Disclaimers in Part One.
- 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 café, 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 café 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 café had been outside that door as well, Scully mused. But there was no door between the all-purpose room she was in, and the café. Whatever heat they managed to get going, it would warm the café 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 café, 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 café 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.
End Part Two
Continued in Part Three
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