuddered. "I've seen the effect." So that was what 
had happened to the young woman Mulder had for a time 
thought was his sister. "Cold seems to slow it down."

Krycek nodded. "Yeah, I've heard that."

"So this is why that weapon is the only thing that can kill 
them?"

"It isn't. In theory, you can kill them with anything 
that's long, sharp and precise enough. All it takes is for 
it to penetrate both the gland and the vein.

A bullet could do it, but you'd have to be really lucky. 
The switchspike is specially designed. All you have to do 
is aim it right."

"The switchspike?"

He shrugged. "What would *you* call it? Looks like a 
switchblade, only it isn't."

"Why poison it?"

"It isn't necessary, so it's not always done. But the 
Syndicate developed a substance - quite by accident, a 
byproduct of their hybrid research - that will speed up the 
contamination process considerably. You'd still have to get 
your aim right, but if you do, death is instantaneous. The 
sheath can hold the substance, coating the blade 
automatically as it's triggered." He caught her look. "The 
wonder of science. Anyway, my guess is that because I'm 
immune to the Black Oil, the green acid doesn't have much 
effect on me either, it's almost as if I were one of the 
aliens."

Scully's eyes grew wide and turquoise. "That's what he 
thought! The shape shifter! When his acid didn't seem to 
have any effect on you, he thought maybe you were a hybrid 
too - a clone possibly - so he used the blade on you 
instead!"

Krycek looked doubtful. "He'd have aimed for my neck, not 
my shoulder."

"He did, but he missed. Don't you remember?"

"Vaguely. Some miss..." Krycek tried to move his shoulder, 
and for a moment, there was no mistaking the pain in his 
eyes. "Damn, I need those shoulder muscles. I'm pretty 
useless this way."

"You'll heal. It looks clean enough now. Kind of black 
around the edges though."

"Probably antibodies."

"You can't see antibodies with the naked eye."

He glared at her. "The effect of them." He shook his head 
slightly. "Damn, he was nearly right. The poison wouldn't 
have harmed a normal human. But because I had had the Black 
Oil in me... Guess it would have been the end of anyone who 
was merely inoculated. But because it left me of its own 
accord, I carry the natural antibodies. So I pulled 
through. With some effort and your help." He grinned 
briefly. "Mulder won't thank you for that."

She looked down at the board without seeing it. "I couldn't 
let you die."

"No? Why not?"

"The Hippocratic oath", she said curtly.

"You're an agent with the FBI."

"It wasn't a defence situation." Idly, she moved a bishop.

"You can't do that. You're in check."

She glared briefly at him and changed her move, pushing a 
pawn forward instead. She hated to admit it, but he 
unnerved her. What the hell did he have to keep kissing her 
for? Granted, he had only done it twice, and he had 
explained both incidents. The first time had been to annoy 
their watchers, the other he was just 'thanking her 
properly' as he put it. She didn't believe it for a minute.

There had been too much hunger in that kiss. He might not 
have gone without for as long as she had, but she had no 
doubt he was often starved enough to pounce on any 
opportunity. Maybe she should have scratched him the second 
time too.

"The alien seemed confused by your scratch marks", she 
said. "As if he expected them to be green."

"More likely, he didn't expect them at all", Krycek said. 
"They're fast healers. Like you."

"I'm not a hybrid."

"Never said you were. Check."

She blinked at the board. Then she folded her king. "Guess 
my heart isn't in it today."

"Something bothering you?" He didn't sound overly 
concerned. In fact, she was pretty sure he knew.

She stood. "No, just tired." She went to get a glass of 
water.

But he rose too, and he was beside her in an instant, 
putting his arm around her. She froze, calculating her 
chances. His shoulder was still bad, and he couldn't have 
regained his full strength yet. Maybe there was still a 
chance she could get out of this. "What do you want, 
Krycek?"

"No. The question is, what do you want, Dana?"

"Don't call me Dana."

"Fine. Just thought that was your name. But, seeing as how 
we'll have a hard time avoiding each other, maybe we should 
decide where we stand. The cameras are gone, there'll be no 
play for the gallery."

"Get your hand off me."

He did, even taking a step backward to give her space.

"...so I can think", she found herself saying. "You're not 
well enough, Krycek."

"But I'll get there. And then what? They haven't been back. 
What if they won't be? We might be stuck here for months 
yet."

He could be right. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered 
it, lately. Who'd know if she were - sleeping with the 
enemy for a time? It certainly wasn't any business of 
Mulder's. It wouldn't bring her any closer to Krycek than 
she already was. And there was no way it could affect her 
loyalties.

"Just give me time, okay? I need to think this through."

If that surprised him, he covered it well. "You already 
have, and apparently it didn't help. But maybe you need 
time to *feel* it through."

"This isn't about feelings. It's about not getting on each 
other's nerves. As I said, I need time to think. And you 
need time to get well. Let's not bring it up again for a 
couple of weeks, okay?"

He nodded. "Fine with me." He gave her a long, green look. 
"It means a lot to me that you're even considering it. 
Thanks."

Somehow, that did nothing to ease her mind. "Then what if I 
say no?"

He caught on immediately. "Keep the vodka away from me, and 
you'll be safe enough."

That wasn't the answer she had been looking for. But, it 
would have to do.



- 17 -

December 3rd

Scully was cutting Krycek's hair. She tried to do a decent 
job, even though he had said he didn't care as long as she 
kept it out of his face. Her own had grown too, a bit 
longer than she liked to keep it these days, but she didn't 
trust him with the scissors. He might have many unforeseen 
talents, but somehow she strongly doubted his skills as a 
barber. She wasn't that good herself, but she had agreed 
when he asked her. If she were to be completely honest with 
herself, she liked being close to him as long as it was 
safe.

When she was done, she gave him an approving look, 
pretending to admire her handiwork.

"Much as I hate to admit it, you are an attractive man, 
Krycek."

"I am?" His surprise seemed genuine, and she wondered how 
that could be. How could he meet those green, long-lashed 
eyes in the mirror every morning and not realize their 
impact?

"Well, in that case.." He spun around without getting up 
from the chair, caught her around the waist and pulled her 
on to his lap quickly enough to send the scissors flying 
through the room only to land with a clang in the sink.

Scully was about to protest his reckless behaviour, but his 
mouth was already on hers, continuing the voracious 
exploration she had had a taste of twice before. She pushed 
against his chest, while fully realizing the futility of 
her gesture. He was not holding back any more, and there 
was no way now she'd get out of this.

Just as she thought he hadn't even noticed her resistance, 
he drew back his head, a clear thread of saliva still 
connecting their mouths. "What?" he asked in a voice so 
husky it didn't quite carry. "Having second thoughts?"

She shook her head. "No, I just needed to breathe."

He chuckled slightly, an odd, sobbing sound, and hugged her 
close. For a moment, she was actually glad he only had one 
arm. She might have feared for her spine otherwise. 
"Krycek, there's no rush this time", she complained. "Are 
you always this desperate?"

"Sorry", he said, but he didn't look it. It was only the 
fourth time she had seen that sunny smile, and she was 
already becoming addicted to it. "Guess I just couldn't 
believe my luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with it", she said firmly, almost 
primly. "This is a well-considered decision. A few days 
early, but still."

He laughed, surprising her because she had never heard him 
do that before. In fact, she could have sworn he didn't 
know how. He stood up from the chair, and for a moment he 
was carrying her in one arm, holding her against him with 
her feet dangling off the floor. Then he set her down and 
began awkwardly to remove his clothes.

She realized that undressing each other might not be 
entirely practical under the circumstances, so she got out 
of her own clothes without ceremony, leaving them on the 
floor as some sort of protest against her official self, 
which had always been very neat.

Krycek was taking longer to get out of his jeans, and she 
noticed that he was staring at her. She thought it odd; 
after all, he had seen her before. Most of her, anyway. The 
stark, green hunger in his eyes frightened her a little. 
She was going into this willingly, but was it really 
possible to go through with it unscathed?

"If I changed my mind now, would you accept that?" she 
asked. She had no doubt it was the wrong thing to say, but 
she just had to know.

"Are you?" he asked gravelly, his eyes almost frightened.

"Am I what? Changing my mind? No, but I think I need to 
know if I still can."

"I don't know", he said with chilling honesty. "It might be 
too late." Suddenly it dawned on him what she was asking. 
She needed to feel safe. "I won't hurt you though", he 
said. "Well, not willingly anyway."

She could have done without the amendment, but for some 
reason his honesty always got to her. There was something 
so touching about it, in someone like him.

He was out of his jeans now, standing in his shirt and 
underwear only. She found she could not take her eyes off 
his long, powerful legs; his inner thigh muscles were 
particularly intriguing, she thought. And those graceful 
feet - if anyone had told her what beautiful feet Krycek 
had, would she have believed them? Pity men didn't go 
barefoot more often. Of course, the climate...

Cautiously, she approached him. She held up a hand to ward 
off any sudden attacks and managed to get close enough to 
start unbuttoning his shirt. She had no doubt he had 
learned to do it single-handedly, but she supposed it might 
take him a while. The shirt was dark green - she could not 
recall having seen him in any light colours lately. She 
undid the last buttons, taking a good look at him. On an 
impulse, she leant her head against his smooth chest, then 
gave it a long lick from his waistband to the hollow of his 
throat. She had to strain a little to reach all the way, 
but she managed, just barely. He groaned most 
satisfactorily. She sidestepped quickly as he reached for 
her, then she started to take off his shirt. His hand 
caught hers, and he shook his head. "Please don't."

It amazed her that he would ask, not just order her off. At 
the same time, she was a little disappointed. "Krycek, I 
don't mind."

"I do."

"Look, I've seen it before."

"I know you have. Just humour me, okay?"

She nodded. "All right, you can keep it on. But I must say 
I never expected you to have a vanity problem."

"Maybe I have a problem with pity."

"You shouldn't. Pity can often be the start of something - 
quite fascinating."

He flashed her a quick grin, but this time it didn't reach 
his eyes. As if to dismiss his worries, he caught her to 
him again and kissed her, slow and lingering for a change. 
She noticed that he was taking care to hold her so that her 
naked breasts lay flush against his skin, and she was doing 
everything to help, relishing the sensation as much as he 
did. She basked in his body heat, absorbing it into her own 
skin. His scent aroused her; to some extent it always had, 
ever since she noticed it that first day in the elevator. 
She had not been conscious of it before, but quite possibly 
it was the main reason she could be around him for so long, 
yet never fear him. She could not fear someone she - 
wanted.

Finally, he got out of his underwear, and she was wondering 
if maybe she should have second thoughts after all. He was 
only at half mast at the moment, probably due to the sudden 
chill, but even so.. She was seriously wondering if she'd 
really be able to accommodate him at his - peak. Still, he 
had said he wouldn't hurt her. Willingly.

He half shoved her towards the bed, and she lay down, 
grabbing hold of the blankets and pulling them up, since 
breaking contact with his skin made her feel cold again. He 
gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Be right back."

She heard him turn on the water in the shower, and lay 
wondering briefly what he was up to. Then she realized. He 
was not circumcised, so he was washing first. Somehow, she 
had never expected that kind of consideration from him, 
especially after his desperation earlier. It gave her 
something else to think about though.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Obviously, he 
was not planning on any kind of protection. Maybe he didn't 
even have any. She knew she had not; the last ones she had 
been carrying around had dried up and she had thrown them 
out just before leaving for Harting airfield in October.

He came back and got into bed with her, pulling the 
blankets around them both. The bed creaked considerably, 
and for a moment she wondered if it would hold. She could 
feel his long member against her thigh, and she thought she 
had better bring up the matter now, before it was too late 
- in case it wasn't already.

"You didn't give any thought to - protection? I'm all out."

He was lying half on top of her, supporting himself on his 
good arm. His green stare seemed amused rather than 
disenchanted, which was a relief. "Dana, I hate to remind 
you, but you don't need any protection. You can't get 
pregnant."

The cold statement angered and saddened her. He was at 
fault for all the calamities that had befallen her these 
past six years, and he dismissed them so lightly. What had 
she been thinking, getting this close to him? "Don't call 
me Dana", she said curtly. "This isn't that kind of 
relationship."

He nodded, accepting her condition without rancour. Maybe 
she was being too harsh after all. His life had been ruined 
too, and he dismissed his own misfortunes just as readily 
as hers. Didn't that account for something? "I only meant", 
she clarified, "I don't know where you've been."

He just looked at her. "Scully, I'm not suicidal."

She glared back. "Okay, but you don't know where *I've* 
been."

He actually smiled at that, and she felt ready to hit him. 
"But I do, Scully. You haven't been anywhere lately, you 
told me so yourself."

"I did not! All I said was, I hadn't been with.." For some 
reason, it was impossible to bring up Mulder's name right 
now.

Krycek shifted a little, to support his chin on his hand, 
while still propping most of his weight on his elbow. The 
movement brought the tip of his member in direct contact 
with her clitoris, and she wondered if he had planned it. 
Probably.

"And that was the only thing I didn't know. I told you it 
came as a surprise. The rest - well, your life is on file, 
Scully. All I had to do was look it up."

She supposed that indicated some interest on his part, but 
she resented it all the same. He picked that moment to 
shift again, and this time there was no doubt about what he 
was trying to do. "Stop it", she said.

He leant a little heavier on her, impeding her breathing 
slightly. "Scully, I'm not going to stop now."

She stared into his eyes, belligerently she hoped, but she 
knew he could read her arousal there too, plain as day. He 
certainly didn't seem in any way discouraged. This close, 
she noticed two fine scars on his face, two almost 
invisible white lines. One ran along the right side of his 
nose, marring it just enough to make it more interesting. 
The other ran slantwise across his lips, as if to draw her 
attention to their admittedly intriguing shape.

She took the opportunity to cease fire. Gently, she traced 
the scars with her finger, and he kissed her fingertip as 
it passed across his lower lip. "How did you get those?"

"Someone you know", he said. "Don't ask."

"Mulder?" Suddenly she could speak the name with no ill 
effects. "What did he do to you?"

Krycek looked away briefly, she couldn't tell if he was 
embarrassed or not. "He hit me with a telephone handset. I 
told you not to ask."

She couldn't help it, she started to giggle. "I'm sorry", 
she gasped in-between her small outbursts of mirth, not 
sounding for one minute as if she meant it.

"You'll be damned sorry if you don't stop that", he 
threatened, but he was smiling, and she did not feel in the 
least intimidated.

Until she felt his fingers on the very tip of her right 
nipple - lightly, electrifying. She tensed, momentarily 
cold with fear.

"Don't worry", he whispered, "I do have control of it. I 
told you I wouldn't hurt you." His mechanical hand 
continued its light caress, and she shivered. "I didn't 
think you'd notice. Sorry." But he still did not remove his 
hand.

Of course she had noticed. Since he only had his artificial 
hand free, and he was touching her on the right side, she'd 
be hard put not to notice. Other than that, she had to 
admit it was highly pleasurable. He was quite skilled with 
that thing - perhaps he really did have control of it. Then 
again...

"Why?" she asked. "I mean - you can't feel what you're 
doing, can you?"

He smiled, a little sadly, she thought. "No, but you can."

From the pressure on her nether regions, it seemed that the 
idea was getting to him, whether he could feel what his 
fingers were up to or not. He lowered his head then, 
putting his lips to her other nipple, just lightly at 
first, then taking more of her breast into his mouth, 
sucking hard. She groaned and dug her fingers into his 
hair, not knowing whether to try and pull him away or to 
hold him closer. His left hand was cupping her right breast 
now, but gentler than his mouth; his control still held.

Gradually, he began to move down on her, kissing her belly 
lightly on the way. She realized what he was about to do, 
and she got a firm grip on his hair - wishing she had not 
cut it so recently. He stopped, looking up at her.

"Don't serve me, Krycek", she said succinctly. "I want no 
debts between us." She saw the quick spark of green anger, 
and amended, "Besides, you're leaving me out in the cold. 
It's lonely up here."

As he moved back up to lie alongside her, she quickly 
shifted to be on top. She wasn't being entirely unselfish; 
this way he'd have two hands for her. From the way he was 
using his right one now, she gathered that he had indeed 
missed the touch before. His left one stayed on her, but it 
wasn't doing much at the moment. His right touched both her 
breasts alternately, now and then pinching her nipples 
lightly, just enough to tease her, not to numb. Once, he 
flicked his fingers against her erect nipple, and she 
nearly yelped, not because it hurt, but because the 
sensation was so unexpected - and hard to define. She liked 
it, but she was not quite ready to ask him to do it again.

She straddled him, a little higher than he might have 
wanted, where she could just feel his tip poking at her 
tail bone. Then she bent down to brush his lips lightly 
with hers. He tried to hold on to her, to deepen the kiss, 
but she dodged his hand and repeated the touch, just 
softly, teasing the sensitive skin. She had the impression 
his kisses were always voracious, demanding, taking as much 
as he could before it was gone, and she was determined to 
teach him something else. She flicked her tongue briefly 
across his lips, then moved down to his left nipple, 
bothering it with her teeth.

Apparently, he was not in the mood for lessons. Suddenly 
she was underneath again, this time pinned under his body, 
as he needed his right hand for other things. He was 
pressing down hard above her groin, just short of the bone. 
She moaned. Maybe he was right, maybe this was not the time 
for playing around. It had been a long time - for her 
certainly, and she suspected it was the same for him. He 
slipped a finger inside her, checking, finding her G-spot 
and rubbing it. She roared at him and tried to squirm off, 
she tried to tell him she wouldn't be able to go on if he 
kept that up, but she wasn't any too coherent and she 
doubted he got the message. He entered her properly then, 
filling her all the way, even pushing against her cervix, 
causing her exquisite pain, indistinguishable from the 
pleasure she was also feeling.

He wedged his hand in between them, trying to get at her 
clitoris, but she shook her head. "No!" she gasped, "Don't 
rush it, and don't distract me!"

He pulled his hand back out, taking some of his weight on 
it, and she breathed more easily. She was now quite certain 
that his prosthetic arm could not support his weight. He 
would have to either lean on his live one, or crush her 
under him. Not very practical.

"Let me up", she said. "You don't have to hold me down, I 
won't run."

He stilled his movements and looked down at her, as if only 
half believing. Then he nodded and rolled them both around, 
getting back under her, while still keeping her thoroughly 
impaled. No playing around. He wasn't about to let go now, 
not even for a minute.

He was so deep inside her it almost hurt her to move, but 
it was a kind of pain she didn't know how she could have 
lived without for so long. A life-giving pain. Unknowingly, 
he aggravated it by holding her down, his right hand 
pressing down hard on her buttocks. She stifled a scream as 
she came, biting his shoulder to keep quiet. Not the 
injured one fortunately. He gasped all the same, but made 
no further sound. Used to quiet lovemaking while on the 
run, no doubt. A cold streak of jealousy passed through her 
at the thought, totally unexpected. He widened inside her, 
an involuntary warning of his climax, and for a moment she 
feared he would rupture her. Then he came, and she forgot 
everything as he filled her, in complete and trusting 
abandon.

She slumped on top of him, feeling his heart racing. "See?" 
she mumbled. "I don't like to scream..."

He chuckled a little and held her close. This wouldn't do. 
She'd just rest a while, then she'd go up and wash...

Hours later, she woke. He had shifted on to his side and 
they were no longer connected, but he was holding her 
tightly, and he was fast asleep. There was no way she could 
get up now without waking him. She could still feel his 
heart, a strong, steady rhythm. The room was dark now, with 
only the moonlight spilling in. Not yet a full moon, only 
just enough light to see his face, completely peaceful for 
once, his long, thick lashes shadowing his cheek bones. She 
marvelled at his complete trust in her. She wouldn't have 
expected him ever to sleep with more than one eye at a 
time, yet he seemed perfectly at ease now, after giving all 
of himself, recklessly. Making the most of the opportunity. 
As if, existing so constantly on the brink of death, he 
knew how to live whenever he had the chance. She could 
understand that. This, she did not quite know how to 
handle. Dammit, why did he have to be suddenly so trusting, 
so vulnerable? The wary assassin suddenly leaving himself 
wide open, just because she... Belatedly, she realized that 
all her calculations had been wrong. It wasn't possible to 
come out of this unscathed. Or with her loyalties 
untouched. One thing she knew for sure. None of this would 
ever be entered into her journals.


*  *  *  *

In the morning, she surreptitiously checked herself for 
blood. She was relieved to find none. Okay, so she was 
unharmed. Physically anyway. She hadn't meant for him to 
notice, didn't even think he was awake, but he was, and he 
did.

"Come on, I wasn't *that* rough on you, was I?"

"No, I - well, yes, actually."

He reached for her, and against her better judgment, she 
curled right back up inside the warmth of his embrace. She 
even pushed his shirt aside so she could rest her head on 
his bare chest. His scent was always distracting, and right 
now it was downright irresistible.

"I'm sorry", he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I hope 
you can believe that."

"Don't worry", she said. "I loved every minute of it." She 
sensed rather than heard his light chuckle, and she hated 
herself for what she had to say next. "We can't ever do 
this again though."

He drew back a little, looking sharply at her. "What's 
wrong?"

She could not meet those eyes right now. There was no way 
she could tell him the truth. Then in the end, she found 
she could not lie to him either. Not after all that trust.

"I was mistaken. I thought this wouldn't affect my 
loyalties."

She had hoped he would hear ...to the FBI, but he heard her 
right.

"To Mulder." He said it bitterly, and it was not a 
question.

She nodded, still without looking at him. "But it will", 
she said. "Or rather, it could."

"Then why not let it?" he exploded, and she had a feeling 
he would have hit something if she hadn't been in the way. 
"What hold does that guy have over you? Nothing quite sound 
anyway. What does he do to you that I don't? Don't I treat 
you badly enough? I'm sorry I haven't managed to ditch you 
yet, but if that's what it takes..."

"Alex", she said.

That stopped him short. "Okay, okay, never argue in bed. I 
guess I hear what you're saying. It's just a bit hard to 
live with, you know? You're saying you could have feelings 
for me, and just because of your damn principles I have to 
stand back for him - and the guy doesn't even bother to 
touch you!"

Finally, she looked into his eyes. "I see I made another 
serious mistake", she said. "I never stopped to think that 
you might care. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. In 
fact, I didn't believe I could."

He stroked her hair gently. With his fake hand, because it 
was the one free at the moment. "I'll live", he said with a 
sigh. "I always do. If you say it was a mistake, then it 
was a mistake. But - if we're not to have this kind of 
relationship, can't you at least keep calling me Alex?"

"I haven't called you Alex."

"Yes you have. You do it when you don't think I can hear 
you. Or when you don't think, period."

She tried to remember. Truth to tell, he could be right. "I 
think I may have yelled it when the shape shifter attacked 
you. Because I remember you saying something - it was 
partly in Russian, but I gathered you didn't want me to 
call you by your first name."

He hugged her briefly. "I was just kidding. Stupid joke. In 
the old days, there were three levels of intimacy. Guess 
there still are, but people don't pay much attention to 
those things anymore. If you didn't know a person at all, 
you'd call them by their last name - familia. Your 
neighbours and other acquaintances, you'd address using 
imya and otchestvo - first name and patronymic. Imya alone 
was reserved for those closest to you - well, and kids of 
course. Never mind all that - feel free to call me Alyosha, 
if you like."

"I did read The Karamazov Brothers in my misguided youth", 
she said. "'Alyosha' sounds a little too saintly for you. 
I'll settle for 'Alex'."

"The Brothers Karamazov, I think", he said. "Brat'ya 
Karamazovy at any rate.

Okay, 'Alex' will do fine." His eyes glittered briefly. "Of 
course, you realize that entitles me to call you Dana? 
Danushka? Even 'Danochka'?"

"Even? What's the difference?"

"Stronger diminutive."

"Thanks, I'm not that little."

Glittering green mischief. "Oh yes, you are. What, nobody 
ever told you that?"

She swatted him - and was instantly afraid he would take it 
amiss. Or rather, that he would *not* take it amiss. Damn, 
but it was easy to relax around him. Literally... Best not 
think of that right now. "'Dana' will be fine, thank you."

She hoped that was true.

He swallowed slightly, suddenly serious. "I think you'd 
better get out of this bed now, Dana. In fact.. don't touch 
me for a few days, okay?"

It could have been an insult, but he was practically 
pleading. She nodded and got hastily out of his arms, 
making a beeline for the shower. How the hell had she ever 
imagined she'd be able to see this through...



- 18 -

December 25th

The only seasonal music on the jukebox was a much worn 
rendition of Jingle Bells. After listening to it twice, 
Scully declared the ancient machine off limits for the 
holiday.

She wasn't any too clear about why she wanted to celebrate 
Christmas. Mulder might have blamed her Catholic 
upbringing, but she felt as if that had little or nothing 
to do with it. Krycek hadn't reacted to the date at all, it 
was just another day to him, until she pointed it out and 
suggested they commemorate it in some way.

Commemorate... that was it. She must have had some inkling 
that sooner or later, this strange captivity would have to 
end. If Mulder wasn't looking for her, wouldn't Skinner be 
hard at it by now? She had called in sick for a week - by 
now she had been gone for close to three months. Mulder 
must think her abducted again, if he knew. If he hadn't 
been abducted himself. And Skinner... but maybe he was 
content to believe anything the Smoker might tell him, 
these days. Somehow she found that hard to believe. The ex-
marine was protective of those assigned to him. He would 
insist on making pickup.

Whatever happened, she could not really see herself sitting 
across a table from Krycek at this time next year. Or any 
other time, once they were out of here. Against her better 
judgment, she found that she wanted to remember this 
Christmas. There never would be another like it.

She gave the table a critical look. Not much as Christmas 
dinners went, just more dried rations, but they had both 
done their creative best, and even though Japanese noodle 
soup might not be a traditional starter, it smelled good. 
They even had whole candles. Most of the time, they would 
use a few of the many stumps lying about in decayed 
cardboard boxes in the store, but for today, the candles 
were fresh.

They sat down, and Krycek lit the candles. "Guess we'll 
have to do without the wine", he said. "It probably 
wouldn't have stored well in the cold anyway."

Scully gave him a long look. "With you, I'll settle for 
vodka."

His head dipped quickly, with a brief, snorting laugh. 
"That's not what you said last time."

"I must have lowered my standards since then." But she was 
smiling as she said it.

He looked up, and green met turquoise. Their smiles 
gradually died, as they looked at each other for a long 
time. Too long. Abruptly, Scully rose and went over to the 
cupboard under the sink, where the vodka had stood 
untouched for all these weeks. She held up the bottle. 
"Think this will be safe?"

As always, he caught her meaning at once. "There isn't 
enough of it to make it unsafe."

"Good. Then let's celebrate."


*  *  *  *

Later, they helped each other clear the table. They left 
the dishes to soak in the sink; washing up could wait. 
After all, this was supposed to be a holiday. Once, Scully 
touched Krycek in passing, letting her hand slide gently 
over his chest, then down and along his waist. She did it 
without thought, because it was so good to be near him, to 
feel his scent, the heat of his body...

She caught herself and gave him a half terrified look. 
"Sorry, I - I wasn't thinking." Damn. She had held back for 
twelve days now, why would she suddenly... it had to be the 
vodka. Not that she had had any amount to speak of but 
then, she didn't weigh much.

He shook his head. "This isn't going to work, is it?"

She took a step backward, holding up her hands. "I said I'm 
sorry. I won't do it again. Promise."

"You really think you can stick to that? Maybe you should 
ask yourself what you want. What you need, anyway."

She backed off a little further, keeping a wary eye on him 
the while.

He sighed. "Don't worry, I won't. Just please stop being 
afraid of me!" He walked off into the caf� and started 
fiddling with the jukebox, defying her veto. For a moment 
she almost expected Jingle Bells to start up again. But no, 
it was something else, something quieter. As Krycek came 
back in, she could finally make out the calm, resigned 
voice - and the words:

We weren't lovers like that, and besides, it would still be 
all right.

"I didn't know you liked Leonard Cohen", she said.

"McCabe and Mrs Miller. Thought it kind of appropriate." He 
went over to the window and looked out. "Same climate 
anyway.." He turned to her, his face unreadable. The 
assassin's face. The thief's, the spy's. The one he wore 
with others, not her. "Care for a game of chess?"


*  *  *  *

"What do you really want, Dana?"

She knew he wasn't talking about her current strategy. "I 
told you."

"Tell me again."

She sighed. "It's not a question of want."

"What then? Duty? Don't give me that, he never did anything 
to deserve your sacrifices."

She didn't answer.

He moved his queen into enemy territory. "It's up to you, 
you know. Just say the word."

"And do what? Run away with you?" She countered his move, 
putting a pawn in the queen's way.

He glanced around their currently idyllic prison. "It's a 
beginning."

She shook her head, smiling a little. "You know what I 
meant. And you know I can't. I wouldn't be me if I did."

"We might be here a long time yet." He frowned at the board 
for a moment, then disentangled a black bishop from behind 
its lines and sent it out in the field.

"You're still in love with him."

She puzzled briefly over that. Then, "Strange to say, I 
don't even think I am. I just can't betray him. And it 
feels too much like betrayal to fall - to have an affair 
with his greatest enemy."

Krycek took the compliment in his stride. If indeed it was 
one. "Okay, you don't love him, but he has you mesmerized."

"Mesmerized?" She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Her 
practised test of Mulder's wilder theories.

"Yeah, you're under his spell." The self-assured spy was 
gone now, replaced with a young, Russian boy with forest-
green eyes. There were hints of fairy tales in those eyes - 
and some vodka. He reached out for her hand but held back 
at the last instant. "But don't worry, kn'zhn�. One day, 
I'll come and free you."

"Knyazhn�?"

"'Princess'." He looked slightly embarrassed.

"You'd be my knight on a black horse?" Drawing him out, the 
way she always did Mulder.

"Why not?" His knight appeared from nowhere in front of her 
queen, threatening her king. "Check..."


- - <> - -

The room seemed smaller and - undulating. It was the best 
way to describe it. Occasionally, colours would ripple 
through the walls. White, green, pastel purple... The floor 
kept murmuring under his feet. He tried to think of it as 
engine sounds below the deck of a vessel, possibly a space-
going one. But truth to tell, it felt more like deep 
breathing, or snoring...

The two beings in front of him didn't look like any aliens 
he'd ever met. One of them stood taller than Mulder, but it 
seemed to be wearing some kind of suit, and there was no 
telling if it would be as impressive without it. The suit 
consisted mainly of floor length robes with a high 
construct across the being's shoulders - if indeed it had 
any shoulders. The construct was highly ornamental, but 
Mulder assumed it contained the equivalent of a personal 
air supply. The 'helmet' had features but none that made 
any sense to Mulder. By contrast, the other alien did not 
appear to be wearing anything at all. Indeed, half the time 
Mulder wondered if it was even there. Perhaps it was a 
projection. It was as if it could not be seen when looked 
at directly. From the corner of his eye, Mulder would 
sometimes glimpse a giant spider, sometimes an oversized 
insect, vaguely mantis-like. Other times it didn't look 
like anything he could readily define.

"This one does not have full telepathy", the suited one 
said. "Latent at best."

Both sentences were introduced by a lengthy sound 
reminiscent of whirring clockwork, as if the being had to 
work its way up towards emitting the words.

The other had no such trouble. "Then he can develop it." 
The voice was surprisingly sweet, almost endearing. Or 
perhaps just insinuating.

The whirring started up again. When it was finished, the 
first one said, "No."

Lots of trouble for so little, Mulder thought.

"You have been conducting experiments", said the one who 
wasn't quite there.

"Performing research."

The covered one wound itself up to a, "What if we have?"

"It will not be allowed."

"You are onboard my ship." The last sounded like a threat. 
The wind-up period was shorter this time.

"Then let us ask him", said the other. "Or are you afraid?"

The challenge made no sense at all to Mulder. He supposed 
it did to the aliens. The suited one turned its helmet in 
his direction. In the most prominent part of the 'face' was 
a sphinctering aperture, surrounding a bright yellow 'eye' 
like that of some fifties radio set, except for the colour. 
The whirring went on for a while, then, "Who are you?" the 
being asked.

Mulder groaned. "Don't start with me. I've already answered 
that - to the best of my knowledge", he amended rapidly.

The helmet was lowered slightly. Then it turned to the 
other being, and the clockwork started its noisy buildup. 
"He doesn't know."

The other took a step toward Mulder. At least he thought it 
was one step, but it might have been several. Come to think 
of it, he couldn't even tell how many legs the thing had. 
But he had a vague impression of two of them being used 
almost as hands, to emphasize its speech with delicate 
gestures.

"What do you want?" it asked.

"The truth", Mulder said before he thought.

The being nodded. At least it dipped what had to be its 
head. It was in roughly the right place for a head. "That 
can be arranged. My truth or this one's?" It indicated the 
other alien with a slight tilt of the same head-like 
appendage.

"The objective truth", Mulder said. "The whole truth."

The being slumped a little, as if dejected. "There is no 
such thing in the Universe."

The other started whirring again as if in protest, but no 
words came of it.

"Then at least let me see my sister!" Mulder implored the 
ethereal alien.

It nodded, with more confidence this time, he thought.

"That can be arranged."


- 19 -

Forest way station, January 15th

The two helicopters circled purposely like buzzards, but 
they made no move to land. Their engines rent the white 
silence, usually only disturbed by woodland birds.

"Army?" Scully asked, shading her eyes with her hand. She 
could not make out any colours, but she thought the shape 
looked familiar.

"Probably", Krycek said, copying her gesture. "These are 
unmarked, though."

"The Smoker?"

"Or his enemies."

The helicopters veered off into the distance. If they had 
found what they were looking for, obviously nobody was 
going to do anything about it.

Scully and Krycek went back into the house. Krycek went 
directly to get the old rifle from its corner. He checked 
it. Four rounds left, as expected. Well, he didn't think 
Scully would have taken it on a hunting trip without 
telling him.

"Always expecting the worst?"

There was no reproach in her tone, she knew he was. And 
that he might well be right.

"They could have dropped someone, further off."

"To kill us?"

He nodded, and it occurred to her that he had probably been 
on missions like that himself. Somehow she hadn't thought 
of him as a parachutist, but of course he would do whatever 
it took.

"Why?"

"There's dissent within the Syndicate, worldwide. I've 
played the different factions against each other sometimes. 
Someone might want to remove all traces of the Smoker's 
schemes."

"Are you saying those helicopters might be foreign? 
Violating whose ever airspace this is?"

He smiled slightly. "No problem. The helicopters are 
already in place; they come in on an undetectable craft. 
Then they're just painted black and kept on standby."

"An undetectable craft? You mean - a UFO?"

"Once you have the technology, why not use it?" He made for 
the door, taking the rifle with him.

"I won't argue", she said, accepting the possiblity for 
now. "Just - be careful, okay?"

The look he gave her was a warmer green than she had seen 
in a while.

Apparently, she could still say the right thing sometimes.


*  *  *  *

January 18th

Three days later, they were prepared to accept that nobody 
had been sent to kill them - or to rescue them, for that 
matter. The choppers hadn't landed, and no new ones had 
come.

"Just reconno�tering then", Scully said.

"It would seem so."

"Maybe the fire brigade flies unmarked helicopters."

That earned her a derisive glare - but he looked at least 
partly amused.

"We should consider another possibility", she said, 
reluctantly. This was heavier to bring up than she had 
thought.

He glanced quickly at her, wordlessly indicating that he 
was listening.

"These are the first helicopters we've seen since we got 
here. If they were simply reconno�tering, then for whom? 
The Smoking Man? A quick check on us before they come back 
to get us out of here? They can't very well keep us here 
for years. Well, maybe you but not me. No place on Earth is 
*that* remote."

"You'd be surprised", he muttered, but he didn't really 
argue her point. "So what you're saying, we'd better pack 
our things?"

She shook her head. "Maybe not quite yet, but we need to 
decide what to do about our truce. In case we get separated 
before we can come to an agreement."

A swift, green gleam. "Well, that would be too bad, 
wouldn't it? Because it's over when you say so, remember? 
And if you don't say so, then it's still on."

She seethed. For some reason, he always managed to rub her 
the wrong way these days. "Exactly. That's why I think we'd 
better have a contingency plan."

"Look, why not leave the truce on? I sure as hell don't 
want to kill you, I hope you don't want to kill me. You've 
saved my ass from a raving mad Mulder twice already, all 
you'd have to do would be to keep that up."

"I wasn't saving you, I was saving him. From himself."

Krycek made a dismissive gesture - with his left hand, she 
noticed in some surprise. "Whatever. You still saved my 
life. You could even explain to Skinner or any of your 
other employers with the same keen sense of self-
aggrandizement, you could tell them we have this agreement 
and it's personal. They'd accept that, and if the worst 
came to the worst, they'd send someone else."

"Would your employers do the same?"

"Uh - no. But I could always cheat them, I've done it 
before."

"You once said you would kill me if so ordered."

He nodded briefly, as if to dismiss that on the grounds of 
logical arguments.

But somehow they died on his lips, and the look he gave her 
was almost frightened.

"Dana - I don't think I could do it." He smiled a little, 
shakily. "Guess I'd *have* to cheat them."


*  *  *  *

January 24th

Scully had almost a week to think about it. Then there was 
a renewed flyby, camouflage-painted helicopters this time, 
but still unmarked. Two of them, as before. Neither of them 
landed. Towards evening, a lone, black one came in low over 
the area, made a wide turn and was gone. The visits seemed 
to lend the matter some urgency. She would have to reach a 
decision soon.

Keeping the truce would mean that she tied herself down 
unnecessarily, even to the point where she might not always 
be able to help Mulder. And Mulder needed to rely on her. 
On the other hand, she was her own person. Krycek was 
right; her superiors would in all likelihood respect a 
personal ceasefire. They didn't usually demand that you 
broke your promises, even to criminals. It would undermine 
their credibility in the long run; they'd never be able to 
strike another deal with a snitch. He was right about one 
other thing: she *had* saved him from Mulder twice. The 
first time, she had to shoot Mulder to do it, and it had 
still worked out in the end, he still trusted her. If she 
told him about her personal armistice right away, as soon 
as she found him, he would accept it. He'd rant and rave, 
but in the end, he would accept it.

That night, as they were setting up the board, she said, 
"Okay, Alex. The truce stays on unless I say otherwise. 
Which means that if I never get a chance to call it off, 
then it's still on."

"Even if I have good reason to think you'd have wanted to 
call it off?"

She nodded. "I can't have you second-guessing me, then I'd 
never know myself whether it was on or off."

Krycek was playing white. He chose to open conservatively, 
with the king's pawn. "Good, that leaves us only one other 
matter to settle."

She eyed him warily. "And that would be?" She countered his 
move with her own king's pawn.

"Dana, they're likely to pick us up any day now. They 
wouldn't have flown over several times if they weren't 
planning something. We could be out of here tomorrow. Or we 
could be dead, but either way - what do you say, just one 
more time for old times' sake? It isn't as if it could 
change anything now." A bishop's pawn came to the 
assistance of the first one.

She couldn't help smiling. "You never give up, do you?"

"No."

She mirrored his move. "You may be right, it wouldn't 
change anything. But, it would hardly make things easier." 
She looked into his eyes and forgot the rest of her 
rationalizations. "Anyway, I can't, I'm sorry. I'm at the 
peak of my period."

Unexpectedly, a white knight leapt from behind its lines, 
upsetting the ordered strategy already on the board. "I 
know", he said huskily.

Her eyes grew wide. "How..." Better not ask. Perhaps his 
sense of smell was inhumanly keen, perhaps he had just 
become sensitive to her pheromones. If indeed humans 
emitted pheromones; science was still out on that one, and 
she wasn't sure she was ready to believe it. Damn him 
anyway, there always was something not quite civilized 
about him.

"You're not in pain or anything?"

"No, that's over for this time. But..."

"Then it should be okay."

"Alex, I'd bleed all over the bed." Dammit, why was she 
even having this conversation? Moreover, why did she have 
to bleed when she could never again have an ovulation? Why 
hadn't they taken that away as well? Probably wouldn't mess 
with her hormones. It would have been better if they had.

"The sight of blood doesn't bother me."

Stating the obvious. As if she needed a reminder. 
Desperately, she hung on to the practical aspect.

"It would make a terrible mess. We'd never get it out of 
the mattress, I think the one on top is horsehair."

He was unimpressed. "So what? Leave something for them to 
wonder about. They'd never be sure what happened here. Of 
course there's always the floor, but I'd rather not subject 
you to that. The draft is terrible."

She got up, the game forgotten. "Alex, I..."

He leant forward, snatched her hand in his own right one, 
and pulled her to him. He hadn't really been planning it, 
but she lost her balance and landed on his lap. "Dana, 
please. Just this once - it'll never happen again." He 
moved his hand quickly, covering her breast, feeling it 
carefully. The nipple was hard and swollen under her T-
shirt. If she was wearing a bra, it had to be a very thin 
one. He pinched her lightly, tentatively. "Still tender?"

She groaned. "Yes, but don't stop. It's okay as long as you 
avoid light friction."

He pulled a little, and she squirmed, trying to bite his 
neck. He met her halfway, capturing her mouth with his, 
forcing her lips apart to accommodate his tongue. For all 
he knew, Mulder, aliens or the government would claim her 
tomorrow, but for tonight - she was his.


*  *  *  *

He took care not to be too gentle with her breasts this 
time, as a light touch seemed to hurt her aching nipples 
worse than a firm pull. On the other hand, the semi-rough 
treatment seemed likely to send her over the edge in no 
time, and he didn't want that.

She had been right though, the mattress was already soaked. 
As before, he had kept his shirt on, though more for lack 
of time than to keep the prosthetic juncture out of sight. 
The shirt was hanging loose, unbuttoned, dragging in her 
blood.

He inserted three fingers of his right hand, feeling inside 
her, trying to locate her G-spot. It was a little harder to 
find in the general flow than it had been last time, but he 
did. He rubbed it gently, and she writhed, her hands coming 
up to grasp his erect member, trying to pull him closer. He 
shook his head. Not yet.

He switched hands, getting some of his artificial fingers 
inside her. He regretted the loss of sensation, but his 
left hand would be able to keep this up without cramping. 
With his right, he carefully pressed her labia aside, 
baring her clitoris. It was already glistening with her 
blood, the barest touch now would probably... He clenched 
his teeth hard. She was still touching him, now 
concentrating on the tip, or rather on the rim around it. 
The sight of her combined with her ministrations to make 
life exquisitely unbearable for him, and he wondered how 
the hell he was going to last long enough to make the most 
of this, their last encounter.

If she noticed which hand he was using for what, she didn't 
seem to care. Her eyes were closed now, and she was mewling 
helplessly as he slowly withdrew his left hand, letting the 
fingers glide over her still exposed clitoris. He leaned 
over her, taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it, then 
the other. He loved the colour of her nipples, rosy like on 
a blonde. It was true what they said; you never knew what 
to expect from a redhead.

He didn't want to get any more blood on her than was 
unavoidable, he was not a blood fetishist. This joining was 
important to him in a very different way, almost as a 
sacrament. Maybe that didn't make him any saner than if he 
had really been a fetishist, but he couldn't help it, it 
was how he viewed it. He could only hope it would mean 
something to her too, something special.

She groaned, almost pleading, and he did not know whether 
she wanted him to stop or go on, but there was no way he 
could hold back now. He plunged into her, full length, and 
he knew it was too fast and maybe too hard, but her blood 
would work fine as lubrication, she wouldn't get hurt. He 
felt her inside beginning to convulse, and her spasms 
pulled him right over the edge, in a state of mindless 
dissolution.

And she screamed. This time she screamed as he filled her, 
and the sound was highpitched like that of a queen cat, but 
not as wordless. This time, she screamed his name.


*  *  *  *

He managed to get underneath her without breaking contact. 
He would have stayed on top, but she felt so soft and 
fragile under him; he didn't want to crush her. Her blood 
was drying on his hands. He wondered briefly if he would 
ever get it out of the joints of his prosthetic fingers. 
She was resting peacefuly on him, her head on his chest. He 
blew gently on her hair.

"According to some cultures, we're family now", he said.

"What?" She remained where she was, too comfortable to 
raise her head.

"Intercourse with a menstruating woman is regarded like the 
mingling of blood.

The exchange of fluids turns the couple into blood brothers 
- or rather, blood siblings."

"What cultures?" she murmured against his chest.

"Can't remember. Probably some obscure tribes of New 
Guinea. Those people have lots of interesting ideas."

"I'm not New Guinean."

"Look upon it as an exchange of DNA."

"A localized blend possibly, not an exchange. Unless you 
managed to sneak it into my bloodstream, which I doubt. 
You're not built like a syringe."

He laughed at that, nearly dropping out of her. Then, 
slowly he said, "Neither are you. And yet I think you've 
punctured my heart."

"Please don't go all Russian on me, Alex." Her voice was 
muffled against his chest; he couldn't quite tell the tone 
of it.

"Just thought I'd give you fair warning. You won't get rid 
of me now - little sister."

"What's that in Russian?"

He gave her a surprised glance - but she still wasn't 
looking up. "S'estr'onka - why?"

"I just like to be able tell when you're calling me names."



- 20 -

Forest way station, February 12th

The snowmobile was coming closer. They had heard it for a 
while now, ever approaching, though maybe not in a straight 
line. Coming in broad daylight it probably posed no threat, 
but it did not hurt to be careful. Krycek was waiting with 
the rifle; Scully had both knives. Not much as weaponry 
went, but at least she could be moral support.

Finally, the vehicle lunged into view over a large 
snowdrift, and they could see its rider. He was wearing 
fatigues, but he did not appear to be armed. He held up one 
hand as he approached, needing the other to steer. Krycek 
kept his rifle trained on him. "That's far enough!" he 
called as the snowmobile was within fifteen feet of them.

The rider nodded, throttled the engine and stepped off. 
With both hands raised, he approached them carefully. "I 
have a message for you!" he shouted through the sudden 
silence.

"Okay, give it here", Krycek said.

The other shook his head. "It's not in writing. I was sent 
to tell you this: Mulder has been found."

"Alive?" Scully called out.

The soldier looked puzzled. "As far as I know. Shouldn't he 
be? Anyway, there's no longer any need for you two to 
remain here. Can you find your way to the dropoff?"

"What dropoff?" Krycek asked. He hadn't lowered his rifle.

"The place where you set down as you came here?"

"I guess so", Krycek said. "But we're not going anywhere."

Scully shot him a quick glance but said nothing.

"Any pickup will have to be made here", Krycek insisted.

The soldier shrugged. "Suit yourselves. Not much of a 
landing area, but we can always try. Long as you keep your 
front yard clear."


*  *  *  *

Scully closed her suitcase. Packing her things had been 
quick. "Why not the dropoff area?" she asked.

Krycek had needed even less time. His backpack was tied and 
sealed. "Anything to throw a wrench into their plans. If 
they want us trudging through the wilderness again, I 
don't. Besides, it could always be a trap."

"I can think of better traps." She looked at the bed. "We 
should have burned that mattress. It's still lying around 
in the store, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I've half a mind to bring it in before we leave - 
anything to confuse them."

"They'll know. After all, nobody's dead."

He grinned briefly, then he reached for her hand. "It was 
great though, Dana.

Sure you don't want a final..?"

"Alex..."

"Okay okay. But I didn't know they'd give us almost three 
weeks."

"Alex, it's got to stop somewhere. Let the last time be the 
last time." Because I don't think I could take another, she 
thought. I'm enough of a wreck as it is.

"The sensible Dr Scully", Krycek said. "But how deep does 
that sense run - little sister?"

The epithet made her flush hot and cold. How could she ever 
hear that now, without thinking of him? She hoped fervently 
that Mulder would have resolved his own sister issue. He 
might find his partner prone to sudden fadeouts otherwise. 
Mulder... there was no easy way to deal with this.

"Mulder will know something happened", she said with 
absolute certainty. "What the hell can I tell him?"

Krycek gave her his best sun-edge smile. "You could always 
tell him I make you scream."


*  *  *  *

In the morning, a small, white helicopter set down gingerly 
less than fifteen feet from their porch. Its rotors whirled 
up some of the snow on the roof, causing a miniature 
avalanche.

The craft was only half as big as its predecessors, looking 
more like somebody's private toy than anything belonging to 
the military - or the Syndicate. Maybe it was the best they 
could do, given the constrained landing field.

Krycek and Scully grabbed their baggage and got out, bent 
double against the wind of the rotors. The pilot was 
waiting for them outside his machine. The vessel might look 
like a rich man's indulgence, but the pilot was in fatigues 
and carrying a machine gun.

"Just her." He pointed to Scully.

Krycek flared. "What're you talking about? There's room 
enough for the three of us!"

"Just her. Orders. They'll send someone for you later."

"Alex, it's probably for the best", Scully reminded him. 
"We don't know where they're taking us. They can't exactly 
drop me on the doorstep of the J Edgar building with you in 
tow."

"Judging by how long it took us to get here, that flimsy 
thing won't make it to Washington. Not DC anyway."

"Well, so what if they're taking me to wherever Mulder is?" 
When he did not answer, she kept walking toward the 
helicopter.

Krycek didn't like the look of things, but he had to 
concede her point. If they had wanted her dead, they could 
have arranged it without wasting fuel. Much as he hated to 
admit it, it seemed far more likely that she was going back 
to her world - and he to his. Unless the Smoker simply 
wanted her out of the way, so there'd be no witnesses 
later, when he got rid of an agent who had outlived his 
usefulness? Krycek sighed. Fine, he could deal with that. 
It wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes it amazed him that 
the old man never learned.

"S'estr'onka!"

She stopped immediately. Somehow, he had rather suspected 
she would. He walked up to her, touched her face gently 
with his gloved hand.

"Stay out of the convent, Dana. When all this is over, I'll 
come for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "I must say I don't find that 
thought very reassuring." He wanted to kiss her, deeply, 
wildly, long enough to make her forget there ever was a 
lunatic named Mulder in the world. But the pilot was 
watching them. Looking bored, but still watching.

Habit took over. Krycek stepped back two paces, his face 
suddenly inscrutable.

"Maybe you shouldn't."


*  *  *  *

February 14th

The smoking man entered the old way station. The fumes of 
his cigarette were adding to the already stale atmosphere 
of the place. He had a look around the main living area 
much like an honoured guest being shown into an unfamiliar 
room. He was smiling, as if he liked what he saw - or if 
his plans had all worked out lately.

His gaze fell on the topmost mattress of the bed, and just 
for a moment, his smile faded. Then it was back, wider than 
before, but still without showing teeth.

Dana was right, Krycek thought. He knows. He wasn't any too 
sure why he had brought the thing back in. It seemed like a 
childish gesture now. It wouldn't confuse anyone.

"Cosy little place you've got here", the smoker said, 
conversationally.

Krycek sighed. "Look, if you've come to pick me up, then 
let's go. If you've come for something else, then do 
something about it already."

The smoker went over to the stove, opened its fuel 
compartment and flicked the last of his cigarette into it. 
"There's no hurry. But then, you always were the impatient 
type, weren't you, Alex?"

Krycek glanced toward the stove. Why the consideration? Was 
the old man really concerned about the fire hazard, or 
didn't he want to leave his usual signature where it could 
be easily found? "All right", he said, "what's your game 
this time?"

The old man actually chuckled. "Game? Why would I be 
playing with you? Do you see me as the proverbial cat, 
Alex?" He did not bother to elaborate. "As you've no doubt 
noticed, I have a helicopter waiting. It would be hard to 
miss, wouldn't you say? But, don't you think you owe me a 
report before we leave?"

Krycek stared at him. "What report? You sent me to find 
Mulder, then you trapped me here until you could find him 
yourself. Some report. Short story syndrome."

The older man smiled. Forcing a new cigarette out of a 
tormented packet of Morleys, he said, "I'm disappointed in 
you, Alex. You're jumping to conclusions. Who said I found 
Mulder?"

"You sent a message that he had been found. When you use 
the passive form, it usually means you're involved."

The lighter flared briefly. "Not this time, I'm afraid. 
Some environmentalists came across him running aimlessly 
through the woods, yelling, Who are you? and What do you 
want?"

Krycek snorted derisively. "So he's finally snapped."

The transition from amusement to dead earnest was 
instantaneous. The pale blue eyes speared the assassin. "I 
wouldn't be so sure. After all, there is precedent for this 
kind of behaviour. In Agent Mulder."

Krycek turned his back on the old man, recklessly. "Yeah, 
yeah I know. He can lose all his marbles and cause you no 
end of trouble, but he can do nothing wrong." He spun 
around, suddenly sick of pretense. "He'll never follow your 
lead - or anyone else's for that matter. I'll have your 
operation yet, old man. You know it. It's only a matter of 
time; you can't live forever."

The smoker flicked ash on the floor. Once more amused, but 
not impressed. "Indeed? And when you have - my operation, 
as you so quaintly put it, what will you do with it?"

For a moment, Krycek was on the brink of telling him. What 
you should have done in the first place, you plotting old - 
*chort*. I'll use it to fight the colonists. He held back 
just in time - or at least he hoped he had. The words had 
been virtually on his tongue. What if the old devil really 
was telepathic?

"You can't win, Alex", the smoker said. As if to emphasize 
his words, he walked over to the table where the chess 
board was still set up, game unfinished. He made three 
moves on one side, two on the other, and left the white 
king checkmate. "You don't take the long view."

Krycek snorted at the theatricals. "Okay, so I don't. It 
would still be nice to be out of here."

The smoker went past him without comment, into the old 
caf�. Presently, Bob Dylan's world-weary voice launched 
into one of the poet's more pensive numbers:

I-I-I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronzed...

The older man came back into the main room, "I understand 
you disabled the cameras, Alex." He pulled on his 
cigarette. "Did you know you missed one?" His tone was 
light, on the point of indifference.

Krycek closed his eyes briefly. "Where?"

"That question is rather academic now, don't you think?"

Silence.

The smoker went over to the stove. Opening the wood 
compartment once more, he let his second cigarette join the 
first. Only half smoked. "You still haven't given me your 
report."

"If you really had a camera left all this while, then you 
know all there is to know." And more than you ever had a 
need to know, you decrepit bastard.

The smoker smiled blandly at him. "Think Mulder would be 
interested in the footage?"

He was rewarded by a look of pure, emerald fury. "Look, if 
you do anything to harm her -"

The other beamed as if he had been looking forward to 
precisely this reaction. "She'll come to no harm. I have 
great plans for her."

From the caf�, the haunting tune persisted:

And so it did happen, like it could have been foreseen,
the timeless explosion of fantasy's dream...

"If Mulder ever finds out, he'll kill her", Krycek said.

The smoker smiled thinly. "I see you don't know Fox Mulder, 
Alex." He went over to the window and looked out. The 
helicopter was sitting where he had left it, its pilot 
waiting patiently. "I shouldn't worry", he said dryly. 
"Agent Scully will live a long time. A very long time..."

Krycek sat down on the bed, disregarding the soiled 
mattress. It was dry now anyway.

The old man brought out his dented packet of Morleys, 
looked into it and changed his mind. Letting it slide back 
into his pocket, he said, "I came to warn you, Alex."

The jukebox was still at it:

'All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight' - I 
gagged in contradiction, tears blinding my sight...

Krycek wished the damn thing would shut up. "Warn me of 
what?"

...I ran into the night, leaving all of love's ashes behind 
me.

"Don't do anything that might interfere with your work." 
The tone was clipped, almost inflectionless. "You're useful 
only so long as you keep a cool head." A faint smile, then, 
"Besides, you'd have Mulder to contend with."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

The smoker beamed at him. "Then all is well. Shall we go?"

"About time." Impatiently, Krycek snatched up his backpack 
and shouldered his way out the door ahead of his visitor. 
Behind him, the jukebox was finally closing its narrative:

I think of her often and hope whoever she's met
will be fully aware of how precious she is.

The smoking man paused in the doorway to let the last 
harmonica notes ring out into the fading day. "Ballad in 
Plain D", he said pleasantly. "Great piece, wouldn't you 
say? A little before your time of course, but - quite 
evocative."

He let the door fall shut. "Quite evocative.." he muttered.

Pulling his coat around him, he hurried after his wayward 
agent.


- - <> - -

When she finally found him, it was quite undramatic. She 
came walking out of the woods as he had so often dreamed, 
and there wasn't even a bright light behind her. Just his 
long lost sister in a print dress and sandals, despite the 
season.

She looked a little pale, but it was definitely her this 
time. He had never been so sure of anything. No matter how 
this turned out, it had to be the end of the road.

She stopped in front of him, a few steps away, as if she 
were less certain than he. He understood, and felt sorry 
for her. She must be feeling the same doubts he had 
harboured for so long. She needed time. So he waited, 
drinking in the sight of her. Her dark brown hair was as 
thick as ever, and loosely braided. Some wisps of it had 
escaped confinement and were now gently stirred by the 
wind.

They stood for a while like that, looking at each other. 
Then her mind was made up.

"Fox", she said, and the short word had a ring of finality 
to it, as if she too had reached the end of the line.

He swallowed, choking on her name. "I thought you were 
dead", he said when he found his voice.

She looked him up and down.

"And I thought you'd be taller."


*** The End ***