Title: Liquid Sky

Pairing: M/K

Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, UST, language, hurt/comfort, angst and a little schmoop.

Disclaimer: They are Mine now. ((growls))

Website: http://www.catthause.com/jami/jami.htm

Cover Art: Check out the picture that inspired this story ;-) http://www.catthause.com/jami/xfiles/liquidsky.htm

Feedback: jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

Spoilers: MUHAHAHAHA

Beta: Cattnip

Note: 'Liquid Sky' is another user-term for heroin. See: cult film of the same name.

Warning: It goes AU from canon during Mulder's return in 'This Is Not Happening/DeadAlive'.

Dedication: This is for you, Carol! :-)

Summary: While Mulder recuperates from his abduction, Krycek attempts to keep him alive. But is Mulder the same as he was before Oregon? How has his sojourn aboard the alien ship changed him? And can Krycek keep Mulder from running impulsively back into the very danger that Krycek's just risked everything to save him from?

---

Liquid Sky

As his phone chirruped, Krycek snatched it up. "Yeah?"

"Mr Krycek," said a vaguely familiar voice. "This is Absalom. Do you remember me?"

"Of course." Krycek's mind whirled with the implication of this call. "Where's Smith?"

"He's...here. He said that we should inform you in the event of our intercepting a specific individual on his return from the Colonists' ships. Our work here, it's going well. But you should be aware that a certain federal agent has recently returned. We picked him up about half an hour ago. Smith feels this warrants your immediate attention. He says the man is in danger. We were observed by an FBI agent."

Already hastily moving to pack and get out the door, Krycek said curtly, "Thank you. I'm on my way. Where are you? The farm?"

"Yes."

"Tell Smith I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out." He cut the line.

Quickly making a few phone calls, Krycek threw his bags into the car and then climbed into the driver's seat, where he dialed a number he knew from memory.

Waiting, he forced himself to take calm, deep breaths. Soon, the line was picked up.

Marita Covarrubias' cool, cautious voice answered. "Hello?"

"I'm en route to Montana. You need to get up there. We have a situation."

"A situation?"

"The FBI has interrupted a rescue operation and they're in the process of busting one of Smith's compounds near Helena. He's got abductees there, the ones the Colonists are returning, infected with that new virus. Mulder's with them; he's infected too. We have to get to him before the FBI do, or we're screwed."

There was a heavy pause. "Why do you need me?"

In disbelief, Krycek said, "Come on! It's our fault he was abducted. We owe it to him to get him out of this!" He was confounded at having to explain the obvious to Marita who, of all people, ought to already be aware of the ramifications of Mulder's plight.

"That was your idea, Alex, to give him the location of that ship," Marita reminded him in clipped tones. "I went along with it as the only viable alternative to what Cancerman was suggesting. And I still believe that it was an ill-informed plan. We acted too hastily. The world is not ready for the information Agent Mulder so desperately wishes to give them. It is not our fault the Colonists decided to take him this time."

Biting back a curse, Krycek hissed furiously, "Listen to me, if we don't get him back we are ALL going to be up shit creek without an alien-human hybrid capable of saving the situation. An active, infected Mulder-replacement running around in the FBI is not something we need. And if you don't help him, it's your ass as well."

There was another long pause. "Very well. I'll arrange transport and a safehouse." Marita hesitated. "I hope you realize that there is only so far I can help without betraying my cover. If they find out I did this, they WILL neutralize me."

"It'll be a moot point if they neutralize Mulder," he rejoined, wondering why Marita was prevaricating and reluctant to the point of stupidity. But maybe she was scared. "I'll meet you at the airport in Helena." He angrily cut the line without waiting for her to respond.

Damn it, damn her! He thought furiously. He was regretting the necessity of borrowing on her resources, but she had access to older Syndicate hideouts and information that he didn't, and with her U.N. connections she could also find ways of aiding them that wouldn't draw the attention of any of the current agencies or powers. He was beginning to wonder if she could be trusted, though.

What the hell was wrong with her? After the guilt and shared frustration both he and Marita had gone through after Mulder's abduction in Oregon, he would have thought she'd be relieved to have a chance to remedy the situation. Besides, they had no choice. They HAD to save Mulder.

They had to intervene before the FBI interrupted Jeremiah Smith and left them with an infected Mulder, who would be worse than useless.

Feeling helpless at his inability to get to Montana and to Mulder fast enough, Krycek gunned the engine and tore away from the curb with a squeal of tires.

The Alien Bounty Hunter had left Mulder alive and well so many times in their encounters over the years, Krycek had never realized it was precisely because the Bounty Hunter recognized Mulder's latent abilities that lay dormant, coiled within his genetic heritage of natural DNA remnants laden with alien-human hybridized potential. The Aliens had hoped to tap it themselves.

In the wake of Mulder's abduction at the Oregon site, Marita had uncovered Department of Defense files she had gained access to. They revealed William Mulder's and Cancerman's true investment in Fox Mulder: he was a natural-born hybrid, like Cassandra, only the DNA was suppressed, activated over time by the very energy signature and radiation produced by the fragments of the Ivory Coast Ship...or being on board one of the Colonists' craft. No doubt they had snatched Mulder only to discover that Cancerman had beaten them to it, removing the valuable part of Mulder's brain in that butcher's attempt to steal Mulder's fire for himself. And it was no wonder Cancerman and Bill Mulder had opted to give Samantha up to them in the end, over Fox.

To realize they'd actually handed Mulder, the hybrid with the power to stop the Colonists' plans, over to the Colonists via the Bounty Hunter made Krycek and Marita sick and they'd both been frantically trying to find a way to recover him, to no avail. Following the progress of Scully and Skinner's search in Arizona had revealed no luck on that front either. It was a grave miscalculation that Krycek was still cursing himself for.

As he sped towards the nearest airport, Krycek was raging inside, impotently. A fully-grown adult with the exact genetic traits that the Syndicate had struggled so desperately to create in Cassandra was a prize worth dying for... Or at least risking everything for. He'd thought Marita understood that.

---

During the drive in the rental car from the Helena Regional Airport to the farm where Absalom's group was gathering healed and recuperating abductees, Krycek and Marita spoke very little. He was angry with her for her reluctance to help and at her seeming selfishness in refusing to acknowledge the importance of what they were attempting.

He concentrated on the road as the darkness closed around them.

When they arrived at the compound, Krycek and Marita were met by a member of the group who quickly showed them into a small room where Jeremiah Smith sat beside the still form of Fox Mulder. Absalom hovered nearby.

Jeremiah looked up as they came in. "Good, I'm glad you made it. We don't have much time. They will be here soon."

Flicking a glance down at Mulder's gray face ravaged with scars on both cheeks, Krycek frowned. "Haven't you healed him yet?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "I have removed the virus from his system and healed his internal injuries, but he has been dead for some time. Because of the severity of the decomposition and the viral change, it has taken all my energy just to remove the infection. I have been unable to completely heal his external wounds."

Marita was unable to suppress a horrified gasp at Mulder's appearance upon closer inspection. "Will he survive?"

"Oh, assuredly," Jeremiah replied, looking down at Mulder. "He had a brain tumor which I have removed also." Jeremiah looked back up at Krycek. "He will be extremely weak. He will need medical attention and rest. If the FBI takes him, he will be in danger from the Colonists, as that agency is already infiltrated. Are you able to provide a safe place for him to recover?"

Krycek nodded. "Yes. We'll get him out here and on the road. We've already got a place for him. This brain tumor - why did he have it?"

Jeremiah glanced at Absalom briefly, both of them exchanging a resigned expression. "I suspect it was a result of his body's attempts to compensate for the surgery he received at the hands of the Syndicate doctors. I have removed it, but I cannot guarantee that whatever caused it will not cause it to occur again. You may have to run further tests. We have done all we can for him and I have other returnees to attend to, so I hope you will not mind if I leave him in your care now."

"Thank you for saving his life," Marita offered. "Thank you for all the lives you are saving."

"It is a drop in the ocean, of all the sweat from our efforts," Absalom answered.

"Indeed," Jeremiah continued. "We try to keep up with the Colonists as they return the infected abductees, but there are too many of them, even with our knowledge of the listed subjects from the Census Bureau's database. You will have to be careful to keep this one safely hidden away until he is recovered enough to defend himself from them. Meanwhile, I suggest you use this in the occasion that you are attacked or discovered." He held out a vial of what looked like ordinary water to Krycek, who took it.

"What is it?"

"Magnetite in a colloidal base," Jeremiah explained. "In the event that you or Mulder are infected with the virus, simply inject this solution immediately into the bloodstream and it will render it useless, provided you don't wait too long for the viral changes to take effect. You may have some time but not much, for once it takes hold you will need a much stronger defense. That is something I do not yet have access to. It will also stop the alien replacements upon exposure to it, externally."

"Magnetite?" asked Marita, shrewdly. "Ferrous magnetite?"

"In a pure, liquid form," Jeremiah nodded. "It is derived from a common metal found here on your world, found in mineral springs in Wyoming and Colorado. They do not yet know of it's existence, or that we know of it. In a concentrated amount, it is the only way to stop them once they are fully changed. And now, you must excuse me. The FBI will be here soon, including Fox Mulder's colleagues. They will be most anxious to retrieve him. I will transform one of the dead into his likeness and leave it for them in the field. My energy is gravely depleted. We must hurry. The Colonists may return, as they monitor the federal agencies and are bound to learn of our efforts here."

Absalom accompanied Jeremiah Smith out of the room while two members of the group helped Krycek and Marita to carry Mulder onto a stretcher and out of the compound to the car where they had parked outside.

Once they managed to get back on the road, Krycek exchanged a glance with Marita in the rearview mirror as they passed a number of vehicles on the highway, all traveling at high speed through the night towards what presumably was their destination: the compound. Luckily the FBI drivers didn't recognize them. Krycek could swear he caught a glimpse of Skinner in one of the vehicles.

It had been close; far too close for comfort. Krycek allowed himself a brief exhale of relief, only to jerk as Marita choked out, "Look! Out there."

Sure enough, in the dark night sky, in the direction she indicated and adjacent to the highway behind and above them, a light was silently and swiftly descending, also monitoring the FBI cavalcade's progress to the compound. It came to a hovering stop and blinked off.

"Those idiots," Krycek growled. "They've led the ship directly to them!"

"Smith will be compromised," Marita observed.

Krycek's response was to put his foot down on the accelerator, hoping the ship wouldn't think to investigate and intercept them as well.

---

Jeremiah Smith ordered Absalom to move the followers out. "They're coming," he said. "You can't let them find him."

Absalom helplessly watched as Smith went amongst them in an attempt to hide his identity.

The Federal agents were already storming the farm and rounding people up as Absalom desperately scanned the panicking members for the second Jeremiah Smith. He knew that Smith intended to allow himself to be taken, in the event of the FBI apprehending him or the Ship returning, to ensure the second Smith would be safe. Certainly once the word got out that the FBI had discovered them, the Ship would also come back. He had to ensure that the other Smith made it to safety, and Absalom cursed that they hadn't disclosed the Healer's existence to Krycek and Marita - who might have taken the Alien Healer to safety along with Mulder. But as he tried to locate the second Smith amidst the crowd as the SWAT team began seizing people, he realized the Healer must have already made good an escape before they arrived. At least he hoped so.

The time was coming when, as the Healers had enlightened him, the invasion would take place en-mass. In the wake of the Colonists' attempts to invade, a great wave of divine energy would arrive on the planet and time itself would 'fold up', or so both Smiths had described. It was merely a matter of keeping pace with the Colonists until the divine wave arrived.

Absalom found some comfort and peace in the fact that he had been right about the invasion. He'd been right all along. Now he had his part to play. Luckily, the dead man they'd been unable to save had been morphed into the likeness of Fox Mulder. He wondered how much energy it had taken out of Jeremiah with this last effort. He regretted the necessity of such sacrifices on the part of the Healers, but he knew that the agent that they were working to save was no less than the messiah, the same being who carried the mystical properties all humans would need in order to survive the viral apocalypse.

As Absalom was seized and brought before the FBI agents for questioning, he relaxed, knowing full well that this time, it would be up to the other groups scattered around the country to continue to rescue and heal the returning abductees.

Now was the time when he would spread the word to all who might listen. Even incarcerated, his voice would be loud; though his words might be whispered, they would carry with a shout. He faced without fear the red-haired female agent who addressed him.

---

Krycek stood by Mulder's bedside in the bedroom of the safehouse they'd brought him to. He tried to focus on reading the medical report on Mulder's condition. They had carefully selected a local doctor to have a look at Mulder, in an attempt to give him what medical aid they could under the circumstances.

Marita had really come through this time, arranging for a chopper to transport the catatonic Mulder and the two of them to a remote location in South Dakota.

By all accounts, the Colonists had taken Jeremiah Smith, a major coup for their side, and Absalom was in FBI custody, no doubt running interference for them all, under interrogation by the distraught Agent Scully and her associates. Krycek wondered if he dared to utilize his hold on Skinner with the nanobots to try to pull some strings, but it would look suspicious and he doubted that Absalom would be safer if he was free once more, now that he'd been targeted and identified. At least for now. Better that the FBI believe, and thusly the Colonists, that the main group had been nullified, while the other groups continued their work in the ongoing rescue operations around the country.

He found it difficult to read though, and kept glancing down at Mulder as he slept.

It was gut-wrenching to see the once-healthy, swaggering and dedicated man laying there helpless with such obvious signs of torture still marking his face. This was their great hope? Here lay the one person with the genetic profile that marked him as a success and a savior. Mulder didn't look up to much and the local country doctor's report stated as much.

"They've buried the altered abductee, the one Jeremiah Smith changed," Marita informed him where she stood in the doorway to Mulder's room. "It was by all accounts a simple ceremony. He was buried beside Mulder's parents in North Carolina."

Krycek didn't look up from the papers he was scanning. "Good."

Marita crossed the room to stand on the other side of Mulder's bed. "What will you do with him when he awakens? You can't just keep him here."

Impatient with her, Krycek merely replied, "Watch me."

"Why him? Why not let him go? He's struggled enough. There are other possibilities. Gibson Praise, for example."

Krycek looked up at this, wondering if she was being deliberately obtuse. "Gibson Praise is still a child. Besides, he doesn't fit the correct genetic profile. There's any number of wonder-kids out there, but not of the same caliber as Cassandra was. Mulder is, at least in potential, and he's fully-grown. He's our last, best and only hope. If we wait for Scully's baby to get born, let alone survive to be old enough, it'll be too late."

Marita looked over to where Mulder lay sleeping. "Are you going to tell him? About Scully's pregnancy?"

"No, not yet. Otherwise he'll just run back to D.C. and all our efforts will have been for nothing." He glanced back down at his papers, wondering why Marita was choosing now to be difficult.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Alex. He'll figure it out - all of it," she pointed out.

He met her gaze coolly. "Not all of it. It doesn't matter at this point. We're racing against the clock."

"How long can you keep this up? You can't hold him here indefinitely."

"Whose side are you on?" he snapped at her. "He has to be made aware of his importance, of why everyone has expended so much effort on his behalf all these years. He's been protected and groomed for this from the very beginning. Even that smoking bastard recognized his value, to the point of compromising the Project. Mulder was such a fucking nuisance, he's lucky no one simply shot him years ago. And still nobody bothers to ask why, least of all him!"

"I'm concerned about YOU, Alex. You're turning this into a personal matter. You're still blaming yourself for the past. You can't convince him of something he doesn't want to hear."

Alex went cold. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do," she replied icily.

"Stay out of it," he warned her, bristling at this.

Her cold, blue eyes met his, unafraid, piercing him. "Very well. It's your choice, Alex. This time, you're on your own. I won't be party to this. It's tantamount to kidnapping. And he needs better medical care, more than we can offer." She motioned with a nod of her head towards Mulder where he lay unmoving on the bed, comatose.

"You're already involved," he reminded her, in a low voice of warning.

"Not any more." She turned to leave the room.

Krycek watched her walk away, suspicious now. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she said, a wealth of meaning in her reply as she paused in the doorway.

Krycek exhaled, cursing the fact that Marita had to be thorny and self-serving at a time when Mulder's life - and thereby the fate of them all - hung in the balance. "Fine," he said, with a nonchalant lift of his chin. "Go running back into the woodwork."

"What do you need me here for?" Marita asked candidly.

"He needs help," Krycek stated, trying not to grit his teeth.

"So hire a nurse," she replied, and gave him a twisted, knowing smile. "See you in hell."

"Already been there," he muttered as she left the room.

I'm living in a world of fools, he thought to himself. No one wanted to think about it. They just wanted to wait until their world came crashing down around their heads. Well, he hadn't sacrificed everything just to watch it all turn to ashes. He sighed, looking down at Mulder's sleeping form.

But the uncomfortable truth of what Marita had referred to reared its head now and Krycek wished she hadn't been right. She was, however much Krycek wanted to deny it.

Mulder would never listen to him. Hell, Mulder was always too busy telling him what an evil bastard he was, never staying alert enough to pay attention to the facts and always leaping to conclusions. That if Krycek was there, he was up to no good. That if Krycek was involved, he must be doing it purely for his own sake. That Krycek was a monster, a murderer, a liar, blah, blah, blah.

Bitterly, he regarded Mulder. The man never gave him any credit for having achieved anything, let alone having saved his ass. If it weren't for him, Mulder would never have been vaccinated against the Black Oil. What did he get in return for it? A missing limb.

Well, he had better things to do than stand here next to the injured man, waiting for him to wake up just so that Mulder could rail at him and argue and hurl abuse. With a noise of impatience, frustration and annoyance with the situation, Krycek left Mulder to sleep on obliviously. It was only a matter of time before the man would revive. Then the dance would begin.

Krycek grimly acknowledged that maybe Marita had a point: he needed a nurse. Someone else to take care of Mulder while he remained in that state, requiring care that Krycek doubted he could even provide. With the one good arm and his reputation as a tarnished villain in Mulder's eyes, Mulder would be difficult to handle indeed. Then there was the whole 'kidnapping' angle. Mulder would no doubt bitch at him for having abducted him. Mulder would ask, which was worse: the Aliens torturing him or Krycek?

Krycek briefly considered letting Mulder just lie there in that bedroom and rot. Leave him there in that bed to take his chances while Krycek got back out in the political underground. But his conscience urged him to continue with his chosen course of action. His conscience, and something else. Something indefinable and dark, that sat secretly in the back of his mind and whispered things he didn't want to think about.

Like how good it felt to finally have Mulder in his power, under his control...at his mercy. Like how nice it was to consider that he might be able to, at long last, get the man to listen to him for once. Like how wonderful it would be to allow himself the luxury of seeing Mulder having to need him and his help. And take it. Or not.

The road to hell truly was paved with good intentions.

---

Mulder tried to breathe, fighting his way through a murky, swimming cloud of hazy, indistinct impressions. His surroundings faded in and out of focus, revealing little to him of where he was. Certainly he wasn't still aboard the Ship.

The Ship!

He jerked slightly, in horror and fear. The memories were harsh: cold, glaring lights and bright, metal pain; naked and restrained with the sounds of his own cries in his ears and nothing else...except the buzz of some unearthly machinery that was far too close to him. He tried to cry out.

Suddenly, someone was helping him to raise his head, lifting his head enough to rest it against another pillow, slightly elevated. It helped. Cool water was offered through a straw, and he sucked it in, desperately, wondering how he'd grown so dehydrated.

All too soon it was taken away, despite his feeble protests, which were nothing more than hoarse croaks anyway from a throat that was rough from disuse.

A voice came to him, soothing and mellow, and in spite of the fact that he couldn't hear the words it helped him to relax. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Mulder wondered with some flicker of thought: how had he managed to come to this place where he was no longer naked, no longer in pain and relatively comfortable? He was in a bed, that much was certain. A hospital? It didn't smell right to be a hospital. And he wasn't in his own bed.

His eyes still hurt and he kept them closed. Darkness soon followed.

He awoke after some immeasurable span of time to hear the voice again...a man's voice, he realized now, hauntingly familiar but still soothing. It sounded almost...far away. Distant. Like it should be an echo. But it was clear. He still couldn't hear the words.

He relaxed, allowing his eyes to remain closed with the comfort of knowing others were there. Another voice answered the first, and this time the faint shock of recognition was almost enough to wake him up completely. He remembered...seeing the clones of his sister and the other boys at the hybrid farm in Canada. No, that wasn't it...the bees? No...Smith! That was it. Jeremiah Smith.

But wait...He wasn't hearing their voices at all. The room was silent. He was alone. He frowned, puzzled. It was as if he was hearing them even though they weren't speaking. It didn't make sense.

Oregon! He'd been in the forest clearing, seeing how the red light beams were distorted by that wondrous energy field...and then the Ship was above them and he was seeing the other abductees in the light.

But that didn't make sense either. It didn't explain what he was experiencing.

With a sickening lurch, he finally placed the memory of this weird auditory ability. It had been when he was undergoing the attacks in the wake of his exposure to the fragments of the ship that had been brought from the Ivory Coast.

Oh shit, he thought. It's happening again.

He waited for the crushing pain, the crippling headaches as his brain was seized by wild surges of mental overload from whoever's minds were closest. He even tensed, waiting for the pain -

It didn't come...in fact, neither did. Not the pain or the attacks. Well, that was a small mercy, in any case. He squinted, opening his eyes a crack, blinking. It appeared to be late afternoon, and luckily the sun wasn't shining directly through the open window. In fact, from the angle, he judged the window faced east.

Where am I, he wondered, silently.

//You are awake,// stated Jeremiah Smith. //Your recovery is slow, as I have not dared to interfere with your natural healing process. I have done what I can for you. Forgive me, for we should have healed you fully. Yet, there were complications. But you are alive, at least.//

What?! How...who...why...

Scully!

He tried to call her name but his voice was not even a whisper.

//You are safe. She is not here. It was necessary to remove you from harm's way and keep you in a place of safety while you recovered. You are still very weak. But you will be needed in the coming months, so take care. Take this time to recover, Fox Mulder.//

Let me go! Where's Scully?! I want to see Scully. I can't move. Where am I? What am I doing here? Smith? What the hell's going on?!

//This is...interesting.// Mulder received a strange impression of a wry smile. //A curious side effect. We will return once you have recovered. I suggest you stay here, and wait until one of us contacts you. Be aware that they are looking for you; you will be in great danger if you return. You will need to be discreet. Wait for our sign. You are in good hands until then. Now I must leave. It is not safe for me to remain here, in light of this revelation.//

The voice receded, leaving him alone to wonder if he was losing his mind. Auditory hallucinations, perhaps?

But at this point, he didn't care and let himself drift off into a more comfortable sleep, dark and quiet and without any worries. What was it Smith had said? He was safe. For the coming months. Good. He was going to sleep until Spring arrived. He slept less fitfully this time.

He was awoken several hours later by a sharp pang from the vicinity of...somewhere in the house where he was located. Someone was upset. With him. He could feel it. He could tell from the unsuppressed resentment and anger in the silent voice. It was faint, in the background, like a faded undertone. It was actually irritating not to be able to place who the voice belonged to.

---

After the Jeremiah Smith clone left, Krycek sat down in the living room, sinking into the couch with a sense of fatigue and relief. Damage control, he thought. That's what it always comes down to. I'm always having to do damage control where Mulder's concerned.

As he was leaving, the Alien Healer had informed him that Mulder was 'far more special than anyone had considered', and had admonished him to not allow the man to leave here until they sent word that it was safe for Mulder to do so. When he'd asked, Krycek had been cryptically told that 'Mulder was the future'. With a snort, he thought, tell me something I don't know.

He was already well aware of the ramifications of Mulder's genetic material. They'd had Scully under continuous surveillance; Mulder's visit to her was even on tape.

The stuff was so strong that even Mulder's innocuous, innocent and friendly offering to Scully of that sperm sample he'd donated had taken root in her barren womb. In her desperation to try to have a child, even considering her unlikely chances, Scully conceived because Mulder's genetics could apparently override even an infertile female environment, being highly adaptable and possessing greater stamina, enough to spark a response from that uterine environment. Krycek shuddered at the complications her pregnancy was going to cause.

Krycek channel-flipped for a while, scanning the news programs of the evening with a restless eye, half of his attention musing over the possibilities of what they might achieve once Mulder was up and about, fully recovered.

But still, the impatience that swelled within him at having to wait was unabated. How the hell was he supposed to get Mulder to stay put - with him in the house no less?! Mulder had a tendency to become violently irrational in his presence. Sure, he had killed the man's father, and his relationship with Mulder had ended in their brief partnership in the FBI under less than pleasant circumstances, but it was hardly as if he hadn't made up for it in numerous lesser ways over the years. He'd saved Mulder's life so many times. They had been on the same side; why couldn't Mulder see that?!

Krycek sighed, wondering if he'd ever get Mulder to listen to his side of the story.

And scowled at a feeble sound from the other room.

So it begins, he thought, noting with unease how a spasm of nervous dread went through him at the thought of facing Mulder now.

Getting to his feet with very little enthusiasm, Krycek went into Mulder's room.

The recognition in Mulder's open eyes blazed instantly. Krycek watched as, predictably, Mulder's nostrils flared and a ripple of anger crossed Mulder's face. Then, amazingly, it died.

Mulder licked his dry lips. "Krycek," he whispered. It seemed a statement rather than an imprecation.

"Yeah. You're awake at last. How do you feel?"

"Thirsty," Mulder managed in a nearly non-existent voice.

Krycek sat down at the bedside and brought the tall cup of water with the straw to Mulder's lips, and watched as he eagerly slurped the water down. Krycek let him have more this time.

Finally, Mulder stopped, having nearly drained the container. Setting it down by the bedside, Krycek asked, "Are you in pain?"

Mulder winced. Then he tried to move his arms, and managed to lift his hand. He let it drop back to the bed. He seemed to be as weak as a baby. Even weaker, in fact. "No, not really," he whispered, scratchily. His sharp eyes searched Krycek's face though. "Why are you here? What am I doing here?"

Krycek looked down, bracing himself for the inevitable tirade of insults, taunts and hostility, then made himself look back up to meet Mulder's gaze. "Convalescing. You were abducted when you and Skinner went to find the ship in Oregon. You've been missing for a while now. We picked you up after you were dropped off. The Alien Bounty Hunter was dropping off infected abductees, to allow them to circulate in the general public as alien replacements. Their timetable has been accelerated. But Jeremiah Smith and his associates have been attempting to stem their efforts by getting to the abductees after they're returned to earth. You were compromised, infected with an alien virus and what genetic value you have was unrecognized, obviously, or they wouldn't have brought you back. Smith was badly depleted; he was exhausted and unable to heal you completely. He said you're no longer infected but you'd be weak for a while. We can't allow them to know where you are. So we had you brought here. In South Dakota," he added, by way of explanation.

"Where?" Mulder whispered again, "Where, in South Dakota?"

Krycek looked away. "Not far from Bear Butte."

"What day is it? How long have I been gone?"

Krycek sniffed, looking down. "You've been missing for months. It's January now; the twenty-fourth."

Then, the predictable mewl: "Where's Scully?"

Krycek regarded him. "D.C., I expect. Why, should she be somewhere else?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Would Smith still trust you if he knew you as well as I do?"

That stung even though he was expecting it. Krycek retorted, "I was in the right place at the right time. Again. I'm always saving your ass. And considering that it's Scully's fault and that of your dear FBI that your rescue was bungled practically at the cost of your life, I expect he's willing to cut me some slack. Why don't you?"

Mulder didn't reply, just coughed a little and looked away, his eyes sliding off to focus on the opposite wall.

But Mulder's next question surprised him. "Why did you bother? Why didn't you just let them take me, replace me or whatever?"

"Because, believe it or not, I'm not the bastard you're always claiming I am," Krycek answered, wondering why Mulder was actually willing to talk rather than argue outright.

Mulder seemed to be satisfied with his reply though, and simply said, "You got me into this in the first place. This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come to me with the location of the ship in Oregon. That wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it? Simple guilt?"

Krycek tilted his head, watching him. "Sure. I owe you for getting you into that. You were taken because I brought you your precious truth you're always claiming you want. Now I have to make up for it. Weird isn't it, how I'm always cleaning up after you?"

With another lick of his dry, cracked lips, Mulder smoothly whispered, "No one asked you to. I wonder why you put yourself to the trouble."

Good question, Krycek thought. Why do I fucking bother? He considered the best way to answer this. And wondered if he wanted to. Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it? He slouched in the chair at Mulder's bedside, wondering if there was any point in continuing the charade. Maybe the best thing would actually be to call Scully and let her come collect her baby's father.

What a priceless thought: the uniting of the most unlikely trio of a little family imaginable. A mother still in the FBI who had sacrificed everything for the beliefs of her partner; beliefs that she didn't even hold even as she clung to her paradoxical Catholic and scientist doctrines.

A father who hadn't even got the job done properly and had jerked off in a test tube while fantasizing over little gray aliens instead of giving the woman what she really wanted: affection and a love she could call her own rather than some absent, driven obsession she didn't share.

And a baby who was undoubtedly going to be the Anti-Christ. Or something.

Krycek didn't even want to think about that. The Colonists already knew of Scully's pregnancy; no doubt the doctors at Zeus Genetics were rubbing their hands at the prospect of getting samples even before the fetus left the womb. Fucking parasites. Not to mention the complication of the buried abductee in Mulder's grave, with Mulder's own headstone he'd ordered after he'd come to terms with his brain tumor. Ah, that was it.

Krycek looked back at Mulder and said, "Quite aside from our personal differences, you are important. You should know that Smith was able to regenerate your insides. Your brain tumor is gone. He said he was able to heal almost all of you except for restoring your vitality and your external scars. He came back here intending to finish the job, except there was something different - something in your genetic makeup that made it difficult for him to intervene with the natural healing process. Or something."

But Mulder was staring at him with an almost distant expression, apparently digesting everything he'd just said. Mulder didn't even respond, just looked away, breathing harder.

"Are you alright?" Krycek asked, growing concerned. He didn't really know what to do in the event of some kind of episode or seizure. He could offer moderate care and support while Mulder regained his strength but that was about it. Unless Mulder sustained major injury or a bullet-wound, in which case Krycek was certain he could give him field dressing and triage. But for anything more complicated he was afraid he was going to have to call on the services of that local doctor again.

Mulder swallowed and looked back at him. "Krycek...why are you here?"

"I was just asking myself that same question," Krycek replied wryly.

To his astonishment, Mulder began to laugh weakly, in a subdued and hoarse voice. An unexpected and unwelcome warmth crept over him at it. Mulder's next response did nothing to lessen it, either.

"Quite a pair, aren't we? It's ironic, isn't it?"

Confused and now a little suspicious, Krycek searched Mulder's expression for any hints of sarcasm or hostility. He found none. And decided to change the subject. "Are you hungry?"

Mulder slowly shook his head. "I'm still thirsty."

Krycek lifted his brows. "For someone whose back from the dead, I'd say that's a fairly encouraging answer. I would've thought you'd feel like shit."

"I can't feel much of anything at all. I can't even move my legs," Mulder hoarsely stated.

Krycek got up, taking the tall cup with him. "I'll get a refill. I'll be right back."

As he filled it with fresh, cold water in the kitchen, Krycek mulled over the exchange so far.

Bizarre. Mulder didn't even seem that angry at finding himself here in Krycek's power. But maybe he was still too weak to complain about it. Once Mulder was up and about, Krycek knew it was over. There was no way he could convince him to stay put. He'd have to talk fast, and he hoped they wouldn't come to physical violence again. He really didn't want to end up restraining him. He sighed and returned to the bedroom.

Mulder stared longingly at the water and Krycek placed the straw at his lips. As Mulder gulped water, Krycek found himself watching dispassionately until he realized he was enjoying it. He was enjoying the simple act of being able to just...help. Without Mulder throwing punches or insults. A curious tenderness arose in him, at the sight of Mulder having to accept his help, needing him. He ruthlessly squashed it, but it simply popped back up again, making him wonder if he was losing it. There was something so nice in simply and quietly being here with him.

Why couldn't it be like this, Krycek wondered, as simple as this? But the pain of the past and the complexities of their relative positions dispelled his reverie. Mulder would always hate him and blame him for all the evils in the world. For an intelligent and insightful man, Mulder was strangely and stubbornly blind where he was concerned. Probably had something to do with the shooting of the man's father, Krycek thought, caustically reminding himself it was something he'd never live down.

When Mulder had drunk his fill, Krycek placed the water by the bed once more.

With a slight frown, Krycek asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Just answers," Mulder whispered, more color in his face now.

Warily, Krycek countered, "What kind of answers?"

"Why did you kill my father?"

Ah, we're back to that again, Krycek thought acrimoniously and yet, he was unsurprised. He'd expected that to come up fairly soon. "Mulder, I was told to. I knew who he was and what he'd done and what he was about to involve you in. I knew the risk he was willing to place you in simply for the sake of his conscience. I was ordered to kill him and I did it because really, it was him or you and me both." The regret came back to flood him though, and there was no way he could express it without sounding like a pathetic fool. He owned his actions; he took responsibility for them, unlike some people he could mention. He'd be damned before he started apologizing to Mulder simply to get the man to remain in relative safety until Smith contacted them again.

Strangely, Mulder seemed appeased with his reply. Without taking his eyes from Krycek's face, Mulder asked, "Why did you compromise Skinner with that nanotechnology?"

"What is this, the third degree? You're not in any position to demand-"

"I'm not interrogating. I honestly want to know, to understand." Mulder's voice was gaining clarity and strength. He was still hoarse and strained but the whisper was starting to leave, replaced with Mulder's own voice. "Why Skinner?"

Pressing his lips together, Krycek wondered what he had to lose at this point, in any case. Mulder could have his fucking truth. He could go ahead and choke on it, for all he cared. "Skinner was sitting on the fence. You know what they say about that fence: the Devil owns it, as well as the other side. He needed incentive to decide whose side he was on. And he was useful. I had to get to him before the others did. You'll never have any idea how much shit I went through over that. The smoking bastard was plenty pissed for that move. And he wasn't the only one. The Tunisians, for example. I'm a wanted man."

"Yeah, whole countries. Russia, America, Tunisia...You're popular. So who are you working for now?" Mulder asked him, point blank.

"At the moment, I seem to be working for you. Isn't THAT ironic?" Krycek rejoined, somewhat piqued at Mulder's apparent acceptance of everything he'd said.

Mulder began chuckling, his dry lips cracking as he couldn't help stretching them. He winced. "Your bedside manner sucks, Krycek."

But it was delivered in such a mild tone, and with such apparent camaraderie, that Krycek was horrified to find that tender warmth creeping over him again, destroying his composure. What the hell was that about? Why was he so disarmed by Mulder's friendliness? It worried him.

An unfamiliar shaft of something long-suppressed came welling up from deep inside of him, an aching regret that was tinged with something more. Something painful. "I'll have to work on that, then," he replied, distracted.

"Tell me this, Krycek. Why do you do it? Why do you kill people? How can you do it?"

Krycek looked back at Mulder, wondering why Mulder wanted to ask him any of this, let alone now. Why bother? Damn, maybe Mulder was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe Mulder was trying to reconsider what he thought of Krycek, in light of his obvious care and attention? Krycek frowned, considering how to best answer him, as honestly as he could without compromising any of his secrets. "The same way you have. It takes a wolf to kill a wolf. You can't ask the sheep to do it."

"So where's the shepherd?"

"You tell me. You're the one looking for God. Someone had to have created all this."

Mulder chuckled again, unnerving Krycek further. "I suppose you and Jeremiah Smith are my guardian angels?"

Krycek snorted. "I seem to be here in the capacity of your bodyguard, yeah. That, my friend, is irony." As he realized what he'd just said, Krycek knew he'd said it candidly enough, without taking it for granted or with the intent of making a statement that Mulder could rise to. But to have called Mulder 'his friend'...It was only a figure of speech but suddenly he was afraid he'd gone too far.

Krycek looked away. What the fuck was he doing? As if he should give a damn what Mulder thought of him, after all. Blinking, he stood up. "This isn't the first time I've helped save your life, you know. You have a death wish. I wonder how many more times I'll have to do it." Looking down at Mulder, Krycek added, "I'll be back."

As he left the room, Mulder's sudden, worried and hoarse voice came to him. "Where are you going?"

"For some air," he muttered.

As he went outside to take refuge under the cold, night sky, Krycek wondered why Mulder was acting so freaky. He briefly considered the possibility that Mulder had been changed after all, but Smith had reassured him that the regeneration was complete. Mulder was merely weakened. Mulder's own DNA was actually rebuilding his system now, acting to heal the scars on Mulder's face and abdomen.

It was getting to him, the easy way in which Mulder was treating him. He'd expected more of a fight. And certainly none of the small amount of courtesy and gratitude that Mulder appeared to have displayed, in his mute acceptance of Krycek's help. He admitted in the next moment that he liked it and was afraid of Mulder returning to his usual, customary hatred and indifference. It was only a matter of time, after all.

Glumly, he resigned himself to the inevitable. As soon as Mulder was no longer in his power and needing his help, they'd return to the old ways with Mulder hating him.

Krycek wondered why he even cared. It wasn't like Mulder meant anything to him. Not personally, anyway. But even as he tried to tell himself that, he knew he couldn't really believe it. And he finally had to accept the truth: he wanted to have this hope, that maybe he and Mulder could achieve at least some kind of understanding. It was something he'd never imagined would be possible: reconciliation with the man who hated him more intensely than anyone else had in his entire life.

He sighed, staring up at the stars that twinkled enigmatically and unhelpfully in the winter sky.

---

Interesting. One moment they were getting to the bottom of what the hell they were both doing there; then in the next, Krycek was suddenly bolting from the room like a scalded cat. Mulder wondered what he'd said. In the next breath, he realized he wasn't calling the man names and accusing him of being a murderous, lying son of a bitch and a cowardly traitor. As usual. That must be it. That had to be the reason why Krycek was scared. Krycek didn't even really appear to understand why he was afraid, too, which made for difficulty when Mulder tried to make sense of it.

He was still reeling from the knowledge that Scully was pregnant. Krycek's silent thoughts had been most illuminating in the pauses between his angry replies.

He'd attempted to 'listen' to that other voice of Krycek's, the silent one in Krycek's mind. But it had been curiously quiet throughout their exchange. It seemed he could only hear it when Krycek's train of thought was undisturbed. But that little question and answer session had still been wonderfully revealing.

He'd expected Krycek's subconscious to be apparent, and it had been. He hadn't been disappointed on that front. He'd expected all the things he'd ever wanted to know about Krycek to be revealed even as Krycek lied and obfuscated through all his answers to Mulder's questions. But instead of learning about all the things Krycek kept hidden, Krycek had surprised him with his lack of dissemblance and a very honest anger and frustration. A readiness to fight back, verbally, to the point of challenging him even when Mulder didn't really want to respond. In fact, neither of them wanted to fight but Krycek assumed he would want to.

Which was...only natural, considering what Mulder had felt about him before.

Mulder had imagined seeing images in Krycek's mind of people he had killed, secrets he knew; dark, dangerous and treacherous knowledge bought and paid for with blood.

But in looking into the man's mind, Mulder had found instead a curiously remorseful background composed of desperation in the face of insurmountable odds, a measure of guilt, many regrets and...longing. A sense of futility that Krycek possessed, that arose whenever he and Mulder were in each other's proximity, that Mulder would never understand, would never want to, and that Mulder would always judge him for the past without even a clear understanding of why he'd done the things he'd done, or what was going on around them. A judgment based entirely on past events that Krycek knew had hurt Mulder and that he could never make up for.

It was a fantastic revelation, to know that Krycek was afraid of him for some as-yet-undiscovered reason that even Krycek himself hadn't managed to work out. He still held the reins even though he was completely at Krycek's mercy. At least until he could get to his feet.

Mulder experimentally wiggled his toes. Yep. Ankles? Check. Knees? Whoops. Not yet. He sighed. He was going to continue to need Krycek's help.

He might as well make the most of his situation. It wouldn't be long, after all. He could feel his legs now. And he was feeling a lot better all over, in general. He glanced at the clock by the bedside. By midnight, a few hours hence, he'd probably be able to try to stand.

All of his problems, the FBI, the aliens, his whole life; it all seemed so far away right now.

Smith's words to him returned: 'rest, recover, stay safe.' Yeah, it was good advice. He wondered if he had any implants, and then wondered if that was the least of his worries considering that virus the Bounty Hunter had infected him with. At least he was alive. There was something nice about knowing that he was here without any obligations. He felt free. Hell, maybe that was why Krycek preferred to dance around playing everyone off against each other. Krycek wasn't tied down with responsibilities even to himself.

Mulder had to agree that part of this new situation he found himself in appealed to him. And Scully...a twinge of shame went through him at the thought of her. She would be worried about him. What was it he'd picked up - they had BURIED him?! Jesus. Krycek was right. What the hell was wrong with them? It galled him to acknowledge that Krycek had been right about several things so far. Including the FBI's blatantly ignorant and uninformed incompetence surrounding the work the Smiths were doing around the country. But then, the FBI had never been very open-minded about much. Which explained his basement office.

Mulder resigned himself to working on the outside. Surely it would be better than constantly being snubbed and 'put in his place' by lame-brained bureaucrats who couldn't find their own dicks in the dark, let alone the truth even if it came up behind them and bit them on the ass. And bite them on the ass it would, if what Smith had intimated was anything to go by. And what was that Smith had said to Krycek: 'he was the future'...What the hell was all that about? He had to ask Krycek. Getting answers from Krycek so easily was a tremendous boon. He was just grateful he didn't appear to be suffering those painful attacks this time.

And, he had to admit to himself, it was heady, this ability to read Krycek. It was exciting and stimulating and even a little terrifying, it was so easy. It wasn't at all the disgusting adventure through the mind of a psychopath that Mulder had feared. It was even fun. Cautiously, he reached out again, listening. Sure enough, he could hear a weird, distant sound inside his mind. Krycek's thoughts were a jumble of confused considerations.

Jesus, Mulder realized, I've got Krycek completely rattled with just a few minutes of non-violent discussion.

The implications of this quickly enabled his spirits to soar. Imagine what he could achieve with Krycek if he were even nicer to him. Krycek's sauntering machismo and serious, tough defenses would shatter. There wasn't anything Krycek would be able to hide from him. Excellent. Krycek thought he had Mulder right where he wanted him; the man had another thing coming. Krycek couldn't play him anymore. Mulder allowed himself a gloating moment of triumph over that.

Tuning in again, Mulder could sense a growing unease coming from Krycek.

---

He was fucked. He was so completely and utterly fucked.

Here he was, stuck in the middle of nowhere with an injured Fox Mulder who was behaving out of character - and Mulder was acting as if he were the one in charge, in control of their situation. Krycek had found himself buying into it before he knew what was happening. He couldn't blame himself for it, considering Mulder's value and importance in the future. Mulder was going to start to see it, too - that Krycek believed it himself. He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to retain some kind of hold on his position. But the circumstances were starting to weave a dangerous spell on him.

He knew he might have to be prepared to hunker down for weeks if necessary, and that Smith was counting on him to keep Mulder out of the line of fire until the Healers could regroup with a stronger arrangement. The sheer horror at the thought of having to stay here with Mulder for an interminably long period of time was almost enough to make him want to bolt.

It was insane, to want Mulder to trust him. To expect Mulder to trust him. Particularly after all the water that had gone under the bridge in all their years of sporadic encounters that always ended in violence and bitter fury.

Angrily, he considered Diana Fowley. Mulder had let that woman betray him to Cancerman over and over again, yet he blamed and railed on at Krycek for being a 'traitor'. Probably he cut Fowley the slack because they'd been lovers. An unwanted shaft of jealousy cut through Krycek's insides at this thought. Fucking bitch, he thought with uncommon vehemence. Probably Mulder forgave her simply because she was a woman.

Why do I care? He wondered, quietly. I don't care, I don't.

But as he went back inside the house after a last, long look at the distant lights of houses far away in the darkness, he knew he did.

He was so fucked.

Jeremiah Smith had told him it would be all right to feed Mulder lightly when he awoke, if he got hungry. Krycek considered making soup. Jesus, he'd have to feed it to him.

How fucked up was that?! A one-armed man feeding a resentful, resurrected invalid who couldn't move and who hated his guts, and considered him his mortal enemy.

Who always claimed that he was covering up the 'truth' that the rest of the world had a right to know.

With considerable irritation, Krycek pondered this. Why did Mulder always claim that people had a right to know the truth about extraterrestrials? Without any psychological preparation, too? To have to undergo a shift of worldview that radical and severe would send the general public into panic and shock. What right did Mulder have to decide that for them? When the public didn't even WANT to know?! Why the hell did Mulder think people called him 'Spooky' behind his back and laughed at him for believing in 'little green men'? People didn't want his truth!

And how personal was his agenda: wanting to prove himself correct and all of it derivative of his search for his sister? To be able to say, 'I told you so' to the world - it was the highest form of hubris. All over the truth of an extraterrestrial menace that would have people stampeding like herds of wild animals to try to find safety.

No one had ever actually claimed Mulder couldn't have his truth. Least of all him. Krycek could even sympathize on that score. But Mulder couldn't handle the truth. Certainly the public couldn't, and even paid the government to keep them safe from such frightening knowledge so they wouldn't have to think about it.

The world has a right to know. What a laugh. Did the world want to know, Agent Mulder?

He entered Mulder's bedroom, intending to confront Mulder with this, only to find that Mulder was asleep.

Regarding him, Krycek noticed the cover had slipped down and the chill January air was beginning to bite in the room.

He turned up the heat, and then went back to the bed, and pulled the cover back up to Mulder's chin before he realized what he was doing. Tucking Mulder in for the night...Christ. He really was losing it.

Shaking his head, he turned out the lamp in the room, and had made it to the door when Mulder's strained voice came to him, "Don't I even get a goodnight kiss?"

Krycek grinned and turned to face him. "Maybe once your cheeks are all better. I don't think even your mother would kiss you looking like that."

Mulder murmured something.

Krycek frowned. "What?"

Mulder cleared his throat and whispered louder, "I said, don't go." He paused for several heartbeats. "I've been asleep for too long. Too much has happened. Just...sit with me here for a while?"

Krycek swallowed. The way that Mulder asked was too appealing, too obviously vulnerable and needing him. But it was frightening, how badly he wanted to. He let out a breath of frustration.

He really was totally and completely fucked.

With another sigh, he went back into the room to turn the lamp on again, and then sat back down in the chair. As an afterthought, he folded his arm over his chest, his hand going absently to rub his shoulder.

"Thanks," Mulder said. "I just don't want to be alone."

Considering all that Mulder had been through, Krycek wasn't surprised. "Sure." He licked his lips, suddenly uncertain of what to do or say.

Damn it, he wasn't a nurse. Marita's words before her departure came back to him; but he couldn't afford to have anyone knowing Mulder was here. The local doctor was already a liability. His mind whirled as he tried to think of something to talk about. Asking how Mulder was doing was more likely to upset him, by bringing up painful memories and fears, rather than comfort him. He just prayed that Mulder wouldn't need help using the bathroom anytime soon. He'd been drinking quite a lot of water.

He wondered if he should offer Mulder some salve for his face, or if he needed any medication for pain. But Mulder had said he wasn't in pain, he just felt weak. He was starting to feel completely useless.

Glancing over at Mulder as the man lay immobile upon the bed, Krycek wondered at Mulder's crack about the goodnight kiss. Surely...Mulder hadn't been referring to...that night...Mulder's apartment...Wiekamp...

Mulder spoke. "I've been thinking about all the times you've shown up in my life. Since Hong Kong. You always give me another piece of the puzzle, for whatever reasons of your own. And I always believe you. And then you always disappear, having achieved whatever external effect you meant to instigate at my expense. And I always go along with it."

"However reluctantly," Krycek added sardonically.

"Yeah," Mulder agreed dryly. And he gave Krycek a little smile. "So you might as well tell me, Alex. Why do you do it?"

Krycek stared back at him. "Which? Do what?"

"The whole thing. The whole song and dance: you show up, throw me some kind of riddle, and then you vanish again - just when I've started to trust you. Why?"

Krycek started. "Wait - what? You trust me? What do you mean, you start to trust me?"

Mulder tongued the inside of his cheek, thoughtfully regarding Krycek. "Every damn time. I want to trust you, but you never give me enough reason to. You always end up playing me rather than giving me something I can work with. And then you have the nerve to get all up in arms about the fact that I get angry with you over it. You don't exactly help your own case, I have to say."

Krycek looked away, surprised. Un-fucking-believable. As if all he lived for was tormenting Mulder. "It wasn't personal, Mulder. It was never personal."

"It was always personal," Mulder contradicted, slowly. "It was for me."

Krycek didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. He felt like he'd been caught presuming either too much or not enough. "What do you want?" he demanded suddenly. "What do you want me to say?"

"Hm, touchy," Mulder commented. "I'm just asking, here."

A fresh wave of anger rose inside him and he bit back a heated retort. Insufferable bastard, acting all holier than thou and patronizing...it made him want to speak his mind and let Mulder know all the dirty, terrible secrets his Daddy had kept from him. About Samantha, his sister. About the fact that the smoking bastard had been her father and Teena had never told anyone, least of all Fox.

But no, he couldn't afford to do that right now. Besides, regardless of what Mulder might believe about him, he had no wish to be cruel or even unintentionally hurtful. Instead, he contented himself with saying, "Maybe if you weren't such an asshole about it all the time, I'd stick around longer afterwards."

Mulder sounded incredulous. "My asshole behavior, after you stabbed me in the back? Krycek, do you have any idea what you're implying? You SHOT my father, and not even in a crime of passion or altruism - you just pointed the gun where the smoking bastard told you to. Not to mention stabbing everyone else in the back. You just got through telling me that you were public enemy number one - the Russians, the Tunisians, the Americans...remember?"

Krycek looked over at him. "You said it, not me. Besides, you're assuming that I don't have any purpose for what I do. Why the hell would I be working with Smith? And why would he trust me?"

"That is a damn good question," Mulder said. "I know you work the angles, it's what you do. I don't have a problem with that. It's HOW you do it, Alex."

"I know," Krycek replied, coldly. "So tell me, Agent Mulder, what would you do in my place? If you were in my shoes?"

Mulder licked his lips, his eyes shuttering and looking away. "I can't tell you, because you'll just get upset and right now, I'm kind of dependent on you."

"There is that," Krycek agreed. "Must be a real bitch, having to accept my help."

Curiously, Mulder smiled. "It's not that hard. I prefer it to having you screw me over again. But then, the night is young."

"I'm not here to screw you over," Krycek growled. "Damn it, Mulder, I saved your life. It's something I always end up doing. And yeah, okay, so I fucked up with the Oregon lead. I'm paying for it right now, sitting here playing Florence fucking Nightingale with you when I could be out there, getting the job done. All you've ever done is whine about the truth and chase after ghosts, swamp gas and Bigfoot, when you're not sticking your nose into government projects and nearly getting yourself killed."

Mulder was quiet for a few moments, but Krycek could practically hear the wheels turning in Mulder's head. "Are you coming on to me, Krycek?" he finally asked, with a note of disbelief.

Krycek frowned. How the hell had Mulder managed to get THAT from what he'd said?!

"Because, you know, I haven't played doctor with any of the other boys and girls in a long time; and I don't know if I'm up to it right now anyway," Mulder continued. "Maybe later."

Krycek stared over at him, wondering how Mulder had segued into this. Then again, Mulder always did have a quirky way of turning everything into some kind of crude sexual innuendo. He let out a frustrated breath.

"As I said, the night is young," Mulder added.

"I'm getting the impression you're the one coming onto me," Krycek stated. "You always do this. You always take the level of conversation down to high school humor."

"I'm sorry if I offended you," Mulder said, without the least indication of sincerity. Then he grinned at him. "I'll make it up to you, as soon as I can move."

Krycek shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Fantastic. It was fantastic. Mulder really had gone round the bend this time. Must be the shock, he thought, of finding himself here at Krycek's mercy after being abducted by aliens.

He considered this. Curious, he turned back to face Mulder. "What do you remember about being aboard the Ship, anyway? Did you learn anything? Or did they keep you unconscious the whole time?"

"Talk about killing the mood," Mulder muttered.

Krycek shrugged. "Hey, I'm just talking, here."

"I know. Thanks. This is actually one of the nicest things you've ever done for me, you realize." Mulder's voice was suddenly suffused with genuine feeling.

Krycek swallowed as the unexpected, simple words caused a resurgence of that tenderness to go through him. "Yeah, right," he said, dismissively. "I would've thought you'd be more appreciative of my efforts to get you vaccinated against the Black Oil."

"I would have preferred a single injection rather than being strapped naked to a cold slab with chicken wire and having Black Oil poured on my face, thanks," Mulder replied, gamely.

Krycek flinched in spite of himself. He hadn't meant for any of that to happen.

Damn it, why couldn't Mulder see that sometimes he was his own worst enemy?!

But Krycek wasn't going to argue about it. It wasn't worth it. They had more important things to consider anyhow, in light of Mulder's genetic heritage and his importance to the Hybrid Project. "You were important. I knew that we had to get you vaccinated, whatever the cost. And it was necessary, to flush out the Syndicate's little side projects down there, in Florida."

"Yeah, I remember. Boca Raton, in the nursing home," Mulder agreed. "Still, just talking about it makes me sick."

Krycek sighed through his nose. "Yeah, me too."

They sat in comparatively comradely quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, as Krycek wondered if there had been any other alternative. God knows he really wished it could have gone differently. He'd lost his arm, for fuck's sake. Surely Mulder could consider it quits. It wasn't even in the same realm of tit-for-tat, losing his arm.

"I'm sorry you lost your arm. I didn't wish that on you," Mulder spoke up, breaking the silence and referring directly to what he was thinking in what Krycek considered Mulder's spookily trademark intuition.

Looking down at the carpet, Krycek murmured, "Thanks." Slightly mollified, Krycek asked, "Are you hungry? If you feel up to eating yet, I could make some soup."

"Why don't you ask Smith to heal your arm?" Mulder asked.

Krycek didn't want to reply. It would reveal too much. He was scared of asking Smith to do it. But he'd be damned before he told Mulder that. "I haven't had the time. Besides, it's better that he keep saving abductees rather than expending energy and valuable time regenerating people's limbs."

"That's impractical," Mulder declared. "You'd be more useful if you'd allow him to heal you."

"It's none of your fucking business," Krycek stated calmly. "Do you want some soup or not?"

"Okay." Mulder's placid reply sounded as though he was giving in, if only to appease him.

Krycek got up from the chair and stalked out, wondering why he was doing this in the first place. He shouldn't be here. God, the next few days were going to be unbearable.

He wasn't used to forced inactivity. It was like being imprisoned. Which was close to being trapped in the silo again, and...Panic welled up and he fought it back to the depths of his consciousness once more. Shit. He found himself holding onto the kitchen doorway for strength as black spots swam before his eyes.

Must be some kind of weird panic attack, he thought. He shook his head to clear it and rubbed his eyes. Damn! But he'd never had a claustrophobic attack like this. It had always been on the inside of him, inside his feelings, choking him with the memory rather than being an actual wave of dizziness.

He tried to ignore it and began preparing soup for Mulder.

---

Sitting up, Mulder swung his legs over the side of the bed, fighting back nausea and dizziness. At least he could move again though. He had to piss, urgently. He tried to judge the distance from the bed to the door and wondered how much farther the bathroom was located from where he was.

Krycek's sincere concern for him was touching, but Mulder didn't think he could go through the humiliation of asking him to help him to the bathroom. Not with the thought of it humiliating Krycek as well.

And how surreal was that? His greatest nemesis, who he'd hated with a passion for so many personal and larger reasons, was helping him to recover out of some weird sense of debt for having got him abducted...after giving him the proof of the truth he'd been looking for all these years.

He stood, waiting for his knees to give out. They held. Wow. He could stand! Mulder smiled. Then winced as his t-shirt rubbed against his belly.

Lifting it gingerly, he sucked in a breath at the horrific scars that lay there, marring his abdomen. He had to sit back down again.

He couldn't remember when it had happened. Which was another small mercy. Damn.

Now he really wanted to get to the bathroom, to check the mirror. Krycek had said something about his face. His cheeks did hurt. He was afraid to touch them.

He carefully managed to walk to the door, leaning against it for support. Peering around the corner into the living room, he heard Krycek in the kitchen. He caught sight of the bathroom and began to make his way towards it, leaning against the wall along the way.

But when he got into the bathroom and caught sight of his reflection, he gasped.

Shit. He looked like a zombie extra from 'Night of the Living Dead'. His hair was wild; his face had an unnatural pallor and his scars...Jesus. A flashback of fishhooks pulling and stretching his cheeks shot through him, and he looked down at the sink with a grimace.

Now that he was up and about, he didn't feel dizzy. But as he lifted his shirt to look at the scars there again, he couldn't help wondering why a race of beings whose medical technology was so much more advanced than Earth's would be unable to perform surgery without leaving scars that looked like a pre-med student's attempts to do an autopsy while drunk on hooch and jungle juice at an after-finals bash. Except of course, they hadn't left him alive.

They never intended to. He'd been...a test subject. And had been dumped back down on the cold ground in an emotionless move in a deadly game of 'planet invasion'...and somewhere in that cemetery in Raleigh, North Carolina, in that cold, cold ground, buried in his stead, was another dead abductee. Someone who hadn't made it.

The need to vomit overtook him and he managed to get to the toilet in time. Dry heaves racked him and nothing came up except watered-down bile. Shaking, he held onto the toilet bowl.

After a few moments deep breathing, he managed to calm himself enough to get up and rinse out his mouth, then he carefully splashed his face and eyes, and wet his hair. Combing it with his fingers, he regarded himself sadly.

Whatever his personal disagreements he had with Krycek over the past, one thing was undeniably crystal clear: he needed his help. For the moral support of having another human being there, if nothing else, however paradoxically the term 'moral' might apply in Krycek's case.

He emptied his bladder then, and flushed the toilet. As he was doing up the drawstring of his sweatpants, Krycek suddenly appeared in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob.

"What the hell are you doing?" Krycek sounded upset, glaring at him accusingly.

"I needed to take a leak," Mulder said mildly.

"You shouldn't even have got up, let alone be walking around," Krycek groused at him. He sounded angry, and the worry and care in his mind and his feelings went a long way in making Mulder feel better.

"Now you sound more like a nurse," Mulder commented. "It's an improvement, anyway." He washed his hands.

"Next time, wait for me, alright?" With a sigh of frustration, Krycek said, "Can you make it back okay? I've got a bowl of soup for you."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." Mulder turned off the bathroom light as Krycek stepped out of his way.

Making his way back to the bedroom, Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed, beginning to shiver from the cold. He had no socks and the t-shirt and sweats really weren't enough to keep him warm. Why was it so cold? Oh, yeah. It was winter.

Krycek appeared in the bedroom doorway, this time with a bowl of soup and a spoon, balanced on a tray. There was a glass of water, too.

Mulder was surprised there wasn't a vase with a rosebud.

He sat in the bed, moving the pillows into a sitting position against his back for support and pulling the covers over himself. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver but Krycek saw it anyway.

Krycek put the tray down. "I'll get you a sweater." He wasn't long and soon Mulder had a sweater on and Krycek was handing him the tray.

Krycek sank back into the chair beside his bed while Mulder carefully began spooning the soup into his mouth. "Campbell's chicken soup?" Mulder asked.

"What else?"

Mulder stared at him. "Don't I even get any crackers? Or Jello?"

Krycek lifted his brows. "Only if you're good."

"Oh, I'm good," Mulder reassured him.

"Keep the soup down and we'll see," Krycek said, making no signs of getting up. Then he yawned.

Mulder stifled an answering yawn. He didn't want to hurt the wounds on his cheeks.

Krycek looked at him with a little frown.

"What? What is it?" Mulder asked.

"The scars - they're healing already," Krycek said with some amazement. "That was fast."

Mulder looked down at his soup. "I'm glad I didn't see them before, then."

Krycek was searching his face, not looking at his eyes but focusing on the scars. "No, it's true. They're healing really quickly. I don't think it'll take much longer." He bit his lip, reflectively.

In between bites, Mulder said, "So tell me why I'm so important as to rate all this trouble. Why are you going to such lengths as to collaborate with the Smiths?"

Krycek started. "'The Smiths'?" he repeated.

Oh fuck. Mulder shot him a look. Krycek didn't know. He scanned that quiet voice of Krycek's inner mind - ah. He did know of the multiple Smith clones. He was just surprised that Mulder knew. "Yeah, Jeremiah is scattered throughout the country. Scully and I found he had numerous clones all over the place."

Krycek looked down. "I thought you'd just dismissed it as numerous identities, as the FBI did."

"Come on," protested Mulder. "I've been paying attention. Clones. Cloning facilities. He showed me clones of my sister and others too. I know they can't reproduce properly without the aid of cloning technology, hence the Hybrid Project. But you still haven't explained to me why I'm so damned important."

"Mulder," Krycek began, not wanting to overwhelm him. Which Mulder found considerate but also irritating, because he wanted to know. Now. "You are the Hybrid Project. Or least, the most successful one so far." Details swam in the forefront of Krycek's consciousness, in a picture of comprehensive information regarding Cassandra, his sister Samantha, his family and their history...even Scully and the baby. Mulder took it all in, this flash of revelation, and considered it. Interesting.

"You weren't artificially constructed and tinkered with, as Cassandra was. They thought you were a failure because your powers weren't...immediately turned on and apparent. You were born with it. And not even switched on, like Gibson Praise. His DNA matches a different set of strands - his parentage was unique. There are plenty of kids out there that have this; they're all members of the Project but you... You had an off-switch. Your DNA contains the gene sequence that's like a universal key. With the right know-how, the Aliens - Colonists, Healers and Rebels alike - could apply it to every human on the planet. You're a natural prototype, because you carry the human blueprint. That's why the ship fragments affected you the way they did. Apparently, the Smiths have known this all along. I didn't even find out until they told me. You're the key to it all. The whole thing. The Conspiracy, the Project, the future," Krycek shrugged.

"Damn," Mulder murmured, impressed. "I was the truth I was searching for, all this time. It was in me."

"Except for that smoking bastard's meddling, you were perfect. But he really fucked it up, when he did that surgery on you. That's why you had the tumor. Smith said your brain was trying to compensate for the fact that you'd had parts of you removed."

Shrewdly, Mulder said, "But Smith removed the tumor and restored my brain to full capacity."

Krycek looked up quickly at this. "Then...that means you're whole."

"I guess so." Mulder went back to eating his soup.

"So that's what Smith meant," Krycek pondered. "He wasn't specific, he only said he had removed the tumor. He didn't tell me he'd restored you to your natural state."

"Maybe he didn't know if he'd managed to or not," Mulder suggested, remembering Smith's mental 'words' to him before. A 'curious side effect' indeed. His eyes narrowed, as he considered how jumpy Krycek already was, with him. If Krycek discovered that his powers had now elevated to fully-fledged Gibson-Praise status...he was likely to freak. Not to mention everyone else.

He considered this. No reason why he should tell anyone. That must have been what Smith meant by being 'discreet'. After all, no one knew the Smiths' telepathic powers were so strong. They didn't need to know. Like Krycek's little hissy fit before, when he'd been grumbling to himself about Mulder's beliefs that the 'world needed to know'. Hm. No one needed to know. He finished the last of the soup.

"See? I've been good. Now can I have Jello and crackers?"

"There isn't any," Krycek said, absently.

Mulder pouted, looking down at the bowl. "Well, what else do you have?"

Krycek licked his lips again, in a nervous mannerism that Mulder couldn't help wondering if the man realized betrayed so much, in simple body language. Krycek's gaze met his, briefly. "I guess I could make you a sandwich. Let's wait a while though, huh? And see if you can keep the soup down?"

"Okay." Mulder was curious and he unobtrusively scanned the surface of Krycek's thoughts. He wasn't prepared for what he found.

---

Why did Mulder have to be pleasant? Why wasn't he doing his usual routine? He was making it so hard for him to carry on, here.

Krycek felt awkward and clumsy. He didn't know how to take care of him. Mulder was right; why was he doing this? He wasn't cut out for it. He wasn't a caregiver. He wanted to rise to the challenge. However, the need to prove that he could do it was warring with the anxiety that had settled like a lump in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn't in charge of the situation anymore. It was going exactly as he'd feared: as soon as Mulder was awake, there went his control.

His palms were sweating and he found his breath was coming short. He no longer knew what tack to take with Mulder. He was so used to the negativity in their exchanges that he was completely unprepared for how to handle Mulder's civility. He tried to harden himself against Mulder's infirmity and need.

It was frightening, how much he wanted to help Mulder and be here for him. Not out of any sense of debt or owing him for having got him into this predicament. No, it was purely a sentimental reason, the need to have Mulder...like him.

To have Mulder like him? It was absurd to even contemplate it.

He couldn't afford this. Not now. Not right now. He grimly pressed his lips together, clenching his teeth.

Beside him, Mulder cleared his throat. "I'll-" get you that sandwich, he started to say, but Mulder began speaking at the same time and the first syllable died on his lips.

"Alex, I want you to know that I am grateful for what you're doing for me. Thank you for taking care of me. I know you and Smith and the others must've put out a lot, and put a lot on the line to get me here. Thank you."

Krycek forced himself to calmly return Mulder's gaze. "You're welcome."

"I guess it's true. We can never go home again," Mulder mused. "Where's your home?"

Krycek shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Well, all right. They do say home is where the heart is."

That was obscure enough that Krycek flicked a cautious glance at Mulder but he seemed to be lost in thought, rather than actively making a point. Strange though, he would've thought Mulder considered him incapable of having a heart. Abruptly, he yawned again.

"My stomach's fine," Mulder remarked. "Can I have that sandwich?"

"Yeah. Give me a couple of minutes," Krycek murmured, getting up. He was grateful to have the opportunity to have some more time alone.

Once in the kitchen though, he couldn't help wondering what the hell had happened. It seemed like the intensity of their usual friction had dissipated, and he didn't even really know why. Maybe Mulder needed him and so he was playing along. But Mulder seemed to be taking it all too well in his stride to just be playing a game with him. But really, how well did he know Fox Mulder? The man was brilliant; more than capable of outsmarting him once he put his mind to it and was no longer incapacitated by his own emotional irrationality.

He put the pack of processed ham slices down on the counter. Damn. That had to be it. Hardening himself against falling for Mulder's 'sick convalescent' act, he reminded himself that the man had every reason to want to see him dead. He hadn't exactly forgiven him for the death of his father. Or anything else.

"What kind of cheese are you putting on that?"

Mulder's voice made him spin around to face him. "Jesus," Krycek breathed. "What are you doing? Why are you up?"

Mulder shrugged and carefully walked over to the kitchen table, sitting down at it. Propping his elbows up to rest upon it, he settled his chin atop his interlaced fingers. "I've been in bed long enough."

Krycek turned back to the sandwiches. "Ordinary cheddar. It'll have to do."

"Okay." Mulder seemed to be in a good mood.

Embarrassed at reacting in such an obviously startled manner, Krycek finished making the two sandwiches. Setting one plate before Mulder and the other in his own place, he went to pour a cup of coffee for himself.

"Coffee?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, thank you." Mulder began eating the sandwich with careful bites.

Krycek sat down with his coffee and considered Mulder as he took his place at the table across from him. "Your scars are healing fast now," he observed. "I'm seeing a difference even in the last few minutes."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed absently, through a mouthful. He swallowed. "I'm feeling better. So tell me something, Alex. What are we supposed to do for the next few weeks until one of the Smiths returns?"

Krycek shrugged. "Whatever."

"Maybe we could get to know each other better," Mulder suggested with a lift of his brows. "After all, why not take the opportunity?"

Krycek put down the sandwich he was about to bite into. "What the hell is going on here? I mean really, Mulder."

"What do you mean?"

Krycek threw him a hard look. "You know damn well what I mean. This, this, ACT you're putting on here!"

Mulder looked puzzled. "What act? What act do you think I'm putting on?"

With a disgusted shake of his head, Krycek didn't grace this with a reply, merely picked up his sandwich and began eating it.

"I'm just as surprised to be here as you are," Mulder countered, taking a bite of his own sandwich and chewing for a little while before continuing. "In fact, I think I have every right to be more surprised, considering who I've found myself with in the middle of nowhere. Seeing as I was dead, I think I'm handling all of this relatively well."

Krycek scoffed, "It'll be a miracle if we don't kill each other."

Mulder corrected him with disapproval. "There are more positive, constructive ways of working out disagreements."

Krycek looked up swiftly in disbelief. He blinked at the unmitigated GALL of the man to say this, after all the times he'd hit him in the mouth and beat him, attacking him bodily on sight. He was speechless in fact, his lips parted in mute indignation.

"Well, there are," added Mulder, returning to his rapidly disappearing sandwich.

Taking a gulp of coffee, Krycek ignored the burn of the hot liquid and swallowed it down in an attempt to regroup his thoughts. Unbelievable. And Mulder had to know he wasn't just going to take this lying down. He had to call his bluff now, on principle. "Such as?" he inquired.

"We could channel all that pent-up frustration and anger into something more useful, such as basketball or some other sport. Running, even."

"You're in no condition," Krycek pointed out.

"I will be, soon enough. And there are other ways, too," Mulder continued, mysteriously.

Krycek continued to chew on his sandwich, waiting for Mulder to pull out his ace. But he didn't. Mulder just sat there, finishing the last of his sandwich and looking longingly over at the fridge. Finally, Krycek made a gesture of surrender. "Help yourself. If you're really that hungry, maybe your body needs it. Must be part of the rapid regeneration phase or something."

Mulder got up, went to the fridge and began removing items.

Krycek contented himself with sipping from his coffee and watching as Mulder pulled out far too much food. Hell, let him stuff himself, he thought. Maybe he'll sleep it off and I'll have a chance to have some downtime from this. But it worried him that Mulder was recovering so fast. He wouldn't have more chances to help him, to allow himself to indulge in that secret pleasure of just...caring for him. Of Mulder needing him. Mulder wouldn't need him anymore. It hurt, a lot. He was surprised at how much.

"We could always play cards. Or Scrabble," Mulder threw casually over his shoulder at him. "Did you bring anything to pass the time?"

Krycek watched with a curious frown. "Are you going to eat all of that?"

Mulder shrugged. "Possibly. How about videos? Or do we get cable here?"

Krycek stared down into his cup of coffee. "I wasn't exactly planning on just sitting around here jerking off. There are plans to be made, things to sort out. Work to do."

"That's okay. I'm sure I'll find something to do. I'm used to jerking off in my spare time." Mulder brought a plate to the table and sat down. Cold fried chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad and a muffin. Protein and carbs. Yeah, no doubt about it, Mulder did need the energy.

Krycek didn't deign to reply to that last wisecrack though.

"Is this getting to you?" Mulder asked, tilting his head at him. "I can stop. I'll be good. I guess even small talk isn't very safe, where we're concerned."

It was the last straw.

As if HE were the one who couldn't handle their relationship.

Krycek jumped up, pushed back the chair and left the room. He didn't even care that his departure seemed to prove the point. He grabbed his leather jacket and stormed out of the house. He needed the cold to settle into his bones and dampen the hot agitation running through him.

Fuck Fox Mulder, he thought, with less ire and more a kind of doleful despair. It was as if Mulder was indeed channeling all his usual negativity, only instead of fists it was barbed, barely-disguised sarcasm, all the while dressed in a 'poor me' outfit. As he shrugged into his jacket against the cold, he noted the rising wind that sent icy gusts blowing against him. He was cooling off rapidly.

Maybe Marita had been right. Maybe Fox was right. They both were. It was personal. He was taking it all too personally.

The moon was rising white and big in the clear sky. As he stared at it, he found a measure of calm. He forced himself to take breaths of the cold air as it burned his lungs. It would do him well to remember that, even while Mulder picnicked on his fridge and his composure, Mulder was the key to their future plans. He couldn't allow their mutual antagonism to get in the way of that. In spite of the fact that it was saving him a lot of trouble that Mulder was recovering so quickly, he wished the man had been bedridden for a while longer. Gloomily, he went quietly back into the house.

Taking off his jacket once more, and this time his boots as well, he listened. The house was quiet.

He hadn't been gone very long but the kitchen was dark. A pang of misgiving went through him and he went to Mulder's bedroom. Mulder was sitting on the bed, back under the covers, with his plate of food in his lap. A glass of Coke sat on the bedside vanity.

"Was it something I said?" Mulder asked him as he looked up and saw Krycek there.

"I'm thinking of hiring a competent nurse to take care of you and getting the hell out of here," Krycek responded, noting with some satisfaction how Mulder's eyes widened and he looked taken aback.

Then, Mulder's face hardened and he looked away, returning to his food.

"This has got to be the most insane idea I ever had," Krycek continued. "I don't know why I thought it would work." Not to mention that he'd thought Marita would be around. A woman's touch was usually better in situations like this. But he didn't say anything. He didn't want to bring it up and possibly open up another can of worms for Mulder to dissect.

"Do you want to talk it over?"

"Not really." Krycek stood there, apprehensively wondering what route Mulder was going to go: the helplessly pitiful invalid who 'needed him' or the casually disregarding cold bastard.

Mulder did neither. He put down his fork and looked at Krycek with an unreadable expression. "You could give me some kind of guideline here, as to what you expect from me. First you tell me that I'm worth risking everything for, that I'm the key to the future and then you're complaining that I'm not being consistent - that I'm just an asshole. I'm trying to keep my spirits up, and not at your expense. Like I said, Krycek, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

"I'm not your babysitter," Krycek snapped.

"No, you're..." Mulder stopped.

Krycek waited. And waited some more. "What?"

Mulder picked up the fork again and began eating once more. "You're a conundrum. The Krycek Conundrum. I can't figure you out. And you aren't helping either. What do you want from me?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Krycek countered.

"Okay, let's just get this straight first. You saved my life and brought me here to recover, because you owed me for leading me into that trap in the first place. But now I owe YOU for helping me here above and beyond the call of duty. Have I got that right?" He forked a mouthful of potato salad into his mouth. "And I don't need a nurse. You can go, if this really is too much for you," he said carefully between chews.

Stuck, Krycek said, "Just...why do you...why do you HAVE be such an asshole? Why can't you...I don't know, be courteous? What else do I have to do to prove to you that I deserve to be treated like a human being?"

Mulder frowned at him. "Alex, I haven't been treating you badly. Ever since I woke up, you've been throwing down the gauntlet at every turn. I think it's all in your head. You keep expecting me to hate you and I think it's scaring you that I'm not. And I don't," Mulder emphasized. "I am more than willing to admit that I don't hate you, that you've surprised me here, both with your humanitarian efforts and the fact that the Smiths trust you to the point of leaving me in your care."

"So, basically, what you're saying is: all this is just me overreacting," Krycek stated.

Mulder sighed. "This is a nice twist on it all. Don't you agree? Here I am, completely at your mercy, and I have to convince YOU that I trust you? Rather than the other way around, with you convincing me that you can be trusted."

Krycek looked down at the carpet, wondering if he'd indeed overreacted. He was beginning to feel odd, as if he'd undermined his own reputation by behaving so impulsively. Yeah, Mulder was right. He was touchy. High-strung, in fact. But it was just so out of character for Mulder to be so...accepting. He swallowed and let out a breath. "Okay, okay. You're right." He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. He was tired. His head was starting to hurt. "The stakes are too high. I can't let you leave here."

Mulder raised his brows. "Does it look like I'm trying to leave?"

"Are you going to?" Krycek shot back.

Mulder smiled at him. "No."

"Why not?" Krycek asked, instantly suspicious. "Hell, I would."

"Really?" Mulder asked, inexplicably. He motioned with his fork. "Come on, sit down. I promise not to bite."

Feeling even more stupid than before, Krycek took his place in the chair beside Mulder's bed. He crossed one leg over the other and rubbed at his shoulder. It was starting to ache. The cold didn't help.

"Didn't Scully run any tests on the facsimile of me that you guys left for them to find?"

Mulder's question came out of the blue. "Even if she did," Krycek replied thoughtfully, "the results would be inconclusive due to the cell damage from the radiation and energy field aboard the Ship."

Mulder nodded. "Good."

"Why?"

"Well, I was just thinking that my disappearing act couldn't be more perfect really, with everyone witnessing my burial."

Krycek looked down. It really had been too narrow an escape.

"I'm still a mite sketchy on the details though. What is it I'm supposed to do, now that we know I'm the blueprint for change?" Mulder mused.

"Take better care of yourself?" Krycek offered obliquely.

Mulder gave him a sharp look. "If you can be sarcastic, why can't I?"

A flush went over him and he wished he had held his tongue. It seemed civility was a two-edged sword. Besides, Mulder had been right. He'd been all too quick to take offense.

"Look, I know this isn't easy," Mulder commented. "For either of us. But if I'm going to try to behave, you should too."

Krycek let out a breath. "All right." He ran a hand briskly through his short hair. "I don't actually know what the Smiths have in mind. The Healers have got some idea about altering the genetic structure of everyone somehow, in accordance with the blueprint you're carrying. It balances the human parts of you with the alien parts, effortlessly. Apparently it's built into everyone's DNA, just waiting for the right stimulus."

"So we sit tight here, until they contact us," Mulder supplied.

"Yeah. Apparently."

Mulder shrugged with a little moue of resignation. "Okay. So that just leaves us with one problem."

Krycek waited, this time trying to watch his tendency to take what Mulder said in the context of barbed repartee.

Mulder speared the last of his potato salad with his fork. "How are we going to learn to get along here? Can we become friends after all the shit we've been through?"

Krycek shouldn't have felt any surprise, but he did. "Friends?" he repeated.

"You know, associates, partners, whatever. Yeah, friends."

"You think that's viable? I mean, you'd have to get over your grudge against me for all the evil deeds you've been imagining I carry out when you're not around."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "And you'd have to apologize for killing my father and stabbing me in the back."

"And you'd have to apologize for hitting me, for beating on me all those times."

"And you'd have to explain to me why you kissed me that night, in my apartment."

Krycek went cold. "What?"

Mulder shrugged again. "Well, think about it. Maybe we don't need to become 'friends', per se. We could be lovers instead. Or any number of alternatives. Frankly, I'd find that one more realistic, considering the nature of our relationship over the years."

They were so far out of the realm of small talk that he couldn't even joke about it with some loose remark about Mulder coming on to him. Krycek failed to see how Mulder could possibly say such a thing with that amount of seriousness, without having considered it prior to their shared situation here. Without having thought about it. Had Mulder really thought about it?

Mulder was polishing off the remnants of his dinner.

Krycek found himself truly speechless, and not for the first time that night. Obviously Mulder had taken that kiss way out of context, totally out of perspective. He'd read far too much into it. Or had he?

Krycek found himself wondering what he really had meant by it. He'd meant it as a Judas kiss, a sort of 'fuck-you' gesture whilst simultaneously trying to impress upon the man his utter and complete seriousness about what he had gone there to tell him. Even to the point of kissing him. But it wasn't like he'd kissed him on the mouth. It wasn't like he wanted to.

He cast a glance back at Mulder, suddenly imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Properly. Mulder's mouth...those lips...

Mulder looked over at him and he snatched his eyes away, wondering what the fuck Mulder thought he was doing to actually suggest it.

Lovers? It was a joke. It had to be.

"Come on, surely you've thought about it," Mulder urged in that same, calm voice. "I have. I couldn't NOT think about it, after that. I figured you were yanking my chain again. Then you went and infected Skinner with those nanobots and I assumed you really had been fucking with my mind."

Krycek looked down again, licking his lips, feeling trapped. "You...and Scully," he began.

Mulder started laughing quietly. "Why do you think I did it in a test tube instead of the old fashioned way, bearing roses and a bottle of wine?"

"To preserve the sample," Krycek pointed out, wondering when the world had decided to turn 180 degrees and stand upside-down. With every step deeper into this conversation, Mulder was pulling him headlong into the Twilight Zone. A place where everything Krycek thought was true was actually not. Suddenly he resented Mulder, as he couldn't take anything for granted anymore.

Mulder shook his head. "She and I are more brother and sister than anything else. Don't tell me you fell victim to the bets and gossip circulating around the Academy cafeteria at Quantico?"

Krycek began to feel sick and uncomfortable. What the hell was he doing, even sitting there entertaining the possibility that Mulder was serious?! It was ludicrous. Wait a minute, why was HE sitting there suggesting it in the first place?

Mulder had only said it was far more realistic than even considering their relationship as a friendship. Which didn't say much for their friendship, when it came down to it. He scowled.

Mulder tilted his head to the side, regarding him. "I could see it. You and me."

Krycek let out a chuff of scorn. "Right."

"No, seriously. You're a good-looking man."

Krycek gave him a withering look. "You're delirious."

Mulder shook his head. "You're disappointed that I haven't stayed weak and bedridden, aren't you? Well, this would be one way of guaranteeing that I'd stay in bed. Willingly."

Krycek blinked at him, amazed that Mulder could speak of this so casually. "You actually expect me to believe you'd cooperate with me - if I slept with you?"

"No," Mulder corrected. "If we became lovers. I'm not suggesting you whore yourself. I'm saying that we could be good together. It might help clear up the animosity we've always had between us, due to the friction and tension. What, you don't see it?" He looked mournful. "You think it's a leap?"

Krycek let out a breath. "I think it's completely out there. I think you really have lost your mind this time." But his cock disagreed with him, stirring in his jeans.

Damn. Why the hell did Mulder always have to be right?

---

Mulder had to stifle a reaction as a surge of triumph went through him.

He'd got him. He'd hooked him! Very interesting, indeed. He'd suspected that the reason Krycek couldn't leave him alone all these years was because he had a thing for him. It was turning out to be a most illuminating awakening.

"I don't think so," he replied. "But I'm starting to wonder if you've lost your nerve."

Krycek stared at him, manfully trying not to take offense.

Mulder slid the plate over to the vanity and picked up the glass of Coke. "Or maybe it's the whole gay thing that's putting you off."

Krycek made a noise of exasperation. "I'm bi."

Mulder looked over at him. "You are? I mean, I always figured you might be."

Krycek gave him a sardonic look. "I never expected you to be."

Mulder skimmed over Krycek's mental field. The emanations coming off the man were nearly vibrating with the suppressed tension. It seemed he'd really struck a nerve. "I am," he said, buying himself some time.

Krycek looked away, but now Mulder could feel the arousal coming off him in waves, along with the hope, which were both followed swiftly with a sense of loneliness and loss.

Shit. It nearly took his breath away. Krycek was so primed, so ready for it, it would take very little effort to seduce him.

All this time, the key to understanding Krycek had been right in front of him. The key into his heart, his mind...the way of getting to Krycek that had always eluded him.

Mulder stared at the opposite bedroom wall, wondering if he really wanted to go that way. Hell, he'd done far more foolish things during his long, not-so-illustrious career. But he really wasn't up to it right now. Even with the rapid regeneration that his body seemed to be going through. He felt good inside; all was copasetic. But he felt physically weak all over, probably from the energy it was taking to regenerate, and his wounds on his belly and face still hurt.

Krycek's arousal was starting to affect him as well, but Mulder didn't think he could get him to suck him off, considering how suspiciously Krycek was taking his suggestion.

Sure enough, Krycek asked, "This isn't about preferences or orientation. Or even availability. It's about you and me. Which is...nuts. Totally out there." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Why is that?" Mulder asked. "Because it appeals to you, or because of the commitment involved?"

"Because you've hated me far too long for me to believe it," Krycek replied bluntly.

"Ahh, we're back to that, are we? You don't trust me."

Krycek stood up, picking up the plate from the bedside unit and said in a low voice, "Get some rest. I'll be in the other room if you need anything."

"Alex," Mulder called as he began to leave the room. "About that goodnight kiss: my cheeks may be sore but my mouth is fine."

Krycek stared back at him. "Sweet dreams," he said, meaningfully. And shut the door behind him.

Mulder chuckled to himself. Always running away. Krycek was always, without fail, leaving him; going out the door in order to save face. Trouble was, he had Krycek's number now, he mused gleefully. He could still feel Krycek's turmoil as the man moved about in the kitchen, placing dishes in the sink and washing them.

Krycek had a point. Why was he even suggesting it as a viable option? But it was too obvious to him, what they'd both been dancing around for years. It was true that he'd been mostly humiliated and embarrassed to have fallen for Krycek's 'little green agent' act, with those awful suits and gelled hair. But it had been more than that. They'd always had this chemistry between them. It was that same chemical attraction that had driven Mulder to extreme fury, exploding in Krycek's presence with righteous indignation and violence.

He sighed to himself as he realized that this time, Krycek was right. The ball was in his court, to prove his trustworthiness. Mulder had the undeniable proof of Krycek's non-duplicity in his part in this situation in the personage of Jeremiah Smith. The Smiths would not trust Krycek if he weren't on the level. And now Mulder was well aware too of just how powerful the Smiths' telepathic range was. If Krycek were intending a betrayal of them all, they would have picked it up.

Mulder's own growing mental ability had revealed most satisfactorily tonight just how off-balance Krycek was, and how honestly he was conducting himself. Incredible. An honest Krycek. Whoever would have believed it?

He'd pushed Krycek so far though that he feared Krycek might end up leaving after all. He leaned back against the upright pillows, settling into them, sipping at the Coke. And focused on homing in on Krycek, at a distance.

It was just like watching from a remote view.

It was becoming effortless to do it, and he was learning how to do it in stages, too. He could scan just the barest edges of his mind, or home in full-strength to delve into the corners where even Krycek didn't usually look. The man was an open book. And there was no way Mulder could let him know that he DID trust Krycek now simply because he knew there was no way Krycek could deceive him; not without completely destroying any hope of Krycek trusting him out of sheer fright at Mulder's mental ability to read him. He'd have to make do with the victory of knowing Krycek couldn't lie to him.

Ever again.

He received the distinct impression of confusion, pain, yearning and anger. And arousal.

Krycek was climbing into the shower. In sudden anticipation, Mulder gulped the last of his Coke and put down the empty glass.

He picked up the sensation of cold air and then water on bare skin, making him shiver involuntarily. Then heat; wet, slick heat and water washing away the cares and pain. And full arousal, stronger than before. Sudden pleasure cart-wheeled through Mulder's insides.

Jesus. Krycek was beating off in the shower.

His hand went to his own stiffening cock even before he could think about it. Unable to help his own voyeuristic thrill from the feedback of getting off on the impressions that veered through Krycek's consciousness, Mulder was soon lost in the drowning whirlpool of lust.

Krycek's eyes were closed but it only served to sharpen the visual images and details: Mulder laying asleep, defenseless, flashes of him eating, the unconscious sensuality of the fork going into his mouth and the way he'd been licking his full lips as he ate, the tension in the room, the tenderness that overwhelmed Krycek at being able to help Mulder lying there so weak and helpless, his own taunts ringing in both their ears - 'goodnight kiss'...'my mouth is fine'...'lovers'...'the whole gay thing'...'you're a good-looking man'-

That last echoing thought, the remembrance of Mulder's voice in Krycek's head finally pushed him over the edge and Krycek came.

Mulder gasped as he came with him, his climax breaking over him in tandem with Krycek's in the shower. And to his dismay, he found a burst of emotion quickly following on the heels of his orgasm, hot tears springing to his eyes that stung his scars on his cheeks where they ran wetly over the broken skin. He couldn't even tell if they were Krycek's tears or his own. Maybe they were both.

Chastened, Mulder tentatively 'reached' back out to Krycek, only to find that he was already trying to regain his self-control, finishing his shower with practical efficiency.

Mulder sat up, waiting to see what Krycek would do. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, he might come back into the room. After all, Krycek wanted to.

Krycek went to the other bedroom and pulled on a shirt and sweats before climbing into the bed and settling in to sleep.

To Mulder's extreme disappointment, Krycek soon drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

It was a long time before he was able to get to sleep, himself.

---

Mulder awoke to hear robins chirping outside the window. The sun shone warmly through the window, the light blurred as it filtered through the condensation on the inside of the pane of glass.

He could smell coffee. There was a funny taste in his mouth and with a scowl, he sat up and looked around. There was a change of clothes for him on the chair.

He decided to have a shower first. The kitchen light was on but he didn't see Krycek. But he got his first shock of the morning when he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

His cheeks were healed to the point of showing only the faintest tracings of scars. Lifting his shirt, he saw with relief that his belly wounds had also closed completely, the skin sealed over. Damn, he mused, this rapid regeneration thing was awesome. He'd healed overnight in what would have taken weeks.

He climbed into the shower and was suddenly assailed with deja vu. The memory of Krycek jacking off under the spray last night was vivid, along with the feelings it evoked in its wake. He knew now that the emotional release had not been his own.

Thoughtfully, he cleaned himself under the fresh water and dried off quickly. Dressing, he went into the kitchen to help himself to coffee.

Krycek came in the living room door, carrying a brown paper bag. Mulder looked up at him from the kitchen. Krycek regarded him for a moment, then put the bag down by the door and went back out again. He returned with another bag and then locked the door.

Bringing both bags into the kitchen and placing them on the counter, Krycek stated, "You look better. They've almost completely healed."

"Yeah, this whole blueprint thing has some nice advantages."

Krycek began taking out groceries and putting them away. He didn't look at Mulder again.

Curious, Mulder sent out a quick mental tendril. God, it was so easy to do. And it felt almost pleasurable.

But his enjoyment was short-lived. Krycek was guarded and cautious, having thought it all over during his venture out to get supplies.

Sure enough, Krycek leaned against the counter and slowly said, "I've been thinking about last night. About your suggestion."

Mulder calmly sipped his coffee and waited, watching Krycek without giving anything away. But he could feel Krycek's nerves tensing as Krycek tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

Krycek continued, "I don't see how a personal truce we might have formed is contingent upon any kind of intimacy. I don't know what sort of game you're trying to play but there are more urgent priorities to deal with. There's more at stake here than your personal feelings, or mine."

Mulder had to respond to this. "I refuse to allow anyone, least of all you, Alex, to back me into a corner and intimidate me with my oh-so-valuable genetic heritage into joining this little resistance movement of yours. The Smiths are doing their part; so are the Rebels. Everyone's got a piece of the pie and all the factions say they're working for the good of all, when really it's their own self-serving interests they're working for. I fail to see how my efforts are necessary at this point. Maybe you did the right thing to intercept me when the Ship returned me, to keep me from being replaced in a key position at the FBI, but you're hardly in any kind of position yourself to coerce me into helping."

Krycek was stunned. "Coerce you?" he repeated, almost derisively.

Mulder nodded. "Just because I'm this 'blueprint' doesn't make me your puppet. I won't dance to your tune, and trotting out your disapproval of my making light of my presence here under the guise of urgent priorities isn't going to cut it. You'll have to try another approach."

"Of all the egotistical, selfish..." Krycek began. The anger and determination was invigorating as Mulder felt it keenly run through him by proxy. Krycek bit off the rest of his statement and said instead, "Don't you get it yet? The whole idea of factions and resistance is irrelevant. There's only one issue here: the fate of the planet. Whatever agenda anyone else holds is meaningless if they aren't working towards stabilizing the direction this is all going, on some other course than Colonization. This is bigger than you, me, all of us. It's fucking interstellar, Mulder. For god's sake, this is the truth you've been demanding for years. It's a war. We're at war."

"Spare me the 'pull my head out of the sand' speech. I've seen too much. I'm afraid you've got a liability on your hands. Give me one good reason why I should agree with you. I'm not saying I don't believe you, or that I don't trust you. Or the Healers. But I'm gonna need something more than a passionate declaration from you that I should just throw in my lot here with you, Alex. So let me have it. Give it to me." Mulder folded his arms across his chest and sat back in the chair, waiting.

Krycek was furious. To his credit, he barely showed a sign of how he really felt, keeping his composure with a cool indifference. But Mulder knew it was only a mask, now. One that Krycek tended to don when he was around him. "I should have known," Krycek said. "The search for your sister, your resolve to find the truth, the FBI...It was all just a means to an end."

Mulder took affront at this. "What end? What are you implying?"

"Imply, hell. I'm saying you've been using everyone and everything as a way of trying to get people to take you seriously. Good thing your Daddy helped you get into the FBI, otherwise you'd just be another one of those new-age UFO nuts, running around wearing a tinfoil cap, jabbering about Space Brothers and the end of the world."

Mulder sat back farther in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. "After careful consideration, Krycek, I have to say that your negotiating skills suck, too. It's not that I don't understand the gravity of the situation or the odds facing us. I just don't see why I should have to play along with you. Why should I play it your way?"

"Because," Krycek spoke, as if to a child, "to place yourself at risk is to negate your comprehension of your importance."

"I wasn't saying I was going to endanger myself. Where the hell are you getting that?"

Krycek looked up at the ceiling before letting his eyes drop back to Mulder's with a sardonic expression. "You're just wanting me to provide you with a justification for yourself to live with. Because throwing in with me, one of the Devil's Own, is a bit much for your conscience. It's too much to admit that you've hit rock-bottom and I'm the only one who happens to care enough to offer you a helping hand. My only remaining hand, at that. It's okay, Fox, you can admit it."

Mulder licked his lips and lifted his chin. "I get it. You're interested in my body, not my trust, or my beliefs - or even my cooperation. It's the hardware you're after here, just like them." He motioned vaguely upwards, towards the open window and the sky. "No one gives a damn about my mind or my feelings, it's purely the DNA you want. So why don't you just take a fucking scoop-mark out of your pound of flesh and let me go?"

Disgruntled, Krycek didn't respond, just glared back at him. Mulder quickly skimmed over Krycek's thoughts.

---

Is there any way to shut him up? Maybe I ought to just shoot him, Krycek wondered. A gag. I'll gag him. And threaten to shoot him if he doesn't shut up and put it on. In the left arm. Yeah, that would be fitting. I could shoot him and he'd probably heal so fast no one would ever know. That's it.

The image of Mulder gagged and unable to let loose with the usual stream of logical yet somehow self-piteous and self-absorbed comments was very appealing, at the moment.

Mulder cleared his throat and sat up straighter, his expression changing swiftly to one of wariness.

Maybe he knew he'd gone too far. Krycek didn't reply, just continued to look at him.

Mulder sat with his hands together, laid before him on the surface of the table. He looked up at Krycek. "What do you want from me?"

"Not a damn thing," Krycek reassured him.

Mulder sighed through his nose and regarded his hands. Slowly, he answered, "How about if I promise to stay put? That way you won't have to stay here putting up with me. You could leave, knowing you have my word that I'd remain until Smith arrives."

"Nope, sorry, Fox. You're stuck with me, as I am with you. I have the responsibility of guarding the money...lucky me."

Mulder looked up and met his gaze, squarely. "Fine." He got up, pushing the chair back, and stepped away, leaving the kitchen without a backward glance. Krycek watched him go into the living room, sit down on the couch, pick up the remote and start channel-flipping.

Krycek remained where he was, left with the pieces of their conversation as he attempted to find out where he'd gone wrong. Then he cursed himself for assuming he had done anything wrong in the first place. Mulder was insufferable, it came down to that. It was that simple.

So why did he feel like shit? Why was he left with the uncomfortable impression that he'd failed to meet Mulder's expectations?

Surely Mulder couldn't be so blithely certain of his own charms that he expected Krycek to just fall over backwards at the suggestion of sleeping with him, on a permanent basis no less, in exchange for his cooperation with this? Because that was what it came down to, actually.

Krycek tried to swallow his anxiety, watching as Mulder continued to sit before the television, flipping.

Why was he even considering Mulder's suggestion? And why was it so disturbing? It wasn't that he was repulsed by the thought.

Mulder was admittedly attractive. Probably the most attractive man Krycek had ever had the good fortune to meet. He wasn't just easy on the eyes; he was superb.

But the past was too tangled and Mulder's own hatred of him had been too outspoken and overstated over the years for him to just trust this sudden change without any qualms.

What HAD changed? Somehow the whole born-again aspect didn't quite fit; surely Mulder wouldn't have decided he was so hard up, so eagerly desperate to get laid that he had to come on to Krycek, his arch-enemy?

Krycek pondered this. Sex was all very well; it didn't really signify that big of a deal. It was the inherent emotional cost of such a relationship that scared him. He realized he was afraid of how far he was willing to go along with Mulder's idea because he actually, deeply, secretly wanted to, and could explain it away to himself that he was doing it because Mulder wanted it. Wanted him.

That hurt too: Mulder didn't like him, but he wanted him. His father's killer, as Mulder was oh-so-fond of pointing out every damn time their paths crossed.

Mulder was wrong, Krycek thought with a sudden bite of anger. He was indeed suggesting Krycek whore himself - in order to keep Mulder interested. Fucking bastard.

He should have seen this coming. All those times Mulder had hit him, calling him names, keeping him in his place...It all added up in the end. Mulder had a hard-on for him and was struggling with the moral dilemma it presented. This was Mulder's bright idea of working it out? That they fuck each other? Rather than fight?

As if Mulder was willing to stoop to his level in exchange for helping them - merely out of gratitude for having saved his life. Again. And not even because Mulder really understood the issues, or the risks or even the sacrifices they had all made over the years, even Mulder's family; no - instead it was for some idealistic notion Mulder couldn't relinquish. That fucking Krycek would somehow both purge Mulder of the desire and any damage to his conscience or morality, while at the same time purging Krycek of evil.

Krycek decided he'd found himself a perfect living hell. Detaching from where he stood by the counter, he went through the living room, passing behind the couch where Mulder sat unmoving and staring at the TV, and shut himself in his bedroom. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and picked up the cellphone.

He hadn't been exaggerating to Mulder about the work that needed to be done. There were still arrangements to be made, contacts to massage, accounts to transfer...

Krycek was relieved to have such a busy day ahead of him, to help him keep his mind occupied with something other than thoughts of Mulder, and what it would be like to kiss him. What it would be like to lick at those full lips, or to have those same lips licking their way down from his navel to...

He shook himself and dialed the first number.

---

Mulder glowered at the television screen, barely acknowledging what it presented. He was worried about his preoccupation with 'listening in' on Krycek.

He couldn't stop doing it. It was becoming an addiction.

There was something so perfectly justified in continuing to do it, as Krycek had lied to him for so long, so many times, even by omission, that he didn't really feel any remorse about it.

He could also justify it to himself as necessary to practice and hone the ability on the one available, external mind in his environment. It wasn't like he was in a crowded place this time, having his mind squeezed and warped with sharp pain and seizures as people's thoughts tumbled over him in cacophony.

But he couldn't hide from himself. He knew it was precisely because it was Krycek that it was alluring. The deep satisfaction of knowing that Krycek could no longer hide anything from him, even his most secret fears and desires.

He couldn't help hearing the man, in fact, and for a while Mulder tried to tell himself that he had no choice, seeing as he and Krycek were stuck here together, but to accept that he would keep finding himself assailed with stray thoughts about him as Krycek conducted his affairs behind that closed door.

Mulder squirmed in place on the couch, as slouched as he was, and tried to explain away the thrill THAT gave him. Krycek couldn't stop thinking about him. Not only was it a tremendous ego-boost, it was downright voyeuristic - which titillated Mulder to no end. It was like getting free porn and secret files downloaded from Krycek's life story all at the same time.

And it was too easy. It was effortless now.

He could even parallel process, keeping an eye on the news and listening to Krycek's thoughts. He kept track of the calls Krycek made, drifting in a half-doze as music videos and football scores paraded before him. And all the while, there was that sweetly anxious thrill of nervous desire that kept surfacing again and again as Krycek's mind flitted over the possibility of having sex with him.

It was more than exciting, it was also oddly comforting, to know that he'd managed to reach so far past Krycek's psychological defenses that Krycek wasn't just radiating physical craving and curiosity but emotional longing as well.

The one thing that made him loathe himself however was the knowledge that Krycek had been right, after he'd left the kitchen. He was suggesting substituting sex for their usual skirmishes, in exchange for his cooperation. It wouldn't be fair, regardless of what Krycek had done to him in the past. He couldn't actually stoop to that, whether Krycek deserved that kind of treatment or not.

Mulder sighed. The problem was: the only way out of that particular dilemma was if they did in fact become lovers instead, in an attempt to build a working relationship since the hope of a real friendship was rather compromised by the residual tension of the past. Mulder himself didn't have a problem with it, to his own surprise. But he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Krycek was terrified of that kind of commitment, particularly with him.

How to get Krycek to trust him. How, how, how. He mused on it, mulling it over in his mind as Krycek battled with his own inner demons, pulled this way and that by practical concerns, resources, arrangements and arousal.

At that moment, a particularly bright, stark visual image flashed before him from Krycek's inadvertent musings: Mulder, naked on that bed of his but this time face-down, his arms up over his head almost in supplication, with Krycek's hands on his ass, spreading him. Krycek gulped and tried to focus on finishing the emails he was sending via the laptop he'd hooked up to the modem connection in the bedroom.

Mulder swallowed. The provocation of seeing what Krycek wanted to do to him was almost enough to send him in through the bedroom door. Only the knowledge that they'd probably end up fighting was sufficient to keep him on the couch.

Finally, Krycek stopped. The bedroom door opened and Mulder tensed, carefully not looking up and over at him, keeping his attention on the TV.

Krycek let out a breath, standing there momentarily looking at him. He went into the kitchen.

Mulder checked the time. It was nearly two pm.

Krycek's mood shifted; the flavor of his mind was now colored with a different shade. He was suppressing the sexual reflections and was actually more preoccupied with trying not to worry about Mulder's temper and current state of mind. Mulder received an overwhelming surge of fear and adrenaline from Krycek. Who was thinking that perhaps Mulder was really angry with him and had retreated into a complete shell of indifference. Krycek was simultaneously afraid, irate and concerned for him. As well as wanting him.

The power Mulder felt at this was delicious; it tasted so good...The energy of it was hardly unpalatable. The mixture of