Forgive Us Our Trespasses: Part 2

by Mia Munro

"Tell me what you've got," Scully, said pushing open the door into the forensic lab.  She walked forward to the table where the remains of Helen Andersen, victim number four, were exposed.  Glancing down at the body in the cold, revealing light of the overhead lamps, Scully was aware of a fleeting gratitude that there was no personality, hardly any humanity left.  Although she always maintained her professional mien, some cases, some…  bodies were harder than others.

The young stork-like man on the other side of the corpse looked up and blinked beneath his protective glasses.  "Subject is a Caucasian female, age nine…"  Scully let the familiar recitation wash over her as she began her grim task of trying to coax the body to reveal all its secrets, including who killed it.

Scully spent the next week buried deep in the lab, examining each scrap, each microscopic fragment doggedly pursuing the puzzle that often led to a perpetrator and an arrest.  It was true that science could produce amazing results and a faint patch not even visible to the naked eye could convict a murderer.

However, this time there was no such luck.  Whoever he was, he was careful and clever, or, as Scully suggested during one midnight session in the lab, he had someone cleaning up after him.

"But that's impossible," one of the younger pathologists pointed out, unwrapping his submarine sandwich.  "All the evidence points towards a lone perpetrator, isn't that what the profilers say?"

Scully nodded, popping the tab of her coke, "Yes, that's what Mulder claims.  Of course it's all very general and tentative at this stage."

"I thought the profilers could all but tell you his shoe size and social security number and whether he wet his bed when he was four," a lab technician murmured.

Scully smiled, "That's what they'd like to have you think, but the truth is that we're more likely to tell them, than the opposite.  Everything they know and extrapolate to build a profile they base on what we feed them.  Profiling may be called a science, but it's based on psychology, and as we know the human psyche persists in being unpredictable."  She drank down the last of her coke, and stood up.

"Forensic facts on the other hand are hard and incontrovertible evidence, so let's get back to work again.  Let's see if we can't nail this perp."  There were groans but no protests as everyone split up again returning to their work.

The next morning they were all working by seven in the morning despite the late hours they'd kept.  Just before lunch, Scully was talking to one of the young lab assistants when the door suddenly opened.

"Come on, Scully, there is someone I want you to meet."  She looked up from the autopsy table and saw Mulder sticking his head through the door.

"Who?"

"Sheriff Tom Bowles from Ladona County.  Victims number six and seven are both from his jurisdiction."

"Coming," Scully pulled off the latex gloves and dropped them in the waste paper basket, taking off the protective glasses.  "Keep at it Steve, I'll be back later today.  Oh, and don't forget to send the DNA sample to the university.  I talked with Professor Johnson and he's agreed to have the university computer analyze it."

Mulder was waiting for her outside in the corridor and they fell into step as he briefed her.  "Sheriff Bowles arrived last night, I think you'll find what he's got to say very interesting."

Before Scully could ask anything else, they arrived at the interview room.  Opening the door, she saw a middle-aged, tanned man standing by the window.  Dressed in jeans, boots and a sheepskin jacket, he seemed profoundly uncomfortable in these surroundings, awkwardly clutching a plastic cup in his right hand.

"Sheriff Bowles?"  Mulder asked, "I'm Special Agent Mulder, and this is my partner, Special Agent Scully."

The man turned quickly, showing them a homely and wrinkled face with a pair of brown, honest eyes.  Transferring the cup to his left hand, he offered a large calloused hand.  His shake was firm but not hard.  "Glad to meet you, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

"Please sit down," Scully said, doing the same.  Mulder perched on the table and she had to repress the urge to tell him to sit on a chair instead of his usual restless prowling.  "You had some important information about the case we are working on?"

Sheriff Bowles abruptly put down the mug, "Yeah, I do.  Look, I'm just a local sheriff from the sticks, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"I'm sure no one has ever thought that," Scully said calmly, while Mulder's mouth quirked sardonically.  "Please tell us why you have come."

Tom Bowles looked grim as he began to talk.  "When we discovered the first victim, what we thought was the first victim, Mary Sue Driscoll," grief and anger roughened his voice, "the entire sheriff's department, hell, the whole town was up in arms!  We all thought it was a crazy tramp but we wanted this guy!  We all put in hundreds of hours of unpaid overtime."

He paused.  "See, in a small town like this, everyone knows each other.  Mary Sue used to play with my youngest daughter, I'd see her pedal past our house on her bike every morning on her way to school.  I go to the same church as her mother and father.  This was personal."  He glared at them.

Scully nodded.  "We understand."

"So you never knew Mary Sue Driscoll was actually victim number six?"  Mulder asked.

Sheriff Bowles shook his head.  "Nah, my deputy checked the wires, but there was no mention of anything.  So, we're working like crazy, lots of leads but nothing definite, when Johanna Bowles disappeared."

His eyes dared them to ask.

Mulder did.  "Any relation?"

"My niece."  There was a world of grief and guilt and fury compressed in those two words.  "My brother John's only child.  Her mother died two years ago, and ever since John's been raising her on her own, and doing a damn fine job of it!"  He squared his shoulders.  "When Jo was kidnapped, it destroyed my brother.  Hell, we were all devastated, and then three weeks later her body was discovered in a ditch just outside town."

He had to pause for a moment, compose himself, before he continued in a cold, concentrated rage.  "No one should have to die like that, raped, tortured, then thrown into a ditch like so much trash.  Much less an innocent little girl.  I can only thank God that John wasn't there.  But I was, and it will haunt me till the day I die.  Standing over Jo's body, I knew what I had to do and, I called in the Feds the same day.  I knew I couldn't handle whatever this was.  Look, the sheriff's department is four men.  Me and three deputies and old Spike who cleans the office.  We sober up drunks, break up bar fights and get called out on domestic disputes.  I know when I'm outclassed, I didn't give a damn about jurisdiction and territory.  I wanted this guy caught, so I phoned the FBI."

"This would be the Center City office?"

Bowles nodded, "Right, and I talked to Robert Tamblin, the head of the office, he said he'd look into the matter and then get back to me.  Three days later, a car pulls up, and Agent Tamblin gets out."  A snort of contempt.  "Real suave, slick guy.  Thousand dollar suit, smelling of some fancy shaving water."

He gave Mulder a disgusted look that clearly said, 'real men don't wear after-shave', and had Scully suddenly bending over her notes to hide a smile.  "So he asks if he can talk to me privately, and I say sure, we go into my office, he flashes all his credentials, and after asking four times if I'm sure no one could overhear us, he started whispering in my ear.  I had to keep telling him to speak up."

Mulder's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward intently, "And what did he say exactly?"

Bowles snorted, "He fed me some long cock and bull story about national security, and the need for discretion.  Hinted at international intrigues, spies, it all sounded like a third-rate novel to me, but hell what do I know?  It could be the truth.  Claimed the best thing I could do was to keep my mouth shut and not make a stink.  Well, I wasn't going to let it go so easily, not with little Jo dead, and I told him so.  Next thing you know I get a call from the Governor's chief of staff, and basically ordered to back off or else…"

Scully played with her pen, "And you did?"

Bowles glared at them.  "Yeah I did," he looked at them defiantly.  "See, Tamblin came back, told me this was in strictest confidence, but they'd caught the guy who did it, but because of," his mouth twisted, and he almost spat on the floor, "'national security' he wouldn't be tried publicly.  But he would be put away forever.  Guess, I wanted to believe him."

"Very understandable, Sheriff," Scully said soothingly.  "So what made you come to us?"

He shifted and the flimsy chair squeaked faintly in protest under his weight.  "I had an errand in Center City two weeks ago and when I passed the FBI office, I thought I'd look in.  Check with Tamblin.  Only when I asked for him, a guy I had never met before in my life came out.  Claimed not only that he was Robert Tamblin, but that he'd never heard of me or the murders before in his life."

Mulder stood up, starting to pace, "You're sure it wasn't the same man?"

Bowles shook his head vigorously.  "No way!  This other guy was much older, grey hair, dark eyes, walked with a slight limp on his left leg."

Mulder nodded, "That's Robert," adding to Scully, "he got that limp more than fifteen years ago when he was working on the Mexican border and was in a shoot-out with some smugglers."  He looked at Bowles.  "What did the man who claimed to be Robert Tamblin look like?"

"'Bout your height and age, maybe a little younger.  Dark, short hair," he snorted, "my secretary called him a 'dreamboat' whatever that is.  Look, I realized then that something was very wrong, but I didn't know what to do.  And not even a week later, Dan my deputy, told me about the serial killer the FBI were hunting.  I did some checking, and the MO matched perfectly with Mary Sue and Jo.  I told your director, Mr.  Skinner all this on the phone, but hell, I wanted to see the people who were after this guy, and make sure this wasn't just another smokescreen."

He sighed, "I reckon all this has made me a little paranoid so I took some leave and flew here."

"For which we are most grateful," Scully said briskly standing up, "we really appreciate your help, Sheriff, and let me assure you we'll look into this matter most seriously."  She held out her hand, "and I can promise you that we are very determined to catch this man."

He took her hand, "You do, give me a call, Agent Scully.  I'll tell you something else, I'd throw the switch on him myself."  He cleared his throat, looking away a little embarrassed, "and if you ever need a favour in my neck of the woods, just let me know."

She repeated her thanks, then glanced at her partner.  "You want to add something, Mulder?"

Mulder frowned slightly, "Would you recognize the fake Robert Tamblin?"

Bowles replied curtly.  "Anywhere, and if I ever see him again, I'll be hard put not to shoot the son of a bitch."

Mulder pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I may send you some pictures later, see if you can identify him, all right?"

"Sure, anything."

After Bowles had left, Mulder and Scully walked back to their office together.

Scully asked, "Did you check with Tamblin?"

Mulder nodded, "I did, and as the sheriff said, he'd never heard of the murders.  Also the phone log show no call from Ladona was ever put through to the Center City office."

"You don't think he's hiding anything?"

"Bowles?  No, he's genuine, but you do realize what this means, don't you Scully?"

She opened the door to their office and turned on the lights.  "That FBI security has been compromised."

Mulder hooked his chair with a foot, turning it around and straddling it.  "That or the phone lines.  I talked to Byers this morning, and he says all you really need to do is to put a scrambler on the outgoing line.  That way any call is automatically rerouted."  He added thoughtfully, "and they would know enough to keep an eye on Sheriff Bowles after they realized the personal connection."

Scully sat down and switched on her computer, "That doesn't make sense, Mulder, if he called from the office phone, there'd be literally hundreds of legitimate calls, if they didn't go through, the sheriff's department would realize something was wrong."

"Not necessarily, all you need is someone sitting there listening in, once he realizes the call is unconnected to the business at hand, he just hits the switch and the calls go through as usual."

Scully frowned, "You keep saying 'they' but you know that all the forensic evidence points to a lone perp.  One person could not set up the kind of surveillance and tampering that you're talking about.  You're talking a well-organized group of people."

Mulder said grimly, "Now you're getting it."

"You talked to Skinner?"

"Yeah, he wasn't happy to put it mildly.  He's going to have a talk with Ma Bell, but I doubt it will give anything,.  They would be long gone by now and without a trace."

Scully started downloading her mail.  "This is getting stranger and stranger."

Mulder suddenly grinned at her.  "Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet if I'm right, and I usually am."

"You really have to do something about your lack of self-confidence and excessive diffidence, Mulder," she told him dryly and turning her back on him, started reading her incoming mail.

That weekend Scully firmly pushed away all feelings of guilt over her colleagues working overtime and took Sunday off for her nephew's third birthday.  Her brother, Bill, and his wife, Tara, had come up to Washington staying with good friends, and they had insisted that Dana come to the birthday party.  Perhaps she could have resisted their entreaties, but when Margaret Scully entered the fray, her daughter knew she was beat, and promised to be there.

The noisy, cheerful party was slowly winding down when Scully wandered down into the garden of the big old white clapboard house with a glass of white wine.  Finding an old abandoned bench from which the paint was peeling, she sat down.  From a distance, she could still hear the high, blithe voices of her nephew and the other children.  The sound caused a tiny ache deep inside her chest.  The knowledge that she would never carry a child inside her body for nine months to nurture and care for remained an open wound, no less hurtful for being buried as deep as she could.

Thoughtfully sipping her wine and looking out over the lake, Scully let the peace of the sunset, the soft breeze whispering through the leaves slowly fill her.  If only she could remain here, never go back to FBI, to….

"You're looking very solemn."

Scully glanced up as Tara Scully brushed some leaves off the bench and sat down beside her.  "Who is looking after the offspring?"

Her sister-in-law smiled.  "His father, performing his paternal duty."  She sighed softly, "I love my family, but sometimes I envy you, Dana.  I think I would give my soul for a moment's peace and quiet."

The bitter smile startled Tara Scully.  "Envy me?  Oh yes, I am really to be envied, going back to an empty apartment, forensic reports and a serial killer who likes to carve up little girls."

With faint concern, Tara said, "I never thought you felt like that, Dana.  You always seem so self-assured, so sure of what you're doing."

Scully breathed out.  "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"  She took another swallow of wine, "and I don't regret my choices, not really."  A sudden bitter-sweet smile, "I love what I do, I've got good friends, I'm healthy again, I don't know what I'm complaining about."

Very softly, Tara asked, "What about the most important thing of all, a man to love?  No don't look like that Dana, I know you think I've been cheated - "

"Of course not!"  Scully exclaimed a little too emphatically.

Tara Scully laughed softly.  "Yes you do, Dana, don't try and pretend.  But you know I've never regretted what I did.  One day when the children are older I may go back to the law.  But in the meantime I am content raising them and being there for Bill when he needs me, just as I know that he will be when I need him."  She gave her sister-in-law a penetrating look, "I know you always claim Fox Mulder will be there when the chips are down.  I've seen with my own eyes how much he loves you.  When you were gone, and sick he was absolutely frantic!  So why are the two of you so afraid of getting close?"

Scully shook her head.  "You don't understand, Tara, I doubt anyone does.  Mulder…"  her voice died away as she tried to put into words her confused feelings for her partner finally just saying lamely.  "It's complicated."

"It always is, but if it's not Mulder," a mischievous grin, "and never was a man truer named, he really is foxy, Dana.  Then why are you tense as a bowstring, walking around as if the weight of the world rests on your shoulders?"

"Well you know this case we're working on is getting to us all," Scully said.  She hesitated, needing badly to talk to somebody.  She and Tara were friendly enough but circumstances and geographical distance had prevented them becoming intimate friends.  However, to her own surprise she suddenly found herself saying aloud, "have you ever hated a man Tara?  I mean really hated him?  But at the same time wanted him?"

"Never at the exact same time," Tara smiled, but then sobered seeing that Scully was serious.  "Sure, I had a boyfriend like that back in college.  He was a philosophy grad student, used to smoke hashish from a Turkish pipe, read Nietzsche and Sartre, and had some very bizarre ideas about women and relationships.  We'd have the most violent quarrels, but the sex…"  she winked, "was almost worth it."

Then she added thoughtfully, "You know it's men who are supposed to be driven by their urges, but the fact is that women are as well.  It's an illusion to think that men are sex-maddened beasts and women are pure.  Actually both sexes have physical needs and desires and I've never understood why women should be ashamed of admitting that.  Men certainly aren't!"  She grinned.

Scully joined the smile, but her eyes remained troubled.  "This isn't the same thing."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Scully hesitated, "I don't know."  There was a tiny pause, "in my line of work I see a lot of slime, and some," wryly, "are more slimy than others, and usually it's easy.  You may be shocked and sickened what some so-called members of the human race are capable of, still, once they're caught and convicted, that's the end."

She picked up her wine glass slowly turning the slender stem around and around, watching the remains of the pale golden liquid slowly settle at the bottom, and when she spoke again her voice had changed.  "And then there are those that continue to haunt you.  The ones that for some reason or another, physical attraction, a look in their eye when they think no one is watching, you start wondering if perhaps there is something more inside them.  Something worth saving.  So you start asking yourself the most dangerous question of all, why."

"Dana, you're not making any sense," Tara told her.

Scully tucked her hair behind her ears, "I'm not, am I?  Tara you go to church every Sunday.  And not just because you should, but because you really believe."

Tara said quietly, "You know I do, and I thought so did you."

Scully looked away, "I used to, but since I joined FBI and especially the X-Files I've seen so much evil, Tara, and I don't use that word lightly, I've started having doubts…."  A long silence.  "You know how the Bible tells us to forgive those who trespass against us?  I used to think that was one of the easiest commandments to practice.  To forgive.  But lately I've realized that some things, some acts are unforgivable."

"God never said it would be easy Dana, but I believe in forgiveness and redemption, yes.  Nobody is born evil."

Scully glanced at her.  "Not even people like Hitler, or Pol Pot or Ted Bundy?"  Only self-preservation and iron control stopped her from adding, 'Alex Krycek…'

Tara shook her head, "Not even Satan.  What is that quotation from Isaiah?  'How art thou….'"

"….fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the Morning," Scully finished softly.  "Funny you should mention that.  I remember when I was a girl I always wondered what Lucifer looked like."  A sudden smile, "I would fantasize about what it would take to redeem him.  I always imagined him as tall, and dark, beautiful, and very sad."

"Because he could remember what being good was, before the Fall," Tara said equally softly, and they shared a look of perfect understanding.

Scully bit her lip, shocked at the sudden recognition that at some point the face of her Lucifer had acquired green eyes and a mouth to tempt a saint.  "But what if someone killed Matthew, Tara?  Could you forgive the murder of your son?"

A harsh indrawn breath, "I, I don't know, Dana, I want to say, that yes I would forgive.  But I honestly don't know.  Just the thought of someone harming Matt is enough to make me ready to kill."

"You see what I mean?  In theory one can forgive, but when it's personal, it's suddenly very different."  A long silence, and then, seemingly out of the blue.  "I loved Melissa.  We didn't always agree, or see eye to eye, but there was no one I loved more.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of her, and miss her."

Tara Scully looked more than a little confused.  "What are we talking about Dana?"

Scully propped her chin in her hand, looking out over the lake.  "We have always been taught that if someone repents and is sincere they, he, will be forgiven, that there is good in everyone.  Do you know, for the first time since I stopped going to Sunday school, I find myself needing to believe in that."  She added quietly, more to herself than to Tara, "despite all the evidence to the contrary, I must believe that there is something worth saving in him.  Otherwise, how can I explain what I feel?  Or perhaps that's just rationalization, and we are both damned…."

Her sister-in-law frowned, "You realize I have no idea what you're talking about, don't you?"

Scully abruptly remembered where she was.  "Don't mind me, Tara, I'm getting morbid."  Shaking the mood she added, "come on, let's go and see if there is any birthday cake left.  I'm in the mood for something gooey and fattening."

Tara glanced over at her sister-in-law's slender figure and snorted.  "It's not as if you have to worry, unlike some of us."

Scully laughed and stood up.  "Neither do you, Tara.  Bill's always said he liked a bit of meat on his women so I don't think you have anything to worry about.  Besides it's not as if he's exactly a cover model himself."

Side by side they strolled back up towards the house, chatting about the children and other simple commonplace things.

Scully was sitting in the FBI cafeteria on Monday after hours in the lab, thinking of her nephew and picking half-heartedly at her lunch when she heard a tentative voice behind her.

"Agent Scully?"  She looked up at the young, slightly apprehensive face.

"Yes?"

"AD Skinner would like to see you in his office immediately."

Scully nodded her thanks and leaving the half-eaten lunch behind, she went immediately to the office.  Knocking politely and waiting before Skinner's deep voice told her to come in, she opened the door and saw Mulder, Elliot Carstairs and Skinner all grouped around the desk.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"  she asked Skinner.

He gestured for her to sit down, "This just arrived by mail."  For the first time she noticed the small black tape recorder in the middle of the desk.  Skinner pressed the play button and a weird, hollow, echoing voice filled the office.

"Computer generated obviously," Carstairs muttered.

"Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck twelve…  the little fox plays in the bramble bushes….  Jack and Jill went up the hill…  Becky's been a naughty girl…  pretty, pretty Sam."  The sudden high, thin shriek  had Scully almost jumping out of her skin, "I didn't mean to do it!  I didn't mean to hurt her Mr.  Mulder!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"  Skinner pressed the stop button.

"It goes on and on."

Scully frowned, seeing Mulder's white set look.  "It's genuine?"

Skinner removed the cassette.  "Definitely.  Not just from the clues he drops, but because the package also included a small silver heart on a chain.  Rebecca Branson was wearing it the day she was abducted.  The parents have identified it."

"How was it delivered?"

Mulder was deceptively calm.  "Postmarked Atlanta, day before yesterday.  Nothing out of the ordinary, no prints."

Scully looked at Skinner, a faint question in her eyes.  He said, "It was addressed personally to Agent Mulder."

She breathed out softly.  "Interesting.  Do you have any idea who it might be, Mulder?"

He shook his head.  "I'm going to start going through my old cases."  He didn't say it.  But she knew that if this was a personal vendetta from an old enemy, Mulder would never forgive himself.

Scully almost pounded the desk in frustration, but keeping her professional detachment, she did the only thing she could and said.  "I'll help you."

Mulder didn't say thanks, but she thought she could read a faint gratitude in his eyes before he turned away.  As always it was more than enough.

"Let's go," he said abruptly standing up.

Mulder was already half-way down the corridor before Scully had even reached the door.  Hand on the handle, she heard Skinner behind her.

"I'm relying on you to keep him in line, Scully.  Don't let him go off the deep end.  We all know what happens when Mulder starts taking things personally."

She turned around facing him squarely.  "Sir, how can he not?  The tape was addressed to him.  This case has already reminded him too much of what he's lost, his own fears."

"I know, but we need him together and sane, Scully."

She didn't answer that, just closed the door carefully behind her.

For some reason Krycek hadn't contacted her since the case began.  Which was just about the only good thing that could be said for the past three weeks - she had almost succeeded in convincing herself.

It was while she was patiently checking and rechecking some fiber fragments found under Mary Sue Driscoll's fingernails that Scully finally admitted to herself that her feelings were closer to frustration than relief.  Of course it was natural that she was worried about his silence.  Without Krycek she would never know the truth about Melissa.  And despite the brutal pace of the investigation she never for a moment forgot her sister.  She moved a little restlessly trying to ignore the small taunting voice at the back of her mind asking if it was only Melissa that had her worrying about Krycek's return.

Gently sliding the small square of glass under the microscope and examining it under ultraviolet light, Scully bit down a curse, nothing!  Dammit!  She'd been so sure.  Restraining her first impulse which was to throw the damn thing against the wall, she leaned back on the creaking chair.  Forgetting that her hair was secured in a ponytail, she finger combed it absently.

Apart from Krycek's absence, which was a good thing she thought firmly…  hell was probably the most accurate description of the past three weeks.  Spending day after day in the forensic lab analysing the grim remains of the little girls was bad enough, having to sit through interviews with the distraught families was worse, giving her a graphic and unwelcome reminder of the kind of torment her own family must have suffered after her abduction.  But worst was the growing fear that Mulder was losing his mind.  For the past weeks he had worked like a fiend, putting in eighteen, twenty-hour days.

Leaving the lab, Scully recalled that it had been three days since Mulder'd even been home and changed and showered.  Heading to the room where the profilers were located, she finally succeed in dragging him forcibly from the building and all but pushed him into her car ignoring his grumbles and the amused looks of their co-workers.

"You need to take a shower, have a warm meal and sleep in a real bed for a change," she informed him tartly to hide her concern.  "If not for your sake then for that of your co-workers.  To put it plainly, you stink, Mulder."

That won a reluctant smile from him.  "You're such a diplomat, Scully, that's what I love about you."   She flinched, although she knew he meant it casually, it cut deep flicking her on the raw.  Thank God he was too tired to notice her momentary betrayal.  Smiling cheerfully, making some silly off-hand comment that made him smile again, she brought him home, stuffed him in the shower, cooked him a steak and potatoes and made sure he was tucked into bed, and before she left she made sure to turn off the alarm he'd put at three thirty.  Closing the door to Mulder's apartment, she phoned Elliot Carstairs.

"Sir?  This is Special Agent Scully, mission accomplished, I've put Mulder to bed and hopefully he won't be back in until tomorrow afternoon….  That's right sir, and disconnected his phone, and turned off the cellular phone.  …  Yes sir, I'll go by and check on him tomorrow morning…  Thank you, sir."

Scully disconnected, wondering for a moment if she had the strength to drag herself home or whether she could just camp out in Mulder's corridor.  But finally finding the energy, she slowly went outside, got into her car and drove through the dark deserted streets to her own apartment.

Unlocking her door, Scully kicked off her shoes, and threw the coat over the sofa.  The answering machine was blinking and for a moment she considered ignoring it.  Instead she wandered into the kitchen where she found nothing but half a tomato and a pear.  Too tired to start cooking for herself, she returned to the living room nibbling on the pear.  Conscience finally won and she pressed the rewind button.  There was a message from her mother, reminding her of a cousin's birthday next Saturday.  One from a good friend who'd just flown in from Boston, suggesting dinner if she had time, and then, the last one.  A soft dark voice, "Tonight, Hadley Place, number 653."  It clicked, disconnecting.

Scully sat very still for a long time.  Logic and common sense told her that she was too exhausted to move.  That what she needed was to fall into bed and sleep.  But then what did logic or common sense have to do with Alex Krycek?  Or her strange conflicting feelings for him for that matter.

You never knew with Krycek, if he took offense, this might be the last she ever heard of him, and with him went her only hope of finding Melissa alive.  Dammit!  if she had only been able to contact him, to explain, but as always his number was coded so she couldn't phone him back.

She just could not risk angering him.

Picking up her coat again, Scully tried her best to ignore a very small traitorous sliver at the very edge of her consciousness.  A voice that whispered of her need to be held.  To forget for a few hours at least the grim reality that surrounded her.  Right now she didn't care, or at least not much, that the man making her forget was a blackmailing son of a bitch who held her sister's life in his hands.  A man who cared for nothing but the use of her body.  She smiled a little grimly.  He had used her enough God knew, perhaps it was time for a little using of her own…

Before she had time to reflect over her complete lunacy, Scully grabbed the car keys and went out to her car again.  She was unaware of, and would have been horrified to realize, that she moved with a new light in her eyes, a new spring to her steps.

It had started to rain and the wind was picking up.  Definitely not the night to be out, she thought wearily.  Finally finding Hadley Place, her eyebrow went up a little, not exactly Krycek's usual place.  It was a solid and not unattractive block of apartments grouped around a rather nice leafy courtyard.  Driving through the gates, she parked the car and opened the door.  The icy rain, spiked her skin and made her hunch her shoulders and hurry across the asphalt.  Heels clicked sharply, echoing against the walls.  By the time Scully finally found the right apartment, she was wet, cold, hungry and completely exhausted.  With a wry half-smile she thought that if Krycek wanted a passionate partner tonight he would be disappointed.  Most likely she'd fall asleep in the middle of proceedings and offend him mortally.  Stifling a yawn, she rang the door bell, actually finding herself leaning against the frame to keep herself upright.

Krycek opened the door, wearing the usual black jeans and T-shirt.  The man did love black, she thought a little fuzzily.  Although she had to admit it suited him perfectly.  So perfectly she suspected he cultivated it as part of his persona.  In any case it made him even more attractive.  As did, in her personal opinion, the slightly longer hair.  Hair she suddenly realized she wanted to run her hands through.  Scully blinked.  She must be even more fatigued than she'd suspected to have thoughts like that.

Krycek looked at her for a minute and then a slow smile spread across his face.  He stepped forward, catching her in his arms as she swayed lightly on her feet.  She was too weary to feel anything but thankfulness of his support as her legs actually trembled with exhaustion.

"You look terrible, Dana," he said a thread of amusement running through his voice.  "Dare I hope it was my absence that's had this effect on you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!  This isn't about you," she snapped, grateful that he wasn't in one of his 'slam, bam, thank you ma'am' moods, tonight.  She even had problems holding back something perilously close to a smile.  "We've got a new case, and it's - "

He shook his head, interrupting her firmly.  "Before you tell me anything else, go have a bath or you'll get a cold.  You're completely soaked through."

"You should have thought of that before you dragged me out tonight," she retorted but her tone still lacked it's usual bite.

He laughed, "That's my Dana.  Now go have a bath before I undress you myself."

Mumbling, "I'm not your anything," she nevertheless headed to the bathroom where she found soap, shampoo and herb-scented bathing oil as well as a big fluffy bathrobe.  She filled the bathtub with steaming water, sinking down with a heartfelt groan of contentment.  Twenty minutes later she suddenly sat up with a jerk, at Krycek's knock on the door.

"Have you drowned in there, Dana?"

She called out, "I'm fine, I'll be out in a few minutes."  Rubbing her eyes, Scully realized she had almost fallen asleep.  However, once awake, she quickly washed her hair, and wrapping herself in the bathrobe she padded barefoot into the living room.

Not until much later did she realize just how unselfconscious she was feeling with the man waiting for her.  How skillfully he had taught her to accept his body, him as a part of her life.

Krycek was kneeling by the fireplace, stirring the fire with a poker.  But hearing her approach, he turned around and stood up.  "There you are, I was considering coming in and bodily removing you from the bath."  His smile told her just how much he'd enjoyed the thought.  Scully ignored him, focusing instead on the tray sitting on the low table by the fireplace.  There was a plate of delicate chicken rolls, half a ripe brie, pate, small open smoked salmon sandwiches, a bowl of ripe peaches, blue grapes, cherries and plump red strawberries, and beside that a silver bucket with a champagne bottle wrapped in a white linen serviette sticking up.  She blinked once, twice, what the hell….?

She glanced at Krycek who was watching her expectantly.  "What is this?"  she asked sharply to hide her unease.

"What is what?"  he replied innocently.

"This!"  her sweeping hand took in the table, the candles, the open fire.  "Not really your style, is it?"  It was supposed to be a taunt, but emerged closer to a question.

He didn't answer but bent and picked up the bottle.  With a little manipulation he managed to pop it open, pouring the frothy pale liquid into a champagne glass and handed it to her before pouring himself another one.

"Actually, Dana, I don't spend all my time hanging out in cheap bars and seedy motels.  Did you know that you can hide even better in classy places than on back-streets?"

Sipping the champagne, and enjoying the sensation of the cold, dry bubbles sliding down her throat, Scully lifted an eyebrow.  "You're on the run?"

Krycek laughed, gesturing for her to sit down in the sofa.  "Nope, I'm in better with my bosses than I've ever been.  I just wanted you to know that I am familiar with places where there are no ketchup bottles on the table and the silverware is silver.  Here," he held out the chicken rolls to her.  "Have something to eat, it will improve your temper."

Not even considering refusing Scully reached out and started nibbling on one of the rolls.  She found them irresistible and soon she was wolfing down the food, not noticing how many times Krycek refilled her glass, or aware she was telling him everything that had happened the past three weeks.  She never reflected that this was Alex Krycek.  She needed to talk and he was there.

All the frustration and anger over the monster who was responsible for so much misery and pain just poured out.  Even her fear that Mulder in his desperate attempts to get inside the mind of the man, was slowly losing his own.

Lips curving in an unconsciously tender smile, she finished, "….so tonight I just grabbed him, forced him home, cooked him a meal and put him to bed."

Beside her Krycek moved slightly, "Put him to bed?"

Scully stiffened abruptly remembering who it was she was talking with.  She put down her empty glass, "That's right, to bed," her tone holding a definite challenge.

"Hey, I never imagined anything else, Dana," a faint, wry smile.  "After not consuming your mutual lurking passion for the past six years, I doubt you'd do it when you're both exhausted and Mulder is half-mad.  So pull in your claws, okay?"

She relaxed again, deciding to ignore his allusion to hers and Mulder's complicated relationship.  "Sorry," wondering, why am I telling this man I'm sorry?  Still she added, as a sort of apology, "I guess I was a bit sensitive, but I've had enough insinuations already to last me a lifetime."

Scully sighed wearily picking up her glass again and held it out for a refill.  "Half the agents think we're sleeping together, the other half think that I'm his keeper and mother all rolled into one, and a small minority are sure I'm both."  She felt herself relaxing, sipping the wine, "God I'm so tired, Alex."  She didn't notice the way his name rolled off her lips, or his tiny start.

Voice laden with fatigue she murmured, "I'm so tired of being the strong, calm, logical one.  Of picking up the pieces when Mulder falls apart.  I owe him everything, including my life.  I love him, goodness knows he's been there for me when I've needed him, but, but…"

"But there are times when you need to crawl into someone's arms and cry."  It wasn't a question, just a quiet statement of fact.

She had to blink back sudden tears.  "Something like that, yes," a wobbly attempt at a smile.  "I don't know, maybe being with Mulder so long I've gotten out of the habit of relying on anyone else.  So when he isn't there, there is no one else.  And with my abduction and cancer, I don't want to burden my family any more than I absolutely have to," she admitted.

A gentle touch on her shoulder made her turn her head.  Krycek was holding out his arm, "I only have one arm Dana, but I'll hold you."

Scully wasn't sure what amazed her most.  That Alex Krycek, traitor and assassin extraordinaire would be capable of so much understanding and empathy.  Or that she, Dana Scully not only accepted but craved it.

Putting the empty plate down on the table, she crept into his arms, the tears beginning even as she burrowed her face into his shirt.  Dimly she heard him whisper something in a foreign language, Russian she thought, and then his one remaining hand tangled in her hair, stroking, massaging the scalp.  She cried until she had no tears left, until her nose was red and her eyes hot and burning.  She cried for all the young lives ending in pain and terror.  For their grief-stricken families, showing her all too graphically what her own family must have gone through when she was gone.  She cried for herself, for the frustration and helplessness she felt.  And most of all she cried for Mulder.  Her poor, tormented love, pouring over the files, the pictures, trying to crawl into the mind of a monster.

In the end she was curled against him, every muscle in her body limp in utter exhaustion.  He was still stroking her hair, holding her loosely, and she took an obscure comfort from the strong body under her.  The slow steady beat of his heart under her ear.

Finally she felt him shift and move away slightly and then the arm returned, holding a box of tissue.  "Here, blow your nose."

Scully took it, in wordless gratitude and blew her nose.  She thought, God I must look a mess, and realized she didn't give a damn.  After she had wiped her eyes and wadded the used tissue into a small ball dropping it on the floor, she cuddled back into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  Closing her eyes, she relaxed, half-drifting.  Funny how this seemed so right, so right…  Scully yawned, realising there was something in the last thought to alarm her, but too tired to try and sort it out.  The body under her vibrated briefly in a soft laugh.

"Are you falling asleep, Dana?"

She nodded sleepily, another yawn surprising her as she opened her eyes briefly focusing.  A gentle touch on her cheek and she blinked not sure of what she was seeing.  Certainly not that Krycek was capable of the mingled pain and sweetness softening the lines of his usually so hard face.

Hazily she wondered what had caused him to look like that.  She yawned again, eyes sliding shut, forgetting her thread of thought, and from a distance she heard a soft laugh, and then someone was lifting and carrying her to the bed, gently removing the robe, and sliding her between cool clean sheets.  For a moment a residue of the old resistance and distrust made her wonder if he was going to exact payment for his kindness tonight.  But all he did was tuck her in, tenderly, as you do a small child.

At some point during the night she was vaguely aware of a draft of cooler air, and then a warm, solid, somehow comforting presence beside her.  She muttered a little, turning and burrowing instinctively into the warmth going back to sleep again.  She never felt the arm going around her waist, or realized that the man by her side spent a large portion of the night awake, simply watching the woman sleeping so trustingly in his arms, in his bed.

Scully woke slowly, trying to remember when she'd last felt so rested, so good.  Then wondered why that thought should worry her.  Stretching slowly, arms over her head, unconsciously sensuously, she pushed the covers back, uncurling her body.  Yawning, a soft smile lingered on her lips.  And then her eyes flew open in shock at the feathersoft touch on her mouth.

Startled she found herself looking up into leaf-green eyes.  Smiling, tender eyes.  A soundless "Oh!"  of surprise, gave him the opportunity to deepen the kiss, stroking her lips open, tasting them with a thoroughness that left her breathless and melting.  Scully, half-closed her eyes, letting the wave of passion take her, one hand behind Alex's neck as she slowly, pulled him down with her, sinking back against the mattress….

"Open your eyes, Dana," he told her softly, and languorously she obeyed.  Krycek was smiling down at her.  His face looked younger and somehow different, and for a moment she couldn't figure out what had changed.  But then she realized that this was the first time she had seen him without the wariness he carried like a shield around with him.

"Say my name," he coaxed.

Confusion reflected in blue eyes and she whispered, "Krycek, your name is Krycek…"

He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead.  "Not that.  Alex, call me Alex, like you did last night…"  he kissed her again, with a heartbreaking gentleness, "like I was your lover…"

"I, Alex," she repeated obediently, more than a little uncertain of what he wanted.

His smile widened, "Yes, like that Dana…"  a soft, sensuous drawl, as his lips wandered over her face and throat, whispering of her beauty, and how much he wanted her.  Wooing her gently, tenderly.

Scully closed her eyes, back arching into his too knowing hands and mouth.  She heard his soft laugh feathering across her breast, hardening already sensitive nipples.  But even when she started to grow frantic, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down he wouldn't quicken the pace.

A lazy smile, "Don't be in such a hurry, Dana," he murmured, warm breath whispering over her sensitive skin.

"Alex, oh God, Alex," she moaned, wanting him with a desperation that frightened her.  Hands feverishly running along hot, damp skin, she tried to urge him closer.  Fine shivers ran continuously under her skin, and she opened huge dazed, blue eyes expecting to see the usual triumph lightning them.  Waited to hear his demands that she beg.

He suddenly frowned, checking, when he  saw the fear, and the hatred in the crystal clear depth.  "No," he murmured, closing his own eyes in a strange pain, "no, dousha not that."  He bent down and kissed her eyes shut, lips warm and firm.  "Never again, I promise…."

Scully blinked, not sure what he meant.  He seemed to require some sort of answer, and unbidden the words rose to her lips.  "Please, please, please."

Abruptly his fingers dug into her arm, and he reared back.  "Nyet!  Dousha moy…"  he spoke in a soft rapid Russian.  But seeing her confusion, he switched to English.  "Dana, don't.  Never beg again."

A small bitter smile, "Isn't that what you want?"

"No…"  he whispered, trailing kisses along her shoulder moving to taut white breasts, making her bite her lip and writhe under the warm wetness of his tongue, sliding over curves and hollows.  Teasing softly at erect, throbbing flesh.  "Oh no, Dana.  I want…"  He slid a knee between her legs, one hand stroking down her flat stomach, almost playfully, lingering at the hip, teasing.

Her nails dug into his slick, sweat-soaked back, cupping his buttocks, bringing him closer to her, legs wrapped around his back.  "What do you want, Alex?"  she gasped breathlessly.

"I want you, only you.  You, open and warm and willing….  You're so beautiful you make my bones shake," he, murmured, fingers tangling gently in cinnamon and cinnabar damp curls.  His hand moved lower and deeper, first one then two fingers slipping deep inside her.  He smiled at her wordless moan, as she pushed against his fingers.  Thumb flicking repeatedly over the most sensitive bundle of nerves in her body.

She shook her head bemused by the emotion she saw in his eyes.  "I'm not beautiful, but you are, Alex…"  she reached up and kissed his shoulder, one hand moving between their bodies to run a long teasing caress along his flanks, laughing low in her throat at the sound he made.  She slowly explored the taut, flat planes of his stomach, tracing the muscles bunching under her fingertips.  "How can a man be so beautiful," she murmured, looking into green, green eyes.  "And those eyelashes, they're totally unfair, you know."

Krycek closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again she was surprised to see something that looked close to pain.

"Alex?"  she asked, suddenly uncertain.

He smiled, a heartbreakingly sweet smile.  "I'm not beautiful, dousha.  But you…"  He whispered something in Russian again, and then, "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, inside or out.  Sparkling, like a diamond.  Brilliant, lightning up those around you.  Yet hard enough to shatter an unwary man's spirit and soul."

She slid her arms around his neck, a little shaken over the fervor in his voice.  "You make me sound dangerous."  She kissed his neck, tasting the salty skin with her tongue, loving the feel and weight of him against her.

"And so you are.  I'd rather face a hundred armed men, than one unarmed, tiny, fragile woman with eyes that can freeze with a single look."  He laughed softly, and there was no triumph, no gloating in the sound as he took her open mouth.  Their tongues tangled as he deepened the kiss.  She felt as if he was trying to absorb everything she was, into himself.  When he finally broke off, she was gasping for air.  He whispered something against her skin, a curse, a prayer.  He was talking in Russian again, and although she didn't know the words, she had no problems understanding their meaning when he shifted sliding slowly between slender thighs.  Scully shuddered at the sensation of satiny skin rubbing against her legs.

When she finally climaxed she was crying his name, and not caring.  And she knew that this time she wasn't alone.  Dana could hear him sob her name, again and again, face hidden in her hair, his entire body shaking with the force of his need.  She held him close.  Slowly, stroking back damp silky-soft black hair, hands trembling slightly.  Unable to think anything, but Alex, Alex, in a stunned litany.

Once their breathing had calmed down a little, Alex shifted, so he was lying on his back, her head on his shoulder.  She curled up against him, feeling safe and happy, and for once quite willing not to think of anything at all.

He slowly stroked her hair, fingers combing and tangling in the short silky strands.  His body was completely relaxed but when she glanced up at him, his face was blank.

"What are you thinking about?"  she asked a little shyly.

He raised himself on one elbow, looking down at her.  "That I've never met a woman like you.  Dana," he hesitated, suddenly changing what he was going to say.  "Come back tonight?"  His tone making it a question not a demand.

She too hesitated before agreeing, "I'll try but you know what it's like when you work a big case like this.  And Mulder -" she broke off abruptly, sitting up.  "Oh my God!  Mulder!  I promised I'd come by and pick him up this morning!  Carstairs' going to kill me, not to mention Mulder!"  She threw the bedcovers aside, swinging her legs over the side.  "What time is it?  Do I have time to go back home and change?  Where are my clothes!?"

"Calm down, Dana," Alex's hand on her arm stilled her movements.  "It's ten, so you'll be late no matter what.  As for Mulder, if he was in the kind of state you describe no doubt he's still sleeping.  You can shower here, and drive straight to him.  He won't notice that you're still wearing the same clothes," his mouth quirked wryly, "If I know him right, I doubt Mulder'd notice if you walked into his place stark naked."

Scully repressed a bubble of laughter, and a strange burst of something that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy, that Alex was able to predict Mulder's likely response so accurately.  And to her utter shock, sh wasn't sure who it was she was jealous of…  Mulder or Alex.  She removed his hand from her arm.

"Thanks for nothing, Krycek," but her tone was more amused than angry as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.  And, thank goodness, remembering to bring her purse with her so she could repair some of the traces of last night, as well as this morning.  Looking at herself in the mirror, Scully grimaced faintly noting the slightly swollen lips the faint mauve shadows under her eyes.  She could hide the red mark at the base of her neck by buttoning up her blouse, but not the languorous, satisfied look that deepened the blue of her eyes.

You look like a woman who has been well and truly loved, Dana, she told her reflection, and then caught her breath in shock.  When had what she and Krycek done in bed ever been called love?  And yet, though she'd never tell the man outside, this morning had been love.  For her at least, crazy as it might sound.  Quickly pushing away that disconcerting thought, she replaced the lipstick and mascara, brushing out her hair into its usual neat perfection, with a few energetic strokes.  There, Special Agent Scully.  Satisfied, she gave the mirror a last nod and opened the door.

Krycek was standing by the balcony doors, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweats.  She avoided looking at the vast expanse of smooth exposed skin.  Seeing her, he poured her a cup of coffee from the pot on the table that smelled like heaven.

"Here, drink this before you go."

She took it, drawing in the rich, strong aroma with a deep sigh of contentment.  "Thanks," she sipped it, and then exhaled in pure pleasure, "ahh, that's wonderful!"

He chuckled, "You look like a woman in love."

A hint of red ran along her cheekbones and she avoided his eyes, "I think I may be."

"What do you mean?"  the abrupt change in his tone, made her give him a quizzical look.  He had gone tense as a bowstring, green eyes sharp and hard as emeralds.

"Ah, nothing much," she said a little uncertainly, "I've always been a secret coffee afficianado, and you know the kind they have at the FBI.  Why what did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, and it was his turn to avoid her eyes.  He had relaxed again, but before he turned away she had time to see, an expression of…  disappointment?  No, surely she was wrong, he couldn't have thought she meant - Scully quickly drained her coffee, not eager to follow up on her thought.  "I'm off," she said instead.

He nodded, and when she looked at him next his face was smooth, untroubled.  "Drive carefully."

She dipped her head a little awkwardly, putting down the cup carefully, "I will, I, umm, I'll see you later…"  her voice trailed away and she quickly turned around picking up her coat.

Driving to Mulder's, place Scully resolutely pushed back all thoughts of the man she had just left and the conflicting emotions he caused.  Right now she had time for nothing but the case and her partner.  So no more thoughts of Alex Krycek and the way he could melt her body with a single look.  Nor about the unexpected tenderness this morning.  The unselfish giving, the taking that took its pleasure from sharing and tenderness.

The moment the door closed behind Scully, the softness left Krycek's face, drained away like a mask being taken off.  He walked over to the sofa and picked up his cellphone, pushing the buttons rapidly.

There was a short pause as he waited for the call to connect.  "Sir?  Krycek here, yes sir, the plans are proceeding.  I am leaving now.  Yes sir, she suspects nothing."  He pressed the disconnect, and slowly folded up the phone, walking into the bedroom.

When he emerged again he looked a far cry from the usual scruffy hit man lurking in the shadows that Mulder and Scully were used to.  Wearing his Gucci leather shoes, Armani suit, silk tie, and black briefcase as if born to it, Krycek left the apartment.  Sliding on a pair of sunglasses he hailed a cab and gave a downtown address, getting out outside a bank, and handing the driver a twenty.

"Keep the change."

He walked through the big glass doors, sitting down under the enormous cubic structure dominating the entrance and unfolded a newspaper.  He scanned the crowd of people, waiting patiently for his victim.  It was a little past one when Alex finally saw him.  A thin nervous man who kept glancing around, looking out of place and extremely uncomfortable in these surroundings.  He kept tugging his cheap tie; his forehead damp with sweat.

Alex folded his newspaper, right on time.  Doctor Hans Van der Weldt, brilliant nuclear physicist, and passionate humanitarian.  The briefing also had him as an important part of the underground network smuggling out Chinese dissidents and leaders of the Tibetan underground resistance.  For a moment Krycek speculated on why the Consortium wanted him dead, a deal with the Chinese government perhaps?  The information in exchange for resources, perhaps a future sanctuary?  Not that it mattered.

At the moment Hans Van der Weldt was the possessor of a computer disk detailing the names, places and routes of the underground railroad out of China.  He was also alive.  Krycek meant to change both those conditions.  Standing up, every movement, smooth, unhurried, he walked towards Dr.  Van der Weldt, brushing against him and knocking the briefcase from his hand.

"Oh, look here, I am so sorry!"  The eager young man exclaimed, picking up the case, and brushing off the older man anxiously.

"Yes, yes," Hans Van der Weldt batted irritatedly at the hands.  "Ouch!"  he suddenly jerked, feeling a slight sting at the back of his hand.

"I am most frightfully sorry, did I hurt you?"  the young man continued to apologize, even as Dr.  Van der Weldt pushed him away grabbing the black briefcase held out by the man repeating his apologies, that was by no coincidence virtually indistinguishable from the one the polite young man was carrying.

"Yes, no, do not bother," the older man grabbed his briefcase eager to be away, leaving behind the dark youthful man, who looked after him still stammering his apologies.  After seeing the doctor leave, he just shrugged and left quietly.

When Doctor Hans Van der Weldt collapsed, bleeding from the nose and mouth three blocks from the bank, the young man was long gone.  The doctor died on the way to hospital despite the heroic attempts of the medical team to resuscitate him.  His death was ruled as natural, especially after it was discovered that he had suffered for many years from a weak heart and chronic sickness.  The obituaries the following day praised the scientist's accomplishment, and his commitment as a humanitarian.  Mention was also made of his deep involvement with human rights organisations.

Alex Krycek took a deep breath, body loose, face cool, and opened the car door.  The shadow in the opposite corner waited until he'd got in, sat down opposite him, then said softly, "Hello, Alex."

"Sir," voice calm, respectful.

"Do you have it?"  Not a man to waste words, his boss.

Krycek dug into his pocket and withdrew a small computer disk, handing it over.  "I got it."

The man took it, glancing at it briefly before tucking it in the inside his coat.  "Good," he looked over at Alex.  "It doesn't bother you?"

"What, sir?"

"The data on that disk will mean the death of hundreds, possibly thousands of people."  A smile slid across his face.  "Innocent, brave people."

Krycek barely stopped himself from shrugging.  "None of my business."

The other man cleared his throat, lighting up a cigarette, "Very true.  However, I had been wondering if your recent, ah, involvement, with Special Agent Scully had changed your point of view.  I wouldn't like that to happen Alex, I wouldn't like that all."

The not so subtle warning in the gravelly voice made Krycek's stomach clench in tension, and he had to make an effort to breathe evenly, "Yes, sir."

A dry cough, Krycek finally identified as the old bastard laughing.  "Very good," he picked up a small briefcase that was standing by his feet, giving it to the younger man.  "Your payment."

Krycek took it, but gave it only a brief cursory glance.  He had no doubt his payment, in full, would be in there.  Cheating on money was not the way the Consortium worked.  They would steal your soul, but they would always pay you for it.

"Thank you."  He started to open the door grateful to get away when the older man blew out a cloud of smoke and froze him with his words.

"There is another small service we would like you to perform for us, Alex."

Krycek sank back, very carefully.  "You know it doesn't work like that, sir, I'm strictly freelance."

Dry as dust, "You may like to think of it that way.  But don't forget we still have a leash around your neck."

And he could feel it choke him right now.  Trying to gather his composure, he said brittly, "I appreciate the confidence, sir, but right now I've got more than enough money."

"There are other forms of payment.  You have recently exhibited a close interest in the death of Melissa Scully."

Krycek stiffened abruptly, voice toneless.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

A harsh rattle he identified as another chuckle.  "My dear, Alex, do not insult my intelligence.  Don't you think we know what you've been doing?  As well as your rather interesting solution to Special Agent Scully's dislike of you?"

Krycek sat very still.  God how he wanted to kill the old son of a bitch, if he could just get his hands around that scrawny neck.  A single twist and he could almost feel the bone crack.  Suppressing the thought, he said cautiously, "And what exactly are you offering, sir?"

"Information on Melissa Scully's whereabouts."

Krycek almost laughed, "I already know that's not her in the photo, so why should I want to find another clone?"

A cloud of smoke filled the car, "Are you sure, Alex?"

Krycek stiffened, "Yes, sir."

"Ah, well, perhaps Agent Scully would be more interested."

Knowing when he was beat was something Krycek had learned from painful experience.  Levelly he asked, "What's the mission?"

Not a muscle moved in the smoker's face, but Krycek could see the smugness.  "This," he handed the dark man a photo of a young, pretty woman getting into a car.  "Dr.  Elizabeth Berkley, she works at the Sun Alliance R&D department.  She is currently heading a project on artificial intelligence.  We want to know everything she does, and then we want her, shall we say, disposed of."

Krycek took the photo, "You want her dead?  How soon?"

"You misunderstand, we want her taken care of yes, but before she dies we want to know everything she knows."

Krycek looked up with a frown, "Why me?  This looks like a fairly simple snatch and debrief mission."

"Again, you misunderstand, the moment her superiors know she has been taken they will immediately destroy all the data we need to access.  Thus we need the right person to, ah, persuade her to cooperate, and then we want her death to be considered an accident and completely unconnected by her work."

Krycek stiffened.  "I don't do honey pots any more," he said flatly.

"You may want to change your mind about that."  A sudden deadly softness, "you're one of the best, Alex, but no one is irreplaceable, especially a man who's loyalties are, shall we say, suspect…"

A small involuntary motion before schooling himself to stillness.  "So why am I not dead?"

"Because for the moment you are of more use to us alive than dead, but do remember that can change at any moment."

Not something he was about to forget.  However, Krycek only said flatly, "I'll do it, but the price has gone up."

An affable nod, "What do you want?"

"This is the last one I ever work for you, you stay out of my life, out of Scully's as well.  Take it or leave it."

There was a long silence and then, "Very well Alex.  It is a deal, you give us Elizabeth Berkley and all debts are canceled."

"I walk away."

"You walk away."

A just noticeable relaxation, hoping against hope that the old s.o.b was telling the truth.  "Fine," he opened the car door, "I'll get in touch as soon as I've got what you want."

Shoulders hunched, Alex Krycek walked away from the black car with its forged license plates and the man he both hated and needed.

Scully eased her car to a stop outside Hadley Place and turned off the engine, but didn't get out immediately.  She badly needed time to think, to try and bring some kind of order into the chaos that her life had become.  She had meant to drive home.  But somehow she found herself here, on her way to a man who hated her, who she hated.  Except…  with an exclamation of disgust, Scully bit her lip.  All through the long, wearying day the memory of Alex Krycek holding her during the night had given her a funny little twinge and had provided her with a much needed comfort.

The day had been, to put it plainly, horrible.  Mulder had fumed over her 'underhanded tricks' as he called them, and had gone off to sulk, and work, with the other profilers.  Skinner had gone after her for the failure of the forensic labs to be more accurate, all but accusing her of not putting in 100%.  If she hadn't seen the strain, the dark pouches under his eyes, she might have snapped back.  But as it was, she had bit her tongue and just said, yes sir, and no sir, in the right places.  It just went to show just how much this case had them all rattled.  Yet she couldn't help wondering why it was that everyone but her was allowed to act out their emotions.

Finally she had spent five frustrating hours going through the Highway Patrol logs, trying to discover a link between the murders, pouring over literally thousands of records, definitely not her favourite occupation.  It was pure grunt work, but with the small size of the task force they were all having to turn their hands to doing things below their dignity - only yesterday she had caught Skinner actually making coffee.  A little abashed he'd explained that his secretary was off making a database search for him - well, everyone except for the damned profilers, that was…

To top it all off Elliot Carstairs had acted as if she'd spent the night making mad passionate love to Mulder - not that she'd want him to know the truth about where she'd been last night and with whom, Scully thought grimly - but his smug disapproval still had her grinding her teeth.  By the time she was ready to leave, and feeling damned guilty for doing so since she knew Mulder was still working, Scully was ready to tear out her hair and shriek at the top of her voice.  A reluctant smile curled her mouth, that would be the day when Dana Katherine Scully, MD would ever do anything so insane.  Of course, some people would think sleeping with a man like Alex Krycek would class her as certifiable.

Two months ago she would probably have agreed.

Scully sighed and picked up her briefcase with all the forensic reports as a little light bedside reading.  She knew how microscopic was the chance of getting Mulder out and home tonight.  But perhaps she should scoot up there, see if she could help him.  Acting on impulse she changed direction and walked upstairs to the room where the BSU were housed.  Not bothering to knock she pushed open the door.  Mulder was sitting there alone, with his back to her, feet on the desk, a can of coke perched precariously on top of a pile of folders, leafing through yet another report.

"Mulder, put that down and go home," she said sitting down opposite him.

He scowled at her, "I'm not talking to you at the moment."

"Is that supposed to be a threat or a reward?"  she asked mildly.

He gave her a dirty look.  "Go away, Scully."

She stood up again, "That's what I was planning on doing."  In reply to the question she saw in his eyes, "we finished the autopsies two days ago and they've called in expert crisis counselors to help the families deal with the trauma."  She sighed heavily.  "What's left is just a lot of legwork, I've been searching the DMV registers, and the Highway Patrol reports hoping for a lead.  How are you doing?"

"Like shit!"  he growled, tossing the file on top of the others.  She had to dive forward to save the papers as the whole pile started to glide.  For which she, naturally, received no thanks just another glower.

"I can't get a grip on him, Scully.  It's as if," he searched in frustration for the right words.  "He's constantly changing.  Slipping through my hands like smoke."

He paused, scowling at the can of coke, "You remember Bill Patterson?"

"How could I forget?"  she said dryly.  "It's not every day one of the country's most respected FBI agents turns out to be a psychopathic serial killer."

Mulder half-closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair until it balanced on two legs.

"Yeah, well he always told us to understand a killer, we had to become the killer.  It wasn't enough to just understand how his mind was working.  A profiler had to absorb everything the killer is and was."  He frowned, "do you understand, Scully?  To crack this I have to understand what makes him tick.  To feel the same kind of pleasure he feels in abducting and torturing and murdering those girls.  I honestly always thought that was too high a price to pay, I still do.  But for this case," he pushed his fingers through thick disheveled hair, "I can see his point of view."

Very quietly, hiding her sudden fear, she asked, "Is that what you're doing Mulder?  Becoming the killer?"

"I've been trying to.  But it's not working!"  he sounded frustrated.  "He keeps changing, as if…"  his voice trailed away and suddenly the chair thumped to the floor, "as if he's not one but several, which is impossible from the forensic evidence gathered at the scenes, we're dealing with a single killer.  Scully!"  a rising note of excitement.  "What if the killer suffers from a multiple personality disorder?"

"Mulder, Multiple Personality Disorder is extremely rare, and medical science is still divided on whether it should be classified as a clinical illness, furthermore…"  she stopped at his frown and evident irritation.  "But certainly if the killer was to suffer from genuine MPD then obviously none of the usual profiling methods would work on him.  One or several of his personalities would be completely unaware of what the murderous personality was doing."

Speaking very calmly she continued.  "And even if we had the murderer himself in for questioning, he would be innocent, hence we might have to discount some of the eyewitness accounts."

"Yes, yes, yes!!  That could be the key!  Where the hell is Carstairs?!"  He grabbed a pencil scribbling frantically, muttering to himself.

As soon as Carstairs and the other profilers arrived, she and Mulder presented their idea, and there were exclamations of immediate agreements, and a new eagerness and sense of purpose as everyone rushed to their desks working with the new theory.

Scully left to pour herself a cup of coffee from the thermos on the bench by the window.  Holding the plastic cup, sipping the lukewarm bitterness, she almost smiled watching Mulder argue with one of the other profilers, hair askew from having hands pushed through it repeatedly.  No tie, and shirt wrinkled and with half the buttons missing completed the picture.

"What a waste," startled, she looked up and realized Elliot Carstairs was standing by her shoulder, watching Mulder as well.

"What do you mean, sir?"  she asked.

"Mulder, throwing away his life on chasing after UFOs.  Bill was right, he is brilliant.  Damn!  I wish I could get him back to Quantico with us after this case is over."

"He wouldn't come, sir," Scully said, a bit of an edge slipping into her voice.

Carstairs glanced at her, "I know, which is why I said it was a damn shame.  Agent Scully, you're a scientist, a realist, you tell me, it doesn't bother you that Mulder is skulking in a cellar somewhere investigating Elvis sightings, when he could make a real contribution, save lives, as a profiler."

Scully let her eyes rest on Mulder for a long time, and then she replied slowly, "I used to think so yes, but I've come to realize that he makes a different but equally valid contribution in the X-Files."

She shook her head, "Besides, to be frank sir, I don't think Mulder ever should have become a profiler, brilliant or not.  He," she searched for the right words, "is too intense, too obsessive.  He would have either burned out by now, or followed the path of Patterson.  It's not that he's afraid of responsibility, far from it.  But I have seen him on cases where lives depend on him, and he turns…  driven is the best word I can think of.  He will do literally anything to save a life.  If his every assignment was a matter of life and death, especially with multiple innocent victims like the ones involving the serial killers and terrorists you specialise in at the BSU out at Quantico, I think he would go insane.  This way," she smiled a little wryly, "the grimness is occasionally enlivened by such sheer weirdness, it helps liven things up, and refresh him."

Carstairs crossed his arms.  "You seem to know him well, Agent Scully."

"We've been partners for some time now," she said calmly, "he's saved my life more than once, we've been through some bad times together, that tends to bring people close."

"True, but you and Mulder are closer than most," there was just a hint of insinuation, that made her silently bristle.  Yet she knew by now there was little use in defending herself or Mulder, so she contented herself with an enigmatic look, turning away from Carstairs and walking over to Mulder, quietly interjecting a word or two, listening.  In an unconscious completely natural gesture, Mulder moved his chair so she could sit down, drawing her into the discussion, and soon they were bouncing ideas off each other, so closely attuned they were all but finishing each others sentences.

Sitting in the darkness of her car Scully thought of the closeness, the rightness of working with a man who so completely understood her.  Who accepted her for what she was, 'warts and all,' and how mad she must be to risk it all for - what?  A man she despised?  A man who doled out crumbs when he felt like it.  Why didn't she just tell Mulder?  Together they could surely break Krycek, force him to give her the information she craved.  Why did she continue to play his game?  To come running when he whistled?  And, oh God, what would she do if Mulder ever found out?

All her life she had sought what Mulder had so casually given her since the first day they were partnered; unqualified acceptance.  Of course, her career choices, first as a doctor specialising in forensic pathology and then the FBI, making her way in a male dominated world, she had gotten used to being judged in advance for what, rather than who, she was.  No one before Mulder had looked at her and seen not a woman, not a doctor, not a scientist or FBI agent, but simply Dana Scully.  Most men saw only the slender curvy figure, the red-hair and blue eyes, and treated her accordingly.

Her hands slowly clenched on the wheel, and her lips curved into a bitter smile as she realized only one other man had ever treated her like a complete equal; neither giving nor asking for mercy.  And that was the man waiting for her in the apartment above.  Whatever else you could say of Krycek; you had to admit he was decidedly Political Correct, in that he didn't care if you were a man or a woman.  Whether he was seducing or killing you.

Scully slowly opened the car door, knowing there had never been any choice to make.  She knew what he was.  And yet, whatever it was that tied her to Alex Krycek it wouldn't let go so easy.  Hadn't she always known what she was going to do in the end?  She couldn't fool herself any longer it was only Melissa who kept her coming back.  She was caught and she knew it.

Knocking on the door, she waited for a minute before it opened and Krycek was standing there.  He must have just showered, because his hair was still damp and curling slightly at the back.  He was wearing a white shirt and the usual black jeans, and he looked younger, more vulnerable tonight, she thought as she walked in.  Hiding her sudden awkwardness beneath briskness.

He didn't touch her, stepping back a little putting his hand in his back pocket.  "I wasn't sure you'd come," he said quietly.

Scully gave him an enigmatic look, "I wasn't sure I had a choice."

He stared at her, and to her amazement he actually looked hurt.  "No, no Dana, that's not what I meant this morning."

She looked at him steadily.  "Then what did you mean, Krycek?  You're playing games and I don't know what the rules are."

He turned away.  "I didn't mean anything.  I wanted you to come here, because you wanted to.  Not, not, because of anything else."

Scully bit her lip, "Krycek, you blackmail me into sleeping with you, you treat me like a wh -"

"NO!"  he suddenly swung around, grabbing her shoulders shaking them hard.  "No," a little calmer, "I never thought of you as a whore, and trust me, Dana Scully, I've got a hell of a lot more experience with whores than you do."

She stared at him, a little frightened.  "I didn't mean it like that, I," she broke free, "I don't know what I meant," she muttered.  "I knew this was a really bad idea, maybe I should just leave."

"No, I," he pushed his one good hand through his hair, "look, Dana, I'm sorry, this wasn't the way I wanted it to be.  Look, I," he broke off and walked over to the sofa table and picked up a thick folder.  Returning he held it out to her silently.

"What is this?"

He looked at her steadily, but his hands were actually trembling slightly.  "This is every scrap of information about your sister, about Melissa.  She is dead, at least I," he broke off, "I honestly thought she was dead, Dana.  I really did."

Scully stared at the folder, at the file taking away her last hope that Melissa was alive.  A long slow tremble started, grew until she was shaking like a leaf, "No, you're lying!"

"No, I'm not," Krycek muttered, eyes sliding away, and still holding out the folder.  "I, chort!  I'm sorry Dana."

She whispered through stiff lips, "You said you'd met her."

Krycek turned away, putting the folder on a small table by the door, "I lied."

"You bastard!"

"I know," his voice was strained.  "But, Dana," he hesitated and then said softly, "today, I met someone, and they, he, claimed that what is in that folder may not be all the truth."

Her eyes were enormous, dark pools of misery and vulnerability.  "Please, please, Krycek, don't do this to me," she begged.  "I can't stand being torn between hope and despair any longer.  Why are you doing this?"  Anguish thickened her soft voice, "why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh, Dana.  Christ no!  I don't hate you, I've never hated you!"  He came forward, taking her in his arms, gentle as if she was made of spun glass.  "I never meant it to be like this."

"Then how did you mean it, Krycek?"  she demanded bitterly stiffening at his touch.  "What did you mean to do?  Screw me until you had enough and then just leave, that," she nodded at the folder, "as a good-bye present?"

He breathed in shakily.  "I didn't think at all.  All I knew was that you would never have let me touch you if I didn't have some leverage."

She jerked away, "Nor would I!"

He bit his lip, not making any further attempt to touch her, almost as pale as she.  "So, that was my only chance.  But I can't do this to you.  I want you to come to me because you want me, as I want you."

Despite herself, she couldn't help the question burning on her lips.  "How do you want me?  An itch that you just couldn't scratch?  As a substitute for Mulder?  What Krycek?!"

He flinched, and for a moment she didn't think he would answer.  But then he told her, evenly, "I want whatever you're willing to give me, Dana.  I've sunk that low.  I want you, body, mind and soul.  I want you to think only of me to want only me, half as much as I want you!"

All anger drained away and Scully just stared at him, stunned, not sure she had heard right.  She wondered if this was just another of his cruel games.  Waited for him to laugh and mock her credulity.  But when she finally focused she saw only the stark white of his skin, the desperate intensity of dark-green burning eyes, the hand opening and closing convulsively.

Reaching out she took the folder from him.  He released it easily, almost thrusting the thing at her.

"I can walk out that door, and never come back, Alex, you know that."

Mutely he nodded, not willing to risk his voice.

She didn't open the folder, didn't glance at it even once.  "Damn you, Krycek, damn you to hell!"

A twisted smile, "Been there, done that, didn't even get a T-shirt."

She almost laughed before she caught herself.  "I should go."

He said nothing, just waited.  Still.  Withdrawn.

She didn't know why she wasn't already out the door with the folder clutched to her chest.  Why was she was still standing there, staring at the dark man watching her so intensely.

"Why, Alex?"  she said very softly, and wasn't sure what she asking.  Why had he blackmailed her, why had he decided to be honest at last, why did he want her….

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I once read somewhere, I can't remember where, that 'the worst sin - perhaps the only sin - passion can commit, is to be joyless.  It must lie down with laughter or make it's bed in hell'…  I never knew what the author meant until this morning."

A sudden weary bitterness, shadowed his voice and face.  "Oh, don't get me wrong, I've bought, and sold, lust, often enough and it's never bothered me.  Not until today.  But this morning," he paused, lifting those amazing eyes to look at her steadily.  "This morning showed me what true passion is.  And now the memory of those other times makes me sick.  I don't want your reluctant acquiescence.  I want you like you were then.  Laughing, happy, taking as much as you were giving.  A, a lover, not a fuck."

Very softly he said, "You can walk out that door, Dana, and never come back.  I swear I won't say a word to Mulder."  And oddly enough, considering their past dealings, she was certain he was telling her the truth.  That he would keep his word.  "I have nothing left to bargain with."

She didn't know what to say, what to do.  She took one step towards the door; Krycek made no motion to stop her.  He remained where he was, quiet, waiting.

She looked at him, at the man who had humiliated and degraded her.  The man she owed nothing.  The man who was a killer, a liar, and a thief.  The man she hated, except it wasn't true.  Not any longer.  At some point he had stopped being Krycek and had become Alex, her Alex.

Slowly, her eyes never leaving him she took another step: He tensed, but still didn't move.  She put her hand on the doorhandle and he made a small involuntary movement before checking it sharply.  Apart from that he was still as a statue.  Only his eyes lived, watched as the light walked out of his life.

That one small motion sealed both their fates.

She would have left, never to see him again except across the barrel of a gun, but for that unconscious movement.  It reminded her, not of the morning, but of last night, of the way he covered her hand with his one remaining one.  Of him holding her while she cried in his arms.

It was, in the end, not the ecstasy he wrung from her body that made her stay but the memory of the man who held her while she wept.  Who was tender when she needed tenderness, the man who seemed instinctively to know, not just how to hurt, but to give her comfort and something more…  Safety?  Solace?  Love?  She was never sure, she just knew in that moment that she could never walk away from him.

The folder dropped from suddenly nerveless hands and slipped to the floor with a soft flutter of paper.

"Dana?  Dorogaya?"  He sounded uncertain, apprehensive.

Scully lifted her hand and slapped him, hard.  His head snapped, and he staggered back against the wall.

Krycek lifted a hand to his chin touching it gingerly, and smiled ruefully, "I guess I deserved that."

"Yes you did, and more.  You really are a bastard."

"I know."  His smile grew from deep inside his soul.  "But you're not going, are you?"  She didn't say anything and his smile slipped.  "Dana?"

"No, I'm not," Scully said quietly.  "But if you ever lie to me again, Alex, I will not only never come back, but I will personally make sure you spend the next thirty years in a maximum security prison.  Do you understand?"

Far from looking frightened his smile widened.  He looked more like a man promised eternal salvation than one being threatened with imprisonment.  Krycek took one step, two, and suddenly she was in his arms.  They closed around her as if he never intended to let her go again.

He murmured into her ear, "That was your last chance, Dana.  I was going to let you go, but you've made your choice, forever."  And standing in the circle of his arms, Dana Scully knew that it was indeed too late, for either of them.

Two weeks later, when they were still no closer to getting their serial killer, Scully wondered what she would have done without Krycek.  Mulder was retreating further and further away from her.  They were all putting in fourteen, eighteen hour days, living on takeout and gallons of coffee.  Tempers were beginning to fray.  There were frequent disagreements, arguments, and as always Scully was the person supposed to keep them together, working as a team.  The person they all looked to, to keep her brilliant but maverick partner in line.

She was frequently tired, angry, and frustrated enough to scream.  But when she came home so exhausted she had to drag herself from the car, Alex was there.  What really mattered were not the dinners, the care he lavished on her comfort.  Like the time he'd brought a Japanese masseuse who was waiting for her, because the day before she'd complained about a stiff back.  Not even the times he seemed instinctively to know that she needed to be held.  The times when she had to pour out all the ugliness, the pain and terror she had seen all day.

What she came to treasure was the fact that he was there.  That he listened and that he cared for her.  Mulder had many fine qualities but tenderness and concern for his partner were not chief among them.  But no, she was doing her partner a disservice, she knew.  He was even deeper into this case than she was, and unlike her, he had no one to take care of him.  Scully almost smiled.  The truth was that neither was she a particularly tender or caring person.  To her immense surprise Alex Krycek was.  Either that or he was a superb actor.

She wondered at times over the care he lavished on her.  The change from the mysterious stranger using her own body against her to the tender, considerate lover was too great to be able to accept without questions.  Finally she did what Dana Scully had always done; asked him outright.

Inevitably they were in bed.  He was holding her, already half-asleep judging from the slow relaxed breathing.  His body lax, moulded against hers - if there was one single thing that fascinated her about Krycek it was his seemingly endless need to be close.  To touch her.  She had always thought him rather standoffish, and remembering Mulder's complaints, had expected him to be the same with her.  To keep his distance, to need the space.  Instead she was the one in danger of feeling claustrophobic as he wrapped himself around her bodily and mentally.

Suppressing a yawn, Scully murmured sleepily, "Some day you'll have to tell me why you're doing this, Alex."

A drowsy drawl.  "Do what?"

She snuggled into his shoulder.  "Your best to turn into the lover of my dreams."

His eyes snapped open.  If she'd looked up, she would have seen a startled, naked vulnerability.  There was also a brief shadow flying over his face, as if reminded of something he would much rather not be.  He asked rather bleakly, "You think that's what I'm doing?"

She yawned, burrowing deeper.  "Isn't it?  You're perfect, Alex, you never complain, never think of anything but me and what I want."  She murmured sleepily, "You listen patiently when I ramble on and on about work.  You give and give, and I give nothing in return."

He rolled over, leaning on his elbow, looking down into her face.  "Nothing in return?  Dana do you have the faintest idea of just how much you've already given me?  The difference you've made in my life?"

There was a dangerous heat lightning his eyes from inside.  Emotion intense enough to make her a little uncomfortable.  He bent his head and kissed her deeply.  A slow, thorough, drugging, kiss.  "Dana, Dana, what you do to me."  He brushed back a strand of red hair from her forehead.  "You really have no idea what a miracle you are, do you?"

"Me?"  She was genuinely surprised.  "I'm a very ordinary person."

A soft, incredulous laugh.  "You ordinary?  Like a nova is ordinary!"  He sobered.  "You remind me that there is another world out there."  He burrowed his face in her neck.  "I've lived in shadows and darkness so long dousha and you bring me light and life and laughter.  Everything I'd forgotten existed."

And listening to the quiet dark voice whispering of need and want, Scully dared to believe he was telling the truth.

She even found herself, against all regulations, discussing the case with him and was surprised by the shrewd, incisive comments he made.  Although some of them were strangely skewed, and from one or two casual observations, it became evident that he was brought up in a far more ruthless school than the FBI.  She even commented on it one night over dinner.

"Well, I did graduate from Quantico.  And I was Mulder's partner, so I'm not a total greenhorn."

"Granted, but it's more than that," she gave him a long thoughtful look over her Peking duck, "don't try and fool me, Alex, you've had a hell of a lot more experience at this than just Quantico and your time as Mulder's partner, haven't you?"

He avoided her glance, forking up his fried noodles.  "Yes and no."

"Meaning what exactly?"

He drank down some beer.  "Let's just say that I've seen it from both sides, okay?"

Scully frowned, "What are you talking about?"

He sighed and put down his chopsticks, telling her levelly.  "Dana, I've been hunted by the FBI, remember?  And trust me when you're on the run, you soon learn how to keep moving.  To keep your tracks covered.  You also spend a lot of time thinking and wondering what the agents after you are thinking and planning.  Besides, in a way you're right, Quantico wasn't my first experience with, umm, law enforcement of a kind.  In Russia - " he broke off, "it doesn't matter."  And that shuttered, closed look she hated suddenly locked her out of his thoughts and mind.

Realising that she was once again running up against the invisible wall he kept around him, Scully did not push.  The more she learned about Alex Krycek the more questions she had.  It was strange, she had slept with him, she was beginning to care for him to a dangerous degree, yet she felt as if she didn't know him at all, and for every little revelation about himself, the more uncertain she felt.

Later that night she was reading some forensic notes, sitting on the floor by the sofa table, bare feet buried in a deep velvety carpet.  Mozart was playing softly in the background.  To her surprise, and faint embarrassment for stereotyping, she found that Krycek's tastes ran towards the classics, with a preference for the melodic and whimsical; Mozart, Schubert and Liszt.

Alex was on the sofa, reading a book, glancing over at her once in a while.  Sometimes they shared a quiet smile, a murmured comment.  Scully reflected more than once how lovely it was to be able to simply be quiet together.  Something very rare and restful she was forced to admit.  Especially to someone used to Mulder's constant, aggressive flow of thoughts, ideas, theories.  His agile mind jumping from tangent to tangent.

She was engrossed in a forensic lab report on victim number five's blood type when Alex put the book aside.

"I have to talk to you."

She glanced up, "Shoot."

"I have to leave, Dana, I'll be back in a couple of weeks or so."

That caught her attention.  She put down the report, heart suddenly beating a little faster.  "Can I ask where you're going?"  Adding quickly, in case he thought she was being nosy.  "Not that I'm interested."

He shook his head, "No, you can't ask, I'm sorry."  He rose and came over to where she was sitting kneeling beside her.  "But you know, this might not be a bad time for you to be alone."  He tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, giving her cheek a small caress at the same time.  Unconsciously she leaned into his fingers, body relaxing, heartbeat slowly picking up speed.

"Why?"  she asked.

"Why what?"  he said distracted, supporting her body weight as they slowly sank to the floor.

"Why do think it's better for me to be alone?"  She moaned faintly when his hand slid around her gently stroking her back.

"Umm…"  he rolled over on his back, pulling her with him so she was sprawled on top of him.  "Because I want more, much more than a few stolen nights," he ignored her slight stiffening.

"I want you to come home to me each night, to share more than my bed…"  He reached up and brought her head down for a long, slow, drugging kiss, and when he finally broke off, she was squirming against him.  "So you think about that while I'm gone.  Think about this," his hand worked itself down her body, knowing exactly where to linger, where to tease and where to stroke until she was writhing mindless.  No thought but his hand and mouth and body making her forget everything but him, and what he made her feel and do….

Later that night, getting ready for bed, Scully was drying her hair in front of the mirror, and reflecting over the weird normality of her situation.  Rather like an episode of the old 'Twilight Zone' tv show that Mulder swore was one of the true pinnacles of 20th century culture.

What, after all, could be more normal and common place than two adults sharing a bed, and tenatively building a realtionship?  Turning off the hair-dryer and shaking out her hair, she thought dryly the only problem was that she was a FBI agent and he was wanted for murder, treason and theft.  A match made in heaven.  What the hell was she doing here, Scully asked herself for the millionth time, and for the millionth time not finding a good answer, when her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a crash from the bathroom and then muffled cursing.

Going across the bedroom she knocked on the door, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine.  Go away, Dana."

But everything was patently not fine, and ignoring the order, Scully opened the door.

Alex was on his knees, scrambling for the mug he used for brushing his teeth and which had fallen on the floor.

Scully leaned against the door, and asked casually, "What are you doing down there, Krycek, seeking your own natural level?"

"Funny, funny, Scully," he gave her a glare.  "I knocked the thing over and it rolled behind the toilet."

She knelt beside him and picked up the mug, putting it back by the washbasin.  He was still on the floor, head bent, knees drawn up, and giving in to impulse she stroked his hair, tangling her fingers in the silky soft strands.  "What's the matter, Alex?"  she asked gently when he still didn't look at her.

A mixture of anger and bitterness reflected in shadowed green eyes.  "I can't even brush my teeth properly.  Every little thing, taking a shower, cooking dinner, driving a car, it's become a problem.  Dammit!"  he looked away but not before she could see something very close to tears, "I can't do anything!"

Scully had to swallow, feeling emotion prickling the corner of her eyes.  Usually he dismissed the loss of his arm so easily, she hadn't realized how much it must have affected him.  Once again, she thought later, underestimating him.

"You can do anything you want, Alex.  And besides," a teasing look, "you still have all your, ah, necessary parts…"

He hid his face in her neck, trying to laugh although it came out closer to a sob.  "Yeah, if I had to get something cut off, I guess it was lucky it was my arm.  I wouldn't have been much use to you otherwise."

"Actually I was referring to your brain," she murmured demurely.

This time his laugh was real.  Using his one remaining arm to pull her close to him, twisting around so they were side by side, leaning their backs against the bathtub.  "That's my Scully, the logical FBI agent," he put his arm around her shoulders.

She snuggled close feeling a strange pleasure at the easy allusion to being his.  "Guilty as charged."

He leaned his head against her breast, "I'm going to miss you, Dana.  Damn, I wish I didn't have to leave."

A gentle, soft caress, her fingers running through his hair, had him groaning in pleasure.  "Do you really?"

He raised his head kissing her gently.  "I'm afraid so.  Going to miss me, Scully?"

"In your dreams, Krycek," but her smile was tender and teasing.  The kiss deep, and, not hesitant to show it any longer, very hungry.

End Part 2
Continued in Part 3

Like what you've read?  Send feedback

Main Page