Title: Pawns and Players

Author: LC Fenster

Category: Post-ep fic (TF/OS), Krycek, mytharc

Rating: PG-13 for language and violence; M/K UST

Spoilers: Anything through Two Fathers/One
Son is fair game. 

Archive: Ask me. I'll probably say yes, but I want
to know where it's going.

Summary: Like the title says.  But who are the
pawns, and who are the players?

Disclaimer: Much to my chagrin, the X-Files
characters belong to 1013 and FOX.  I promise 
to return them in somewhat better shape than 
when I borrowed them.  Most of them, anyway.
Original names and characters are my own and 
may not be used elsewhere without permission.

Warnings: I'm a serious plot junkie, and this is
very plot-heavy.  It may also be slashy
in a couple of places, but no more so than the
show itself.  NO SEX.  And Krycek figures 
pretty heavily in the plot, so if you don't like
reading stories about the Rat, you may be well
advised to pass on this one.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I didn't like TF/OS, so 
this is how I made things come out the way I 
wanted.  I owe a number of people a huge debt
of gratitude for their help with this puppy.  I'd
like to thank Celeste, Monica, Imajiru, Eileen,
Sylvia and Cynthia for their incisive comments 
and suggestions; Luvmulder for her wonderful
medical guidance; Apache for her terrific help
in providing information about government
agencies, hospitals in Washington, and general
D.C. information.  A special thanks to Josan, 
who stepped in to do a last-minute beta for me,
and who contributed a number of suggestions
the rest of us had missed.  There is no doubt 
that Pawns and Players is a FAR better story 
for your efforts than it otherwise would have 
been.  Thanks, guys!

All remaining glitches are, of course, mine own.

Feedback is always welcome at 
lucienlc@ix.netcom.com


********************************


PAWNS AND PLAYERS
by LC Fenster



// February 24, 1999 //
// FBI Headquarters, Washington DC //



"I'm going to pack up my office."

The words sliced through the familiar pattern of
charges and countercharges, bringing the meeting to
a sudden and abrupt halt.  With hard-won dignity,
Jeffrey Spender rose to his feet and left the office,
ignoring Kersh's angry demands for him to stop. 
The furious AD turned on Agent Mulder,
demanding answers.

"Who burned those people?"

"They burned themselves," came the cryptic reply. 
"With a choice made long ago by a conspiracy of
men, who thought they could sleep with the enemy --
only to awaken another enemy."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means the future is here -- all bets are off,"
Mulder replied soberly, leaving Kersh no wiser than
before.  Balked, the Assistant Director tried Mulder's
partner.

"Agent Scully, make some sense."

Agent Scully was even less informative.  "Sir, I
wouldn't bet against him."

An awkward silence settled over the room, finally
broken by Kersh.

"Well."  The AD once again lifted Spender's terse
letter of resignation, studying the two-sentence
document as though it could somehow provide a
better explanation of events than anyone had yet
given.  Eventually he forced himself to face the other
occupants of the room. Mulder, Scully and Skinner
were all watching him expectantly.  He sighed, letting
the letter fall back onto his desk.

"In light of what we have just heard and in view of
the affidavit Agent Spender provided earlier today,
withdrawing the charges he had made against you
and pronouncing himself fatally compromised by
virtue of an alliance with an extra-governmental
agency, I am referring this matter back to OPR for a
full investigation.  You remain on administrative
leave, Agents, pending said inquiry, but in light of
Agent Spender's statement, I would anticipate your
reassignment shortly."  His eyes bored into Mulder,
daring him to gloat.

But Mulder's thoughts were still on Jeffrey Spender's
bombshell, as he replayed the young agent's remarks
over and over in his mind, searching for nuances,
hidden meanings, hints of truths previously
unrevealed. 

"Are we finished here, sir?" Mulder asked, belatedly
realizing that he was expected to respond.

"For the present.  But hold yourselves available,
Agents.  I imagine that OPR will want to speak with
you again in the very near future."  Kersh leveled
another glare in the direction of his least favorite
agent, but once again, Mulder failed to notice.

"Yes, sir."  Mulder excused himself and left Kersh's
office at a brisk clip, Scully in his wake.  AD Skinner
remained behind, apparently feeling the need to
continue the dialogue with Kersh.

"Mulder?"  Scully had to race to catch up.  "Where
are you off to?"

"I want to have a word with Agent Spender before he
leaves.  I'd like to find out just how much he knows;
what caused his change of heart.  He was in the thick
of it, Scully; just think: he may know details about his
father and the Consortium and the aliens that could
be of incredible value in breaking this conspiracy
wide open." 

"Mulder, there isn't a conspiracy any longer.  They're
all dead."

"Not all of them, Scully," Mulder observed,
reminding her of the one individual whose corpse was
notably absent from the massacre site.  "And the
aliens are still out there."

Scully looked at him.  She didn't quite roll her eyes,
but then, she didn't have to.  "I don't recall Agent
Spender mentioning any aliens in his affidavit."

Mulder shook his head.  "Of course not.  Spender
knows how to play the game. He knew it would be a
waste of time and would only make him look foolish
to the pencil-pushers at OPR.  Those time-serving
bureaucrats aren't ready to hear the truth."

"Or perhaps there aren't any aliens," Scully
countered.  "Or maybe Jeffrey Spender simply doesn't
know very much.  Even assuming for the moment
that there is extraterrestrial involvement here -- and
you know I won't accept that, Mulder, not without a
lot more hard evidence than we've seen to date -- you
still don't know how much Agent Spender's father
may actually have told him. Probably very little,
judging from the way the man safeguards his secrets. 
I don't think Jeffrey Spender is going to be able to
help us very much, even assuming he is now inclined
to do so."

"I won't accept that, Scully," Mulder continued
stubbornly.  "Not until I hear it from his own mouth."

They swept down the corridor leading to the
basement office that had been their "home" for almost
five years.  The office door was closed.  Mulder
hesitated momentarily, then knocked, resisting the
impulse to sail right in.  The office was still
technically Agent Spender's, at least for the moment. 
Mulder wasn't likely to gain his cooperation by
reasserting possession before the young man had
even finished packing his things.  

There was no response, so he tried the door handle. 
Locked.  

An uneasy feeling prickled at the pit of his stomach. 
He knocked again, more urgently this time. 

"Agent Spender?" Still no response.  He and Scully
exchanged glances.  "He said he was coming down
here ..."

They both heard the low moan from inside the room. 
His fears crystallized, Mulder kicked the door open
and dove inside, gun at the ready.  Scully flanked
him, ready to provide covering fire if necessary.

But it was obvious that it was all over except the
dying.  An unconscious Jeffrey Spender lay sprawled
across his desk, blood pooling beneath him from a
gunshot wound to the abdomen. The desk phone
receiver, smeared with blood, sat beside his lax
fingers.  There was no sign of his assailant.

In an instant, Scully had holstered her weapon and
moved to put pressure on the wound.  Mulder was on
his cell phone, calling for assistance.  The desk phone
was useless, the line cut, as Agent Spender had
probably discovered before losing consciousness.

"He's still alive," Scully reported after a cursory
examination.  "But it's a nasty wound.  Considering
the locked door and cut phone line, I would guess
that whoever did this meant for him to die slowly and
painfully.  From what Kersh told us, Agent Fowley is
still in the field, heading up the investigation into the
massacre at El Rico Air Base, and nobody else was
likely to intrude with the door closed and locked. 
This is very definitely a slow kill shot, and the
shooter made no attempt to finish him off."  She and
Mulder exchanged a grim, knowing look.

"The paramedics are on their way," Mulder reported. 
"I've notified Skinner, and he's on the way down.
Kersh is organizing a building lockdown, to try and
intercept the shooter. I wish them better luck
catching assassins than they've had with arsonists,"
he added contemptuously, confident that the search
would prove fruitless.  "Skinner is arranging a
24-hour guard for Agent Spender at the hospital."

"Help me, Mulder," Scully ordered.  "He's going into
shock.  I hate to disturb the crime scene, but we have
to get his head down and his feet elevated."  As
gently as possible, the two agents moved the injured
Spender from his chair to the floor.  Mulder grabbed
the nearest stack of case-files to prop up his legs,
while Scully removed her jacket and wrapped it
around the wounded agent.  Mulder followed suit
without being asked; then grabbed Spender's coat
from the coat rack and added that to the pile as they
tried to keep the man warm.
 
"Hopefully Agent Spender will be able to identify the
person who shot him," Scully remarked, keeping
pressure on the wound with one hand, monitoring his
pulse with the other.  As the unconscious man
groaned reflexively, she winced in sympathy,
wondering how soon help would arrive.  "I still can't
believe that someone would carry out so brazen an
attack, right here in the headquarters of the FBI."

"They were brazen enough to torch the place last
year.  Why stop at arson?" Mulder replied. "They
were conveying a message, Scully. And a warning."  

"A warning isn't much good if you're dead," Scully
pointed out.

"I don't think the warning was meant for Agent
Spender," Mulder said tightly.  He looked up at the
rising commotion coming from the hallway.   By
now, word of the shooting had obviously spread
throughout the building, and dozens of angry,
apprehensive, or simply curious agents
were converging on the basement.   "Just what we
don't need," he growled, wondering how they would
fend off the rubberneckers.  He gave a heartfelt sigh
of relief at the sight of a familiar bald pate.

"That's enough, people.  Unless you're assigned to
the forensics investigation, you don't belong
here, and you're in the way.  Everyone get back to
work. *Now*, agents."  AD Skinner pushed his way
through the crowd, barking orders on the way.  He
paused at the doorway long enough to assign
someone to keep everyone else out of the room and
to keep the corridor clear before joining Mulder,
Scully and the unconscious Spender.  

"Thank you, sir," Scully said gratefully.  "It was
beginning to sound like a carnival out there."

"Sorry I was delayed.  I had to brief the top floor
before I came down," Skinner apologized.  He
knelt beside the injured agent, watching his labored
breathing for several moments.  "How --"

His cell phone chimed and he interrupted himself to
answer it.

"Paramedics are in the building," he murmured as he
replaced the phone.  "They'll be here in a
minute or two."

"About time," Mulder grumbled, wiping the sweat
from his forehead.  It had only been a few
minutes since they had found Spender, but he felt as
though he had spent hours standing there
watching the waxen, shallowly breathing body.

"How is he?"  Skinner quietly asked Scully.

"Holding his own, for the moment.  Pulse and
respiration are weak but relatively stable, which
suggests that the internal injuries aren't immediately
life-threatening.  Right now, the main danger is blood
loss, though I think we got to him in time.  He
couldn't have been shot more than a few
minutes before we arrived.  Of course, it's impossible
to tell what internal damage has been done:
we all know that bullets are unpredictable in their
behavior once they enter the human body.  But
I'd say he has a good chance."

"You saw no one?"  This was directed to both of
them.

Mulder shook his head.  "Not a soul.  But I'm sure
Agent Spender can identify his attacker.  If he
survives.  The shot came from point blank range:
there are powder burns on his clothing. 
And there aren't a lot of hiding places in this office." 
He paused.  "Of course, that's assuming
they don't get to him again before we have a chance
to question him." 

"They won't."  Skinner spoke with absolute
assurance.  He and Mulder quickly moved out of the
way as the paramedics came hurtling into the office
with their stretcher.  Scully lingered at
Spender's side to fill in the new arrivals on what
limited medical information she could provide.
The decibel level in the room instantly doubled as
Scully relayed her status information and the
paramedics called instructions back and forth as they
set to work.

 "I hope you're right, sir," Mulder replied, continuing
their conversation as he and Skinner watched the
organized chaos all around them.  "Because when
they learn he has survived, they will try again.  You
know these men. You know they'll stop at nothing in
the pursuit of their goals."

"He's right, sir," Scully agreed, rejoining them after
finishing with the paramedics.  "Agent Spender is still
in great danger."

"Then we'll just have to find a way to stop them,"
Skinner said calmly.  "The two of you are still on
administrative leave; there's no reason you and Agent
Scully can't accompany Agent Spender to the
hospital.  They're taking him to George Washington
University Medical Center. Follow the ambulance and
make sure there are no unscheduled stops along the
way.  Stay with him there, and I'll meet you as soon
as I can."

"Where will you be, sir?"  Scully asked.

"I have to file a preliminary report on the shooting. 
Agent Spender is still technically assigned to my
department until his resignation takes effect.  And I
have to sign the paperwork authorizing
around-the-clock protection.  Also, I want to go over
the duty roster personally to handpick the agents for
that particular assignment."  

He lowered his voice.  Scully and Mulder moved
closer to be able to hear him through the cacaphony
of noise surrounding them.  "I want the two of you to
stay with Agent Spender as much as possible.  Since,
for the moment, you're both still officially on leave, it
will have to be done unofficially."  As he spoke, one
eye was on the paramedics, who had quickly
managed to stabilize their patient and were already
preparing him for transport.  "Better go now, if
you're going to keep up with them."

"I'll get my car," Mulder offered.  "I'll meet you at the
front entrance in five, Scully."  He left the room at a
trot, almost running down Kersh, who had finally
joined the party.  The Assistant Director hastily
stepped out of his way and glared at Skinner, who
matched his glare, daring him to comment.  Before
either man could say anything, though, the
paramedics intervened, clearing the way for their
patient.  Once again, Kersh had to quickly move
aside to avoid being trampled.  

The paramedics hustled the injured Spender out the
door.  Scully and Skinner hurriedly followed, leaving
Kersh to take up the rear.  Behind them, the forensics
team was already pouring into the office.

"Keep him alive, Scully," Skinner said softly, as they
parted company near the elevators.

"Count on it, sir," she replied.

******

Everything was taking too long, as usual.  Skinner
dictated the preliminary report to his secretary;
signed the 24/7 protection authorization form that
Kim had prepared while he was still down in the
basement; and pored over the duty roster, carefully
selecting the agents he considered most competent,
experienced, and above all honest for the duty of
guarding Jeffrey Spender.  He hastily scribbled down
his final selections and handed the assignment
schedule to Kim so it could be typed up and the
agents notified of their new responsibilities.  By the
time he had finished, and had signed the preliminary
report, close to an hour had passed since the
shooting.  Skinner was just packing up a few things
to take with him to the hospital when his private
phone rang.

Wondering who might be calling and impatient at
being further delayed, he momentarily debated
ignoring it; but his finely tuned sense of responsibility
prevailed.  "Skinner." He didn't try to hide the
annoyance in his voice, wanting the call dealt with as
quickly as possible.  He continued to stuff papers into
his briefcase as he spoke.

"It's me." Brief pause. "No names. Can you talk? Is
the line secure?"  

Skinner felt his stomach lurch as he recognized the
voice.  No name was necessary.  That voice was
embedded in his nightmares for eternity.  Paper and
briefcase slipped unnoticed from his hands.

"I'm alone and the line is secure.  What do you
want?"  Skinner spat out the words.  He hated this
man with an intensity that almost frightened him. 
Hated the fact that he was powerless to do anything
against him.  Hated the knowledge that this amoral
monster could pull his strings at will.  The fact that he
hadn't as yet chosen to use his power was no
reassurance.  Skinner knew the bastard was just
playing with him; letting him grow accustomed to his
helplessness.  A rat playing with his cheese.

"Can the macho-man routine, Skinner. We don't have
time for it." The man sounded every bit as impatient
as Skinner felt.  "I've got reason to believe that some
of your agents might be in danger."

"Your warning comes a little late," Skinner said
bitterly.

Dead silence for a moment.  "Tell me!" his tormenter
ordered.  To Skinner's surprise, his antagonist
sounded alarmed and angry.

"Someone attacked Agent Jeffrey Spender in his
office at the FBI--."

"Spender?" came the incredulous response,
interrupting his report.

"Yeah.  Jeffrey Spender.  You know him?"  There
was no answer, but curiously enough, it had sounded
like the slimy bastard knew the agent.  The surprise
had come not from unfamiliarity with the target, but
from surprise at the choice of target, he would bet
the farm on that.

Ruthlessly, Skinner shelved his questions for a more
convenient time.  He was not going to be distracted
now.  Not that he would have gotten an answer
anyway.

"Agent Spender was shot at point blank range in his
own office," Skinner continued. "Miraculously, he
survived.  For now.  Any idea who might have been
responsible?"

Another pause.  "I think we both know the answer to
that.  Don't jerk me around, Skinner.  I'm not in the
mood."  There was a trill of danger in the voice, and
Skinner swallowed hard.  He considered himself a
brave man, but when your own body could betray
you at any moment, on the whim of a madman...

Okay, not a madman.  A ruthless, amoral sociopath
with a score to settle.  A madman would have been
preferable.

"I'm not jerking you around," Skinner forced himself
to sound placating, hating himself for the effort. 
"Agent Spender hasn't regained consciousness, and
nobody else saw the shooter.  Sure, I can make an
educated guess, but unless you can supply proof of
the shooter's identity, or Agent Spender identifies his
assailant, we don't *know* anything."

A snort.  "Yeah.  Sorry to fly off; I was forgetting
that wonderful FBI mindset.  Anyway, you should
know that Agent Spender may not be the only one in
danger.  It's possible that Agent Mulder could be a
target as well.   Possibly even Agent Scully."

Skinner swore.  "You're sure about that?" Unasked
was the even larger question. <<And why are you
telling me?>>

"Damnit, Skinner, I'm not sure about anything.  But
we're talking about a wounded predator on the loose,
and it's best not to take chances.   Understood?"

The words struck almost like a blow.  "Understood. 
I'll convey your message.  Thanks for the warning."  
He was surprised to realize he genuinely meant that. 
Whatever the bastard's motives were, Skinner
wanted to know about any possible threat to his
agents.

"I'm on my way to D.C.  My record is squared
away?"

Skinner sighed.  "I told you the last time you asked. 
That was taken care of long before..."  He couldn't
finish the sentence, and the other man chuckled
darkly.

"Yeah.  The Englishman was a bastard and a
hypocrite, but at least he kept his word.  Unlike some
others we both know."

"So?  Will I see you this trip?"  Skinner forced
himself to ask.  It was always better to be prepared
for bad news.

"I don't know yet.  Let's keep that a definite maybe. 
Try not to shoot me if I do turn up."  The man now
sounded positively gleeful.  Was he relieved that his
warning had come in time?  Pleased that Spender had
been the target, not Mulder?  Or just enjoying the
thrill of pushing his former boss around?  Skinner
mentally shook himself.  Trying to psychoanalyze
Alex Krycek was an exercise in futility.  Even Fox
Mulder hadn't been able to do it, and Mulder was the
best profiler the FBI had had in decades.

"I'll keep that in mind," Skinner said drily.  Polite of
the reptile to phrase it as a joke instead of a threat. 
"Is there anything else?"

"Not for now.  Just pass along my warning to Mulder
and Scully.  It wouldn't be a bad idea to put guards
on them too.  You *do* have guards posted on
Jeffrey Spender?"

"They're at the hospital guarding Spender," Skinner
admitted.  "I've got other agents assigned to the case. 
They can protect all three of them."

"Is Agent Fowley one of them?"

The question stopped Skinner cold.  He hadn't
assigned Agent Fowley to the guard detail because
she was still busy heading up the investigation into
the events at El Rico.  He'd called her, of course, to
inform her about her partner's shooting. She'd
expressed her concern for her partner and her regrets
that the continuing investigation at El Rico made it
impossible for her to come to the hospital at present. 
Skinner had assured her that she was welcome to
check on her partner at any time.  Why Krycek's
sudden interest in Agent Spender's partner on the
X-Files?  

"Agent Fowley is currently on field assignment," he
hedged.

"Keep it that way."

"Why?" Skinner demanded.

"Let's just say she has divided loyalties," wascame
the annoyingly cryptic response.

"Are you saying she was involved in what happened
to Agent Spender?" Skinner did not want to believe
that.  Especially since, given the source of the
information, he could hardly act upon it.

"You heard what I said.  If you want to keep your
agents alive, keep her away from this case."

"I would imagine that Agent Fowley's duties will
keep her occupied elsewhere for the foreseeable
future," Skinner observed.  Not that he entirely
believed Krycek, but he wasn't sure he disbelieved
him either.  

"Good."  The line went dead, and Skinner was left to
stare at it.  Finally, he replaced the receiver and
slowly started to collect the papers he'd dropped
earlier, placing them in his briefcase. 

<<What the hell was *that* about?>>

******

Mulder showed his identification to the agents posted
outside the hospital room, then quietly stepped
through the door.  Scully looked up at him from her
chair beside the bed and put down the medical journal
she had been reading.  She rubbed at her eyes and
offered up a weary smile of welcome.

"How is he?" Mulder asked softly. He was carrying a
briefcase and a small paper bag, both of which he set
on the table by the far wall.  "Any change?"

Scully shook her head.  "Same as before.  Every
couple of hours, he seems to wake up for a minute or
two, mutters something incomprehensible, and then
slips back to sleep.  He could wake up any time now,
but he started to run a mild fever about three hours
ago, and that could delay things.  Also, Mulder, don't
expect too much at first.  Even when he does wake
up, remember that he's still getting a heavy dose of
painkillers and antibiotics, and that's going to keep
him pretty groggy."

Mulder checked his watch.  "Seven hours." Seven
hours since Spender's condition had been upgraded
to serious but stable and he had been moved out of
the ICU and into protective custody.  Almost 14
hours since the shooting itself.  "Have the doctors
issued a prognosis yet?"

Scully nodded.  "They expect him to make a full
recovery.  He's a very lucky man." 

The surgeons had performed their magic, though
miracles had fortunately proved unnecessary.  Jeffrey
Spender was a young man in excellent physical
condition prior to the shooting, and the bullet had
largely stayed intact and taken a relatively benign
path of destruction.  The internal damage hadn't been
that bad, all things considered -- a perforation of the
small intestine, a broken rib, and a ruptured spleen. 
A few hours in surgery; a few hours of observation in
the recovery room and the ICU, and a move into
secure quarters at the first moment the doctors would
allow it.  

Security was tight.  Skinner was taking no chances. 
From the moment it became clear that Spender was
likely to survive, the AD had erected a wall of
secrecy around the shooting and its victim, forbidding
the disclosure of any details except on a
need-to-know basis.  He and his agents performed
instant
background checks and scrutinized IDs on each
member of the surgical staff before they were allowed
into the operating room; and under resentful eyes, a
gown-clad Mulder and Scully watched over Jeffrey
Spender through every step of the operation.  

In addition, from the moment Jeffrey Spender left the
operating room, either Mulder, Scully or Skinner
himself had been at his side, together with an FBI
security team.  Skinner had used the FBI's clout to
clear the seventh floor of all other patients, making it
a secure ward with only one entrance, plus the
alarmed emergency exit.  Guards were posted at the
entrance and outside Spender's room.  Not that
Skinner deluded himself that he could keep Jeffrey's
father and his friends at bay indefinitely, but he would
throw as many obstacles in their way as possible.

In regard to the elusive CGB Spender, protocol
required that, as Jeffrey's closest relative, he be
notified as soon as possible of his son's shooting,
hospital location and present condition.  Skinner had
remarked to Mulder and Scully after his arrival at the
hospital that he had no current means of contacting
Jeffrey's father.  His relief had seemed almost
palpable.

"Why don't you go home, get some rest?"  Mulder
glanced over at the youthful agent who had been his
rival and antagonist.  "I'll keep an eye on things."

"I could use a break," Scully admitted, forcing back a
yawn.  Both Skinner and Mulder had gone home for
a few hours, but she had remained at the hospital ever
since Spender had been admitted.  And cat-napping in
the vinyl-backed hospital chairs was a poor substitute
for sleep.  "When is Skinner coming back?"  

The AD had initially arrived about seventy-five
minutes after Mulder and Scully, with Spender still in
the operating room.  He'd taken some time to
personally brief his hand-selected team of agents. 
After the surgery, he'd passed along a warning to
Mulder and Scully "from an anonymous source" that
they too were possible targets of a Consortium
vendetta.  Then he'd stayed with Spender in the
recovery room and ICU until the young man was well
enough to be moved into a private room and
protective custody.  Once the room change had been
successfully accomplished, he'd gone back to the FBI
offices.

"Probably not until early tomorrow morning, if then.
He was still in the office when I spoke to him.  He's
been asked to attend a meeting tomorrow morning
with OPR to discuss Spender's affidavit and the
shooting, and he wanted to prepare.  I told him to go
home when he finished, and get some rest.  He won't
do himself or us any good in that meeting if he's
asleep on his feet."

"Maybe I should stay here with you?" This time, the
yawn escaped despite Scully's best efforts at
suppression.

Mulder shook his head.  "No. I can hold the fort for
awhile. If he has time, Skinner'll come in before the
meeting to spell me for a while.  Go on, Scully.  I'll
be fine."  He held up his paper bag.  "I've got pork lo
mein and orange beef, and enough magazines to keep
me busy for hours.  And my laptop."  He patted his
briefcase.

"Sounds like you've got all the comforts of home." 
Scully didn't even try to disguise the next yawn. 
"I'm going.  Oh -- if Spender does wake up enough
to actually recognize his surroundings, make sure you
inform the duty nurse, so she can let the doctors
know.  The nurses' station is extension 4633."

"4633.   Got it."  Mulder made a mental note of the
number.  "Good night, Scully."

"Watch your back," she warned.  "You know what
these people are capable of --"

"Yeah.  I'll be careful."

Mulder waited until the door closed and the footsteps
receded before walking slowly over to the bed.   He
looked somberly at the injured man, face a ghastly
shade of pale, strapped down for his own protection,
tubes running in and out of him in all directions. 
"Get well soon, Agent Spender," he murmured,
sinking into the chair Scully had recently vacated. 
"There's so much I still need to know."

******

After an eight hour absence, Scully returned to the
hospital, fortified by almost six hours sleep, some
peach yogurt, and two granola bars.  Mulder was
dozing in the chair when she arrived, but roused
instantly at the sound of approaching footsteps.  He
made an abortive lunge for the gun lying on his lap,
sending it flying to the floor; then, recognizing Scully,
he gave her a sheepish grin and knelt to retrieve his
weapon.   She sighed minutely.

"Morning," he greeted her.

"Any change?" She walked over to the bed and
pressed the back of her hand to Jeffrey's forehead.  It
was warm to the touch, indicating that the slight
fever had persisted, but that was neither unusual or
dangerous under the circumstances. She scanned his
medical chart; everything appeared to be in order.

"Not really.  He seemed to wake up a couple of
times, but he was really out of it.  I tried to question
him, but I don't think he recognized me, much less
understood what I was saying.  They've still got him
on the IV drip for the antibiotics, though I think the
doctor ordered the dosage of painkillers cut last time
he was here.  But I don't think we're going to get
any answers from him until the fever breaks."

<<If then.>>  "Let me see." Scully took a closer look
at the readings, which confirmed Mulder's
suspicions.  "You're right.  He's still getting heavy
antibiotics to combat the fever, but the Demerol has
been cut in half."  Scully frowned.  "The fever isn't
really that severe.  I would have expected him to
wake up before this."

"Maybe he doesn't want to wake up," Mulder
suggested.

"What are you saying, Mulder?"

"Look, Scully, if we're right about what happened
down in that office, it must have been pretty
traumatic for him."

Scully raised an eyebrow over narrowed eyes. 
"You're suggesting that he's somehow staying
unconscious on purpose?"

Mulder shrugged.  "It's a possibility.  Psychology
journals are filled with cases of people remaining
unconscious or even catatonic until they felt mentally
strong enough to face up to some traumatic event in
their lives."

"Assuming the problem is psychological, and not
some medical complication that has yet to be
discovered," Scully rejoined, unconvinced.  She
studied the chart again, but had to concede that there
was nothing there to explain Spender's failure to
regain consciousness.  "I guess all we can do is wait." 
She looked around.  The room seemed very much as
she'd left it, except for the empty Chinese food tins in
the wastebasket.  "Any problems?  Uninvited
guests?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Quiet as the proverbial
grave.  That's got me a little frightened, Scully, to be
honest.  They have to know by now that they failed;
that Agent Spender is still alive."

"Maybe they've given up," Scully offered.  There was
no need to qualify the statement; both agents knew
precisely what *they* they were talking about.

"More likely they're planning something.  We just
have to be ready for them."

"Have you heard from Skinner?  Any word on
today's meeting?  Did he shed any light on why his
informant feels you and I could also be targets?"

Mulder nodded.  "He stopped by briefly on his way
to the office; kept an eye on things while I took a
short nap.  He left about two hours ago.  OPR wants
clarification of several points in his preliminary report
on the Spender shooting.  It seems they're far more
disturbed by the fact that the shooting occurred in the
Hoover Building than by the possible reasons for the
shooting.  And no, nothing specific about the threat,
except that he considered the source to be credible,
and we should stay alert."

As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Mulder answered it
hastily with a quick, guilty glance toward Spender,
but it didn't appear that the patient had been
disturbed by the noise.  "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, you and Agent Scully have been
asked to appear before the OPR panel at 1 p.m. this
afternoon."  It was Skinner, his voice terse.

"One p.m.?"  Mulder checked his watch.  Less than
three hours.  "Sir, we can't leave Agent Spender
unprotected."  Scully moved closer, her expression
asking what was going on.  Mulder held the receiver
away from his ear and turned up the volume so they
both could hear the conversation.

"This is not a request, Agent Mulder," Skinner said
coldly.  "The OPR panel is presently disposed to be
sympathetic to your request for reinstatement, given
all that has happened, and in particular Agent
Spender's affidavit.  But it would take very little to
turn them against you once again.  A failure to
acknowledge their summons would certainly fall into
that category."

"But, sir," Scully interjected, "surely you've
explained the situation to them?  Agent Spender's
testimony is the key to the entire proceeding.  If we
leave him here, unprotected, his life could be in
danger."

"I have discussed the matter with the panel."  This
time, both Agents could hear the weariness and
frustration underlying the matter-of-fact words.  "I'm
sorry to say that the panel was singularly
unimpressed.  They noted that Agent Spender is
hardly unprotected.  There are two agents guarding
the corridors, and another two assigned to his door. 
If anything, OPR feels I am being ridiculously
profligate with the FBI's valuable resources and
manpower."  

Mulder snorted at that.  

"OPR is quite confident that the agents who will
remain to guard Agent Spender in your absence are
more than capable of providing adequate protection. 
You will both be here, in Room 256, at 1:00 p.m.
sharp, or face the consequences.  If you have any
desire to remain in the FBI, I suggest that you both
make it no later than 12:55."  The phone clicked.

"Damn."  Mulder glared at his cell phone as though it
was responsible for this calamity. 

"We have to go, Mulder," Scully observed.  "I don't
like it any better than you do, but we have no
choice."

"Don't you realize this could be a setup, Scully?"
Mulder argued.  "This could be just the opportunity
they are waiting for to get to Agent Spender."

"I don't like OPR any more than you do, Mulder, but
I hardly think they would be party to a conspiracy to
assassinate Agent Spender," Scully replied drily.

"That's not what I mean, Scully.  I agree, they'd
never get their hands dirty.  But we have to assume
that Cancerman has people watching the hospital by
now.  They may try to take advantage of our
absence."

"I know, Mulder.  But we don't have a choice.  OPR
doesn't care about our reasons or excuses.  We've
been ordered to appear, and if we miss this
appointment, we might as well kiss our careers
goodbye right now.  Skinner handpicked the men on
this floor.  They're among his best, most trustworthy
agents.  They won't let anyone get to Spender."

Mulder shook his head, unconvinced.  "I hope you're
right, Scully.  Since we're betting Spender's life on
it."

*****

Jeffrey Spender had been dozing in a semi-wakeful
trance, flirting with the edge of consciousness, when
a sound from outside his hospital room pushed him
over the line into full awareness.  As he tried to
assess what had happened and figure out where he
was, three white-gowned figures burst into the room,
guns at the ready.  Finding no opposition, they
replaced their weapons.

Spender's mind was still trying to shake off the
muzziness as he struggled to sit up.  "Who? Where?"
he croaked.  Pain lashed at his chest and abdomen
and he groaned as he sank back onto the bed.  It hurt
to move, it hurt to talk, and he barely recognized the
hoarse voice as his own.

One of the white-coated men rushed to Jeffrey's side,
duct-taping his mouth shut, forestalling further
questions -- or cries for assistance.  The others were
maneuvering a stretcher into the room.

"Don't worry about it," one of the stretcher-bearers
said coolly.  "You won't be staying."

"You're going for a little ride, Jeffrey," Duct Tape
Man told him.  "Someone wants to say goodbye to
you, in a more intimate setting.  We've got to
disconnect this shit," he hissed to his companions,
waving at the medical paraphernalia connected to the
wounded man and reaching for the first sensor.

His companion slapped his hand away.  "Stop that,
you idiot!  I have to bypass the heart monitor first, or
a resuscitation team with a crash cart will be on their
way here in ten seconds."  As he spoke, Electrician
Man pulled something out of the small duffel he had
brought.  It looked like a cross between a radio and a
Palm Pilot. He started to fiddle with the dials while
Duct Tape Man identified and exposed the sensors
that were connected to the heart monitor.  The third
man assumed a protective stance near the door,
guarding against interruption.

Spender's heart was beating wildly.  Adrenaline had
pushed the clouds from his head, and he remembered
it all now: his resignation, his father, the shooting. 
Obviously, he'd made it to the hospital somehow,
and these men had been sent to finish the job.  He
struggled to free himself, but he'd been placed in
restraints so he couldn't inadvertently dislodge the
IVS and other tubes that had been administering
treatment and disposing of waste and drainage while
he was unconscious.  He was well and truly trapped.

A sudden, undecipherable sound from beyond the
doorway caused all of the kidnappers to draw their
weapons.  The sound was not repeated.  Nobody
tried to enter the room.  Still, an uneasy miasma of
tension settled over the place.

"I'll have a look."  The third man, the one who had
waited by the door, left the room.  His companions
grunted their acknowledgment and went back to
work creating an endless loop of Jeffrey's heartbeat
that would be fed into the heart monitor, leaving the
medical staff none the wiser when they disconnected
their victim from the monitoring equipment.

"I think that's done it," Electrician Man said after a
minute or two, as he wiped his brow.  "One more
connection, and then you can rip away to your
heart's content.  It's not like he's going to need any
of this shit where he's go--"

There was a sudden chuffing sound, and Electrician
Man collapsed where he stood.

"What the --" Duct Tape Man went for his gun, but
he never made it. A second soft spitting sound, and
he joined his dying companion on the floor.  The
door, partially ajar to begin with, silently swung
open.

Jeffrey looked up with wide eyes into the face of his
rescuer. 

"Alex?"

*****

The meeting with OPR lasted an hour and a half. 
The panel had decided to limit its initial inquiry to the
matter of Mulder and Scully's suspension from the
Bureau, or the session might have lasted for days. 
Since Agent Spender had filed the original charges
that had led to their suspension, and since he had now
withdrawn those charges, the matter of their
reinstatement in the Bureau was settled quickly
enough, even though -- in true, bureaucratic fashion
-- it still took a lot of paperwork and paper-signing to
make it official.

The matter of reinstatement on the X-Files
themselves was a greater bone of contention within
the panel.  That was clear from the questions that
were asked, although it was plain, given the
alignments of the OPR members, that formal
reassignment to the X-Files was only a matter of
time.  But for this more limited inquiry, no lengthy
interrogation or debate was required. 

Indeed, the only aspect of this meeting that invited
some debate was the question of whether Mulder and
Scully should remain within AD Kersh's
departmental control for the time being or be
immediately reassigned to AD Skinner -- and Kersh's
avowed unwillingness to retain the two troublesome
agents under his command made even that topic far
less problematic than it otherwise might have been. 
Mulder even managed to keep his acerbic tongue
under control for the entire session.  By meeting's
end, Mulder and Scully found themselves back on the
FBI payroll, once again under AD Skinner's aegis. 
They were reinstated as regular agents, not assigned
to the X-Files or any other specialized department,
but it was made clear that Skinner was free to
reassign the duo to the X-Files on a "pro tem" basis,
pending further hearings, since that department was
presently understaffed.

The first bureaucratic obstacle met and successfully
hurdled, Mulder, Scully and Skinner headed back to
the hospital together.   Skinner had checked in with
the agents guarding Jeffrey Spender immediately
prior to the OPR session, and had been told that all
was well.  As Mulder drove away from the Hoover,
Skinner tried calling his agents once again.  This time,
there was no response.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Skinner
redial the number three times. "Trouble?" he asked,
picking up speed and arrowing between cars.  He
swerved into the Pennsylvania Avenue median,
slaloming the traffic lights as he raced around the
slow-moving traffic.  

Scully reached across the seat to raise the bubble and
turn on the siren.  It would be embarrassing, to say
the least, if they were shot at by the Secret Service as
they raced toward the White House barrier at 15th
Street. "I'm afraid so."  Skinner ignored the
screeching brakes and honking horns as Mulder cut
off traffic to thread his way past another of the
annoying traffic lights.  "Nobody is answering at the
hospital.  It could be that there's some interference
with the signal --"

"Not very likely, is it, sir?"  Mulder skidded the
speeding car into a sharp turn at 15th, narrowly
missing the security barrier, as Secret Service agents
and D.C. police stared at them from the checkpoint.  

Skinner sighed, knowing they'd be tracing the license
plates already, and he'd be making apologetic
explanations to the top floor by nightfall.  Still, he
couldn't blame Mulder, not with a man's life at stake. 
"No, Agent Mulder.  It isn't."  He gasped in horror. 
"What are you --" He winced and closed his eyes as
Mulder headed into the oncoming traffic on E Street. 
Frantically honking cars tried to dive out of his way. 
Mulder braked, then cursed, then forced the
fishtailing vehicle out of the heavy afternoon traffic
and onto the Ellipse sidewalk, then onto the Ellipse
itself, as Skinner and Scully clung to the door handles
to avoid being thrown around.

"I'm taking a short cut," Mulder explained
unnecessarily, as he raced between the trees. 

"Should we call it in?  Ask for help?" Scully
wondered, as they dodged finger-pointing tourists
and several of the news trucks stationed there on
permanent Monica-watch.  

"We don't know what kind of *help* would arrive,"
Mulder said grimly, clenching the steering column. 
The others were silent, all of them remembering the
ambulance that had come in response to Mulder's
frantic 911 call when Scully was stung by the
genetically modified bee that past summer.  "That
could be just what they're waiting for -- an
opportunity to get Spender out of there without
interference, under the pretext of responding to our
emergency call."

"And if we just notify the hospital, we could be
sending innocent medical personnel into a death
trap," Skinner added.  "We can't risk it.  Damn!"  He
slammed his fist into the door in frustrated fury.

"We'll be there in about three minutes," Mulder said,
knowing that wasn't good enough.  The mirror
clipped the payphone at E and 17th as he wheeled the
car sharply to the right, onto 17th Street and back
onto the paved roadway.

"A lot can happen in three minutes," Scully noted
grimly, voicing what they all knew.

*****

Spender was still staring into the cheerfully grinning
face of Alex Krycek, jaw dropping now that the duct
tape had been removed.  Staring at the gun resting
oh-so-casually in the assassin's gloved hand, the gun
that had so irrevocably ended two lives. Two? 
"Alex?  There was a third --" He tried whispering this
time, but again the pain seared his throat and he
started to cough.

"I know.  He won't be bothering you again either.
Are you okay?  Let me clean up a little, and then I'll
have a look at you."

"I think I'm okay," Jeffrey replied, ignoring the pain
now that he was prepared for it.  Three lives, then. 
"Where am I?"

"George Washington University Medical Center.
They brought you in yesterday."  Krycek examined
the bodies, making sure the would-be kidnappers
were dead before he finally pocketed his gun.  He
dragged the two corpses into the far corner of the
room, tossing their equipment and weapons in the
same direction.  

Jeffrey watched his unexpected savior with more than
a touch of envy.  Alex Krycek was brave, efficient,
capable.  He'd evaluated the situation and eliminated
the threat with a minimum of effort.  The fact that
he'd killed three men in the process didn't even faze
him.  Or make him examine Jeffrey with anything
other than solicitous concern.  The man was checking
him out now, making sure that none of the tubes or
monitoring equipment had been disturbed by his
uninvited guests.

"Everything looks all right," Krycek finally remarked
with satisfaction, tucking the sheet around Jeffrey
once again.  He was dressed much as he had been the
night he'd followed Jeffrey into the Consortium
member's house and saved his life for the first time:
black jeans, dark turtleneck, black leather jacket.
<<What the well-dressed assassin is wearing these
days>> Jeffrey thought to himself, with more than a
touch of hysteria.

"W-what are you doing here?"  Jeffrey stammered. 
He was still shaking from his latest brush with death. 
He was grateful that Krycek had evidently chosen to
ignore his reaction.

"Keeping an eye on you.  Agents Mulder and Scully
were called away to a meeting with OPR.  I had a
feeling someone might try to capitalize on their
absence to finish his dirty work.  Seems I was right."

<<Oh, God>> Jeffrey fought to hold back the flood
as memory returned, but the tears slid down his face. 
"Damn him!  Damn him to hell!"  Passion caused him
to speak more loudly than he'd intended, and his
voice shattered into a cough.

"Yeah."  Krycek patted his shoulder soothingly,
careful not to interfere with any of the tubes and
needles.  "He's a world class bastard, your father."

Jeffrey raised tear-stained eyes in confusion.  "I
thought you worked for him," he said carefully.  It
seemed that it didn't hurt as much if he spoke slowly
and softly.

"I did.  A long time ago.  Never again in this
lifetime,"  The hatred he felt for the Smoker hardened
his voice.  "He's tried to kill me twice.  You're in
good company, Jeff."

"But you -- you said you admired him.  Told me he
was a great man."

"I was being ironic.  Your father considers himself a
great man.  He credits himself with having held back
colonization, though the aliens weren't ready to start
colonization back in 1973 anyway.  But the truth of
the matter is that your father is nothing but a selfish,
cowardly egotist with far too much power for
anyone's good."

"You weren't being ironic."  The light suddenly
dawned.   "You were manipulating me! You wanted
me to defy him!"

"I wanted you to know the truth," Krycek corrected. 
"I merely put you in possession of information that
had been withheld from you.  You made your own
choices.  If you were a different person, you wouldn't
have cared what your father did to your mother; or
what he was willing to do to the human race in order
to try and save his own neck.  He could advance your
career, and perhaps put you on the winning side, and
that would have been enough."

"If I were more like him." Jeffrey frowned. He gazed
thoughtfully at the man seated calmly at his bedside,
weapon now resting within easy reach on the nearby
night table.  A man who had seen things, done things
he -- Jeffrey -- couldn't even imagine.  "You should
go," he said unwillingly.  "If you should be found
here --" he glanced uneasily at the bodies in the
corner.

"It's all right, Jeff."  Krycek squeezed his hand
reassuringly.  "I'm not going anywhere until the guys
in the white hats get back.  It's been too long since
Mulder and I saw each other.  I wouldn't want him to
forget me."

Jeffrey almost choked at the image of Fox Mulder in
a white hat; then the full meaning of his visitor's
words finally registered.

"You know Mulder?"

Krycek's lips curled.  Jeffrey wasn't sure if the
expression on the other man's face was a smile or
grimace.  "We were partners once.  For a few
months.  It was several years ago.  Before your
time."

"*You* were in the FBI?"  Jeffrey couldn't hide his
surprise.  Krycek was hitting him with one shock
after another.

"In theory.  Actually, I was working for your father
then.  His orders paired me with Mulder."  Krycek
sighed, sounding almost wistful for a moment. 
"Mulder doesn't like me very much.  I did some
things back then, things your father ordered me to
do... That was before I knew what your father was
really involved with," he observed, his tone suddenly
turned caustic, his face granite.  

"What things?" Jeffrey asked, almost fearfully.

Krycek shook his head.  "Doesn't matter.  Just don't
be surprised when Mulder tries to rip my head off and
use it for basketball practice."  His voice trailed off,
and Jeffrey could tell that his companion was in a
different world.  His dark, somber mood was almost
frightening, and Jeffrey tried to nudge the subject
back to safer ground.

"That's the second time this month you've saved my
life," he observed.  "You're making quite a habit of
this."

The other man chuckled, evidently shaking off the
cobwebs of memory.  "Right place at the right time,
Jeff.  That's all.  How *are* you feeling?" he asked
again, pressing Jeffrey's forehead lightly with the
bare skin of his forearm.  "You look pretty pale."

"I feel like shit," Jeff confessed.  "Everything hurts. 
Is it always this bad, being shot?"  Somehow, he was
quite sure that Krycek was familiar with the
sensation.

"It's never fun being shot," Krycek agreed.  "But gut
shots are particularly painful."

"That's why he did it, you know," Spender said
bitterly.  "He was going to shoot me in the head, but
he changed his mind at the last minute.  Said he
wanted me to have time to think about my failure of a
life before it was over."

"You didn't fail, Jeff.  Your father asked the
impossible of you."  Krycek leaned forward to make
it easier for the injured man to hear him without
straining.

"Not for you."  Spender yawned.  The adrenaline
rush was finally fading, and he was tiring rapidly. 
Thinking was much more of a chore than it had been
five minutes ago.

Another soft chuckle.  "Ah, but I was trained for that
kind of thing.  You weren't.  You were brought up to
believe in a safe, sane civilized world, where the rule
of law applies and aliens don't exist.  Where the
government's job is to serve and protect the people. 
I could almost envy you --"

Krycek's voice suddenly trailed off and his whole
demeanor changed.  In an instant, the easy-going,
soft-spoken confidante disappeared, replaced by the
stone-cold killer Jeffrey had now seen twice before. 

"What?"  Jeffrey started to ask, and Krycek's lips
pursed, counseling silence. The gun seemed an
extension of his arm as he glided into the shadows,
prepared to defend Jeffrey again if necessary.

*****

Siren still blaring, Mulder took another *short cut* at
Washington Circle, traffic scattering before him as he
barrelled in the wrong direction for the short 30 yard
distance to the ramp leading to the GW Emergency
Room entrance.  He wrenched the wheel around as
he slammed on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a
stop, just to the side of the ER doorway, front wheels
resting on the sidewalk.  Medical personnel, hospital
security and a host of curious passersby clustered
around the vehicle, gawking, and wondering what
was going on. 

"Federal Agents. This is an emergency," Skinner
shouted at the hospital security guard as they jumped
out of the car, badges waving, and raced into the
hospital.  They quickly commandeered an elevator to
the seventh floor.  The FBI agents who had been left
guarding the entrance were conspicuous by their
absence, the large desk in the entrance hallway
unmanned.  Only when they walked past the desk did
they notice the body hastily crammed underneath.  A
second body lay sprawled in a nearby doorway.

"Shit!" Skinner cursed, as all three drew their
weapons.  Skinner and Mulder took the lead, Scully
watching their backs.  All was quiet as they stealthily
crept along the empty corridor and turned the corner
onto the corridor holding Spender's room.  The two
agents Skinner had assigned to guard Spender's room
lay on the floor in front of the doorway, covered with
blood and quite obviously dead.  A third man, white
doctor's gown no longer concealing the black
clothing underneath, lay dead beside them, a gun near
his hand.  The door to the room was partially open.

"Damnit, we're too late," Mulder muttered to
himself.  "I knew it."  Skinner held up a warning
finger to shut him up.  The attackers were probably
long gone, their task complete, but that was no
reason to take chances.

Quietly, the agents took up positions on either side of
the door.  As they were preparing to charge inside,
they heard a soft murmuring from within.  Jeffrey
Spender's voice was weak but unmistakable. 
Apparently, he was still alive after all, against all
odds.  But in that case, what had happened to the
guards?   And who was in there, talking to Agent
Spender?

Again Skinner held up a finger, counseling silence, as
he carefully toed the door a few more inches.  Far
safer to try and sneak a glance at what was
transpiring instead of barging into the potentially
lethal unknown.  Fortunately, the door moved
noiselessly, and the room's inhabitants didn't register
the motion.  Their conversation continued unabated,
now audible to the unseen listeners.

"... Everything hurts.  Is it always this bad, being
shot?"

"It's never fun being shot," came the sympathetic
reply. It was apparent that Jeffrey Spender was in no
immediate danger from his guest.  "But gut shots are
particularly painful."

"That's why he did it, you know." As they'd
suspected, Spender had indeed seen his would-be
assassin.  Mulder and Scully queried their superior
with their eyes.  Skinner shook his head.  Not yet, he
silently counseled.  Wait for my signal.

Agent Spender's visitor was speaking too quietly for
the listeners to pick up his precise words, but they
were evidently meant to be reassuring.  The seductive
voice seemed dangerously familiar to Mulder, teasing
at the fringes of memory.   As the visitor turned away
for a moment, his face was briefly illuminated by the
lamp on the night table.  Mulder, who had been
peering through the door hinges, squawked in
outraged astonishment.

Instantly Krycek was on the alert.  Gun drawn in one
fluid motion, he motioned Jeffrey to silence.  He
moved into the shadows, ready to attack.

Busted.  Mulder, Skinner and Scully exchanged
glances; an instant later, Mulder crashed through the
door, keeping his body low and twisting to the right
once he was inside.  The gun in his hand was aimed
squarely at the unwelcome intruder.

"Krycek!  Move away from the bed and put your
hands in the air!" he barked, a fierce gleam in his eye. 
"You're under arrest."

Krycek froze momentarily, his gun on Mulder as
Mulder's was on him.  Then he slowly obeyed,
stepping back and raising his right arm over his head. 
That hand still held his weapon, but Mulder heard the
safety click on as it was raised.  The renegade held
his left arm stiffly away from the body, mute
explanation for his failure to fully comply with the
order, but also demonstrating the absence of a
weapon or threat from that side.

Mulder almost recoiled at the sight of that stiff,
unnatural plastic, and had to fight to suppress the
reaction.  He couldn't help staring. Mulder had
thought there was something odd about Krycek the
last time he and Krycek had met, but the lighting had
been so poor, and the circumstances so
extraordinary, he thought he might have imagined it. 
Evidently not. He heard the harsh intakes of breath as
Scully and Skinner also reacted and he realized that
they had followed him into the room.  Mulder noticed
that Scully also had her firearm drawn, but, oddly
enough, Skinner did not. 

Krycek's eyes crinkled with amusement at their
shocked reactions. "Looks like the gang's all here,"
he remarked.  "Hey, Mulder.  What kept you?  You
missed all the fireworks."  He glanced carelessly
toward one corner of the room.

"Shut up, Krycek," Mulder growled.  "Take the gun
by the barrel; bring it down *very* slowly and toss it
over here.  And be very careful.  I won't hesitate to
shoot you."  As he spoke, he gave a quick peek in the
direction Krycek had indicated and for the first time
noticed the bodies sprawled in the corner, the guns,
knives, duct tape, etc.-- all bearing unspoken
testimony to an assault gone awry.  Mulder, Scully
and Skinner exchanged glances before the latter two
walked over to examine the white-gowned corpses.

Mulder's gun held steady while Krycek slowly
obeyed his orders and tossed his gun at the agent's
feet.  Mulder had to jump back to avoid being hit by
the weapon.  He glared at Krycek. "Cover me," he
warned Scully, as he holstered his weapon in
preparation for a search of their prisoner.  Scully
interrupted her examination of the would-be assassins
in order to comply.  "You and your associates have a
falling out?" he sniped.

"Mulder, you astound me," Krycek said sardonically. 
"I pull your ass out of the fire, save your witness for
you, and all you can do is hurl insults?  Is that any
way to treat an old friend?  After all the good times
we've shared?"

Mulder shoved Krycek hard against the wall and
began his search for additional weapons.  "We are
not *friends*, Krycek," Mulder snapped.  "And the
only good time we're ever going to share together is
the trip to Central Booking."

"Never could keep your hands off me, could you,
Mulder?" Krycek's voice dripped saccharine-sweet
sarcasm.  "Maybe you want to hit me again, for old
times sake?  Just to show how much you care?"  

"Shut up, Krycek," Mulder repeated, as he continued
to frisk his one-time partner.  In response, Krycek
arched back, rubbing against him. Mulder swore and
shoved him hard against the wall again.  "And stand
still, damnit!"

"Whatever you say, hero."  Krycek was having a field
day, yanking Mulder's chain.  With the others
present, he apparently assumed that Mulder would
have to keep a lid on any retaliation he might have
otherwise contemplated.  Then again, maybe the
bastard just didn't care.  He hadn't shown much
inclination to curb his sarcastic tendencies in
Mulder's presence during any of their prior
encounters either.  

Mulder started to reply; then bit down on the nasty
retort he was considering.  He was embarrassed to
see that the others were staring at the duo with shock
and consternation.  He hastily concluded his search,
divesting his former partner of two rather
nasty-looking knives and a second handgun.  When
he found the alien-killing gimlet blade, he lingered,
obviously with a question on his lips, but he finally
just tossed the weapon on the coffee table with the
rest.

"I think you missed a couple of places." Krycek
leered at him.

Mulder slammed the bastard against the wall again. 
Then he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and
threw him into the bedside chair with so much force
he almost knocked it over.  He cuffed Krycek's good
arm to the chair.  Then for good measure, he kicked
the chair, once again almost knocking it over and
coming close to breaking his own foot into the
bargain, before training his gun once again on his old
antagonist.

"There now, feel better?"  Krycek asked mockingly. 
"Ready for a nice little chat?"  Unfazed by Mulder's
assault, he was now grinning at Jeffrey Spender, who
had witnessed the byplay with slack-jawed
astonishment. 

"A-Agent Mulder?"  Jeffrey Spender decided to jump
into the fray.  "What's going on?"  

"Are you all right, Agent Spender?"  Scully asked,
walking over to the bed to give him the once-over,
keeping out of Mulder's line of fire and away from
Krycek as she did so.

"I'm fine.  Considering that my own father tried to
kill me yesterday and nearly succeeded.  What are
you doing?  Alex came here to protect me."

Mulder stared at him.  "*Alex*?!"  He momentarily
took his eyes off Krycek to gape at Spender.  "You
know this ratfucking son of a bitch?"

The youthful agent was undeterred by Mulder's
obvious hostility toward the other man.  "We met last
week.  When he saved my life for the first time. 
Today was the second."

"Can you tell us what happened here, Agent
Spender?"  Skinner spoke for the first time since
entering the room and instantly asserted control of
the proceedings.

"Yes, sir.  I was lying in bed, when three armed men
burst in, wearing doctors' gowns.  They said they
were going to kidnap me, to be killed elsewhere.  I
think they worked for my father.  They started to
disconnect the tubes, and that's when Alex showed
up.  He lured one of them out of the room; then he
came in and shot the other two as they went for their
guns.  Since then, he's been keeping watch, waiting
for you to return."  Spender spoke in a soft,
measured tone.  He was careful not to strain his
throat, but obviously wanted to make sure that Alex
Krycek was in the clear.

"Waiting for us to return," Skinner echoed.  "You
knew Mulder and Scully were called away to the
OPR meeting?" he asked Krycek.

Krycek shrugged.  "I like to keep my ears to the
ground," he said modestly.

"More like his nose to the sewers," Mulder grumbled
under his breath.

"Did you know this attack was planned?"

Krycek hesitated.  "Let's just say that I knew that old
Smoky wasn't happy at Junior's continued survival,
and a move  to correct that *mistake* was inevitable. 
Stood to reason that he would exploit a situation like
their temporary absence from the scene."  He nodded
toward Mulder and Scully.

"You couldn't have intervened a few minutes earlier?
*Before* four of my men were killed?" Skinner
fumed.

Krycek shrugged nonchalantly.  "If they'd done the
job they were paid to do, I wouldn't have had to
intervene at all." 

"What is your interest in Agent Spender?"  Skinner
was fully prepared to continue the informal debriefing
for as long as Krycek remained willing to answer his
questions.

Krycek grinned.  "Purely professional, I assure you. 
Which brings me to the other piece of information I
wanted to convey to you, Jeffrey, before we were so
rudely interrupted."  

"What the fuck are you talking about, Krycek?"

Krycek ignored Mulder's outburst.  "Look, Jeff, I'm
sure the FBI is going to offer you protection against
your father in return for your testimony.  They will
place you in the Witness Protection Program if you
wish."  He paused, casually adjusting his position in
the chair to slouch as far down as possible.  "I just
wanted to let you know that that is not your only
option. If you would like, I can arrange your
disappearance -- and with a far better chance of
success, I might add.  And you won't have to testify
to anything."

Mulder exploded.  "Why you -- you asshole!  You're
not going to be arranging anything except the upper
or lower bunk in the nearest jail cell!"  He turned to
Spender.  "I don't know what this son of a bitch has
told you, but you can't believe a word he says.  I
know he may seem sincere, but Alex Krycek is a
lying, manipulative, soulless bastard who would sell
out his own mother if it served his purpose."

Krycek again ignored the interruption.  "Think about
it, Jeff.  I'll be back in a few days to hear your
decision.  In the meantime, I think you'll be safe
enough, but I'll keep an eye on things."  He briefly
paused to consider Mulder, who was still spluttering
with rage.  The amusement drained from Krycek's
face, and he again looked like the cold-blooded
assassin they all knew him to be.   "It's been fun, but
I really do have to go now.  Call off your dogs,
Skinner."  He sought Skinner's eyes and held them.

Mulder opened his mouth to scoff and froze, seeing
something indefinable pass between his boss and the
Consortium renegade.

Skinner was the first to break eye contact.  Looking
like he had a really bad taste in his mouth, he said
sourly, "Put the guns away, Agents.  Mulder, let him
go."

Mulder stared at him, disbelieving.  "Sir, you can't
mean that!"

"I'm not in the habit of giving orders I don't mean,
Mulder."

"Sir?"  Scully had previously reholstered her gun
while she checked out Jeffrey Spender, but now she
had her hand on the weapon, watching both Skinner
and Krycek with concern.  

"I'll explain later," Skinner assured them. "Agent
Mulder, you will obey my orders."

The baffled agent had lowered his weapon, but he
had not put it away.   "But sir, it's *Krycek*..."

"I know.  Believe me, I'm no happier about this than
you are. But there are no pending wants or warrants
against Alex Krycek."

"That's impossible!"  

"That can't be!"  

Mulder and Scully protested almost simultaneously.

Skinner sighed.  "Someone went to a lot of trouble
some months ago to see that our old *friend* here
had a clean slate to work with."

"Well, I didn't give him a clean slate."  Mulder
snarled, bringing the gun to bear once again.

"Mulder, that's enough! Put. The. Gun. Away. 
Now."  Skinner punctuated each word to give it
emphasis.  

For a long moment, they all stared at each other. 
Then slowly, reluctantly, Mulder holstered his
weapon, though he kept his hand on the butt end.

"I'm sorry, Agents.  But it's out of my hands. 
Krycek walks."

"What about them?" Mulder gestured toward the
bodies in the corner.  "Can't we at least hold him as a
material witness?"

Skinner sighed.  "Justifiable homicide.  Agent
Spender's account confirms it.  And you know as
well as I do that the moment we make an official
report on this case, these bodies and the evidence are
going to disappear.  It's not worth trying to hold him
because of it.  Someone at the very highest levels of
power has taken an interest in Krycek and is
protecting him.  You have no idea what a firestorm
you'd be creating.  At the end of the day, we'd still
have to release him -- and the likelihood of your
reassignment to the X-Files will have been reduced to
nil.  Trust me on that."

Mulder was still vacillating, looking affronted and
resentful.  Krycek's self-satisfied smirk didn't help
matters any.

"Please, Mulder."  Skinner tried to put every ounce
of credibility he owned into that plea, knowing the
likely consequences of failure.

Apparently it was enough.  Resistance faded to a
smoldering ember of resentment.  Mulder unfastened
the handcuff from the chair and used the loose end to
haul Krycek to his feet by his still-cuffed hand. 
Krycek yelped.  Mulder sharply yanked the cuff
again, this time to pull the hand closer so he could
free it.  If he had to release the goddamn son of a
bitch, he wasn't going to be gracious about it.

"Damnit, Mulder!"  Krycek glared at the agent as he
rubbed his raw-skinned wrist against his body, trying
to relieve the discomfort.  

Mulder ignored the complaint.  "What's going on,
sir?" he demanded of Skinner.  

"Yes, sir, we deserve an explanation."  Scully agreed.

"I'll explain later," Skinner promised.  "Will we see
you again?" he asked his former subordinate. "I don't
suppose you would care to shed any light on the
events at the El Rico Air Base the other day?"

"Like I said -- I'll be back in a few days to see
Jeffrey," the renegade replied, still rubbing his injured
wrist and glowering at Mulder.  Mulder matched him,
glare for glare, a cold smile inviting protest.  After a
few moments, Krycek conceded the staring contest,
shaking his head slightly.  "I think you should be able
to hold the fort until then.  But a civilized discussion
in more suitable surroundings might not be a bad
idea.  I'll call to set something up."

"I'll look forward to that," Skinner said grimly.

"I'm sure you will."  Krycek moved to the coffee
table and reclaimed his weapons, daring anyone to
comment.  He nodded cheerfully to them all, good
humor restored.  "Take care of yourself, Jeffrey.  See
you around, Mulder.  By the way, I'd watch my back
if I were you."

"With you in town, you can count on that."  Mulder
moved to block his path, as Scully moved to
Mulder's side in support.  "If you knew he was going
to let you go, why didn't you say something in the
first place?" Mulder growled through gritted teeth. 
"Why let me go through the motions?"

"But they were such pleasant motions, Agent
Mulder," Krycek said mockingly.  "I wouldn't have
missed them for the world.  Or the expression on
your face when you found out it was all for nothing." 
He smiled benignly at the agent, indifferent to the fact
that Mulder's expression was positively murderous.

"I'll be in touch," he said once again, and started to
detour around the obstacle in his path.  Mulder
reflexively moved to block him again.  Krycek
paused, smiling ruefully at his smoldering ex-partner. 
"Can't bear to see me go, eh, Mulder?" he said softly.
Green eyes sparkled with mischievous fire.  Krycek's
gloved hand suddenly pulled Mulder's face close
enough for him to lightly brush the agent's cheek
with his lips.  Scully gasped.  "Until next time,"
Krycek said brashly.  He drew back; then stepped
around the stunned agent. 

Too late -- far too late -- Mulder's hand came up to
clutch at his burning cheek.  "What -- you --" He
spun around, face flooded with rage and
embarrassment, to demand an explanation.

But Krycek was already out the door.

******

Krycek stepped out of the hospital elevator and
headed briskly toward the exit.  A tall, 
broad-shouldered medical technician was loitering in
the lobby, occasionally checking his watch as though
waiting to go off duty.  When he saw Krycek, they
briefly made eye contact.  The medtech then followed
Krycek out of the hospital.  Just outside the entrance,
they were joined by another burly man, equally
nondescript in appearance and dressed in a polyester
suit.  The trio walked quietly for about a block before
Krycek spoke.

"Let's get something to drink," Krycek decreed,
knowing his two d'lin companions would comply
without question.  The Gamma series clones --
Guardians of personnel and property among their
own kind -- were bred for obedience rather than
independent thought.  And this particular pair of
clones had orders to assist Alex Krycek in every way
possible.

At first, Alex had been less than pleased when his
friend, ally and sometime commander *Dee*, a Delta
series clone and the chief scientist among the d'lin
resistance fighters, had assigned a pair of Guardians
to assist Alex on his current, self-appointed mission. 
Working with assholes like Luis Cardinale had
reinforced Krycek's preference for working alone. 
Hell, the only partner he'd ever enjoyed working with
was Mulder -- and since he spent half the time they
were partnered together double-crossing the guy, that
hardly counted.  

Still, he grudgingly admitted that Frick and Frack (as
he thought of them) did have their uses.  For one
thing, they made it possible for him to keep a
watchful eye on Fox Mulder and Jeffrey Spender at
the same time.  For another, it made communication
with base headquarters a lot simpler than it otherwise
would have been.  Since the d'lin weren't particularly
keen on sharing their advanced technology with the
*primitive* humans, even their few human allies, the
only way Krycek could gain access to a d'lin
communicator was if there was a d'lin accompanying
him.

The mismatched threesome stopped at the Au Bon
Pain in the GW Mall, a couple of blocks from the
hospital.  It had the closest thing to decent coffee in
the area. The place was half full, with students, and
nurses, and medtechs, and swollen-eyed visitors. 
Krycek ordered coffee for himself and tomato juice
for the others.  Tomato juice was one of the few
Terran beverages that the d'lin digestive system could
assimilate. The group waited silently, almost
unmoving, until the waitress had brought their order
and moved elsewhere to assist other customers.

"I need to call in," Alex said casually.

One of the Guardians silently handed him a pen. 
Krycek's lips quirked slightly with bemusement.  Dee
was always experimenting, finding new ways to
incorporate d'lin technology into commonplace Earth
objects. Alex was quite aware that Dee was only
amusing himself, but his novel applications did enable
the d'lin to pass unnoticed in human society when
necessary. 

He lodged the pen's protective cover over one ear. 
"Open Channel Dee," he remarked, grinning to
himself as he thumbed the "on" switch.

"There is no Channel D," the Guardians solemnly
chimed in monotone unison.

<<Neanderthals.>> "I know that," Krycek replied
with exaggerated patience.  "Terran humor."

The Guardians immediately lost interest.  Krycek was
mentally debating whether he felt foolhardy enough
to risk teasing his humorless companions further
when a signal chimed in his ear.

"Dee?  It's Alex.  How's life back at the ranch?" He
spoke quietly as though to his companions, holding
the pen casually in his hand, knowing that the highly
sensitive receiver would carry his words. 

"Alex?"  Dee's excited voice sounded in Krycek's
ear, just as if the d'lin scientist was standing beside
him.   "Things are going very well here.  Very well
indeed.  My preliminary studies of the ch'lith'kik'a
genome have already yielded several dozen new
promising areas of inquiry.  But how are things on
your end?  You barely stayed eight hours after your
return from Fort Marlene before you turned around
and rushed back to Washington, and not a word from
you since, except for that brief report about the
Jeffrey Spender shooting.  Is the situation under
control?  Have there been any more shootings?  Any
success on the principal objective?"

"Hey, take it easy, Dee.  One question at a time. 
First of all, yeah, the kid is okay, but I guess you
know that already.  No other shootings to report, but
I disposed of three nasties who were trying to
complete Daddy's unfinished business with son
Jeffrey, and reestablished myself in Junior's good
graces.  And, no -- nothing definitive on the main
objective yet, but I think there's a good likelihood of
success if we just let the situation play itself out."  

"That sounds promising," Dee replied in his
characteristically sunny manner.  "The beacon is
working most satisfactorily, by the way.  Does
Spender know?"

 "No, the kid has no idea.  I placed the tracker while I
was examining him after the attack.  He never felt a
thing -- but I don't have to tell you how good your
pressure injectors are.  You getting a good signal?" 
Krycek suspected that he could count on Skinner to
make the hospital a virtual fortress from here on out,
especially with some "encouragement" from Alex,
but it always paid to have a backup plan in place. 
And with the d'lin tracker now implanted within
Spender's body, they could transmat him out of
harm's way instantly if an emergency threatened. 
Krycek was not going to allow any harm to come to
Jeffrey Spender until and unless it suited his purpose.

"Loud and clear, Alex."

"Good.  And the video?  You should have a full view
of the room and the adjoining corridors from all
angles."

"The video coverage is fine.  Excellent placements, as
always." 

"Thanks."  

"By the way, I'm taking the opportunity to study
your friend Fox Mulder.  He's virtually living in
Jeffrey Spender's room, so I could hardly avoid
doing so even if I wanted to."

"He's not my friend," Krycek replied automatically. 
"What about Mulder?"

"Interesting human," Dee remarked.  "Brave,
intelligent, yet highly emotional.  No artifice at all in
that one.  He doesn't like you very much, Alex."

Krycek snorted at that.  "No kidding.  You watched
us?"

"It was a fascinating interaction," Dee observed.
"Such intensity of feeling, such raw, naked passion..."

"Not something you see in d'lin society, I guess,"
Krycek remarked.  "You're not exactly an emotional
species."

"Quite the opposite in fact," Dee heartily agreed.  
"Except at the highest strata of d'lin society.  And
even among the top four hierarchical groupings, what
you humans would probably describe as negative
emotions -- hatred, anger, disappointment, regret --
do not exist.  So the chance to study a human like
Fox Mulder is quite exciting -- a sentient being, but
one so wholly different from us. Truly a creature
from another world."

"Mulder is certainly unique," Krycek agreed, with
more than a hint of mordant humor.

"Your Smoking Man hasn't gone after Mulder after
all?"

"No," Krycek admitted.  "It appears I may have been
wrong about that.  Our friend hasn't shown the
slightest interest in Mulder.  I'm very surprised.  I
thought he would go after Mulder first -- as loose
ends go, he's the loosest end there is.  But as far as I
can tell, the only target he's homed in on has been the
kid." 

"I have noticed that your species often exhibits a
peculiarly irrational and emotional response when
familial relations are involved," Dee remarked. 
"Perhaps the Smoker's emotional feelings toward his
son have inhibited a more logical approach to the
situation."

"Maybe," Krycek said dubiously.  It was hard for him
to believe the Smoking Man had any familial feelings
at all.  On the other hand, it was hardly surprising
that a logic-driven, dispassionate species like the d'lin
would find human modes of behavior almost
incomprehensible.  Dee probably came closer than
any other member of his species to understanding
human behavior, and even he had problems much of
the time.  "Still, it won't hurt to keep an eye on
Mulder.  As long as he's guarding Spender, you can
do that from the base; when he goes off-duty, I'll
have one of the Guardians take over.  Just to be safe. 
But I'm beginning to think our best shot is going to
be with the kid."  

"Excellent.  It sounds as though you have the matter
well in hand.  That being the case, perhaps you could
devote some attention to your final report on the
events at Fort Marlene?   The Council is growing
somewhat impatient at the delay."  Dee spoke evenly,
but the lack of his customary enthusiasm showed
how little he enjoyed delivering this particular
message.

Which didn't mean that Krycek wasn't annoyed with
him anyway. "No.  I don't have time for that.  I can
keep an eye on things here, or I can finish that
damned report, but I can't do both.  Can't you stall
the Council for a few more days?  Either that, or
they're going to have to figure out a way for me to
dictate it from Washington.  Events are moving too
quickly here, and Charlottesville is too far away.  I
have to stay in Washington for a few more days at
least, until we get this thing resolved."  

"Is it safe for you, Alex?  There aren't going to be
legal complications, are there?"  D'lin never sounded
worried, but Dee's concern was obvious to Alex,
given their long history together.

"No.  No problems at all on that end.  The
Englishman handled the arrangements most efficiently
before he died, and Skinner knows better than to fuck
with me.  And I can handle Mulder."  

"I'm very glad to hear that.  Alex, I will inform the
Council that your report will be delayed until the
conclusion of the present operation.  At that time,
you will file reports with regard to both operations. 
Is that satisfactory?  The time frame will be several
more days, is that correct?"

"Yeah, that's right.  A few days, at least.  Junior
won't be ready to leave for at least that long, and I
don't see Daddy gunning for him in the hospital
again. It'll have to be out in the open.  But I made the
kid an offer he probably can't refuse, once he has the
time to think things through."  

"And you don't think the FBI will try to interfere?"

"That won't be a problem.  They won't like it, but
they don't have any choice.  Jeffrey Spender resigned
from the FBI prior to the attack.  It's his decision. 
And if I had to choose between having the leaky FBI
bureaucracy protecting me, versus a skilled assassin
who's already saved my butt twice, I know what
choice I would make.   I'll give it a couple of days,
then arrange a meeting with them.  By then, Jeffrey
will probably have given Skinner and the others the
bad news.  And we should know if Smoky has any
more names on his hit parade. That's it for now.  I'll
be in touch when there's more news."

"Indeed.   Thank you for the update, Alex.  Let me
know when there are further developments."

"You got it.  Bye."  

Krycek thumbed the pen, breaking the connection,
and handed the object back to the Guardian.  He
downed the rest of his coffee, tossed a handful of bills
onto the table and rose to his feet.  "I'm going back
to the apartment," he informed his silent companions. 
"I want you to keep an eye on things at the hospital
until I return.  If Mulder or Scully leave, one of you
should stay with them until they return.  Make sure
they're not being targeted.  But be discreet; make
sure they don't see you.  We're going to be
remaining in town a few more days at least."

******

Mulder continued to stare at the door through which
his former partner and current nemesis had departed. 
His face was still red when he finally, unwillingly
turned back to his companions.  The incredulous
smile on his partner's lips disappeared so quickly he
wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, and she was now
facing him with a serious, set expression which told
him she was trying very hard to contain her shock. 
Jeffrey Spender was trying very hard not to laugh.
Skinner was staring at him as though he'd recently
grown a second head. 

"Is there anything about your relationship with Alex
Krycek you'd like to tell me, Agent Mulder?" the AD
inquired.

If it were possible, Mulder flushed an even brighter
shade of crimson.  "There's nothing to tell, sir. 
Krycek has a very twisted sense of humor.  He was
trying to embarrass me." 

Skinner tilted his head consideringly.  "I'd say he
succeeded."

Mulder looked sour.  "Yes, sir."

"I don't know if embarrassment is the only thing
involved here," Scully said in a troubled tone.  "The
way he repeatedly seeks Agent Mulder out... Has
anything like this ever happened before?" she asked
her partner.

Mulder took a sudden, intense interest in a small
paint whorl on the opposite wall.  There was no way
he was answering that question.  Hell, there was no
way he was even going to think about it.

"Mulder?"  Scully sounded even more deeply
concerned by his reticence.  "If Krycek did something
to you when you were partners, or --"

"No!" Mulder broke in, grateful for the opportunity
to answer his partner honestly without upsetting her
further.  "He didn't. Do anything, I mean.  I think he
does it -- did it," he hastily corrected himself -- "just
to keep me off-balance."  He watched his partner's
dismayed features and knew she'd caught the slip. 
"Or maybe he just likes being thrown against walls,"
he said half-jokingly, wishing for a better rejoinder...
and an opportunity to test that theory on the rat
bastard who'd put him in this ridiculous position.

"We can worry about that later," Skinner interjected,
though he also sounded disturbed by Mulder's
unintended revelation.  "Right now, I want both of
you to secure the entrance to this ward.  I don't want
anyone else coming up here and scaring themselves
silly or contaminating the crime scene by stumbling
over the bodies.  I'm going to call the hospital
administrators and let them know what happened,
and that we're closing off this wing except for
essential medical staff until we've had a forensics
team in.  And local police will have to be called in;
it's their jurisdiction as well.  We're also going to
need replacements for the agents who were killed.  I
don't think headquarters is going to give me any
more arguments about manpower after what
happened here today."

Mulder and Scully had started for the door when
Skinner stopped them.  "Wait. One more thing." The
AD looked over at Jeffrey Spender; then at his
agents.  The expression on his face suggested that he
had eaten something both unpalatable and highly
indigestible.  "I don't think we should mention
Krycek's involvement.  That's a little hard to explain
to local law enforcement."

"It's a little hard to explain, period," said Mulder, still
aggrieved at being forced to let his least favorite
felon walk out unscathed.  "Sir, you still owe us an
explanation."

"And you'll have one," Skinner promised.  "Later. 
But for the record, I think we should simply report
that the shooter was gone by the time we arrived on
the scene.  Agent Spender, you saw a vaguely defined
figure in black take out your would-be kidnappers,
but you were still feeling woozy and couldn't identify
your benefactor.  You know only that he slipped
away as soon as the job was done."

All three were staring at Skinner in stunned surprise. 
"I have my reasons for this, Agents.  And I will
explain.  But now isn't the time."

******

The time didn't actually arrive until the wee hours of
the night.  As was usually the case, Krycek had left
them one hell of a mess to explain and dispose of. 
The hours after his departure were filled with police
reports and witness statements and forensic teams. 
Skinner doubled the size of the protection force
assigned to Jeffrey Spender, and instructed Scully
and Mulder to camp out at the hospital for the
duration of Agent Spender's stay.  Since the 7th floor
was still empty of patients except for Spender, it was
easy to assign them to rooms on either side of the
injured agent. Skinner was still mindful of the
warning he'd been given, and after this latest,
incredibly brazen attempt on Agent Spender's life, he
didn't want to take any chances.  Fortified by
reinforcements, the seventh floor now looked like an
armed camp. 

After giving their statements to both FBI and local
law enforcement, Mulder and Scully had left the
hospital together, Skinner remaining behind to keep
an eye on things in their absence. Accompanied by
some of Skinner's watchdogs, the two agents
returned briefly to their respective apartments to pack
up the toiletries, clothing and other items they would
need for their prolonged stay.  The moment they
returned, Skinner left for the Hoover building to file
his own report and attend a debriefing on the incident
at GW.  By the time he was finally able to make his
way back to the hospital, it was well past 10 p.m.

This time, Skinner found a quiet 7th floor waiting for
him upon his return.  An informal exchange of
greetings with the agents at the entrance to the
section reassured him that all was in order.

Mulder and Scully were in Spender's room, where
they had spent most of the day, providing the injured
man with company and not so incidentally picking his
brain clean of everything he knew about CGB
Spender and Alex Krycek.  Agent Spender had fallen
asleep, exhausted by the dual burden of enjoying his
first day of consciousness after the shooting and the
attempted kidnaping and its aftermath.  When
Skinner arrived, Mulder was reading a mystery novel
with an exceptionally lurid cover, while Scully had
immersed herself in the latest issue of JAMA. Both
looked up alertly as the door swung open, relaxing
when they recognized their boss. 

Skinner hooked a finger, silently calling them to join
him outside.  They obediently rose and followed, two
other agents immediately stepping into the room to
take their place.

They walked to the small guest lounge at the end of
the corridor.  From the paper bag he had brought
with him, Skinner extracted deli sandwiches, sodas
and a salad for Scully.  The FBI team made
themselves comfortable, spreading out around the
lounge table with their food and libations.

For some minutes, they ate in silence, enjoying the
first real break of the day.  Finally, after finishing his
sandwich and putting down his soda, Skinner turned
to face his companions.

"I believe you have some questions for me, Agents?"

"How the hell did Krycek get a clean slate?" Mulder
exploded, asking the question that had been gnawing
at him all day.  "The bastard killed my father; helped
abduct Scully; probably helped kill her sister --" he
jerked his head in Scully's direction.  "He beat you
up, stole classified information.  And he was up to his
eyeballs in that mess involving the Tunguska rock. 
There's no way he's clean, sir, and you know that as
well as I do!" 

"You're right, Agent Mulder.  Krycek is dirty as hell. 
But what evidence do you have?  Can you prove he
was involved in your father's death?"

"I know he did it," Mulder growled.

"That's not the same thing and you know it!" 
Skinner snapped.  "Can you *prove* it?"

"You know I can't," Mulder admitted.  "Bastard
covered his tracks well.  But I know he did it."

Skinner turned to Scully.  "And you, Agent Scully? 
Can you prove he was involved in your sister's
murder?"

Scully shook her head.  "No, sir.  The only forensic
evidence points to Cardinale.  Cardinale attempted to
implicate Krycek, but he gave no specifics, and I had
a gun trained on him at the time, so he was arguably
under duress."

"What about you, sir?  You know Krycek attacked
you," Mulder challenged.

"In order to steal something I had no authority to be
handling in the first place.  The mere possession of
that DAT tape would send me to prison if I admitted
to having it."  Skinner sighed.  "Believe me, Agents, I
would like nothing better than to toss that bastard in
jail and throw away the key.  But my hands are tied. 
This isn't even a case of stolen or missing evidence. 
There *is* no hard evidence against Alex Krycek. 
We all suspect, we all believe him guilty of countless
crimes, but there is no proof."

He looked over at Mulder and Scully, who looked
sulky but grudgingly nodded.  Skinner sighed heavily. 
"Several months ago, Krycek apparently did someone
a favor which put him in the good graces of some
very important people.  As a result of that, I was
called into the Director's office one day, and handed
Krycek's updated FBI file.  The latest update to the
file stated that as a result of inquiries conducted at
the highest levels of the government, it had been
determined that all charges against Alex Krycek were
baseless and without foundation, for which reason all
wants and warrants had been dismissed.  When I
attempted to challenge that decision, I was informed
that the topic was not open to further discussion,
unless I could provide incontrovertible proof
disproving those findings.  When I tried to protest
further, I was unofficially advised that if I didn't drop
the matter immediately, my position at the FBI might
be at risk -- but that the decision regarding Krycek
was not going to change."

"Why didn't you tell us?"  Mulder protested.

"You no longer worked for me at the time, and I had
been ordered to avoid contact with both of you. 
Also, I knew how you would react.  There was
nothing to be done, Agent Mulder.  Believe me, if
anything could have helped, I would have done it. 
Your standing at the FBI was already in a precarious
state as things were.  You would have needlessly
jeopardized your career and accomplished nothing."

Mulder opened his mouth to protest, then shut it.  He
hated it, but Skinner was undoubtedly right.  The rat
bastard had slipped through his fingers again.  But
the way he'd done it...

"Be interesting to know just what Krycek did to earn
himself such consideration," Mulder remarked
slowly.

"I made inquiries at the time, but no one would give
me a straight answer," Skinner admitted. 

Mulder frowned, mulling things over.  "What he told
Agent Spender -- that he could protect him better
than the FBI -- he's probably right, sir.  And Agent
Spender isn't a complete idiot.  If the FBI couldn't
protect him in his own office, how can they protect
him anywhere else?  I don't see him turning down
Krycek's offer.  Especially since he doesn't know
what a double-dealing, unprincipled son of a bitch the
rat bastard is."

"He'd be a fool to turn it down," Scully agreed.

"But why is Krycek trying to protect Jeffrey
Spender?" Mulder mused.  "Why save his life today,
and why offer him protection?  It's obvious that
Krycek is no longer working with Spender Senior,
but is that a new development?  If we can believe
Agent Spender's account, Krycek was working for
the man less than a week ago, though he seemed to
be undercutting his authority.  But if not the Smoker,
who is Krycek working for?  Most of the Consortium
went up in flames.  And if he's working for himself,
why would he care about a pathetic nonentity like
Jeffrey Spender?"

"If he's fallen out with Cancerman, Krycek may think
he can learn something useful from Agent Spender. 
Maybe he thinks Cancerman confided in his son,"
Skinner suggested doubtfully.

"That's unlikely, sir." Mulder commented.  "We
spoke with Agent Spender tonight, after the police
left."  And what a surprise and disappointment that
had been. Once the police interrogations were over
and the physicians had resettled their patient, Mulder
had virtually pounced on the injured man.  He
demanded to know everything that Jeffrey knew
about Krycek -- how they'd met, what Krycek had
said, who he was working for -- everything.  And
apart from being unsatisfying, Spender's answers
were... well, unsettling, to say the least. "Agent
Spender told us he knew nothing of the true nature of
his father's work until about a week ago -- and most
of what he now knows he learned from Krycek.  No. 
It has to be something else."

"Maybe we should ask him, next time he shows up.
You never know -- maybe he'll surprise us all and
give a straight answer for once,"  Scully remarked. 
Mulder shot her a look of disbelief, and she shrugged.

Skinner was still focused on Mulder's remarks. 
"What did Krycek tell Agent Spender about his
father?"

Mulder and Scully looked at each other.  Mulder
shifted uncomfortably in his seat and started gnawing
on his lower lip.  "It would seem that we're back on
the X-Files because of what Krycek told Agent
Spender," Mulder finally admitted, with obvious
reluctance.  "Krycek told Agent Spender that he had
been assigned to the X-Files in order to protect his
father's extragovernmental projects and experiments. 
When he learned from Krycek that his father had
been responsible for years of experimentation on his
mother, Agent Spender attempted to defy his father
by protecting his mother."

"Apparently, it was CGB Spender who arranged for
us all to end up at Fort Marlene, so he could regain
control of Cassandra," Scully added.  "Jeffrey had no
idea of his involvement at the time."

Mulder nodded.  "And when his efforts proved futile,
and he discovered his father had reclaimed his
mother, Agent Spender decided to disassociate
himself from the X-Files so his father couldn't use
him any longer to protect his dirty work.  Agent
Spender also lobbied to have us reassigned to the
X-Files, since, based upon the information Krycek
gave him, it was clear to him that we had been
removed because we were hindering his father's illicit
projects."  Mulder didn't quite know how to think
about that.  He loathed the idea that he was, however
indirectly, indebted to his most passionately hated
enemy for his return to the work that he so
passionately loved.  And what made things even
worse was Mulder's lurking suspicion that Krycek
knew exactly what effect he was achieving by
providing information to the naive young fool.

"Which brings up an equally interesting question,"
Scully admitted, demonstrating that on this matter, if
not on others, she and Mulder were of the same
mind. "Why does Alex Krycek want us back on the
X-Files?"

******

After a restless night spent in unfamiliar and
uncomfortable hospital beds, Mulder and Scully
wandered back into Agent Spender's room early the
next morning.  Some color was beginning to return to
the young agent's face, and he was considerably
more lucid.  He watched them enviously as they
wolfed down their hospital-provided breakfast.  The
injured man remained on intravenous fluids -- even
though bowel sounds had returned, the doctors
wanted to give the repaired intestine a few days to
heal before reintroducing it to the concept of
digestion.  About all Spender was permitted to
consume orally were ice chips and throat lozenges. 
He was still too sick to be really hungry, but he
stared longingly at their eggs, oatmeal and yogurt
nonetheless.

The day passed quietly and without incident.  After a
couple of days spent mostly in each other's company,
Mulder and Spender had settled into an uneasy truce,
although they still found themselves butting heads
from time to time.  Frequently, it was the subject of
Alex Krycek that set off their arguments. 
Predictably, Mulder returned to the subject of Krycek
and what he had told Spender, but Spender had
nothing to add to his earlier account.  He also warned
Spender about the hazards of trusting Krycek, telling
him the story of their short-lived partnership, of the
crimes he believed Krycek had committed, and of
how dangerous and unscrupulous the man was. 
Scully seconded Mulder's arguments, agreeing that
Krycek was one of the most dangerous, ruthless,
untrustworthy, and unprincipled criminals she had
ever encountered.  

Unfortunately, neither of them had a satisfactory
answer for Spender when he questioned the Bureau's
ability to protect him.  They knew, only too well, that
the FBI was a paper tiger when confronted with the
influence and resources of the shadow government. 
Nor could they explain or refute the undeniable fact
that Alex Krycek had already saved Jeffrey's life on
two occasions.

Jeffrey finally told them to drop the subject.  He
would think the matter over and make a decision --
and the decision was his and his alone to make. 
Exhausted by the wrangling, he turned his back on
them and slept for the next six hours.  

Mulder and Scully continued to guard the room, but with a
growing conviction that the Smoker would not be so
reckless as to organize another assassination attempt
at the hospital, knowing that security would have
increased and would remain on high alert.  Mulder
did the Sunday NY Times crossword puzzle and then
jumped online to play his favorite interactive
computer game.  Scully continued to methodically
plough her way through the large backlog of medical
journals she hadn't yet found time to read.  All in all,
the day passed very slowly, and a bored Mulder
found himself almost wishing for another
assassination attempt, just to break the tedium.

He didn't get his wish, at least not in that form, but
around 7 pm, Skinner showed up with a large
Chinese takeout order.  After he passed out spare
ribs, egg rolls, sauteed vegetables, chicken lo mein
and moo shu pork to the rest of the FBI contingent,
he, Mulder and Scully retired to the conference room
with what was left of the banquet to enjoy their own
dinner.  

When they had finished, Skinner offered to
hold the fort for awhile so the two agents might take
a walk outside to clear their heads, recharge their
batteries, and maybe pick up some coffee from the
nearby mall.  Thrilled by the opportunity to escape
the cloying hospital environment, at least for a few
minutes, Mulder and Scully readily assented.  Skinner
stood at the door to Spender's hospital room as his
agents walked down the corridor.  The minute they
had passed out of sight, he had his cell phone out and
was speed-dialing a number.

"Yes?"

"They've gone," Skinner said tersely.  "You've got
about twenty to thirty minutes."

"That should be long enough.  Well done."

Skinner flushed.  "So help me, Krycek --"

The click informed him that he was now talking to
himself.  With a muffled curse, he put the phone away
and stalked over to the entrance to await his visitor.

Krycek arrived three minutes later, clad in leather
jacket, grey tee and worn blue jeans, and looking as
jaunty and self-assured as ever.  He greeted the
Assistant Director with the utmost politeness, looked
wide-eyed and intimidated by all the armed men
around him, and even managed to keep from his eyes
all but a hint of the mocking laughter he must have
felt within at playing the part of the harmless, affable
visitor.  Skinner conveyed to his security team that
this unremarkable, unthreatening-looking gentleman
was expected, and the two men walked down the hall
together to Jeffrey's room.

"So, what's this about, Krycek?" Skinner hissed.  "I
thought you wanted to set up a meeting with the four
of us.  Why'd you ask me to get Mulder and Scully
out of the way?"

"Ask?"  Krycek placed a light stress on the word. 
Skinner glared daggers at the man, who now 
appeared anything but harmless, and Krycek let the
subject drop.  "I want to talk to Jeffrey.  See if he has
any questions he wants to ask me before making his
decision.  And I want to have that conversation
without constant interruptions from the peanut
gallery.  We both know that Mulder's presence
would make a normal conversation quite impossible. 
For some reason, the man seems to lose all sense of
proportion and self-control when I'm around."

"Funny how you have that effect on people," Skinner
observed.  Krycek grinned.

"This way, Jeff and I can have a nice quiet chat."  
They had reached Spender's room, and Krycek
knocked softly before walking inside, Skinner
following in his wake.  Spender looked up at them
through half-closed lids as they came in.  He'd been
dozing, but after the most recent assassination
attempt, he'd become a very light sleeper.  When he
recognized his visitor, he quickly dashed the sleep
from his eyes and raised the bed so he could see them
properly.

"Alex!"

"Hi, Jeff."  Krycek strolled over to the bed to study
its inhabitant with a critical eye.  "You look better,"
he decided.  "A lot better than when I saw you last."

"My gut still hurts," Spender admitted. "There's still
some nausea at times, though the drugs help with
that.  And I feel like I want to sleep for a month."

"That's perfectly normal," Alex told him seriously. 
"All of it."

"I know.  That's what the doctors told me.  They tell
me I'm doing okay.  Probably be another three or
four days before I'm out of here.  They're hoping to
put me on clear liquids in another two days, if
everything continues to improve at the same rate."

"That's good to hear.  So.  The reason I came here
tonight, Jeff, was to see if you had any questions
about what I said the other night.  The offer I made
to you."

"Did you wait until Mulder left?"  Jeffrey couldn't
help asking.  He could hardly avoid noticing that his
almost constant companions of the last two days
were currently absent.

Krycek flashed him a slight grin.  "I thought it might
be easier to talk without him.  I wanted us to have
our conversation in peace.  Have you thought about
what I said?"

Jeffrey nodded.  "Yeah."  He grimaced, and Alex
knew he was girding himself to ask something that he
feared might not be received pleasantly.  "Look,
Alex, I know that I can't trust the FBI to protect me. 
And you've saved my life twice now, and I appreciate
that.  But after speaking with Agents Mulder and
Scully, I'm wondering if I can trust you to protect me
any more than the FBI can.  Why do you want to
help me?  What's in it for you?"

"Why do you think I saved you the other two times?"

Spender shook his head.  "I don't know.  But I'm
sure it was for your own reasons.  Why did you?"

"You don't think I did it out of friendship?"

Spender dismissed that out of hand.  "No."

Krycek nodded approvingly.  "Nice to know you're
not the sentimental fool your father thinks.  You're
right, of course.  It had nothing to do with friendship. 
I did it to tweak your old man."

"Huh?"

"As I was explaining to you the other day, when we
were so rudely interrupted --" his eyes flicked over
Skinner briefly -- "your father and I have had a
serious falling out.  If he dislikes you enough to want
you dead, that in itself is enough reason for me to try
and keep you alive.  First, because it annoys him; and
second, because if he cares enough to want you dead,
there's probably something in you that's worth
saving.  Does that make any sense to you?"

Spender frowned as he thought about it.  "I suppose
so.  And that's the reason?"

"As best I can explain it to you, yes."

"And that's why you're offering me protection now? 
Because you still want to annoy my father?  Or
because you think I might be useful against him?"

"Both."

"He never told me anything," Jeffrey said with a
touch of bitterness.  "You know far more than I do
about what's going on.  I hadn't seen the man in over
twenty years until a year ago.  What happens when
you realize that I really can't be of use to you in your
fight with him?  Do you turn around and kill me
then?"

"Don't sell yourself short, Jeffrey," Krycek said
softly.  "You're more valuable than you know.  Even
without any specific knowledge of his activities."

"Really?"

Krycek nodded.

"Did you really kill Agent Mulder's father?"  Spender
suddenly asked.

Krycek raised an eyebrow.  "Does it really matter?"

Spender thought for a moment.  "Yes."

Krycek looked meaningfully at Skinner. The
Assistant Director had remained just inside the
doorway, guarding the entrance and listening
impassively to the conversation. "I'll be waiting
outside, Agent Spender," the AD advised, with
obvious reluctance.  "Let me know when you're
finished."

Krycek waited until the door had closed behind him. 
He activated the jammer in his pocket.  He didn't
think there was any surveillance in the room, apart
from what he himself had set up, but it never paid to
take unnecessary chances.  He lowered his voice,
until it was barely audible over the humming of the
jamming device. The buzzing sound would ensure
that even if Skinner was trying to eavesdrop, he
wouldn't be able to hear anything.   "This is just
between you and me, Jeffrey. Breathe a word of it to
anyone else -- especially Agent Mulder -- and you
can forget about my help.  I'll deny every word.  And
you won't have to worry about dear old dad, because
I'll kill you myself.  Some information can be deadly
to the recipient. You still want to know?"

"Yes," came the almost inaudible response.

"The answer to your question is yes.  I did."

Spender stared at him, wide-eyed.  "You don't even
sound the least bit sorry," he murmured.

"I'm not.  There are a few deaths I've regretted, but
Bill Mulder's is not one of them.  There is no room
for second thoughts in this business.  You make your
decisions and you live with them.  Or, if you can't
live with them anymore, you die with them.  But you
don't take your son down with you."

"Your son," Jeffrey echoed in surprise; then, at
Krycek's warning look, he hushed his voice.  "Fox
Mulder?"

Krycek nodded.  "Bill Mulder was an integral part of
the Project for many years.  He and your father
worked hand-in-hand for decades, sacrificing family
members, organizing the experiments, providing test
subjects for the aliens, doing whatever was necessary
to protect their secrets.   Then he suddenly decided
that he wanted to confide all in his son.  Whether he
was motivated by an attack of conscience or a sudden
loss of nerve, no one will ever know.  But he
resolved to brief his son Fox on everything he knew
about the Project and its ramifications.  That could
not be permitted to happen.  If he had succeeded,
then either Fox Mulder would have had to become a
player in the Consortium -- something he was wholly
unsuited-for, in terms of his personality and
temperament -- or he would have been killed.  By
killing Bill Mulder before he could impart that
information, I probably saved his son's life."

"So you killed him for Fox Mulder's sake?" Spender
queried.

"No!  I killed him because those were my orders,
Jeff.  Don't make me out to be something I'm not. 
At the time, I was your father's hired muscle, and
when he said shoot, I pulled the trigger."

"But --"

"I was explaining why I don't regret the killing,"
Krycek continued in the same hushed, almost
mesmerizing, voice.  "Bill Mulder was a player.  For
many years, he played the game as effectively and
ruthlessly as anyone.  He knew that if he spoke to his
son, it would make Fox a target, one way or another. 
And yet, he was willing to place his son in jeopardy,
purely for his own selfish reasons.  So -- no, I don't
regret killing the man at all."

Jeffrey shook his head.  To be able to kill another
human being, and remain so cool, so calm and
unruffled by it -- it was hard for him to understand. 
Krycek terrified him... but at the same time, he was
overawed by the man.

"Agent Scully's sister?" he asked hoarsely,
wondering why he was doing this.  He was far more
troubled by this conversation than the man who'd just
confessed to an assassination.

"I didn't kill her.  A man named Luis Cardinale killed
her.  Agent Scully knows that, too."

"But you were involved."  It was not quite a
question.

"Yes.  I was backup for Cardinale.  Your father
didn't quite trust me to handle the hit because I knew
the parties involved.  Though he made an exception
in your case, he usually prefers impersonal hits. 
More professional that way. I suppose they told you
the target was supposed to be Agent Scully?"

Spender nodded mutely.

"Your father would have preferred to let Cardinale
handle the hit on Mulder's father for the same reason. 
But he didn't have time.  That job came up quite
suddenly, and Cardinale was overseas at the time.  So
it fell to me."  Krycek paused.  "Any more
questions?"  There was just the hint of an edge to his
words.

Spender remained silent, digesting what he'd been
told.  

"So, Jeffrey, what's it to be?  We both know I can
protect you, and the FBI can't.  I've explained why
it's in my interest to do so.  Do you want my help?"

Another long moment of silence.  Then, almost
inaudibly, "Yes."

"Okay.  It'll take me a few days to arrange things, but
you're not going anywhere for a few days anyway. 
I'll firm up the arrangements with AD Skinner; he
can let you know the details we work out.  It's too
dangerous for me to come to the hospital again --
your father might be having the place watched -- so
Skinner will act as go-between.  When you're ready
to leave the hospital, he'll deliver you to me at a time
and place known only to Skinner, Mulder, Scully and
myself. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah.  Thanks, Alex."  He paused, hesitantly.
"Thanks for answering my questions."

"You're welcome. Just remember what I said."

"I won't breathe a word."

Krycek turned for the door.  "I'd better leave.  You
should get some sleep, and I should get out of here
before I have to make explanations I'd rather not
make.  Good night, Jeffrey."

"Night, Alex," Spender gave a tentative wave as
Krycek slipped out the door.

******

Krycek paused briefly to exchange a few words with
Skinner, leaving the hospital only minutes before
Mulder and Scully returned from their coffee run.  As
the Agents returned, laden with cups of coffee for the
entire FBI complement, Skinner gratefully relieved
them of the espresso they had brought for him.  The
three walked back into Spender's room.  Jeffrey was
wide awake, his bed propped up slightly so he could
see them without straining.

"Krycek was here," he started without preamble.

"Where?!"  Mulder reached automatically for his gun
as he looked around wildly for his elusive adversary.  

"He's gone, Agent Mulder," Skinner said calmly. 
"He waited until you left to have a few words with
Spender."

"What did he say?"  Mulder demanded.

"He wanted to know if I had any questions about his
offer," Jeffrey said.  "I asked him why he had saved
me, and why I should trust him to save me again."

"And did he answer your questions?" Scully asked.

Jeffrey nodded.  "Yes...basically.  He thinks he can
use me against my father.  I don't really have any
objections to that, so I've decided to accept his
offer."

"Agent Spender --" Mulder began, but Jeffrey weakly
raised his hand, fending him off.

"Please, Agent Mulder.  I know there's bad blood
between you and Alex Krycek.  And anyone can see
that he's a dangerous, ruthless man.  But I think he
can protect me, and I doubt the FBI can.  And after
talking to him, I think that he really wants to protect
me, for his own reasons.  And if he can use me to
screw my father's plans, I'd kind of like to be a part
of that."

Mulder and Scully looked helplessly at Skinner,
hoping he would protest this insanity, but it was
obvious that Skinner had heard this before.  He
shrugged.

"It's out of my hands, Agents.  Jeffrey Spender has
resigned from the FBI, and he can make his own
decisions.  And unless you're suggesting that I
withdraw protection and leave him here undefended,
I don't see that we have much choice other than to
accede to his wishes in this."

"Sir, you know that Krycek cannot be trusted!  This
is madness!"

"It's Agent Spender's choice.  Krycek said it would
take a few days to get the arrangements made, but he
wants to meet with the three of us tomorrow night,
to go over the details.  I said we'd be there."

"Sir --"

"I think we owe it to Agent Spender to give him
every chance to get away safely.  If this is what he
wants, I think we have no choice but to cooperate
with Krycek."  Unspoken was the implicit admission
that Skinner had no more faith in the FBI's ability to
protect Spender than his agents did.  "And if we do
meet with Krycek, we may learn something to our
advantage.  If he is planning something, perhaps he'll
let something slip."

"I don't like it," Mulder said stubbornly.

"I don't like it either," Skinner admitted.  "But I see
no alternative."

******

The deserted storage facility fairly screamed "trap". 
Mulder, Scully and Skinner uneasily scrutinized their
surroundings as they slowly tracked through the
empty parking lot on their way to the darkened
office.  The one story office was only about
twenty-five feet from the parking lot, but the walk
seemed to take an eternity.  Mulder found himself 
clutching at his gun for reassurance.  He wouldn't 
have been surprised if they had found themselves 
suddenly illuminated by spotlights and in the middle 
of a shooting gallery.  In a way, he would almost 
have preferred it to the eerie silence.

Nonetheless, they reached the door without incident. 
By silent agreement, Skinner took the lead and
knocked on the door. When there was no response,
he knocked again, more loudly this time.  The sound
echoed loudly in the stillness of the night.

"Bastard's playing games as usual." Mulder scowled.

Experimentally, Skinner tried the door handle.  The
knob turned easily; the door was unlocked.  The
three looked at each other, then drew their guns. 
This time, when Skinner tried to lead them inside,
Mulder reached out a hand to stop him.

"No, sir.  Let me do it."  Without waiting for an
argument, Mulder pushed his way in front.  "Cover
me," he whispered, just before he threw the door
open and dove inside, breaking to the right.  Scully
angled to the left behind him.  Skinner stayed at the
door, gun in hand, ensuring they were not surprised
from the rear.

The office was dark and empty.  From the other side,
light spilled through a door which was partially ajar,
providing a faint illumination.

"Come in, Mulder."  Krycek's voice issued from the
far room.  "You're early."

"So are you," Mulder rejoined, his eyes darting
around to inspect their surroundings.  The FBI
contingent had elected to show up a half hour early,
to frustrate any possible traps, but it seemed that
Krycek had anticipated them.  Everything looked safe
enough, but with Krycek involved, Mulder knew
better than to make any assumptions.  He remained
watchful, the gun still in his hand.  Off to one side, he
saw that Scully was being equally cautious, her gun
also drawn as she carefully checked for unwelcome
surprises.  He watched as she quickly glanced
through the open, lighted doorway leading to the
next room.

Skinner slipped inside.  "All quiet out there," he
reported.

"We found Krycek," Scully explained, nodding
toward the other room. She was still standing just to
one side of the doorway.

"And you're wasting time," Krycek snapped.  "Let's
get on with it."

Mulder, Scully and Skinner halted at the open
doorway with guns still drawn, carefully eyeballing
the surroundings before venturing inside.  They found
themselves staring at a perfectly ordinary conference
room, defined by the perfectly ordinary, large oak
conference table and surrounding chairs that
occupied most of the space.  The table was bare,
except for a stack of legal-length yellow pads and
some pens and pencils.  The only surreal element
marring the absurd normality of the scene before
them was the black-clad assassin seated at the far end
of the table with pen and legal pad, sipping a Coke. 
Krycek showed no overt signs of being armed, which
of course meant nothing.  Still, the absence of any
overt firepower suggested that perhaps this was,
indeed, intended to be a meeting and not a trap.

Krycek let the three of them stare at him for over a
minute before he decided that he'd had quite enough
of that.  "Well?  Are you going to stand by the door
all night?  There are drinks over there if you want
anything."  He nodded toward the side wall, where
there was a tray of sodas, together with a pitcher of
ice.  He ignored the three guns trained on him with
admirable aplomb, knowing that his visitors would
find this business-like persona far more unsettling than
that of the assassin they knew.

"I think we'll pass," Skinner said gruffly.  His eyes
locked on the small Palm Pilot lying on the table in
front of Krycek. He glanced at Krycek's cheerful
face, then looked hastily away.

"You might as well drop the *good host* routine,
Krycek," Mulder snarled.  "It doesn't suit you."  The
agent was so wrapped up in his usual antipathy that
Krycek was sure he'd missed Skinner's reaction
entirely.

"So, who's looking after Jeffrey while you're all out
playing cops and robbers?" Krycek countered
politely.   He couldn't resist twisting the knife a little.

"Why the hell do you care?" Mulder demanded. 
"You don't give a damn about Jeffrey Spender. What
game are you playing this time, Krycek?"

"You wrong me, Mulder.  Jeffrey Spender's health is
a matter of great concern to me at the moment." 
Krycek didn't press the question.  His allies had the
entire 7th floor of the hospital under surveillance; if
there were any problems, they would inform him and
deal with the situation as needed.  Not that he
thought it would come to that.  Best information
suggested that after the last setback, Old Smoky
would wait until the chances for a successful
outcome had improved, meaning he would wait until
Junior was released from the hospital.  Which was,
after all, the entire point of this meeting.

"Why, Krycek?"  This time it was Scully; they were
tag-teaming him.  "Why this concern for the son of a
man you regard as your enemy?  You do regard CGB
Spender as your enemy now, don't you?"

"That's not a real name either, you know," Krycek
remarked casually.  "Just another alias.  I don't know
if even he remembers his real name at this point. 
He's been playing the game for so long."

"Just answer the question, Krycek," Mulder groused. 
"Why help Jeffrey Spender?"

"Because his father wants him dead," Krycek replied
simply.  "And contrary to your opinion, the Smoker
doesn't kill people that lightly.  If he wants his son
dead, there has to be a reason. Something that can be
used against him.  And I intend to learn what that is."

"And use it against him?" Scully asked.

Krycek nodded.  "That is the general idea."

"Just who are you working for these days anyway,
Krycek?" Mulder demanded.  "Not the Smoker,
obviously."

"Obviously." Krycek smirked in what he knew to be
his most annoying way.  Mulder's hand fisted in
response.

"Well, Krycek?  Going to answer the question?" 
Mulder pressed.  It was clear the agent was using
what little self-control he possessed to restrain
himself from crossing the room and beating some
answers out of his former partner.  "Who's holding
your leash these days?"

Krycek declined to rise to the bait.  "Let's just say
that you and I have some interests in common,
Mulder.  Neither one of us wants to play host to a
bunch of alien invaders.  Hospitality is all well and
good, but these guys give visitors a bad name."

"Alien invaders?" Scully said doubtfully.

Krycek grinned cheerfully at her.  "Ever the skeptic,
Agent Scully?  Even after Antarctica?  You know, I
bet you'll probably still be looking for safe, mundane,
scientific explanations when ET phones your neck
implant and calls you home to play Mommy to a
bunch of baby aliens."

Scully instinctively clapped her hand to the back of
her neck.  Mulder glared daggers at Krycek.  "What
the hell do you know about Scully's implant?"

"I know what it does," Krycek replied, unruffled. 
"Hell of a catch-22, isn't it, Scully?  Remove it, and
you die of cancer; leave it alone, and you live on the
sufferance of the alien colonists, until they have need
of you. Reality bites sometimes, you know?"

Mulder was out of his chair and had his fists twisted
in Krycek's collar almost before he finished the
sentence.  "This is your fault," he seethed. "You did
this to her!"

"No, you did," Krycek retorted around Mulder's
choke hold.  "If you hadn't been so damned curious,
stuck your nose where it wasn't wanted, they
wouldn't have chosen her.  They wanted to control
you.  And now they do."  He glared back at Mulder,
making no attempt to pull free of the hands gripping
at his neck.

"Agent Mulder --" Skinner had kept silent
throughout the meeting, but he finally injected a
cautionary note.

"Let him go, Mulder," Scully added.  "He's not
worth it.  Besides, there's nothing we can do about it
now."

Mulder gave Krycek one more hate-filled glance,
then slammed him back into his chair.

"This isn't what we came here for, Krycek," Skinner
declared.  "I thought you called this meeting to
discuss the arrangements for Agent Spender."

"I did," Krycek agreed, rubbing his neck.  He started
to cough; took a few sips of soda to settle himself. 
He had no doubt the reddened imprint of Mulder's
hands was plainly visible on his bruised flesh.  "Now
that we've exchanged the usual pleasantries..." He
removed a folder from the briefcase beside his chair
and slid it across the table.  "This file contains all the
relevant details. Hospital procedure is to authorize
discharges at 7 am.  The morning that the doctors
authorize Spender's release from the hospital, you
call me at the number on the inside cover between 7
and 8 am.   I'll be waiting at the safe house from 11
am onward that day.  Arrange for Jeffrey to be
discharged at 10 am.  You will provide transportation
to the safe house.  Take a very roundabout route and
make sure you're not followed.  That will be your
responsibility, Skinner -- and I don't want anyone
other than the three of you to know the final location. 
You got that?  You arrange for a decoy, whatever --
I leave the details in your capable hands.  But have
these two deliver Jeffrey Spender to that house after
11 am on the day of his release, and I'll take things
from there."

"This address," Skinner frowned.  "I know this area
of Maryland.  They're very grand houses, but it's still
a very well-populated area.  Not the best place to
maintain a low profile and hide someone indefinitely."

"No kidding.  That's why we won't be staying there
more than a day or two at most.  Jeffrey Spender is
going to disappear completely.  This is only Phase 1. 
You don't need to know anything about Phase II."

Krycek watched them in silence, drinking his Coke,
as the FBI trio poured over the file.  They quizzed
Krycek further on some of the details, but as he'd
expected, they were forced to reluctantly admit that
the plan was sound.  They bounced around some
possible decoy ideas, even grudgingly allowed
Krycek to offer up some ideas of his own.  After
about two hours, they had reached a consensus on
how the operation should be handled, and not a
moment too soon. Krycek had had quite enough
veiled -- and unveiled -- hostility for one night.   And
there was still one more thing to be done before it
was over.

"I think that's all, folks," he said cheerfully.  "You'd
better get back to the hospital.  I'll see you in a
couple of days."

"So help me, Krycek, if this turns out to be just
another one of your schemes --" Mulder began.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, Mulder.  You'll beat
the crap out of me.  You just handle your end.  I'll
take care of the rest."

The three turned to leave and were almost to the
door when Krycek spoke again.  "Hey, Skinner? 
There's something else I'd like to discuss with you. 
Let Mulder and Scully go on ahead."

"We'll all stay and hear," Mulder drawled, turning
back.  

"This doesn't concern you, Mulder," Krycek
retorted.  "This has to do with certain administrative
aspects of the problem.  Go back to the hospital
before our old friend Smoky realizes that he can get
to the kid without knocking you off."

"Sir?"  Scully hesitated, looking to Skinner for
direction.

"It's okay, Agents," he replied.  "Go ahead. I was
heading back to the office to finish a few things from
here anyway.  I'll meet you back at the hospital
tomorrow morning."

Krycek waited until he heard the outside door slam
shut.  Then he crossed the room, ignoring Skinner, to
go lock the door.

"Just wanted to make sure we're not disturbed," he
said calmly.  

Skinner glared at him.  "All right, Krycek.  What's so
important that you couldn't discuss it in front of
Mulder and Scully?"

Krycek smiled.  He'd been waiting all night for this
moment.  "Well, you see, Walter:  I'm afraid the plan
isn't going to go quite the way I described it.  I have
some special orders for you."

******

Skinner listened with alarm and dismay as Krycek
calmly outlined his real plans and Skinner's part in
them.  This was even worse than he'd imagined --
despite the fact that his imagination had been
working overtime from the moment he'd discovered
Krycek in Jeffrey Spender's hospital room.

"I can't do that!" he gasped.  "You're out of your
mind, Krycek!"  They had returned to the conference
room after Mulder and Scully's departure, this time
seated in adjoining seats.

"Of course you can," Krycek corrected him frostily. 
"And you will.  You have no choice in the matter." 
He glanced down at his hand.

"I don't know even know where the man is," 
Skinner protested.  "How do you expect me to
contact him?"

"You're a bright guy, Skinner.  You'll figure
something out."

"I should have known you'd never really change,"
Skinner raged between clenched teeth.  "You always
were a goddamn, double-crossing bastard, and
you're still a goddamn, double-crossing bastard."

Krycek tsked at him.  "Walter, I'm shocked at your
use of language.  Now, will you do it, or do I have to
make other arrangements?"  He didn't look down this
time, but his hand lightly tapped at the small Palm
Pilot that had rested on the table beside him through
the entire meeting.

"You leave me no choice," Skinner said painfully. 
"Damn you, Krycek!"

"No choice at all.  And I don't want to have to
remind you of that again.  I'm sick and tired of this
dance routine.  When I tell you to do something, I
don't want to hear an argument.  I get enough of that
from Mulder."

"I do have one question, though."  

Krycek's eyes bored into him, neither inviting nor
discouraging inquiry.  

"Why?  Why these elaborate arrangements?  Why not
just take your gun out and shoot Jeffrey Spender
yourself?  You're certainly capable of it.  Why bring
his father back into the picture?  And why in hell did
you interfere with the men the Smoker sent to finish
him?"

"I don't really see why I should answer your
questions," Krycek replied.  He had now picked up
the Palm Pilot and was fingering it casually.  

"Indulge me," Skinner said bitterly.  He was angry
enough to ignore the implied threat.

Krycek shrugged.  "If you insist."  He dropped the
Palm Pilot back on the table, his bluff called.   "It's
quite simple, really, if you think about it.  I want old
Smoky to owe me a favor.  If he has to do the dirty
himself, I'll have something on him."

"And what makes you think he'll do the job himself? 
What's to keep him from sending another team of
hired assassins?"

"Two things.  First, good help is hard to find, and
he's a little short at the moment.  I saw to that
personally."  Krycek's sharklike grin oozed menace. 
"His backup team isn't nearly as good as those
pathetic fools you saw lying about the hospital room;
he'd never entrust them with so important a task. 
Secondly, because this is personal, and he likes to
take care of personal business personally.  Why do
you think he tried to do Jeffrey himself at the Hoover
building?"

Skinner looked at Krycek with disgust.  "You really
are a loathsome piece of work, Krycek, you know
that?  Is there anyone you wouldn't sell?  Anyone or
anything you're loyal to, apart from yourself?"

"Personally, I've always found loyalty to be a terrible
encumbrance," Krycek answered.  "It has a
distressing tendency to get in the way of self-interest
at the most inconvenient times.  Same thing with
so-called *morality*."  His voice hardened.  "Enough
of this. I've indulged your curiousity, Skinner.  You
have your orders.  Get out.  And let me know when
it's done."

Skinner rose to his feet and towered over the
smirking renegade for a moment, clenching and
unclenching his fists.  Then, with a snarled curse, he
stormed out of the room.

Krycek smiled as he watched the AD's departure,
and poured himself another drink. Everything was
working out just the way he had planned.

******

Skinner went back to the FBI office following the
meeting with Krycek.  Feeling more than a little
nauseated, he set to work trying to locate the elusive
Cancerman.  He didn't have any kind of current
address or phone number for the man, but Krycek
hadn't seemed to think that would be an obstacle to
locating him.  Skinner called various contacts in
DOD and the NSA, people he knew had been linked
to the Smoker in the past.  None of them seemed to
have any information either -- at least, nothing they
were willing to share with Skinner -- but they all
agreed to pass along the message that Skinner was
looking for him if they happened to come into
contact.

After two hours of chasing nonexistent leads, Skinner
was ready to call it a night.  He was physically and
mentally drained.  He almost considered leaving his
car in the parking garage and calling a cab, but he
didn't want to lose time getting to the hospital in the
morning.  Besides, driving might give him a chance to
unwind.  Despite his exhaustion, he still felt tightly
wired.  Damn Krycek for playing these games.  Why
couldn't the bastard just kill him and be done with it?

He stepped out of the elevator and trudged slowly
across the largely deserted parking area of Level 2. 
There were only a few cars left at this late hour,
widely scattered about and barely visible in the dimly
lit garage.  As he passed one of the concrete pillars
supporting the edifice, a figure stepped out of the
shadows to join him.  A second set of footsteps
echoed as they walked toward his car.  At the next
pillar, his companion stopped, receding into the
shadows once again.  Reluctantly, Skinner followed.

With careful deliberation, the Smoker struck a match
and raised it to the unlit cigarette dangling from his
lips.  He took a deep breath and exhaled with evident
pleasure.  Skinner watched him impatiently, but knew
better than to give voice to his irritation.  That
precise deliberation of action was calculated to the
nth degree: to show which of the men was in charge
of this encounter.  And given what Skinner had in
mind, he could not afford to antagonize his
companion.

"You wanted to see me?"  CGB Spender, or
whatever his name was, had evidently had enough of
playing games for the moment, and was ready to get
down to business.

"I have something you want," Skinner said without
preamble.

"Do you now," the Smoker commented, showing no
visible reaction to the words.

"And I'm prepared to let you have it. For a price,"
Skinner continued raggedly.  Gods, he hated fencing
with this man.

"Are you?"  The tone bespoke polite disinterest, but
Skinner had not missed the flash in his eyes at the
words.  The Smoker was definitely intrigued.  Of
course, that hardly came as a surprise.

"Yes.  But if you're not interested --"

Spender genially waved his hand in the air to stop
him.  "Not so hasty, Mr. Skinner.  This item, in which
you feel I may have some interest -- you can deliver it
to me?"

"No.  I can't do that.  But I can tell you when it's
going to be delivered to a certain location."

"Ah."

Was that disappointment?  Skinner didn't know why,
but he suddenly sensed that he was losing his
audience.

"It's not a trap," he continued desperately. "You
know that traps are not my style. It will be very
lightly guarded; only four people know the location
I'm speaking of.  You'll never have a better chance
of acquiring this item.  After my colleagues and I
deliver the item in question to the rendezvous point,
it's likely to disappear almost immediately.  If that
happens, I don't think you're going to have much
luck in recovering it."

"Hmmm."  The tone was noncommittal, but the
Smoking Man puffed on his cigarette, lost in thought. 
Considering pros and cons, most likely, Skinner
guessed.  Still, the tension had almost reached the
breaking point when he posed another question.

"Of course, I have no idea what you are talking
about, Mr. Skinner.  But if I were in the slightest bit
interested, what kind of price were you thinking
about?"

Skinner took a deep breath.  This was the tough part. 
But he'd thought about it and thought about it, and
this was the only way out.  He was tired of being
pushed around; tired of having his chain yanked
whenever the mood hit Krycek.  At least if he went
down this way, he'd go down fighting.  It was also
the only way to give Jeffrey Spender at least a
fighting chance.  Of course, there was the danger that
Krycek might have anticipated that his tame FBI
puppet might go rogue on him; Krycek might have
prepared some kind of *insurance* to take Skinner
out if Krycek was killed.  But it was worth the risk to
be free of the man's control -- and he was not going
to see an innocent man die to save his own skin, not
if it was within his power to prevent it.

So, in answer to the Smoker's question, he replied
with two simple words.  "Alex Krycek."

The words seemed to hang in the air.

"What about Mr. Krycek?"  There was an edge to the
CSM's question.

"We're delivering the item in question to Krycek.  He
selected the rendezvous point.  He apparently hopes
to use it to exert some leverage over you."  A pause. 
"I want you to take him out."

The Smoker took a long drag on his cigarette.  He
regarded the AD with a thoughtful eye.  "Mr.
Skinner, you surprise me."

"Will you do it?"  The words were forced through
clenched teeth.

"Why do you want Mr. Krycek taken out?"

"Let's just say that I have damn good reasons for
wanting the son of a bitch dead," Skinner said
harshly, leaving no doubt of his antagonism.  "Look,
will you do it, or won't you?"

"Why?" the CSM pressed.  "Why, Mr. Skinner?"

"Because Krycek has something on me, damnit!"
Skinner burst out.  "And I'm sick and tired of
dancing to the bastard's tune!"

"Ah."  The Smoker seemed to be considering
whether he should press Skinner further, perhaps
goad him into revealing more about the hold Krycek
had on him.  He was probably wondering if two
could play at blackmail, Skinner thought bitterly. 
That was why he hadn't wanted to reveal even that
small detail to the Smoker.  But it had been wishful
thinking to expect the Smoker to do his dirty work
without an explanation.  He wasn't surprised the
information had been dragged out of him.

Another puff on the cigarette, and the butt was
dropped to the ground.  The Smoker crushed it under
his heel.  He lit another cigarette, took another
languorous puff.  Skinner held his ground, with
barely leashed impatience.  "Well?  Will you do it?"

"Yes."  Another slow, languid puff sent smoke
wreathing the air.  "I was planning to do it anyway. 
Mr. Krycek has been a considerable disappointment
and annoyance to me.  He has long outlived his
usefulness."

"What usefulness?" Skinner grumbled.  

"Do you have an address for me?" the Smoker asked
politely.

Skinner nodded; then named an address in an
expensive part of Chevy Chase, Maryland.  "We're
supposed to deliver the item in a few days, around
noon.  I'll have to let you know the precise details
later, because they are still subject to change.  I won't
actually know the delivery date until around 7 am on
the morning of the delivery day. How can I contact
you?"

"I'll call you.  Expect a call on your cell at 8 am each
morning.  If you don't have the details, just hang up
as though it were a wrong number.  Once you have
the information, be ready to provide it."

"Then we understand each other?"

"I believe we do, Mr. Skinner.  Good night."

******

The next several days passed in an atmosphere of
uneasy anticipation. There were no further attempts
on Jeffrey Spender's life.  Mulder and Scully
remained on duty at the hospital, guarding Spender,
but there was little for them to do other than make
small talk and play computer games.  The injured
man's condition continued to improve in slow but
measurable steps.  OPR was still dithering over the
attempted assassination and what to do with the
X-Files. Mulder and Scully were still under orders to
be ready for another meeting at any time, but no date
had been set. As far as both the agents and Skinner
were concerned, they were already back on the
X-Files anyway, and they were in no hurry for
another round with the not-always-predictable, 
stiff-necked bureaucrats of OPR.

The uneasiness was compounded by the fact that, in
characteristic but annoying fashion, Krycek had once
again disappeared into the woodwork following the
late night meeting at the storage place.  Just like a
rat, Mulder had jibed. He didn't call Skinner.  He
didn't visit the hospital.  There was nothing to show
that he was even aware of what was going on at all. 
This of course meant that none of the thousand and
one objections to his plan that had occurred to them
after the meeting could be addressed.  Which, Mulder
sourly admitted, was probably precisely the reason
for the latest disappearing act.

Deeply distrustful of Krycek, Scully and Mulder
remained highly suspicious of the entire business, and
especially of Krycek's intentions.  And yet, since
Krycek had indisputably saved Jeffrey Spender's life
-- twice now -- they really weren't in a position to
argue.  For Jeffrey, it was the opposite situation.  He
trusted Krycek -- well, more or less -- to protect him;
but after the earful he had gotten from Mulder, Scully
and Skinner, he couldn't help but have some niggling
doubts about why Krycek would consider protecting
him worth his while.  He tried to crush those
reservations whenever he could, but they continued
to intrude with unsettling regularity.

As for Skinner, the days were more than uneasy; they
were nervewracking.  Each passing uneventful minute
was torture for the AD because of what he had
deliberately set in motion. Skinner was counting on
the fact that the Smoker would take out Krycek
before turning his attention to Jeffrey.  The Smoker
was a professional, and it was clearly the logical,
professional move, Krycek being far more dangerous
and mobile than the injured Spender.  Skinner was
gambling that an attack on Krycek would give him,
Mulder and Scully the warning needed to protect
their injured colleague.  And if Krycek turned his
own weapon on Agent Spender, Skinner was
resolved to kill him personally, regardless of
consequences.  If Mulder didn't beat him to it.

Skinner tried to console himself with this analysis of
the situation at least fifty times a day.  But it was
small comfort.  He knew the Smoker couldn't be
trusted, any more than Alex Krycek could be trusted.
He was only too aware of everything that could go
wrong with that very tenuous, cobbled-together plan;
and in every quiet moment, those contingencies
screamed at him.  He could never lose sight of the
fact that his own actions might have placed all their
lives at risk.  

Not surprisingly, the four of them were very relieved
four mornings later when the word came down from
the Chief of Surgery that Jeffrey Spender was well
enough to be released.

******

Everything was in readiness.   It had been a critical
error for Skinner to give him the address so far in
advance, CGB Spender reflected, flicking ash from
the tip of his cigarette as he maintained his discreet
watch upon the premises.  Plenty of time for him to
prepare for their arrival, long before even Krycek
arrived to make his own arrangements.  His own
plans had been laid days earlier, the very day after
Skinner had relayed the damning information.  All he
had to do now was wait.

Through his binoculars, he saw the FBI contingent
arrive.  Saw the two cars drive up; watched Skinner
and Mulder emerge from separate cars, Mulder
followed a few minutes later by Scully.  Lit a new
cigarette as the agents milled about looking for
Krycek, who had yet to make his appearance.
Exhaled in anticipation as Krycek finally emerged
from the woods behind the house to join the
threesome.  Wreathed a vastly satisfied smoke ring as
Scully helped Jeffrey out of the car.  Smiled almost
reminiscently as Mulder's stance became overtly
aggressive when Krycek slipped past the bristling
agent to open the door to the house. 

He'd seen enough.

"Goodbye, gentlemen."  Stupid of Skinner to think
that he would leave any loose ends when he disposed
of Jeffrey and Alex, but then desperate men take
foolish chances.  Skinner's loss -- his gain.  It was a
pity about Mulder, but the man had become
dangerously unpredictable and unruly over the past
two years.  Of course Skinner himself and Agent
Scully were expendable.  

Once surveillance had assured him that nobody was
laying in wait, his best explosives people had been all
over the site two nights earlier, setting everything up. 
Nobody had been near the primed devices since.  In
fact, no one had even set foot on the premises until
Krycek made a brief visit earlier that morning,
presumably to make some preparations for Jeffrey's
impending arrival.  Foolish of his former lackey to
rely so much on the element of secrecy, but then his
one-time prot‚g‚ had always been susceptible to lazy,
half-hearted planning.  This time it was going to cost
him dearly.  Everything, in fact.

CGB Spender took a last satisfied puff on his
cigarette and ground it into the dirt.  He pressed the
detonator, looking forward to the short-lived
screams, watching to see the entire property dissolve
into a smoking pile of rubble.  

Nothing happened.

He stared at the detonator for a moment.  He
checked the connections, and activated the detonator
once again.  Again, nothing happened.

The Smoker cursed fluently under his breath.  There
had to be a break in the fuse wire or a defect in the
way the explosives themselves had been placed.  It
seemed his explosives team was as damnably
incompetent as his late, unlamented hit team had
been. Fortunately, he always had a back up plan in
hand.

"Want anything done right, you have to do it
yourself," he groused as he raised the laser-sighted
automatic rifle to his shoulder.

******

Mulder got out of his car, leaving Scully with
Spender, and walked over to where Skinner stood,
looking around the empty yard anxiously.  There was
no sign of Krycek; no cars but their own in the long
circular driveway; no sign of life.  The house looked
deserted, all the lights off.

"Where is the bastard anyway?" Mulder grumbled,
looking off into the distant trees that surrounded the
clearing where the house stood.  He had drawn his
gun, but was holding it loosely, pointed nowhere in
particular.

Skinner shrugged.  "I have no idea."  He glanced
back at the long, tree-lined drive that had led up to
the house.  No one had followed them in.  The drive
meandered through the trees, and the entire property
was bordered by a privet fence about ten feet high. 
You couldn't even see the street from where they
stood.  The relative seclusion was doubtless one
reason Krycek had chosen the place.  Damn him.  

Footsteps clattered loudly, and the two men looked
up as Scully joined them.  "Nothing in the garage,"
she reported.  The three of them looked around,
wondering what to do next.

"There," Skinner said softly, with a gesture.

Their eyes followed the motion.  A dark-clad figure
was now visible, walking toward them from the
shelter of the trees.  Krycek.

Mulder and Scully trained their weapons on their
antagonist by reflex.  It seemed to take an eternity for
him to join them, his footsteps slowly thudding across
the gravel.  The footsteps echoed loudly in the
silence.  As he arrived, he raised an eyebrow at the
sight of the weapons bearing on him.  If Krycek was
armed -- and they all assumed he was -- he was
playing it very cool.

"You came alone?" he queried the trio.  "You
weren't followed?"

"We're alone," Skinner said harshly.  "We did what
you asked."  Mulder and Scully looked puzzled at the
choked tone of his words.  Krycek himself looked
politely inquiring.

"Good.  Jeffrey's still in the car?"  They nodded. 
"Why don't you get him out of there?  I'll go open
the front door."  

Krycek strode toward the house.  Skinner directed
Mulder and Scully to help Spender, then
surreptitiously drew his own weapon, keeping a close
watch on their *host*.  Krycek stood at the top of
the stairs, near the now-open front door, gesturing
for them to get on with it.  As they stepped away
from the cars, toward the house, shots rang out in a
rapid burst of automatic gunfire.

Instantly, the FBI team hit the ground. Scully
manoevered herself and Spender behind the relative
protection of the nearest car.  Mulder and Skinner
studied the trees to determine where the gunfire was
coming from.  Skinner also dared a brief glance in
Krycek's direction, but seeing no threat from that
quarter, quickly turned his attention back toward the
source of the attack.

There was an eerie silence.  The staccato burst that
had shattered the tableau was not repeated.  Warily,
Mulder and Skinner stood up, guns still at the ready. 
Nothing.  If not for the bullet holes in the side of
Mulder's car, they might have thought they'd
imagined the whole thing.

Skinner swung his weapon around to target Krycek. 
The renegade still hadn't moved.  Not to hit the
ground, nor to reach for a weapon.  As Mulder
continued to search unsuccessfully for their unseen
attacker, a baffled Skinner stood there uncertainly,
wondering what the hell was going on.  Even
knowing what he knew about the bastard, Skinner
realized he couldn't shoot the man down while he
was weaponless.  His enemy seemed to appreciate
that -- green eyes flicked from the weapon to
Skinner's angry, frustrated expression and sparkled
with amusement.

Mulder finally gave up on the vanishing attackers and
similarly noted Krycek's odd behavior.  The two men
stared at Krycek, who was still standing near the
doorway, ostentatiously unarmed, with a smug,
triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"What the hell is going on, Krycek?" Mulder fumed.

Krycek raised a hand, commanding silence.  "Wait
for it," he said quietly.

"Wait for what?" Scully demanded.

"That, I would imagine," Skinner said faintly.

A small party of men emerged from the trees where
the gunshots had originated, on the opposite side of
the house from where Krycek had himself
materialized.   Even at that distance, the Smoking
Man was clearly recognizable.  He was being roughly
hustled along by a group of three armed men, all of
them a lot taller, heavier and stronger than the man
they were escorting.  One of them carried an
automatic rifle slung casually over his back. 
Presumably it was the weapon used in the abortive
attack.

All eyes turned back to the smirking Krycek.  "You --
you bastard!  You set us up!"  Jeffrey Spender's
voice quivered with barely suppressed rage.

"I set *him* up," Krycek frostily corrected.  "You
were merely the bait."

"You played with all our lives," Skinner pointed out. 
"Any one of us could have been killed before your
friends were able to disarm him.   Hell, with that
weapon, he might have gunned us all down in one
volley.  We're only lucky that his aim was off."

"If you want to call it luck."  Krycek was still
smirking.  By now the small party had left the grass
and was crunching across the gravel to meet them. 
The three men with the Smoker looked like Krycek
had hired them directly from Rent-a-Thug.  Mulder
guessed they probably didn't have three braincells to
share among them.  Then again, with their obvious
strength and sinew, they probably didn't need them.

"Not luck?  You telling us you sold your soul to the
devil, Krycek, and he was looking out for you?  Now
that I might believe."  Mulder was shaking with
indignant rage, the gun in his hand now levelled at his
foe.  

Scully put a restraining hand on his arm.  "Mulder."

He looked up at her, then beyond her, and lowered
his weapon.  The FBI team suddenly realized that
they had somehow been surrounded.  There were five
armed men flanking their position, who seemed to
have come out of nowhere.  Just as tall and
musclebound as the others, every inch proclaiming
them card-carrying members of the same division of
Thugs-R-Us.

"Where the hell did they come from?" Mulder
demanded.

"Must have moved in while we were distracted,"
Skinner guessed.  He aimed a hate-filled glance at
Krycek.  "Well, Krycek?  Looks like the ball is back
in your court.  What now?"

"Now everyone takes a deep breath and calms
down," Krycek said.  The smirk was finally gone, and
there was no trace of gloating in his matter-of-fact
tone.  The fact that the three FBI members were
armed and could easily pick him off before his friends
could move to protect him might have had something
to do with that, Mulder guessed.  "These are friends
of mine.  They have no reason to harm any of you
unless you provoke them."

"Would shooting you be considered a provocation?"
Mulder remarked coldly, raising his gun once again
to loosely point it in Krycek's direction.  Suddenly
there were five weapons trained on him.  "I guess it
would," he said regretfully, lowering it.

Krycek brushed Mulder aside as he stepped forward
to address the apparent leader of the group: its
tallest, brawniest member and the one bearing the
confiscated rifle.  "Any problems?"

"None," the man answered in a flat tone. 
"Everything went exactly as planned."

"Well, Alex.  It would seem I underestimated you,"
the Smoker interjected.  "Even though the real credit
belongs elsewhere."   He regarded the Assistant
Director with a calculating eye.  "Congratulations,
Mr. Skinner.  You put on a most convincing show. 
Though I suppose I can scarcely be blamed for the
fact that I never would have imagined you capable of
complicity with Alex.  I knew you were capable of
deceit, but I never dreamed you were capable of such
ruthless, immoral expediency.  If I had, perhaps I
might have handled certain things differently."

Skinner flushed and looked away at the accusing
words.  Spender, Scully and Mulder were gaping at
the AD in shock. 

"Sir?"  Mulder asked, begging, pleading for him to
deny it.

"I wasn't working with Krycek," Skinner admitted
hoarsely, still refusing to meet their eyes, discomfort
etched in every fibre of his being.  "Not purposely, at
least.  You aren't the only one he played for a fool,"
he told the CSM hoarsely.  He turned toward
Krycek.  "You planned it this way, didn't you, you
bastard?  I bet you even knew that I would ask him
to kill you for me."

Krycek smiled slightly.  "I'd've been bitterly
disappointed in you if you hadn't.  I'm sure that was
part of what sold him on your sincerity."

"Sir?  What did you do?"  Mulder's tone had become
frantic.

"Tell us, sir.  What happened?"  This from Scully.

Skinner sighed.  "Krycek has a hold on me, Agents. 
I'm sorry -- I should have told you about it earlier,
but I -- I couldn't.  After you left the other evening, he
asked me to locate the Smoking Man and give him all
the details....  He told me he wanted the Smoker to
owe him."  Skinner was again looking off into the
distance, gazing at nothing.  His right foot dug circles
in the gravel.  

"I decided to pretend to cooperate -- but in my own
way.  I told the Smoker the plan -- but I also asked
him to kill Krycek for me." Quick nervous glance at
Krycek, who just smiled at him.  Disconcerted,
Skinner hurriedly looked away and continued. "Quid
pro quo.  I knew he'd take Krycek out first -- that
was the logical move since Krycek was the more
dangerous target.  I hoped that when he made his
move on Krycek, it would give the rest of us the
warning needed to save Spender.  I never thought
he'd be such a piss-poor shot."  He glared at the
CSM.  

"You were working with Krycek?"  Mulder asked
disbelievingly.

"Sir, how could you do that?  We could all have been
killed," Scully protested.

"This is getting tedious," Krycek interrupted.  "Are
you ready to proceed?" he asked the apparent
thug-in-chief, in a very different, even respectful tone.
 
The others looked up in sudden surprise.  The way
Krycek had spoken, it almost sounded as though he
were deferring to the stranger.  As though Krycek
weren't in charge after all.

"Which one is Fox Mulder?" the burly man queried,
in the same flat monotone voice.

Skinner, Mulder and Scully all looked at each other
worriedly.  They didn't know what was going on, but
something was happening here, and it involved more
than a simple scheme of revenge.

"Why do you wish to know?" Krycek asked
cautiously, giving no ground.  It seemed that this
wasn't in the program that he had arranged either. 
Even so, his tone remained markedly respectful --
they could almost hear the "sir" appended at the end
of the question -- and the FBI members wondered
uneasily about that.

"The Council has considered your request."

"And?"

"They concur.  The reasoning presented was logically
sound.  Your request has been approved."

Krycek's eyes lit with a malevolent joy.  Mulder had
seen many expressions on his adversary's face over
the course of the years and their many interactions,
but he had never seen this one.  This looked to be
pure, unalloyed pleasure -- with a clear touch of
malice.

"That one's Mulder," Krycek singled out his former
partner and frequent antagonist.

Before any of the others could do more than begin to
protest, the thug-in-chief had levelled his weapon at
the Special Agent and pressed the trigger.

Mulder, in the process of bringing his own gun to
bear, suddenly found himself tingling all over.  He
dropped the weapon, feeling as though he'd become
electrically charged.  To the others, it appeared that
he was bathed in a sparkling haze of light.  The CSM
sucked in a breath and suddenly tried to wrestle free
of his captors.

"What the hell--" Skinner began.

"Now!" Krycek broke in sharply.

Time stopped.

******

Mulder's brain had finished processing the
astounding revelation that he was not, contrary to
expectation, dead, injured -- or even shot.  He also
realized that the pins-and-needles effect, whatever the
hell it was, was beginning to wear off, just about the
time that Krycek had shouted.  He shook himself,
assuring that there were no lingering effects, and
turned to confront Krycek, to demand an
explanation.  And he wasn't going to be put off
again; this time, he would make the miserable worm
answer him.  But as he looked around, he froze.  He
suddenly realized that things were a good deal more
complicated than he had imagined.  

Somehow, the courtyard where they stood had been 
cut off from its surroundings.  Everyone was trapped 
within a thirty square foot area of the yard.  On all 
sides, they seemed to be sealed within a translucent 
barrier of what looked like smoked glass, except that 
it appeared to be gaseous, constantly forming and 
reforming.  The world beyond, even the sky above, 
appeared hazy and distorted.

The others -- Skinner, Scully, Jeffrey Spender and the
Smoking Man -- had been immobilized.  They looked
like statues.  They didn't even seem to be breathing. 
Even as he registered that alarming fact, he realized
that the eight rent-a-thugs were changing.  Their
features melted into shapelessness and reformed, until
seven of them resembled his old friend the alien
bounty hunter.  The eighth one -- the one who had
"shot" him -- had also changed, but he now bore a
striking resemblance to a Star Trek alien, with a tall,
thin, cadaverous body and an oversized, hairless
cranium. 

Morphs.  

Aliens.

"TriBeta!" he heard Krycek murmur.  He didn't
know what that meant, but the renegade sounded
surprised and impressed.

"What -- what --?"  Mulder looked wildly around and
found himself perversely grateful that Krycek, at
least, had not changed and also seemed conscious of
the events transpiring around them.  Although, unlike
Mulder, he also seemed perfectly unsurprised by what
was happening.  "What's going on, Krycek?" Mulder
mentally congratulated himself for somehow
managing enough control to get a coherent sentence
out and not run screaming down the driveway.  Assuming 
the barrier would let him through.  He wasn't entirely sure 
he wanted to test it.

Krycek smirked at him.  "Isn't it obvious? You're
being allowed to witness an alien abduction firsthand. 
Congratulations, Mulder."

"You're not claiming to be an alien, are you
Krycek?"  Mulder asked dubiously. "Not that that
wouldn't explain a few things."

"Not me."  Krycek shook his head impatiently. 
"Them.  Quiet!" he barked as Mulder tried to ask
another question.  "Watch and listen, Mulder, and
keep your mouth shut, or we can turn you off as
easily as we did them."  He nodded toward the
others.

"What have you done to them?" he asked in horrified
fascination, ignoring Krycek's orders.

"Nothing, really."  Krycek smirked.  "What are a few
missing minutes between friends anyway?"

"Then why wasn't I -- The one who shot me."        
Realization dawned.  "What happened to me?  
What's a *TriBeta*?"

"You were made immune to the effects of the 
d'lin time regulator.   Think of it as being within the
*missing time* associated with alien abduction. And 
everything else can wait."

Mulder opened his mouth to ask another question
and Krycek tried to glare him down.  Unfazed,
Mulder was going to ask anyway -- until some...thing
materialized out of thin air not five feet in front of
him.  He forgot his question and gawked at the grey
alien.  He was still gawking when the grey dissolved
before his eyes and morphed into the even more
unlikely guise of a slight, nondescript balding man in
a bodysuit so close-fitting that it almost looked
painted on.  Except that there weren't any bulges in
the usual places.  Mulder rubbed his eyes, but the
apparition refused to go away.

"Alex!"  Dee looked around and spotted his friend. 
"Things went well?"

Alien and human embraced.  "Exactly as planned. 
Makes a nice change from Fort Marlene and El
Rico."  Alex glared hatefully at the Smoker.  "But
what brings you here?  No one told me you were
coming.  And what's with the dramatic entrance?"

Dee smiled his usual sunny smile.  "Oh come now,
Alex.  It was in honor of our guest, of course.  I
heard about the Council decision.  You surely didn't
expect me to pass up my chance to meet the famous
-- or is the word *infamous*? Sometimes your
language confuses me, Alex -- Fox Mulder?"  

The strangely garbed alien grinned amiably at Mulder
and headed straight for the Agent, Alex at his side. 
Mulder realized that his jaw was still hanging open
and he shut it with an audible click.

"Hello, Fox Mulder," the alien greeted him with
affable familiarity and crushed his hand in an
enthusiastic pumping grip.  "It's a great pleasure to
finally meet you.  I've heard so many interesting
things about you from Alex."

Mulder struggled to think of something intelligent to
say to *that*.  Unfortunately, not much suggested
itself, though the pain in his mangled hand might have
been partly responsible for that.

"This is Dee." Alex introduced him, with a faint look
of reproach toward his irrepressible friend and
colleague.  "Dee is the chief scientist among the d'lin
rebels."

Mulder stared at the unmistakably alien figure of the
lead alien, then back at Dee, then back at Krycek, and
wondered if it was all just some bizarre nightmare
and if so, when was he going to wake up.

"Hi," he finally croaked.  "The pleasure's all mine." 
His eyes bored into Krycek's, imploring an
explanation.

"You are wasting time," the d'lin leader declared
from his position beside the still frozen Smoker. 
Mulder dimly registered the fact that the chief alien,
TriBeta, whoever, whatever he was, had taken
control of events.  "The --" he spouted some
unintelligible gibberish of which the only words that
sounded remotely familiar to Mulder were  "inducer"
and "limited" and something that sounded vaguely
like "gravitex".  "We cannot remain in this time
continuum for more than twenty minutes.  You can
brief the Mulder human later, Krycek.  We must
proceed now.  Prepare the human."

"Right."  Krycek turned away from Mulder and
walked over to where the TriBeta and the Smoker
were standing.  The oddly exuberant Dee bounced
alongside, staying close to his friend.  Mulder
followed, keeping a few steps behind and out of their
way, finally taking to heart Krycek's admonition to
watch and listen.  Indeed, having gotten past the
initial shock of events, he was drinking it all in like a
sponge, consciously trying to etch every word, every
look, every movement into memory, to be analyzed
and dissected at a more convenient time.

The TriBeta handed Krycek what looked to Mulder
like a relatively ordinary pair of handcuffs, although
he suspected that they were anything but.  Even so,
Krycek took the cuffs and fastened around the
Smoker's wrists.  He then proceeded to thoroughly
frisk the man, tossing to the ground anything that
might conceivably be used as a weapon or a means of
escape, right down to the man's shoelaces. 
Cigarettes, matches and lighter joined the growing
pile on the ground.  Alex even checked his man's
teeth for "L" pills -- and found one, much to his and
Mulder's disgust. 

Then, with a mocking grin at Mulder, daring him to
comment, Krycek unsheathed a nasty-looking knife
and began to cut away the Smoker's clothes.  When
he was finished, the man was clad only in his stocking
feet and underwear.

"Wouldn't want our friend here to hurt himself
accidentally," Krycek quipped jovially, as he all but
severed the elastic waistband on Spender's boxers. 
Mulder watched with shocked consternation, but the
glint in Krycek's eyes warned him that it would be
better not to invite attention at this particular
moment, and he managed to keep his lips firmly
closed.  Krycek finally straightened, satisfied that the
Smoking Man no longer posed a threat to anyone,
including his own person.  "He's all yours.  Do I have
time to pay my last respects?"

"If you are quick."  The d'lin leader *shot* the
Smoker with the same *gun* he had used on Mulder. 
Sparkles coalesced in the air, and the man slowly
came back to life... only to quickly discover that his
hands were cuffed and he was seriously
underdressed.

"What in --" He looked around wildly, evidently
realized what was happening, and clapped his mouth
shut.  He shrank back, pale as death.

His one-time employee had to snap his fingers to get
the man's attention.  "I wanted to say goodbye,"
Krycek said silkily.  "Funny thing is, I was really
sorry when I heard that we'd missed you at El Rico. 
But in a way, this is even better.  My friends here are
looking forward to speaking with you.  I'm sure there
are a lot of blanks you can fill in."

Surprisingly to Mulder, the Smoker didn't respond. 
Mulder had waved a gun under this man's nose
without shaking his composure in the slightest.  He
had threatened him, and the man had blown smoke
rings in his face.  Nothing had perturbed him.  But he
was scared now.  More than scared.  Terrified.

"Their techniques aren't as primitive as ours, but they
are a lot more reliable.  Painful, too, from what I've
heard.  Of course, after a while, there won't be
enough of you left to notice."  He smiled cruelly, then
spat at the man's feet.  "He's all yours, sir," Krycek
said respectfully to the TriBeta, turning his back on
the Smoker.  "Thank you."

"Your report on the events at Fort Marlene is long
overdue, Krycek," the d'lin replied, ignoring the
byplay that had just occurred between the two
humans.  "We expect it to be filed no later than
tomorrow, along with your report on the Spender
matter."

The dismay on Krycek's face was unmistakable. 
Mulder supposed that paperwork was a bitch, no
matter who -- or what -- your boss was.  "Yes, sir.
I'll have it for you."

"You have another four minutes and forty-two
seconds," the d'lin intoned.  He tapped out a
sequence on the oddly shaped buttons of the bracelet
he wore.  In moments, the eight d'lin, and the CSM
disappeared, leaving behind Dee, Krycek, Mulder and
the still-frozen Scully, Spender and Skinner.

"What about them?"  Mulder demanded, waving
toward the others.

"Your friends are unharmed," Dee replied.  "They'll
be rejoining you in ... four minutes and thirty-one
seconds.  Which means I must go as well.  I wish we
had more time.  But now that we've met, I'm sure
another occasion will present itself."

"Wait, Dee.  I need you to take a look at something
before you go,"  Krycek interrupted.

Dee looked inquiring, but he willingly followed his
friend to where Agent Scully stood, motionless.
Mulder trailed them closely, watching warily, but not
quite willing to interfere. At least, not yet.

"I want you to check this one for signs of
ch'lith'kik'a contamination," Krycek remarked.

Dee looked at him.  "Oh, dear."  The alien removed a
small electronic probe from a patch in his synthex
suit, and activated the scanner.  The device whirred
for a moment, then started to emit an urgent series of
beeps.

"What is that?  What does that mean?  What's going
on?"  Mulder demanded.

Dee switched off the scanner.  "No doubt of it, Alex. 
She's carrying the taint, all right.  They can call her
whenever they're ready."

Alex cursed.  He'd suspected it, of course -- hell,
he'd twitted Scully about it at the storage place.  But
it was a damn sight worse to have his suspicions
reliably confirmed.

"They?  You're saying that the colonists can control
her with the implant in her neck, is that what you're
saying?" Mulder guessed, a roiling feeling in his
stomach.  He too had suspected, but somehow
hearing this alien confirm it was like a punch to the
gut.

"That's right, Mulder.  She's their pawn, anytime
they want her."  Krycek turned back to Dee. "Can
you neutralize the effects?"

The alien looked hesitant.  "Well, Alex, you know we
don't like to interfere directly in these matters... Not
without some compelling reason.  She is human, after
all."

"She's Agent Mulder's partner," Krycek said tightly. 
"And friend."

"Ah, yes, of course.  This is Agent Scully, yes? 
That's different, then."  Mulder suddenly had the
sense that he was missing part of the conversation. 
Dee activated the scanner again, took some more
readings.

"It can't be removed, of course.  Not without toxicity
to the host.  Damn ch'lith'kik'a always build in a
failsafe."

"Chlith- what?" Mulder interrupted.

"The alien colonists," Krycek snapped.  "Shut up,
Mulder and let Dee work.  We don't have much
time."

"One minute, fifty-three seconds, to be precise," Dee
commented.  "She's obviously had the Terran
vaccine; that protects her from being used again as a
breeder, but she's still vulnerable to their call.  As a
temporary measure, I could implant a jamming
device.  It will remain inert until and unless she is
called -- but when the implant is activated, it will jam
all incoming signals.  Probably give the human one
hell of a headache, but the ch'lith'kik'a won't be able
to control her. Perhaps I can develop something more
effective in time.  Is that satisfactory?" he asked Alex.

"Most satisfactory," Krycek said with a wolfish grin.

"Hold on a minute," Mulder protested.  "Scully
should be the one to decide.  It's her body."  The real
protest remained unspoken. <<How can I trust
you?>>

Dee ignored him as he withdrew another device and
made several adjustments.  Moments later, he
stepped closer to Scully and pressed something
against her neck.  Mulder tried to interfere, only to
find himself in a chokehold.  

"Stop!  You can't do that!" Mulder began an
abortive protest, as he vainly tried to pull free of
Krycek's iron grasp.  As Dee moved away from
Scully, Krycek released him with a shove that almost
sent him sprawling.  Mulder swore at him as he
staggered to regain his balance, but the steely glint in
Krycek's eyes kept him from pushing the matter
further.

Dee turned back to face the men.  "It's done, Alex,"
he said, ignoring Mulder's protests.  "And now, I
really must go before I create a scene." 

Krycek smiled at his friend.  "Thanks, Dee.  I'll meet
you back at the base.  Got to finish those reports and
all.  See you in a few hours."  He rolled his eyes,
resentful as always that he had to waste hours in
travel that was virtually instantaneous for the d'lin.

Dee smiled back.  "This should help."  He handed
Krycek a bracelet, similar to the one the d'lin had
been wearing.  Krycek gaped at it, his eyes wide. It
was obvious to Mulder that whatever just happened
had come as a total shock to Krycek. 

"It's been keyed to your DNA signature.  A favor
from the Council."

"They probably just want their damned report
sooner," Krycek muttered.  Still, he couldn't keep
from fingering the present with wonder, as a smile
spread across his face.

"Just this once," the alien warned him.  "It's preset
and locked on.  All you have to do is activate."

Krycek was still staring at the item in his hand. 
Finally, he shook his head and used the prosthetic to
slide the bracelet around his good wrist.  He hadn't
stopped grinning.

"No!  Wait!"  It had finally dawned on Mulder that
he had spent the last fifteen minutes or so surrounded
by extraterrestrial life forms, and that he had yet to
ask a single intelligent question about who and what
they were, where they were from, and what they
were doing here.  "I need to talk to you."

"No time," Dee said, sounding regretful.  "Goodbye,
Fox Mulder."  Like the others, he fingered his
bracelet and disappeared into thin air.

Mulder stared at Krycek, mildly surprised that the
renegade hadn't disappeared along with his alien
friend. His own companions were still frozen in time,
and would be for another minute or so if he
understood correctly.   "I don't suppose you're going
to tell me what's going on," he commented, sounding
almost jealous.  He moved to inspect Scully's neck. 
There was no sign of injury; nothing to indicate that
Dee had done anything at all.

"I can tell you some of it, Mulder.  But not now. 
Things are going to get lively here pretty damn
quickly."  He kicked at some of the detritus he had
pulled from the now-absent Smoker.  "Think the FBI
can get rid of this crap for me?"

"How long have you been working for them?"
Mulder asked quietly.  He felt oddly deflated.

"Since they rescued me from the silo where the
Smoker had left me to rot," Krycek answered. "Since
I learned the truth about colonization and the human
collaborators who worked to protect the Project."

"So you were working for them when you came to
my apartment last year?" Mulder asked, thinking
aloud.  "But not when you killed my father."  His
voice hardened, and he began to recapture some of
the hostility that had temporarily evaporated from his
demeanor.

"This isn't the time or place to play True
Confessions, Mulder," Krycek hissed.  As if in
response, the clearing abruptly brightened as the 
barrier silently evaporated. The others suddenly 
started to breathe again.

"What was that?"  Skinner asked, as he shakily
leaned against his automobile.  Scully and Spender
were equally unsteady on their feet.  

"What was what, sir?" Mulder asked.

"They're gone!"  Skinner looked around, suddenly
realizing that the men who had surrounded them, and
the CSM, had all disappeared.  "Where are they?
What the hell is going on, Krycek?"  He and Scully
stared at the pile of cigarettes, weapons and clothing
that marked the Smoker's former presence among
them.

"I think if you consult your watches, you'll find that
you lost about twenty minutes," Krycek said calmly,
evading the question.  "You can assume that the
others left during that time."

"Twenty minutes? Agent Mulder, do you know what
he's talking about?"  Skinner asked with irritation as
he consulted his watch.  He was annoyed to realize
that Krycek appeared to be correct.  There were
indeed about twenty minutes he couldn't account for. 
He looked at Scully.  She was frowning, having
confirmed the missing time for herself.

"Yes, sir.  Krycek is claiming that the others were
EBEs, and that CGB Spender has been abducted."

"Abducted?  Why?"  Skinner demanded.  "Not that I
believe a word of this."

"Nothing inimical to humanity," Krycek responded. 
"Let's just say that I don't think the Smoking Man is
going to bother any of us again.  Including you, Jeff.
You're free of him."

"Free?"  Free!" the younger man spat.  "You set me
up, you son of a bitch.  You used me to draw him
into the open."

"Yes.  I did." Krycek was unrepentant.  "And you
played the tethered goat to perfection."

"We could all have been killed!"  Jeffrey lashed out.

Krycek shrugged indifferently.  

"Goddamn you!"  The younger Spender struggled to
his feet.  "Let's get out of here," he said to the
others, disgust souring his features.  

Mulder, of all people, looked to Krycek.  "Is he still
in any danger?"

Krycek shook his head.  "I doubt it.  His father was
the source of the threat.  Now that that threat has
been eliminated, he should be able to resume a
normal life."

"And you're still not going to tell us what happened,
are you, Krycek?" Skinner said with disgust.

Krycek shrugged.  "You wouldn't believe me if I did. 
Agent Mulder is open to a lot more extreme
possibilities than you are, and I don't think even he
would believe me."

"Try me," Mulder said softly.  The others all stared at
him.  There was hostility in the tone, but there was
something else there as well.  Something new. 
Different.

"I'll think about it."  Krycek promised nothing. 
"Show's over, Scully, gentlemen.  You will take care
of this stuff for me, won't you, Mulder?"  He toed
the Smoker's discards.  "Oh, and before you leave, I
suggest you send the bomb squad over to check out
the property.  The whole place is mined with
explosives."  He walked over to the side of the house
and dug carefully into the recently turned earth of the
nearest flowerbed, revealing the top of a substantial
cache of dynamite.  

"You underestimated the Smoker, Skinner," Krycek 
chastised.  "His original plan was to blow all of us to 
kingdom come. Unfortunately for him, my 
friends interfered with that, so he had to 
come out into the open."

"Your friends defused the bombs?"  The others all
looked around uneasily, wondering if any bombs
might have been missed.

"Why bother to defuse when you can use an energy
damping field?"  Krycek smirked, knowing that none
of them, with the possible exception of Mulder,
would have the faintest idea of what he was talking
about.  "Don't worry, they've been neutralized.  They
won't explode.  But they should be properly
deactivated and removed, don't you think?"

Skinner was already pulling out his cell phone.  

"And now, if you'll excuse me... places to go, people
to kill, and all that."  Krycek flashed them his most
annoying smile; then turned on his heel and briskly
headed back toward the woods from which he'd first
appeared.

"No!  Wait!"  Mulder ordered.  

Krycek just kept walking.  "We can't hold him,
Mulder," Skinner said, putting a hand on Mulder's
shoulder to restrain him.  "Not that I wouldn't like
to, playing us for fools and risking all our lives like
that."

Mulder shook off the restraint.  "He's not getting
away from me so easily this time," he declared,
sprinting after the departing figure.

"Mulder! Come back here!"  Skinner cursed and
kicked at the gravel.

"Should I go after him, sir?" Scully offered.

Skinner shook his head.  "Let's see what happens."

Krycek glanced back at the sounds of shouting and
pounding footsteps behind him.  Instead of either
speeding up or arguing with Mulder, he waited for
the other man to join him.  Together they walked
slowly toward the forest.

Scully and Skinner stared after them, then at each
other.  "Do you have any idea what's going on, sir?" 
Scully asked.

"Not a clue," Skinner replied ruefully.  "Come on,
let's get Spender settled back in the car.  We can wait
for Mulder there.  Assuming *he* doesn't vanish into
thin air," he added acerbically.

******

Mulder was surprised when Krycek allowed him to
catch up; he'd half expected the other man to start
running away from him.  Once Mulder had reached
him, Krycek resumed his trek toward the woods,
Mulder matching his pace as he caught his breath.

"So, what happens now, Krycek?" Mulder finally
asked.  "You going to disappear like your friends?"

Krycek nodded.  "Something like that.  I thought it
would be better if the others didn't see me do it,
though.  I think they've had enough shocks for one
day."

Once again, the antagonists walked some moments in
a silence that was unusually companionable for the
pair.  

"Energy damping field?" Mulder finally said.

The other man chuckled.  "I thought you might enjoy
that."

"We never were in any real danger, were we,
Krycek?" Mulder continued slowly, thinking it
through.  "Your friends had things covered all the
way.  Not just the bombs; the rifle too.  That's why
the Smoker missed his shot."

"So?"  Krycek made no effort to deny it.

"So, why didn't you tell them?  Why let Jeffrey think
you betrayed him?"

"Why not?"  Krycek said rhetorically.  "The hero
worship thing gets old very quickly.  Anyway, he's
not wrong.  I would have sacrificed him to get the
Smoker if I'd had to.  It just wasn't necessary."

Mulder digested that fact, then slowly nodded. 
"Why, Krycek?"

"Why what?"

"Why not freeze me with the others?  Why let me
witness what happened?"

Something undefinable flashed across his adversary's
face.  "Maybe I felt I owed you something.  Maybe I
wanted you to know what was going on." Lips curled
in amusement.  "On the other hand, maybe I just
wanted to fuck with your head.  You can't exactly
tell the others what you saw, and they wouldn't
believe you if you did."

Mulder sighed.  "I bet Skinner's right -- you know
exactly what happened at Fort Marlene and El Rico
and why, don't you?"  Krycek's shit-eating grin was
answer enough.  "Feel like sharing?"

Krycek shook his head.  "You're not ready."

Silence prevailed for another few moments as Mulder
swallowed the angry retort that flew instinctively to
his lips at the cavalier dismissal.  Fighting with
Krycek at this particular moment would get him
precisely nowhere, and for once, he wasn't even sure
it would make him feel better.  

"Samantha!" He turned stricken eyes on his
companion.   "I should have asked --"

Krycek shook his head.  "Wrong aliens, remember?"

Mulder's face fell.  

"On the other hand," Krycek continued, "there is
someone who just might be able to answer that
question, and he happens to be in a fairly vulnerable
state at the moment..."

Mulder's breath hitched in sudden hope.  "Do you
think..." His eyes narrowed.  "What price are you
asking?" he demanded suspiciously.

Krycek raised his hand.  "Let me see if there is an
answer first.  Then we can talk about price.  I think
it's customary to offer your soul when you deal with
the devil, but we can discuss the matter later."

Krycek's tone was light, and Mulder was almost 100
percent positive he was being teased. Almost.  There
was just that little niggling bit of doubt when dealing
with Krycek.

Of course, it was scarier to think that he just might be
willing to pay Krycek's price.  He'd come so close to
selling his soul to the Smoker, on more than one
occasion...

Then again, if Krycek was working against the colonists,
his price might not be so very hard to pay.

"You'll make sure that they ask the question?" Mulder 
pressed, wanting reassurance. 

Krycek nodded.  "I'll do my best."

"He really believed in the Project, you know,"
Mulder remarked thoughtfully, thinking about their
longtime and lately-abducted mutual antagonist. 
"That collaboration and hybridization were the only
way to survive." He kicked aimlessly at the grass,
then looked up at Krycek with a wry smile.  "He
invited me to El Rico, did you know that?  To be one
of the *survivors*?"

Krycek frowned at him with narrowed eyes. 
Evidently, this came as news to the other man. "I
guess you're not sorry to have missed the party,"
Krycek finally replied, masking any feelings he might
have had about the matter. "Why didn't you go?"

Mulder scratched at an itchy spot on his neck. 
"Scully."  He hesitated.  "Will they kill him?"

"Probably."  Krycek spoke with perfect unconcern. 
"Not by design, perhaps, but they'll take him apart to
learn what he knows, and they tend to overlook the
fragility of human anatomy.  Perhaps his knowledge
will help in the fight against the ch'lith'kik'a. 
Perhaps not."  He shrugged.  "Either way, it was past
time to remove him from the board.  He's caused far
too much trouble.  Now that the colonists know the
d'lin Resistance is involved, there was no reason to
leave him alone any longer."

Mulder nodded somberly.  The world around them
had changed irrevocably over the past few years, and
he was one of the only persons who knew it.  And the
man he was speaking to, this long-time enemy, the
subject of countless nightmares and sleepless nights,
was one of the few others.  Strange, the links that
bound people together.  How a man could feel both
hatred and kinship at the very same moment.

"The Project won't remain in the shadows forever,"
Krycek said quietly, almost reading his thoughts. 
"The deaths at El Rico may have slowed the process
temporarily, but sooner or later, colonization of the
planet will commence.  Assuming the d'lin can't stop
it first."

"The *d'lin*?  Why do they care about Earth? 
They're obviously far more technologically advanced
than we are. Why help us against the colonists?" 
Mulder wondered.

"Because by helping us, they're helping themselves,"
Krycek replied.  "The d'lin have been a slave race to
the ch'lith'kik'a for centuries, maybe millennia.  They're
shapeshifters, so the ch'lith'kik'a find them very useful
servants in their colonization projects: they can blend
in with a local population, where the ch'lith'kik'a
cannot.  There's been a d'lin Resistance from the
beginning, but they haven't had a lot of success. 
More progress has been made in fighting the
ch'lith'kik'a, in these last few years on Earth, than in
centuries of struggle before that.  That's why the d'lin
are so interested."

"Progress?"

"I can't talk about that.  I've already told you more
than I was supposed to, as it is."

"The vaccine?" Mulder suggested, but Krycek's face
was closed, giving nothing away.

"So some of the d'lin are helping the colonists, and
some are fighting them?" Mulder returned to what
Krycek had already told him, wanting to be sure he
had it all straight.

"No d'lin serves the ch'lith'lik'a by choice," Krycek
replied. "Those that serve are controlled by the
colonists."

"Like what happened to you in Hong Kong?"  This
time, Krycek couldn't conceal his reaction, and
Mulder knew he'd hit his mark.  "How do I know
which d'lin are which?"

"You don't," Krycek said simply.  "So try to avoid
them all."

"And you're working with the Resistance?  To
prevent colonization?"  Mulder was still dealing with
the amazing discovery that, for once, some of his
questions were being answered.

This time, it was Krycek who sighed.  "Mulder, did
you hear one word of what I said to you in your
apartment last year?"

<<I can beat you with one hand.>>  "I heard every
word.  I'm only just beginning to understand what it
meant though."  Mulder studied the other man as
though he'd never quite seen him before.  Which he
hadn't.  Not like this.  "Resist or serve, Alex?"

"That's right.  Eventually, the d'lin may require a
human liaison, to acquaint the rest of humanity with
the situation and handle communications between
humanity and the d'lin.  I suggested you.  The d'lin
Council concurred."

"And that's why I was allowed to witness the
Smoker's abduction."  Mulder gnawed at his lower
lip.  "Why me?"

"You knew most of it already.  It wasn't that great a
leap for you to learn the rest.  And you have a
position of some legitimacy, as well as a reputation in
certain circles."

"As a nutcase," Mulder muttered.

"Not in ufology circles," Krycek observed.  "And
once the truth is known, you'll have far greater
legitimacy for having seen it coming long before the
rest of mankind." He chuckled darkly.  "Besides, the
Terran liaison to the d'lin will have to work with me,
so I have a certain vested interest."

"You're crazy!  How could you possibly think that I
would work with you?" Mulder argued reflexively. 
<<And why would you want to?>> "Why me, for
Chrissakes?" he added lamely.

"You'll work with me, because you'll have no choice. 
As for why you -- primarily because I know you. 
You're already broken in, Mulder.  I know how you
think.  I can predict your reactions with reasonable
certainty.  I know when you're lying to me -- you lie
badly, Mulder. And I know all your weaknesses. 
With someone new, I'd have to learn all that as we
go.  This way saves time and effort.  Also, you're a
believer -- even before today.  Scully might have been
a reasonable alternative, but apart from the fact that
she was potentially subject to ch'lith'kik'a control,
her rigid belief system was also a hindrance."

"But we hate each other," Mulder protested weakly.

"That doesn't matter.  You hated me before, and we
still went to Tunguska together.  Your feelings
toward me don't matter, Mulder.  This isn't a game,
and it isn't a popularity contest. Get over yourself."

Mulder went quiet, thinking.  "Scully."

"What about Scully?"

"What your friend -- Dee -- did.  The colonists can't
control her now?"

"That's right.  Essentially, he created a jamming field
within her brain that is sensitive to the brainwave
patterns used by the ch'lith'kik'a.   If they try to
contact her, the device will activate and jam the
transmission."

"Why, Krycek? Why do that for her?"

"I didn't do it for Scully.  I know your weaknesses,
remember?  Scully has long been a point of
vulnerability for you;  I realized that in the first
twenty-four hours we were partnered together.  The
Resistance is going to need you, Mulder, and we
can't afford to have you compromised.  As long as
Scully was susceptible to ch'lith'kik'a control, you
had a weakness they could exploit.  Now you don't."

"Thanks just the same," Mulder said.

Krycek stopped.  They had reached the trees a
minute earlier, and were now standing in the shadows
beneath the tall pines, completely concealed from the
others waiting by the cars.

"I don't want or need your thanks, Mulder.  I did
what was necessary in the circumstances.  That's all."

"Do you always have to be such a hard-ass, Alex?"
Mulder wondered.  He was beginning to wonder how
much of the antagonism between them arose not as a
result of Krycek's actual deeds, but because of
Krycek's constant, deliberate attempts to provoke
him -- and the fact that he continually, unthinkingly,
allowed himself to be provoked.

"It keeps me alive."  If Krycek had noticed Mulder's
use of his first name, he didn't react to it.  Just as
well.  Mulder didn't know why the other man had
suddenly become *Alex* again anyway.  "Speaking
of which -- do make an effort to keep yourself alive,
won't you?  It would be a pity, after we've gone to
all this trouble, if something happened to you and we
had to train a new liaison after all."

Mulder snorted.  "Your concern for my welfare is
touching, *Krycek*." <<There.  Got it right that
time.>>

Krycek grinned and gave him a casual wave; then
fingered the controls of his alien bracelet and
disappeared as the others had done.

For a long moment, Mulder stood and stared at the
emptiness where Krycek had stood moments earlier. 
Then, with a sigh, he slowly trudged back to face the
curious eyes awaiting his return.

******

// Two days later -- Skinner's office at the FBI //

Things were slowly getting back to normal, or as
close to that unreachable, idealized state as they ever
got where Mulder, Scully and the X-Files were
concerned.  There had been two days of OPR
hearings, and one more was scheduled for the
following week.  It now appeared all but certain that
Mulder and Scully's formal reassignment to the
X-Files was only a matter of time and bureaucratic
wrangling.  In the interim, Mulder had reclaimed his
old office and started making himself at home once
again, aided and abetted by Scully.  

Diana Fowley was gone.  Mulder's former partner on
the X-Files had abruptly tendered her resignation
from the FBI, moments after submitting her
investigative report into the massacre at El Rico Air
Base.  Mulder had been shocked and more than a
little hurt by her sudden defection.  Skinner had
muttered something cryptic about suspecting that
Krycek had a hand in her decision, but when pressed
by Mulder and Scully for details, he clammed up tight
and refused to say another word.

Reluctant and almost ashamed, the AD had finally
explained to his two most trusted agents how he had
been blackmailed by Krycek.  They were
understandably appalled, and Mulder began to regret
that he hadn't bashed Krycek's head into a tree while
he had the chance (conveniently forgetting that he'd
never really had that chance).  For Skinner's sake, the
agents agreed to keep the matter private, but in
return they extracted a solemn promise from their
boss that he would let them know instantly if Krycek
tried to manipulate him again.

They had been meeting in Skinner's office, to go over
Mulder and Scully's final report on the Jeffrey
Spender matter.  As usual, the truth had been buried
under a truckload of misinformation and outright lies. 
The deaths at El Rico were being attributed to an
unfortunate accident during the test-firing of a new
Air Force missile, a representation of events that was
supported by Agent Fowley's report.  Mulder and
Scully's reports on the attempted assassination of
Jeffrey Spender and the subsequent disappearance of
CGB Spender were politely received and instantly
rejected as totally implausible.  Since Mulder, Scully
and Skinner had expected this, they consoled
themselves with the fact that they, at least, had an
accurate account of events in their own files... and
with the fact that, due in large part to their efforts,
Jeffrey Spender, at least, would be able to resume a
normal life.

After the events of recent days, Spender had elected
to return to his apartment and rest for some weeks
before deciding what to do with the rest of his life. 
His parents' wills had been discovered, and he was
going to be a very wealthy young man.  However, he
had already professed a desire to contribute all of his
father's money to charity, not wanting to be
associated in any way with the man or his blood
money.  Fox Mulder could certainly identify with that
sentiment.  He too endeavored to rid himself of the
tainted money from his own ill-gotten trust fund 
inheritance as quickly as he received it by contributing 
the bulk to charity, saving a small portion to spend on 
expensive suits and other trivialities, knowing how 
much that would have irked his father. 

As for Alex Krycek, he had disappeared once again. 
He hadn't been seen since the day he disappeared
into the woods with Mulder at his side.  Mulder
reported that he'd still been standing there when
Mulder left.  He didn't really feel up to confessing the
truth.  For the same reason, he'd been very sparing of
details about his own personal experience during the
"missing time" episode.  He wanted to figure out for
himself how he felt about what had happened before
he described it to anyone else.  Besides, he knew that
no one would believe him anyway.

"Want to grab some coffee?" his partner invited as
they left Skinner's office.

"Sure," he agreed, and they strolled together toward
the exit.

Scully. There was no sign that she'd been affected in
any way by whatever it was the alien, Dee, had done
to her.  Mulder hadn't told her about it.  He'd wanted
to, but couldn't find a way to bring up the subject
that wouldn't raise more questions than he could
answer, and there was nothing anyone could do
about it anyway.  So he kept silent and watched
Scully like a hawk for signs of unusual behavior,
thankfully finding none.

They sat in Mulder's office, sipping coffee in quiet
companionship, and reveling in a quiet moment to do
nothing more than just appreciate good coffee and
each other's company.  Finally, almost reluctantly,
Scully broke the silence.

"You didn't say much in your report about what you
and Krycek discussed when you took that little
walk."

Mulder shifted uncomfortably, then reached up to rub
the back of his neck.  "No.  I guess I didn't."

"Do you want to talk about it?"  Her voice was soft,
inviting confidence.  "Did he kiss you again?"  Very
softly.

Mulder chuckled and shook his head.  "No. Not this
time. I told you, he just does that when he wants to
throw me off-balance."  He shrugged.  "There's
really not much to say, Scully.  It was no big deal. 
Just another one of our mano-a-mano
confrontations." He wondered why he was lying. 
Was he trying to protect Scully, or Krycek, or
himself? <<At least I didn't lie about the kiss -- he
didn't kiss me this time.>> But was he relieved or
sorry?  <<Fox Mulder, you are *so* fucked up.>>

"Did you ask him why he wanted us back on the
X-Files?" Scully wondered.

"No," Mulder replied honestly.  But then, he hadn't
had to ask.  After what Krycek had revealed, he
already knew the answer.

"There was no sign of him when the bomb squad
arrived.  They searched the woods thoroughly, just in
case there were any more bombs placed around there. 
He must have had a vehicle waiting for him hidden
somewhere."

"Must have," Mulder murmured.  Of course, he had a
pretty good idea of how Krycek had gotten out of
there, but it wasn't the kind of thing he could say in
his report.  He wasn't even sure that he wanted to.

"And you haven't heard from him since?"

Mulder raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question. 
"Me?  No.  Why would you think that?"

She smiled slightly.  "Mulder, we all agreed that
Krycek has shown an unusual interest in you and
your activities.  It's a fair question."

"I guess."  Mulder shrugged.  "But no.  I haven't
heard from him.   Rat bastard has disappeared into
the sewers for now.  But he'll be back, Scully.  He
always comes back."

"Mmm," was the only response as Scully sipped at
her coffee.  Both of them contemplated the one man
whirlwind who wreaked so much havoc in their lives
every time he made an appearance.

Where Krycek was concerned, Mulder didn't know
what to believe anymore.  Part of him still wanted to
strangle the bastard who had so unconcernedly ended
his father's life, tormented his boss, and indirectly
been responsible for so much of his partner's
suffering.  On the other side of the equation,
however, he was faced with the newfound awareness
that Krycek had gotten him immunized against the
Black Oil virus; had revealed to him the existence of
the alien resistance; and had half-coaxed,
half-bludgeoned him through a crisis of faith.  Plus
there was that half-promise that he might be able to find
out what had happened to Samantha.

He was also forced to grudgingly acknowledge that
in spite of what Krycek had done in the past, there
was little doubt that he was on the right side in the
approaching battle -- and that his involvement had
probably been crucial in obtaining the assistance of
the d'lin on humanity's behalf.  How Krycek had
enlisted their help, he had no idea -- though he
imagined it would be a fascinating story -- but it
seemed clear they *were* helping, not just
themselves, but the humans as well.  In reconsidering
the events at Fort Marlene and El Rico, in light of
what he had learned over the past few days, it was
evident that the d'lin had orchestrated the entire
scenario.  Their specific motives in doing so remained
a mystery, but it was probable that by killing the
Consortium leaders and Cassandra Spender, they had
put a severe crimp in the colonization plans.  

Whatever those plans were. Krycek undoubtedly
knew.  He would have some answers out of Krycek
the next time they met, if he had to beat them out of
his sometime-antagonist, sometime-ally.

<<Next time, Krycek>> he promised. <<Next
time.>>  His heart warmed at the thought. But he
would have been hard-pressed to explain, even to
himself, what he was promising.

******

Safely ensconced once more at the Charlottesville
base, Alex stretched out in his chair, taking a short
break before putting the finishing touches on his final
report.  It had taken him some time to get started; the
transmat experience hadn't exactly turned out to be
the thrill he'd expected.  In hindsight, it was just as
well that he'd been unconscious during his earlier
transmat experiences.  The actuality proved little
more than a moment of disorientation, a moment of
total and shockingly painful and terrifying dislocation
that seemed to last an eternity, followed by three
solid hours of puking up his guts.  Apparently the
system wasn't quite optimized for human physiology. 
At least he hadn't lost any more body parts: when he
finally finished emptying his stomach, he'd performed
a very thorough inventory. But it had certainly felt as
bad as if he had.  Hell, he didn't remember being in
that much pain when the Russians had hacked his arm
off.  He wasn't going to be asking for any more
transmat rides anytime soon.  He only hoped that the
Smoker had found his own transmat experience
equally enjoyable.

At any rate, he'd rattled off a brief preliminary report
after a few hours sleep and some soft boiled eggs on
hot buttered toast. There'd been questions raised
about his preliminary account, so he'd expanded on
some sections and added others for the final report. 
He'd also spoken to Dee about the Samantha
problem, and Dee had promised to see the matter
raised in the Smoker's interrogation.  If he could get
some answers there...

Funny how well things had turned out in the end. 
They'd captured the Smoker, scared off Diana
Fowley, gotten Mulder and Scully reassigned to the
X-Files, and even begun the delicate process of
acquainting Mulder with the role he was expected to
undertake in the new world order.  He'd never have
dreamed things could work out half so well in that
heart-stopping moment at Fort Marlene when he
realized the genome was gone before he could
retrieve it.   When he'd been convinced for a while
that his alien allies had betrayed him. <<Now you
know how Mulder felt.>> 

Mulder.  Mulder hadn't quite asked Krycek if he was
worried that the d'lin were just using humanity to
further their own ends, but it had certainly been
implied.  And it was something that Krycek had been
thinking about a lot in recent days.  When he'd driven
hell-for-leather back to the base after leaving Fort
Marlene, he'd half expected, half feared that the place
would be abandoned.  Instead, he found out that the
Smoker had been up to his usual tricks, secretly
arranging for one of his tame scientists to retrieve the
genome, and that this had necessitated the abrupt
change of plan, with no way to inform Krycek,
because he was out in the field.  Since then, despite
the Smoker's narrow escape from El Rico, things had
gone just swimmingly. But the question refused to go
away.

He sighed, and looked down at his report.  There was
no answer, really.  Only time would tell if his allies
had ulterior motives.  For the moment, they needed
him and the humans as much as Earth needed them. 
Other matters could wait.

The few loose ends had mostly been dealt with by
now.  The FBI had been handled in the customary
fashion.  The abortive attack on Jeffrey Spender at
the hospital was now being blamed on a squabble
between drug lords and a case of mistaken identity. 
The official FBI report on the incident at the house in
Maryland revealed that a terrorist bomb factory had
been discovered, the perpetrators having fled the
country before they could be arrested.  Mulder and
Scully's report on the Jeffrey Spender assassination
attempt and its aftermath had been "sanitized" at
levels above AD Skinner and then misfiled as well;
arrangements were in place for Mulder and Scully's
personal file copy to *disappear* in a couple of
weeks.   

His influential "friends" at the FBI had also seen to it
that Skinner was made aware that discretion by all
parties concerned regarding the Jeffrey Spender
incident and Alex's part therein was the price of
Mulder and Scully's officially sanctioned
reinstatement on the X-Files.  Jeffrey himself was
advised to forget the whole matter and get on with
his life by a senior representative of the FBI, who
also warned him that the price of ignoring this
"friendly" suggestion would be a lot higher than he
would want to pay.  

As for more personal concerns.... The phone numbers
he'd used this time around had already been changed. 
Not that they were traceable anyway -- they were
merely routing numbers at dead addresses -- but it
still didn't pay to take chances.  He also sent a team
of Guardians to *borrow* an unconscious Jeffrey
Spender the very night after the ambush.  With the
help of his d'lin allies, it had taken less than two
hours to erase all memory of what Alex had disclosed
to Jeffrey in the hospital about Bill Mulder and
Melissa Scully and to return him to his hotel room,
unaware of the excursion and none the worse for the
experience.  Despite what he'd told Mulder in the
woods, Alex felt rather sorry for Jeffrey Spender. 
Not sorry enough to ever have anything to do with
him again, but just sorry enough to go to the trouble
of selectively erasing his memories, rather than killing
him or wiping his mind completely.  The kid would
be happier without the knowledge anyway, Alex
guessed.  So unlike Fox Mulder.  The contrast
between the two men could not be more striking.

He wasn't surprised when his thoughts turned once
again to Mulder. The reasons he had given as to why
Mulder had been chosen to interface with the
resistance were true, but they weren't the whole
truth. Nor was it likely they would ever reach a point
where Krycek could tell him the whole truth.  At
least now he understood why, contrary to
expectation, Mulder hadn't been a target.  The old
man had never quite given up on trying to turn his
bastard son.  Strangely sentimental behavior for the
cynical conniver, and doomed to failure from the
first.  Though it seemed, from what Mulder had said,
that he almost succeeded at the last.  Not for the first
time, Krycek found himself reluctantly grateful to
Scully.  Just in this she had amply repaid the favor he
had done for her without her knowledge in Maryland. 


Of course, if he were being honest with himself, he'd
have to admit that that had also been his way of
cleaning up the mess he had helped to create by
assisting the Smoker in facilitating Dana Scully's
abduction.  With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight and a
lot more information, he was well aware of what a
potentially disastrous move that had been.  Now,
thankfully, she was free of ch'lith'kik'a manipulation,
which meant that Mulder was free as well.  And if
Mulder felt obligated to him in some small way as a
result, that was just the icing on the cake.  

He smiled, wondering if Mulder would tell her about
it.  Not very likely.  Mulder still preferred to pretend
that everything was all right; that life continued as
usual.

Which it did, for the time being.  But not for very
much longer.

"Soon, Mulder," he murmured to himself. "Soon." 

Funny how his pulse quickened at the thought.

******

The End