When the Bullet Hits the Bone

By Queen of Denial

Series: Part II of Twilight Zone trilogy, Sequel to Falling Down a Spiral followed by Tired Of Taking Chances

Disclaimer: Characters and some situations borrowed without permission from CC, Fox, and whoever else has a piece of that pie. (Hey, if they were really mine, do you think 'Existence' would have happened?) Anyway, this is basically a writing exercise that got out of hand. Connie talked me into posting it. No copyright infringement intended, no money being made.

Author's notes: I started this quite a while ago, so it diverges from canon sometime after 'Tunguska' and before 'The Red and the Black.' Extremely small spoiler for 'Tunguska', but I changed canon to suit me. You'll figure out where.

Further Author's notes:NOT A SONGFIC!!!! However, I realized I couldn't post under the title 'This Slash Thingie I've Been Playing With', and so titles are phrases borrowed from the song 'Twilight Zone' (When the Bullet Hits the Bone) by Golden Earring. The song reminds me so much of Krycek's life. I encourage everyone to check it out. Really good song. Please do not repost without permission. Thanks for reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skinner came down the steps mumbling about the many ways to kill a Special Agent. It had to be Mulder. No one else would be knocking at his door at two in the morning; no one else would have the gall. He jerked the door open.

It wasn't Mulder.

Krycek stood there, in all his scruffy, black-leather glory. The rogue agent's black hair was much longer than the last time Skinner had seen him, hanging rakishly over the long-lashed green eyes. He was sweating and breathing hard, as though he had run all the way from wherever-the-hell he had been. His skin seemed pale, and he at least had the decency to look a little diffident. Perhaps he remembered the last time he had been here, when Mulder dragged him to the door in handcuffs. Of course he remembers. I hit him hard enough. He wanted to hit him again. Bad enough that Skinner had to look the other way while his agent trysted with a traitor, but now said traitor was knocking at the door at an ungodly hour of the night.

"Krycek, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Krycek held out a thick manila envelope. "I need you to give this to Mulder."

"Give it to him yourself," Skinner growled.

Krycek looked at the carpet. "I can't. He doesn't want to see me again."

"I will not get in the middle of whatever lover's quarrel you two have going."

An almost comical look of astonishment crossed Krycek's face. "You know about us?"

Skinner's admiration for Krycek's bravery went up a notch when he realized that the little rat came to the door without realizing that Skinner knew of his 'truce-and-more' with Mulder. The boy had guts, or a death wish.

"Just give him this, ok? And neither of you will ever see me again."

Krycek thrust the package into Skinner's hands and turned to go. The simple movement seemed to make him dizzy. He stumbled, grabbed at the wall for support, and started to fall. Instinctively, Skinner caught him by the shoulder and eased him down. Krycek's jacket slid back enough to show the bright red stain spreading across his white T-shirt. Ignoring the younger man's weak protests, Skinner removed the jacket. Krycek had been shot, some time ago judging by the amount of blood staining his shirt. What Skinner had taken for exhaustion and nerves had really been the onset of shock. He sat back, contemplating his next move. Krycek struggled to rise. Skinner recognized the look in his eyes; he'd seen too much of it in ‘Nam. Krycek wasn't intending to seek medical help, or even to find a sanctuary to lick his wounds. He was crawling off to find a place to die.

The rogue agent wasn't his responsibility anymore. He didn't need to get involved.

But Scully said Krycek had saved Mulder's life, staying with him during a suicidal depression until she could arrive, even though he risked arrest and eventual death. He put himself in danger to come here, when by all rights he should be barely able to stand, because he had something he thought Mulder would want. More than that, there was something so plaintive in his eyes that Skinner could no longer make himself believe that Krycek deserved to bleed to death alone in an alley.

He pulled Krycek's arm over his shoulder, put his own arm around Krycek's waist, and hauled him to his feet. Krycek didn't resist as Skinner brought him into the living room and settled him on the couch. Krycek lay there, eyes closed, with only the unsteady rise and fall of his chest to prove he still lived.

"I'm going to call Mulder."

Krycek's eyes snapped open. "No!"

"Why not?"

"He won't come. He wants me dead."

From anyone else, that statement would sound petulant, whiny. But Krycek spoke it with cold, dead-calm certainty, and not a hint of self-pity. Skinner wasn't convinced, but he knew Krycek was.

"If you're so sure he won't come, why not let me call him anyway?" Skinner tried to reason.

"I don't want him to know. That way I can still pretend he'd come if he knew."

Damn Mulder What was it about him? He had rational Scully risking her life to chase ghosts and aliens. Skinner had lost count of the times he'd put his career on the line, with little thanks or acknowledgment for the risks he took. And now Alex Krycek, the ultimate survivor, was ready to give up and die because that's what Mulder wanted.

Only Skinner was fairly sure that wasn't what Mulder really wanted. He'd probably lashed out, as always, in a fit of self-righteous temper, and if Krycek died Mulder would be as disconsolate as a child who'd broken his favorite toy. It fell to Skinner, once again, to look after Mulder and clean up his messes.

Besides, he and Krycek belonged to the growing fraternity of people who mattered less than Mulder's goddamned quest for the truth. Skinner was neck-deep in debt to people he'd rather not think about, Scully's career had been permanently tainted, and her health compromised. Deep Throat was dead. X was dead. Of them all, Skinner suspected Alex had been hurt the worst, because he was fool enough to love the bastard. Skinner hadn't believed that of the little rat, but he couldn't deny it now; the depth of despair radiating from him testified to it.

He picked up the phone.

"If you're calling Mulder, I'm out of here," Krycek said.

Skinner doubted Krycek would make it to the door on his own, but he didn't want him trying while he was so weak and shocky. Besides, there was a slim chance Alex was right and Mulder wouldn't come, and the young man didn't need to face that certainty.

"I'm just calling the Gunmen. You need a doctor, and we both know why I can't take you into Emergency."

Skinner kept an eye on the pale young man on the couch as he dialed. Byers answered, thank God. Byers had the most sense of the three, although that still didn't say much.

"Byers, this is Assistant Director Skinner. I have a bit of a situation here. I need your special resources."

"What's Mulder done now?"

Skinner sighed. "It's not Mulder this time, at least not directly. How much do you know about Alex Krycek?"

The choking sound on the other end of the line told Skinner everything he needed to know. "It's all right, Byers, I do know about Mulder and Krycek."

"Mulder told you?"

"No, I spotted him shadowing Mulder on a stakeout. I was just about to grab him when Scully stopped me and told me the whole story."

"And you're okay with this?" Byers' voice squeaked a little.

"No, I'm not 'okay' with this, but there's not much I can do about it without discrediting one of my best agents." Though how I got from there to letting Krycek bleed on my couch is beyond me. "Look, Krycek has been shot, and I can't just waltz him into the emergency room. With Scully in the hospital, I need you to find some discreet, trustworthy help."

"We'll do our best," Byers promised. "Mulder must be beside himself."

"Mulder doesn't know."

"What!"

"Apparently they had a falling out. Krycek showed up here a little while ago with something he wanted me to give to Mulder. I didn't realize he was injured until he collapsed in the hallway. He made me promise that I wouldn't call Mulder." He stressed the ‘I' slightly, enough, he hoped, for Byers to catch on without alerting Krycek.

"He doesn't want to worry Mulder?" Byers asked.

"He doesn't think Mulder will come. He's afraid to find out for sure. *I* promised not to call him." *Come on, Byers, take the hint already.*

"But I didn't. I'm certain Mulder will come, but if he doesn't, Alex will never know he's been contacted."

"Right. Good."

"And we'll get him some help. It could take some time, though."

"I'll keep him alive ‘till then."

Skinner hung up the phone and checked on Krycek. His former agent shivered convulsively, eyes closed, skin white against raven hair. Skinner pulled a comforter from the linen closet. When he laid it over Krycek, the younger man's eyes flew open. His gaze was wild, frightened, and Skinner wondered if he remembered or understood where he was. The A.D. reached to pull the comforter higher around his shoulders. Krycek's hand snaked out, trying to shove him away.

"Easy. You're safe here." Skinner said. Krycek stared at him, mistrustful. Skinner remembered the last time he had made a similar statement; it had been a prelude to a beating.

"Cold," Krycek hissed through chattering teeth.

"You're in shock. You're body is having trouble maintaining body temperature. You have to hold on, the Gunmen are going to find you a doctor." The hand he laid on Krycek's shoulder was meant to reassure, but Krycek pulled away fearfully.

"No," Krycek shook his head. "Not the balcony. I'll freeze."

Obviously, they weren't having the same conversation. "No balcony," Skinner agreed patiently. "That was a long time ago, just before Tunguska. And before you and Mulder made your peace."

"Oh. Right." Krycek looked faintly embarrassed at his inability to sort things through. "You know, Mulder doesn't want me any more. You really don't need to help me."

Again, the line was delivered straight, with no sign of self-pity, just a world-weariness that made death irrelevant, or even welcome.

"I know I don't," Skinner said.

"Then why are you?"

"You don't want me questioning that too closely right now. Trust me."

"'kay," Krycek murmured, eyes closed.

Skinner realized he had just lost Krycek's focus once more.

Alex had long ago learned to cope at those times when the pain, the hunger, the cold became unbearable. All he had to do was escape into his memory, searching for a better place to be.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

It was Christmas day. Alex had been shadowing Mulder for a few months, ever since those days at the farmhouse in Finger Lakes. He had to know Mulder was all right, had to see him, even if he didn't quite dare go talk to him. But the lights on the houses, the trees and warmth and merriment he glimpsed within, had made his accustomed loneliness unbearable. He thought about his family for the first time in years his parents, his little sisters, who all thought him dead. He allowed them to. He could never explain what he'd become, and they'd be targets were the Consortium ever to find out they still mattered to him. Mulder, though, Mulder already had the Consortium after him, and he knew how to be careful. Alex wouldn't be putting him in further danger just by talking to him, not so long as he was careful what he said. And maybe, just maybe, Mulder didn't want to be alone on Christmas either, and would talk to him instead of beating him up or arresting him. It was still a stupid risk to take, he told himself, trudging up the stairs to Mulder's apartment, gripping the envelope that was his flimsy excuse to drop in on Mulder unannounced. It contained print-outs of rumors he'd pulled off classified sites, of a redneck octogenarian who had home videos of Area 51. It wasn't terribly reliable, or even important, and so it was safer to give to Mulder than all the things he knew which Mulder would want more.

He knocked at the door, and waited patiently for Mulder to check his identity through the peephole. He heard the chain slip off, and the dead-bolt slide back. He tensed as the door swung open. Alex half-expected Mulder to tell him to get lost, or else grab him by the collar and slam him into a wall.

"Alex, come in." Mulder sounded pleasantly surprised.

Alex stepped in keeping a careful eye on Mulder. For all he had longed to be here, he wasn't sure it was safe, even with Mulder's surface friendliness. Mulder's volatile temper tended to flare without notice.

"Why did you come? Is something wrong?"

Alex shook his head. "I though you might be interested in this."

Mulder took the envelope from his hand, opened it, and scanned the contents. Since Mulder hadn't told him to leave, he waited, shifting back and forth uneasily.

"I've seen the footage," Mulder said at last. "Worst hoax I've seen in a long time. Even FOX network wouldn't touch it."

Alex slumped his shoulders. He'd suspected the information was essentially useless, but had hoped Mulder would take a little longer to realize it. Then maybe Mulder wouldn't send him away quite so quickly.

"Oh," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I -I guess I should go." "Stay," Mulder said. "There's pizza left - still warm.."

They sat on the couch, sharing pizza and beer, and watched *The Refereee* and *Scrooged*. The latter ended at two a.m., and Alex was yawning.

"It's late," Mulder said. "You should stay. The bed's yours, no strings attached. And company, if you want it."

Alex grinned, suddenly completely awake. "I would love your company."

They went into the bedroom, got naked, and burrowed under the covers. Mulder turned suddenly shy, running just the tip of one finger down Alex's cheek.

"Do you want to?" Mulder asked softly.

*No, Mulder, that's just why I'm naked in your bed.* But Alex didn't want to ruin the moment with sarcasm, and anyway he liked the way Mulder asked what he wanted. It made him feel safe.

"Oh, yes, Mulder, I want to."

Mulder started stroking him, lightly, with just the fingertips of both hands, along the cheekbones, down the sides of his neck, across the shoulders, down the arms to his fingertips, repeat. And then both hands, along his throat, down to the center of his chest, hands separating to flow to his sides, firmer now so not to tickle, fire trailing in the wake of the his touch. And the pattern repeated. Alex lay still, enthralled. Mulder's hands swept a pattern from his breastbone down to his solar plexus, sweeping down to the sides, repeated a second time, and a third. The simple caresses were oddly erotic, and left Alex feeling as he never had before, cherished, deeply relaxed and incredibly turned on at the same time. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling. Mulder's hands moved together, down from his solar plexus to just above his twitching erection, separating out to his hipbones. Mulder used this movement two times, three times, four, then slid his hands slowly down the outside of Alex's thighs, his calves, rubbing his feet before trailing his fingertips lightly up the inside of his legs, feather-touching the underside of his testicles.

Alex gasped. His entire body tingled with pleasure, and his chest felt tight with a sense of incredible well-being. He didn't know if he could take any more; he wanted it to never stop.

Mulder stroked again, firmly down the outside of his legs, lightly up the inside, then gently rolling his testicles in one hand. *Yes*, Alex wanted to say, but he found he'd lost the power of speech.

Mulder kissed the tip of his cock, and pleasure flashed like lightening. through his body. He screamed, then lay panting as Mulder blew warm breath gently over his cock. He heard Mulder chuckle softly in response. His entire body had become charged with sexual energy, and his world consisted of nothing but pleasure. Then Mulder sucked him down, and Alex melted into white-hot molten joy. He whimpered and wailed. Though he was generally quiet during sex, this was like nothing he had ever experienced. Somehow, despite the intensity, Mulder's varied rhythms and unexpected touches kept him on the edge for what seemed like hours, until he finally exploded like a supernova, and lay still, unable to move, or even think.

He was aware of Mulder sliding off the bed, leaving the room, then returning. He felt the warmth of a washcloth, cleaning him. He forced himself to stir, to reach for Mulder, conscious of the notion that he should do something for him.

Mulder caught his hand. "Ssh, lie still. Just relax. You look so beautiful."

"But you. . ."

"I came against the bed, from watching you."

Alex settled, then, vaguely aware of Mulder tugging the sheets, arranging them so the wet spot was covered by a fold of blanket, then snuggling in against Alex. He pretended, as he drifted off to sleep, that this was what it felt like, that he was loved and safe and protected.

He dressed in the pale dawn, preparing to sneak out before Mulder could wake and throw him out.

"Hey, Krycek," Mulder called before he reached the door.

Alex stopped and turned.

Mulder smiled. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Something jarred him out of the happier place he had been. No, someone, holding a glass to his mouth, telling him to drink. It was dangerous to drink without knowing what was in the glass, who was offering it, but Alex didn't care anymore. If he drank, they would leave him alone. If it were poison, the end would come quicker, and he wouldn't feel so cold.

He dimly registered another blanket being spread on top of the comforter. His mind roamed again, comparing other times he had been cold, to remember how to keep from freezing.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Mid-February, or thereabouts, he'd lost track of the days. Consortium thugs were staking out the decrepit weekly rental he called home these days. He had no bolt-hole left, and no money for a motel. Sleet lashed down from the black skies, and wind-chill took the temperature way below freezing. He wandered through the streets on foot, soaked to the skin.

He'd been seeing Mulder almost weekly, but always at Mulder's invitation or with some scrap of information he could hold out as an offering. He had nothing to give, but still his steps carried him to Mulder's door. He stood in the hallway, shivering and dripping on the carpet, gathering the courage to knock. If Mulder closed the door in his face, *and why wouldn't he*, Alex could no longer pretend that he was other than an informant and a quick fuck.

He tapped on the door. "Mulder, it's me."

The door swung open, and the look of concern on Mulder's face took some of the chill away. "Alex, come in, you look frozen."

Alex hesitated on the threshold. "Look, Mulder, I don't have anything for you."

"Get in here before you catch your death of cold." He pulled Alex inside, slipped his jacket off, and pushed him toward the bathroom. "Take a hot shower, it'll warm you up. I'll find you something dry to wear."

Alex went into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped into the shower. The hot water stung at first against his cold skin–he suspected he'd been on the verge of hypothermia. The sensation became more pleasant, comforting, and he gradually stopped shivering.

The door opened, and Mulder stepped in to lay sweats and a towel on the edge of the sink. "I'm going to call out for dinner. Chinese okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

Alex was floored. Mulder had let him drop in with no excuse but his own bad luck, fussed over him, and now wanted to know his opinion on dinner? He finished his shower, dressed, and padded down the hall to the living room and settled on the couch. Mulder came out and handed him a steaming mug of hot cocoa laced with brandy, complete with marshmallows floating on top. Alex hadn't suspected Mulder's kitchen to be capable of producing fresh milk, let alone marshmallows. Deciding not to question a miracle, he took a sip. It was the real thing, all right, not that packaged powdered shit. He drank deeper, closing his eyes to savor the taste, the heat of the liquid and the brandy burn.

"Thanks," He said to Mulder.

"No problem. Are you in trouble?" At Alex's soft chuckle, he amended, "Or should I ask, in worse trouble than ususal?"

"Nah. They just found my rat-hole, caught me without a place to stay for the night."

Mulder leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "You have a place to stay."

The warmth, the brandy, and the unusual feeling of contentment conspired against him, and he fell asleep sitting up.

The knock on the door startled him awake, and he had his gun in his hand before he realized where he was.

"Easy, I think it's just dinner," Mulder soothed. "If you shoot the delivery boy, it'll be hell trying to get them to send someone out again, and this is my favorite restaurant."

Mulder glanced through the peephole, then opened the door. Alex returned his gun to its concealed holster and tried to calm down as Mulder paid for the delivery and came back to the living room laden with white paper sacks. He sat next to Alex on the couch and proceeded to arrange cartons on the coffee table in front of them.

"We have won-ton soup," he proclaimed happily. "Sweet-and-sour pork, sesame chicken, spring rolls and chow mein."

Mulder ate a little bit of everything. Alex ate a lot of everything, until he felt like a python that had swallowed a hippo. It had been longer than he cared to think since he'd eaten real food.

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he remembered was Mulder tugging him to his feet and leading him to bed. Mulder undressed him and tucked him in, then climbed in beside him, snuggling close and laying his head on Alex's shoulder. Alex stirred, thinking vaguely that he owed Mulder something for the evening.

"Ssh, rest." Mulder stroked his hair in reassurance, and Alex settled against his warmth and let sleep take him.

The graying into morning woke him as always, but he lay still, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of Mulder's bed just yet. *It'll be worse if he kicks you out.* Just then, Mulder stirred and woke. Alex tensed, waiting, but Mulder only reached out and brushed Alex's bangs back from his forehead. *We didn't do anything last night. Maybe he wants to now. Maybe I have some more time. . .*

"Stay?" Mulder asked. "It's Saturday, I don't have anywhere to be. I'll go out in a little bit and get us breakfast, if you'll stay the morning."

Alex knew he was grinning like an idiot. He couldn't help it. He pounced on Mulder, kissing him everywhere, lips, chin, neck, licking and nipping lower, down his chest, abdomen, before swallowing his erection whole.

Mulder arched his back and screamed. Alex held his hips down to keep him from bucking as he skillfully brought him off, listening gleefully as Mulder's cries reached a crescendo, pulling his mouth away at the last minute, watching the semen spurt across Mulder's chest and belly.

Mulder lay panting on the bed, eyes still closed. Alex didn't mind the wait. It was such a turn-on just seeing Mulder like this, knowing that he had brought Mulder to this. Then Mulder turned and caught his mouth in a sweet, unending kiss, hands caressing, gentling, finding his erection and stroking him smoothly to completion.

Some time passed before Mulder managed to drag himself out of the apartment to shop for the promised breakfast. Alex lay in bed, half-dozing, determined to enjoy to the fullest the luxury of warmth and comfort and roach-free living. Mulder returned like a whirlwind, and sat bouncing a little on the bed until Alex laughed his way to full wakefulness, whereupon Mulder dragged him out of bed, got him settled at the table, and laid out before him croissants dripping with melted cheese, sliced fruit, french roast coffee.

Alex felt as if he must have stepped into someone else's life. These past years, he'd be lucky if his bed-partner spared him a cup of instant Sanka before shoving him out the door. He'd taken to sneaking out before dawn to avoid the sourness of morning-after. But Mulder was something completely different, seemed to want him around, to enjoy pampering him.

Mulder slid a key across the table to him. Alex stared at it in confusion.

"I want you to be able to get in, if I'm away on a case, and you need a place to crash."

Alex sat still for a moment, frozen in shock, then slowly reached out and took the key. "Thanks, Mulder, you didn't have to do this." He hoped that Mulder couldn't hear the tears threatening to crack his voice.

Mulder kissed him tenderly "I hate the thought of you being caught out, with nowhere to go. I care about you. I worry about what happens to you out there."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Alex swallowed painfully as the sweet memory mingled with the echoes of harsher words.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Mulder had him by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his body pressed close in a parody of intimacy. "You, Krycek, are nothing but a liar, a killer and a two-bit whore. My skin crawls at the thought that I ever touched you."

"But I love you," Alex whispered.

Mulder punched him hard in the solar plexus, once, twice, and then kicked him as he slid to the floor. "Don't say that. "Don't you *dare* say that, you worthless little rat."

It hurt, he couldn't breath, and Mulder had ripped his heart out and ground it into the dirt. He blinked back tears of rage and pain and, because it was Mulder, shoved thoughts of the 9mm in the shoulder holster from his mind. Because it was Mulder, tried again.

"Please, Mulder, listen--"

Mulder drew his own weapon, and clicked the safety off. "I should kill you now. Get out now, or I swear I will kill you."

Alex knew that look in Mulder's eyes, knew Mulder meant every word. He was tempted to lay there, let it end, but the damned survivor's instinct had him dragging himself up and out the door, or else maybe he couldn't bear for it to be Mulder who finally killed him.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Skinner picked up the phone on the third ring. "Skinner."

"Hey, this is Byers. We pulled in a few favors, got you a doctor, but she won't be there 'till tonight."

Skinner glanced at the clock. It was just past noon.

"Can't she get here any sooner? "He doesn't look good."

"She won't leave her practice in the middle of the day. Says it would look suspicious, says she might be followed. She's more paranoid than we are."

Skinner doubted that was possible, but kept the thought to himself. "I guess we don't have a choice."

"No, not really. It was hard enough to get someone to come. Uh, no offense, but the folks we hang out with. . .well, let's just say it was most of them hung up when I told them the injured man was hiding out in the apartment of an Assistant Director of the F.B.I."

"Yes. I see where that could be a problem."

"I, uh, I talked to Mulder."

By Byer's tone, Skinner knew not to expect Krycek's grief-stricken, remorseful lover to show up on his doorstep. "What happened?"

"He said, and I quote, "Better warn Skinner that rats do bite the hand that feeds them. And tell Krycek I'll see him in hell."

Skinner sighed. Just once, he'd like to see Mulder take a middle-of-the-road position on anything. *No, on second thought, that would probably cause Earth to reverse on its axis, or black frogs to fall from the sky.*

"Do you have any idea what set him off?" Skinner asked.

"I think he blames Alex for Scully getting shot."

Rage flashed through Skinner. "If Krycek was responsible–"

"But I don't think he was," Byers interrupted. "Mulder thinks that Alex set her up, but Scully was the one who asked for the meet, set up the time and place. I decoded the message myself–they've been running coded e-mail through us. And Alex was the one who shot the assassin and dialed 911."

That would explain why the ballistics test didn't match Scully's weapon.

"Mulder's just upset, looking for someone to blame besides himself. They were tapping Scully's phone, not Krycek's. We checked afterwards, and besides, Krycek is too canny not to find a bug. It looks like Scully was the intended target, and the only reason for them to take out Scully is to get to Mulder. And, well. . ."

"What?" Skinner snapped.

"There's been something going on between them, between Mulder and Alex, these last couple weeks. When they've come into the office together, Mulder either ignored him or snapped at him, and Alex. . .well Alex just seemed so sad. Mulder said something today about Alex keeping secrets, but he wasn't making a lot of sense."

This isn't my concern. I've gone further than I should have, letting Krycek stay here at all. "Well, we tried. Did he say how Scully was doing?"

Mulder had been keeping vigil at the hospital, ever since he returned from that conference and heard what happened to Scully.

"She hasn't regained consciousness yet, but the doctors are still hopeful."

After he got off the phone with Byers, Skinner walked over to the couch. Alex's eyes were closed, but the rhythm of his breathing told Skinner he was awake. Skinner wanted to believe Byers' version of things, but he had to be sure.

"Krycek, we need to talk. About Scully."

Alex opened his eyes, and looked up at Skinner. He couldn't read anything in that face, never could, going back to the days when Skinner was his boss. Hell, back then, he'd half-suspected Skinner was Consortium. . .still wasn't sure he hadn't been then, although lately he proved himself to now be on Mulder's side.

"Is she awake?" Alex asked. "Is she going to be all right?"

Skinner shook his head. "We don't know, yet. Mulder thinks you set her up."

Alex closed his eyes. Oh, well, he hadn't really expected to survive this. Weak as he was, there would be a limit to how much Skinner could hurt him before he died.

"I didn't set her up," Alex said, still not looking at Skinner. "But I don't expect you to believe that."

"Byers doesn't think you could be responsible. But I want to hear from you exactly what did happen."

He looked up, puzzled, hopeful, badly needing someone to believe him.

"Byers relayed a message to me from Scully, asking me to meet her at four a.m. in Lafayette Park. She and I had been using the guys as go-betweens since, oh, January or so. Since she caught me sneaking out of Mulder's apartment one morning, confronted me, and demanded to know my intentions toward her partner. We came to terms over coffee, and she gave me her cell-phone number, and we exchanged e-mail addresses so we could contact each other if Mulder showed signs of doing something stupider than usual." He smiled at Skinner's wry look. "You have to admit, the man does take some looking after.

"Anyway, this time, Scully wanted my opinion on an X-file, since Mulder was out of town at some damned UFO convention. I had a bad feeling, edgy, waiting for Scully. You live on the run as long as I do, you get this sort of sixth sense–not that I'd ever tell that to Mulder. He'd open a file. . ."

He shut down the pang of betrayal following the quick rush of affection that came with thinking of Mulder. "Scully came walking across the park to me. Told me Mulder should feed me better, I needed to put on some weight. Started to take out a file from under her coat.

"I saw the flash of moonlight on gunmetal, heard the click of a safety going off. I tried to shove her down, but it was too late. . .though I think I spoiled his aim, at least. I should have been faster." He closed his eyes again, shaking his head, trying to dispel the memories of Scully falling, Scully lying there, so much like her sister, ohgodno.

"So I shot the bastard. Used Scully's phone to dial 911. I stayed with her as long as I could, until the ambulance sirens were near. I couldn't be at the scene when they arrived, I *couldn't*."

"I understand," Skinner said softly. "I'm sure she would understand."

But Alex merely shuddered, remembering Scully smiling at him in friendship - when was the last time, besides Mulder, that he'd had a friend? - remembering Scully's blood on his clothes, on his hands. He hadn't set her up, but maybe Mulder was right in a way, maybe, somehow, it had been his fault? If he'd been quick enough. . . or if he weren't a scuttling little rat in hiding, they could have met in a safer place, a more public place. . .Scully might still be alive.

"The guys have found you a doctor. She'll be here tonight."

His chills gradually eased - Krycek had seen Skinner fiddling with the thermostat, and suspected that he'd turned the heat up to the tropical range. Still, the pain in his shoulder was unrelenting, and he tried to escape once more into memory, but only unhappiness came to mind.

The memory started out cozy enough, with him snuggled next to Mulder in Mulder's bed, after a long bout of lovemaking. But the dream soon became a nightmare.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

"You gave me a lot of information, through the Gunmen, before we got together," Mulder said.

"Mm-hm," Alex answered sleepily, not willing to break the mood by talking X-files.

"Lately, though, the well seems to have run dry."

He told himself he was imagining the accusation in his lover's tone, chided himself for paranoia. Hadn't they come farther than this, learned to trust one another, love one another even if neither of them were quite brave enough to say the words?

"I've given you everything that I safely can. The information I'm holding is my insurance. They don't dare come after me, because if they miss, I'll see that the information is more widely distributed than the Starr report."

"You don't trust me with the information?" Mulder pulled away from him slightly.

"I trust you to be who you are, and I know you can't see this information and not act on it. And if you act on it, they'll know what you have, and who gave it to you. They'll kill me, and then they'll come after you."

Mulder slid out of his arms entirely, moved to the other side of the bed, and lay propped up on one elbow, looking down at Krycek. "Know what I think? I think you enjoy keeping me in the dark."

"Mulder, no, I..."

"This whole thing between us has just been one long mind fuck, hasn't it."

The accusation took his breath away, worse than a punch to the gut. He jumped out of the bed as though it burned him, and started pulling on his clothes.

Behind him, Mulder sighed. "Alex, what do you think you're doing?"

He reached for his jacket and ignored the question.

"Come back to bed, Alex. I didn't say you had to leave."

He took a few, indecisive steps toward the door.

"I won't bring it up again, okay? Just come to bed."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

He should have kept on walking out the door that night. If it had been anyone else, he would have. No, if it had been anyone else, he would have decked the bastard first, then left. But it couldn't have been anyone else, he'd never let anyone else get this close. That had been his first mistake. His second had been letting Mulder's almost-apology talk him back into bed. It was too easy to be persuaded to go somewhere you really wanted to be. If he walked out that door, Mulder might not have let him back in. After all he'd done to Mulder, it was a miracle the man spoke to him at all, let alone let him into his life, and into his bed.

And he liked having sex with someone he actually cared about. . . having breakfast with that person the next morning . . .feeling like he had someone to turn to if he were in trouble. It was the closest he'd come to living like a real human being in a long time, and he couldn't bring himself to throw it away over one of Mulder's mood swings. So he told himself it would be all right, that Mulder already trusted him further than he had ever dreamed possible, that in time he could prove himself, and Mulder would trust him the way he trusted Mulder.

True to his word, Mulder never brought up the subject again, but something had changed between them. They still slept together, but, though Mulder was never rough or coercive, the sweet tenderness had gone. Alex told himself that there wasn't a problem, he'd heard all relationships hit troubled waters every now and then.

Skinner and the Gunmen the doctor finished bandaging Krycek. She'd dosed him with chloroform before starting to work, unable to risk more complicated anaesthesia without assistance. He looked peaceful, and so very young.

"He's lost a lot of blood," she told them. "I've done my best with the infection, but he really should be in a hospital."

"That's not an option," Skinner said.

"So I've been told." She glanced at Byers, then fixed Skinner with a steady gaze. "Get him in a real bed, he's not going to rest comfortably on this couch. Keep him warm, keep him quiet, make sure he gets plenty of fluids. Give him the antibiotics on schedule. I was never here."

She turned to Byers. "Don't call me again."

With that, she was gone.

Langly and Byers helped Skinner get Krycek up to the bedroom, to the only real bed in his condo. Now he no longer had an assassin bleeding on his couch; the bastard was in his own bed, and it would be Skinner on the couch tonight. The A.D. wondered just where he had gone wrong with his life. He suspected it had something to do with not firing Mulder back when he should have.

"Are you able to stay with him?" Langly asked. "We can babysit, if you need to go to work tomorrow."

"That won't be necessary," Skinner said. "I've already called in sick, told them I'll probably be out for a week. You can drop by and visit sometime, though. I think he could use some friends right now."

The hackers left, and Skinner settled down to read where he could keep an eye on Krycek. Around midnight, the younger man stirred and woke. Skinner put down his book. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Vodka would be nice," Krycek rasped.

Skinner smiled. "How about Gatorade?"

"It'll do."

Skinner went downstairs to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of orange gatorade, and crouched by the bed where Krycek lay. He eased the young man up into a sitting position and held the bottle for him to drink.

"Thanks, dad," Krycek said when he was done drinking.

Krycek's smart-ass comments didn't piss Skinner off like they normally would; he was too glad to see some spirit from the wounded man. "Do you want to try some soup?"

Krycek shrugged.

Skinner opened a can of soup, dumped it into a pan, and put it on the stove to heat. He came back to sit by Krycek. There were some things he needed to ask, but he was afraid he wouldn't like the answers.

"When the doctor was examining you, I noticed these." He drew Krycek's arms from under the blanket, and ran a finger along white scars on each wrist, clearly made by handcuffs. "Tell me Mulder didn't do this to you."

Krycek pulled his arms back under the blanket. "It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like scars made by restraints cutting into the skin."

"He didn't mean for it to happen." Krycek must have read the horror in his face, because he added, "I was his prisoner, then, not his lover. We don't play those games."

"I noticed bruising, too. Over your abdomen. It looked just a bit older than the gunshot wound."

Krycek looked away.

"Does Mulder hit you?"

"It's not like that," Krycek said defensively.

Skinner felt a little sick. "Just what is it like, then?"

"You've hit me, too, in your time."

Skinner winced. He wasn't particularly proud of his behavior on that occasion, but then Krycek had worked him over pretty good once, too. None of this was to the point.

"Yes, but I'm not your boyfriend. Has Mulder hit you since you've been together?"

"Since we started fucking, or since we started fucking regularly?"

Skinner knew the language was meant to put him off, and refused to be distracted. "From the first time you had sex, has he hit you?"

"Twice. But the first time didn't count, because we were only screwing around, we weren't in a relationship or anything. And the last time was after he told me he didn't want to see me again, so that didn't count either."

Skinner could tell that he was trying hard to project a casual, tough-guy exterior, but the unshed tears glinting in his eyes gave him away. Mulder had a lot to answer for, and if these two ever got together, Skinner would make sure Mulder knew how he felt about any of his agents committing domestic violence, whether or not the victim protested.

"I haven't thanked you yet, for letting me stay here," Krycek said. "I always thought I'd die in some seedy hotel or back alley."

Skinner frowned. "You're not going to die, you know."

Alex shrugged his uninjured shoulder. Skinner fought the urge to grab him and shake him until his teeth rattled. Skinner had see men die before, from non-fatal wounds, just by deciding not to live. But Krycek had survived too much already. Skinner would be damned if he died because Mulder was being a moody, selfish bastard.

Krycek stayed awake long enough to eat half a bowl of soup. Skinner retired to his couch to try to get some real sleep, but left the door open so he would hear if his guest called out for him.

The next morning, he had to wake Krycek to give him his antibiotics and get some gatorade into him. Krycek fell right back to sleep, and his slight fever worried Skinner. When the Gunmen showed up mid-afternoon, he was unresponsive. Skinner didn't know if he were aware of the computer geeks presence, but he hoped at least subconsciously Krycek registered that he had friends pulling for him.

He took advantage of the visit to slip out for a few cans of liquid invalid food, after locking his file drawers and issuing stern warnings about his computer.

On the way back from the store, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Mulder."

"Listen, Mulder, I'm sick of taking care of your problems. I suggest you come over and deal with it." Knowing how easily mobile phone calls could be monitored, Skinner was deliberately cryptic.

"Not that my personal life is any of your business, sir, but I've washed my hands of that particular problem. Arrest him, shoot him, drown him in the Potomac for all I care. If you help him, you're as big a fool as I was."

Skinner reminded himself that he'd get nowhere if he lost his temper. "I don't think you're being fair. I think you're letting unresolved issues from before cloud your judgment, not to mention your guilt at making your partner a target."

Even over the phone, Skinner could hear Mulder's sharp intake of breath.

"I'm not coming, sir. And you can't order me to."

Skinner ground his jaw. "Very well. I hope you don't come to regret this."

"Thank you for your concern, sir. Good-bye."

Skinner returned home to relieve the Gunmen - or more accurately, to relieve Krycek, who was awake and being treated to the latest theory on debit cards and the invasion of privacy. He shooed the guys out, telling them that Krycek needed his rest. He handed Krycek a meal-in-a-can. Krycek grimaced, and drank.

"It was nice of the guys to come see me," Krycek said.

The bemusement in his voice told Skinner that Krycek was unused to such simple gestures of friendship.

"I have to admit, they grow on you," Skinner said. "I'm beginning to see why Mulder hangs out with them."

At Mulder's name, Krycek closed his eyes and winced. *Brilliant. Just brilliant. I'm sure there's salt in the kitchen. Why don't you rub some in his wounds while you're at it?*

"Can I get you some gatorade?"

Alex shook his head.

"Water?"

"I'm fine."

"You need to drink more."

Alex pretended not to hear him, although by his breathing Skinner could tell that he was awake. He couldn't make Krycek cooperate in his recovery any more than he could make Mulder see reason. He retreated to his chair with his laptop, trying to get work done, but he found himself staring at Krycek.

He felt a little guilty, remembering what Scully had told him, how Krycek thought he was doing the right thing when he first starting working for Cancer Man, how by the time he figured out what was going on, he was in way over his head and felt he had no one to turn to. Of course he wouldn't have gone to Mulder–-the agent had made it clear that he didn't want another partner, and begrudged Alex the air that he breathed. But Alex had been in his supervision, and he'd done nothing to smooth things over when Mulder made it rough for him, done nothing to show the green agent that his A.D. was someone he could turn to if he were in trouble.

Mulder thought he imagined it the first time Scully's eyelids fluttered, but then her eyes opened again and focused on him.

"Mulder. . .Alex. . .where?"

"Ssh. It's alright. Krycek can't hurt you here."

Scully gave him the look that told him she was seriously considering having him committed. "Of course Alex wouldn't hurt me? But is he alright? He did get away?"

Mulder could only nod. His incredible relief that Scully had awakened conflicted with the sick realization that he had made a terrible mistake, had been unjustifiably cruel to the man he loved, and probably destroyed the best relationship of his life.

"Mulder, you can't let him blame himself for what happened. You know, he tried to take the bullet for me? He just wasn't fast enough."

"I'll talk to him," Mulder said, choking slightly on the words. "Listen, I should get the doctor, and your family will want to know that you're awake. And I need to see Alex."

"Okay." She smiled. "Tell Alex I said thank you."

Mulder stopped at the nurses' station, reported that Scully was awake, and headed down to the car. *God, but I've been a stupid bastard. He finally admits he loves me, and I hit him.* He remembered those green eyes, pleading for trust, and pressed harder on the gas pedal.

There wasn't much traffic on the road that time of night. Mulder drove with casual disregard of traffic laws, and arrived in record time. He parked, entered the building, and cursed the slowness of the elevator all the way up to Skinner's floor. Outside the door, he hesitated. How could he face Alex after what he had said, what he had done? But he had to try, he owed it to Alex.

There was still light coming from under the door, and he knocked softly. "Sir? It's me, Mulder."

The door swung open. Skinner filled the doorframe, scowling. Then he stepped back, leaving Mulder at the threshold, and retrieved a manila envelope from a locked desk drawer.

"Here." Skinner shoved a manila envelope at Mulder. "He asked me to give you this. It's what he got shot for."

Mulder opened the envelope and glanced inside names, dates, places, medical files, test results–-a list of secrets. Alex had surrendered his insurance. There was a key, too, the key to his apartment. He remembered the surprise and happiness in his lover's eyes when Mulder had given it to him, told Alex that he didn't want him to ever be caught without a place to stay. It had been sometime after Mulder had admitted to himself that Alex meant more to him than a warm and conveniently willing body, and had finally set about teaching Alex to believe in that truth. The younger man had always been freely physical, but getting him to trust Mulder with his heart had been like taming a wild thing to take food from his hand.

The hurt and disbelief in Alex' eyes when Mulder threw him out at gunpoint spoke of how well Mulder had succeeded. Right before he ground that heart into dust beneath his heel.

"Where is he?" Mulder peered around Skinner's broad shoulder, saw the empty couch.

He remembered Byers, eyes dark with more anger than he could imagine Byers capable of, shouting at him. *I thought I knew you, Mulder, but I never knew you at all. You're really going to let Alex bleed to death on Skinner's couch, not even bother to see him one last time.*

Mulder felt faint. "He isn't dead. He can't be dead."

"What do you care?" Skinner said coldly. "You got what you came for."

No! Mulder's mind screamed denial, but his voice had left him. It couldn't be, oh god. He did this to Alex, for the damned information he kept pushing for, wanting Alex to prove his love, prove himself worthy of trust. And Alex had died thinking Mulder hated him.

Byers, again, in his memory He didn't send me to bring you. He made Skinner swear not to call you. He knew you wouldn't come, said he wanted to pretend it's only because you didn't know. Skinner and I thought he was wrong. But I guess only your lover understands what a cold bastard you really are.

He would go to the Gunmen–if they'd still let him in their office. He'd give them the envelope, then he'd go back to the bed he'd shared with Alex and eat his gun.

Perhaps Skinner saw some of his thoughts in his expression, because he relented. "He's still alive. I gave him my bed. He's upstairs, sleeping."

"I need to see him," Mulder said softly.

"I think you've done enough damage."

"I know. I want to try to make amends. Scully woke up. She told me. . ." The words stuck on the lump in his throat, and he swallowed to clear it. "Please, sir, I need to see him."

Skinner stepped aside, then followed Mulder up the stairs. At the bedroom door, Mulder paused. Alex looked small in the middle of the king-size bed, as though the trouble of the past week somehow whittled him down. He was nearly as pale as the sheets he lay against, and even in sleep his brow furrowed with worry or pain.

Mulder approached quietly, and reached out a hand to brush back the long bangs. The light touch wakened Alex, and he flinched away from Mulder. The wariness in his eyes cut Mulder to the core.

"Easy, Alex, I won't hurt you," Mulder soothed.

"You're early."

Mulder wondered is Alex were delirious. "I don't understand."

"You said you didn't want to see me again until you could dance on my grave."

He remembered saying something like that; he would give his soul now to take those words back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Mulder felt hot tears running down his cheeks. He made no attempt to hide them. His lover's face was a mask - the Krycek of before, the renegade who couldn't admit to caring for anyone.

Mulder wondered if he would ever trust enough to let down that mask again.

"Scully told you what happened?" Alex asked.

Mulder nodded.

"She's going to be all right?"

"Looks like it."

The mask slipped just a bit. "I'm glad. I like Scully."

"You were shot."

"Yeah. I couldn't give you the information I had without stealing documentation - you'd go after it yourself and get yourself killed."

"You said your life would be in danger if you gave me this."

Alex looked away. "I didn't think it mattered."

Mulder knew him well enough to hear the tears beneath the steel of his voice. "It matters."

He tried to take his lover's hand, but Alex pulled away. "Bullshit. Look, Mulder, you have what you wanted. I don't have anything else to give. You can leave now."

"I want you," Mulder said, voice raspy from crying. Healthy, and happy. If possible, I want your forgiveness. I shouldn't have doubted you, shouldn't have pressed for more than you could safely give."

"What's not to doubt? I'm a traitor and an assassin."

"That's in the past. Alex, I..."

"Is it? In the past? If Scully didn't vouch for me, you'd still be cursing my name."

Mulder wished he could deny the accusation, but he couldn't lie to Alex. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you. Now go away."

"Alex, I love you."

A shudder passed through his lover's body as he suppressed a sob. "Don't lie to me, Mulder. Because part of me will believe you. And I can't take that kind of pain. Maybe I deserve it, but I can't go through this again. I'd rather you just go back to hitting me."

"I'm not lying. I l..."

"Don't," Alex hissed.

Mulder closed his eyes, no longer able to handle the way Alex turned away from him, the way his lover shook from the hurt Mulder had caused. He'd burned Alex badly, and didn't know if he'd ever win back the younger man's trust. He had to try, for both their sakes.

He took his lover's hand, ignoring the resistance, placed the envelope in it, and molded the fingers closed. "You're more important to me than this. I don't want anything that would endanger you."

Alex flung the envelope back at him. "Don't you dare! I nearly got killed for this, you bastard. And I was spotted. It's Rat Season now. You may as well make it worth something."

Mulder dropped his head, hiding his face in the sheets. He realized he may have lost Alex forever, that his lover's life was in danger because of his quest for the truth and his refusal to trust.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I know it doesn't change anything but..."

"Just stop it. Please." The steel in his lover's voice shattered under the pressure of emotion Mulder couldn't name. "I know I never should have expected you to trust me, to care about me, after what I've been and what I've done."

"Alex, no. Alex. . ." Mulder began crying in earnest now, too overwrought to speak.

"Ssh." Alex reached over, stroked his hair as though he were comforting a child. "Don't cry. I'll survive somehow. It's what rats do best."

Skinner watched from the doorway, grinding his teeth in consternation. As though Mulder weren't punishment enough for whatever sins he may have committed in a previous life, now he'd be stuck saving Krycek's neck as well. He'd skimmed the information in the envelope, of course, and was already forming a plan to use its contents to negotiate a new detente, one that would protect his agent and the rogue, too.

Salvaging the relationship, were it even possible, would be up to Mulder and Krycek.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

On to 3: Tired of Taking Chances

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