Falling Down A Spiral

by Queen of Denial

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. CK talked me into posting it. No copyright infringement intended, no money being made.

Spoilers: 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.

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.

More Author's Notes: I lurk on a number of lists under a different name. Since I'm shy of revealing my identity, CK has agreed to post this for me, and comments sent to her will be forwarded to me. Please do not repost without permission. Thanks for reading.

Series: Part 1 of a series, followed by When The Bullet Hits The Bone and Tired Of Taking Chances

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

Alex Krycek looked around nervously before tapping on the Lone Gunmen's door. He was as certain as he could be that he had not been tailed, but experience taught him that there was no such thing as *too* paranoid. In fact, he hadn't fully healed from his last lesson on that subject. He waited impatiently for one of the occupants to check the peephole before letting him in.

Langly smiled warmly. "Hey, Alan."

Byers and Frohike came in from their rooms off the main office.

"Hey, guys. Your FBI friend like that last set of computer files I passed on?"

Frohike laughed. "Liked? I haven't seen him so happy since his partner went into remission."

Langly cut in. "Mulder's dying to meet you, man."

Alex expected this eventuality, and had planned the appropriate evasion. "No way, man. No G-man sees my face."

His last attempt to use information to buy into Mulder's good graces led to him being beaten, frozen, nearly murdered, dragged through Russia, interrogated by gulag guards and nearly getting his arm cut off by peasants. Alex had reluctantly accepted that his erstwhile partner would never believe that they were now on the same side. Alex would have to feed him information through those he trusted. Fortunately, the Gunmen had never run into him while he was still working within the FBI.

"Hey, Mulder's cool," Langly protested.

Not to me. Alex knew he'd given Mulder reason enough to hate. The knowledge hurt worse than it should.

Langly shrugged. "Your call."

Alex had developed a fondness for the three oddball conspiracy theorists. They were all basically nice guys, and Alex hadn't had niceness in his life in a long, long time. Besides, he took a strange, vicarious pleasure in hanging out with people who hung out with Mulder. He tried to forget they'd hate him if they knew who he really was.

A key in the door startled him. So far as he knew, only three people had keys to this office, and they were all in the room with him.

Alex spun, right hand freeing his pistol from the waist holster hidden under his jacket. Byers grabbed his arm, and Alex nearly shot him in reflex. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated.

"What is this?" he hissed.

"Shit!" Langly said.

Frohike began simultaneously. "He wasn't supposed to be here 'till..."

The door swung open. For a brief second, he took in Mulder's astonished face, felt a rush of fear and longing. Then Mulder was on him, twisting the gun from his hand, smashing its grip across his jaw, slamming his fist into his gut, and then cuffing him while he struggled to catch his breath.

Krycek was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat, but, as usual, Mulder's passionate anger blew him away.

Byers grabbed at Mulder's arm as the agent pulled back for another blow. "What do you think you're doing?"

Mulder laughed, that dark cutting laugh that Alex knew so well. "Do you want to tell them, Krycek, or should I?"

"This is Krycek?" Frohike exclaimed. "The man who..."

"Betrayed me, who killed my father, and Scully's sister. One of the men responsible for Scully's abduction, for her cancer, for the fact that she'll never have children of her own."

The accusations hurt more because Alex knew them to be true. "Mulder, please, just for once, listen. I..."

Mulder kicked him, driving the breath from his body. Krycek curled up defensively, waiting for the next blow.

It never came. Alex dared look up. Byers and Langly held Mulder back.

"This isn't like you, Mulder," Byers said. "This isn't right. No matter what he's done, you can't beat up a man in handcuffs."

Byers, the reasonable, the calm one. *Thank you, Byers.* Alex used the brief respite to wriggle into a sitting position and scoot back from Mulder.

"Damn it all," Mulder said. "If he's your contact, then all the leads he's been feeding us are a trap."

"Mulder, no, listen," Alex tried again, despair overriding commonsense.

Mulder grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet, then slammed him into the wall. Alex clawed at his hands, desperate for air.

"Believe the lie, Krycek?" Mulder said his name like a curse. "Just what are you up to? Who are you working for now?"

"Myself," he gasped.

Langly and Byers pulled Mulder back.

"I think he'll talk better if you let him breath," Frohike interjected.

The lightness in his voice sounded forced. Alex knew that Mulder's violence shocked the three hackers. This was a side of Mulder reserved for his former partner.

"So far, everything he's given us checked out," Langly reminded him "We've never been so close to finding your sister."

"Even if it's a trap, it may be baited with real cheese," Frohike added.

Mulder paused. "Okay. We proceed as planned, but we proceed with caution."

"Mulder, you'll need the last information I brought today. You—"

Mulder punched him again. He expected it. He didn't expect Byers to step between them, shielding Alex with his own body.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Mulder, but you're not going to beat on a defenseless man in our office."

To Krycek's intense relief, Mulder backed down.

Byers turned to him. "Where is it?"

"Inside pocket. Top left-hand side."

Byers reached inside Krycek's leather jacket and pulled out the computer disk.

"Call us tomorrow," Frohike said to Mulder. "We should have the files deciphered by then."

Mulder nodded absently, staring at Krycek. "I guess I'll have to take him with me, or they'll know we've been tipped off."

Krycek shook his head and sidled away. He looked pleadingly at the Gunmen. "You can't let him take me. He'll kill me."

The three looked from Alex to Mulder.

"Uh, Mulder," Byers began hesitantly. "Promise me, if you take him out of here, they're not going to be pulling his body out of a dumpster tomorrow."

"C'mon, Dad," Mulder mock-whined. "I promise I'll take real good care of him, and walk him every day."

*And to think I used to like his sick sense of humor.*

"I can't take him back to my place," Mulder continued. "Too obvious. Can I use your bolt-hole up North?"

Byers nodded. "We'll have someone meet you at the mid-way point with keys."

Alex shifted in the seat, trying to find some comfort for his bruised ribs. He was really, really, sick of being left handcuffed inside locked cars. Through the window of the roadside diner, he could see Mulder at a booth, eating and talking to a scruffy, nervous-looking twenty-something. Silently, Alex willed Mulder to bring him some take-out or at least a Coke to settle his stomach. He'd known better to ask—Mulder would have only hit him again. He remembered from last time that the best course was to wait patiently until Mulder took pity on him and threw a burger his way.

Of course, promises to the Gunmen aside, Mulder might just be waiting to get to a nice, deserted area to put a bullet in his brain and leave his body to the scavengers. It wasn't like anyone was about to file a missing persons claim on him.

As he watched, Mulder went to the counter, paid for his meal, and left the cafe empty-handed. Damn. Alex hadn't eaten since last night, hadn't had money for breakfast and was sort of counting on the Gunmen to feed him lunch. They were usually good for pizza and beer. He wondered if they fed him because they suspected how bad off he really was. The sun had just set, and he knew Mulder wouldn't be stopping to eat again any time soon.

Mulder got into the car, and Alex looked away, sliding against the door and wrapping his arms defensively around his ribs. He never could guess what might set Mulder off. Mulder just ignored him this time, and started the car.

An hour and a half later, Mulder pulled off to a deserted rest stop. Alex had given up hope of food or drink, but his bladder was painfully full.

"Uh, Mulder, could you let me out of here? For a little bit? I really need to use the facilities."

Mulder just stared at him blankly. Then, without warning, he uncoiled, punching Krycek in the lower abdomen.

Alex cried out in pain at the sudden attack, nearly wetting himself from the pressure on his bladder. He sobbed, trying to catch his breath, feeling utterly humiliated, like a first-grader with an extremely sadistic teacher. Please, Mr. Mulder, sir, I really have to go.

Mulder watched Alex gasping, saw tears of rage and shame glinting at the corners of his closed eyes. Damn, but I've become a petty bastard. I can't believe I just did that. He only asked to relieve himself, for Christ sakes. He got out of the car, went to the passenger side, and yanked open the door. His prisoner, cuffed to the armrest, tumbled out onto the macadam parking lot. Alex cringed as Mulder reached over to undo the handcuffs. He cuffed Krycek's hands in front of him, and hauled him to his feet.

Alex gave him a frightened, confused look.

"Move!" He shoved Krycek toward the men's room.

Mulder stood beside him, glaring, as he fumbled with cuffed hands to undo his fly and take care of his needs. He noticed that Krycek was shaking slightly. Mulder supposed he would be, too, trapped with an enemy who pounded him at every turn. Only Krycek inspired in him such extreme violence, and Mulder hated him the more for it.

Mulder cuffed Krycek to the sink while he made use of the facility himself, then led him back out to the car, pointedly ignoring the longing look Krycek gave to the vending machines. Ask, beg, you bastard, and I might consider feeding you. Or not.

Mulder drove on in the darkness, ignoring Krycek, pushing away the temptation to just shoot the bastard and be done with it. A half hour later, he glanced over - Krycek had been too still too long. The other man flinched at the slight movement. Krycek slumped against the passenger-side door, his head low, defeated. He stared out the window without seeming to see the passing dark shapes of scenery. The road lights made his skin eerie-pale and accented the dark shadows under his eyes. He had not spoken since the last rest stop, hadn't even moved except to flinch in response to any movement from Mulder.

Mulder let the car drift onto the shoulder, as if he were sleepy, trying to spark some reaction from Krycek. The captive jerked when the right wheels dipped on the soft gravel, but remained silent. Mulder sighed and steered the car back onto the road. Damn you, Krycek, react. Quote accident statistics, get mad, do something. Do something so I can get pissed again, and not feel sorry for you.

It was nearly midnight when Mulder pulled into the driveway of the old white farmhouse in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. The farm was largely abandoned, secluded, and Mulder had to wonder what files Frohike's friend had hacked to be able to afford twenty acres of prime real estate. He turned off the car. Krycek didn't move, and his breathing was slow and even. Mulder noticed now how long Krycek's hair had grown. It hung over his closed eyes like a dark curtain. Books always talked about how peaceful people looked in sleep, but Krycek didn't look peaceful. Younger, yes, and vulnerable, but sleep could not completely erase the lines of tension in his face. Krycek, at least in custody, had always slept as little and as restlessly as Mulder himself. Stopping the car should have woken him.

Mulder felt unfamiliar, unwelcome concern creep over him. Krycek looked so pale. Could he be bleeding internally? Surely Mulder hadn't hit him that hard. Damn, there was no way he could take Krycek to a hospital, no way he could explain his injuries or even his identity. I didn't hit you that hard.

Ashamed, nervous, and perversely angry with Krycek for making him feel that way, he reached over and shook him hard. Krycek jerked awake. Fear and disorientation passed quickly over his face, to be replaced with the more familiar hard-edged coldness.

Mulder got out of the car, and jerked open Krycek's door. This time, Krycek was ready for it and caught himself before he hit the driveway. Mulder unlocked the cuff on the door, and cuffed Krycek's hands in front of him. Krycek walked quietly with him into the house. His very cooperation annoyed Mulder, as though Krycek were being somehow silently sarcastic. He swallowed his irritation with an effort. He knew he had to stop beating on the double agent before he wound up killing him. The thought only made him angrier.

There were several bedrooms in the house, where Mulder could cuff Krycek and leave him for the night in relative safety and comfort. But Krycek had betrayed him, killed his father and Scully's sister, and misled his friends (at last something new to add to the old litany). He didn't deserve to be comfortable.

Mulder had been in the house before; he knew which door led to the musty, unfinished basement which probably had once been a root cellar. He pulled open the creaking wooden door and turned on the dim, bare bulb above the crumbling steps.

"Go on." He indicated the Krycek should precede him down the steps. Krycek took a step back and shook his head slightly. "Why? What's down there?"

Mulder suppressed the urge to throw him down the steps. "Move. Now."

Krycek stiffened, and Mulder thought for a moment that he would resist. A dark part of him wanted Krycek to resist, wanted the excuse to hit him. But Krycek's shoulders dropped, and he walked hesitantly down the step. Mulder followed close behind, getting into Krycek's space, knowing how edgy it made him.

Once in the basement, Krycek turned. "Now what?" He tried to seem casual, but Mulder could see his uneasiness in the way he glanced around the dark, dimly lit room.

Mulder sauntered over to one corner, where a rusty pipe ran from floor to ceiling. "Come here."

Krycek froze. "Why?"

Mulder grabbed him roughly and dragged him over. At last, Krycek was fighting him, struggling madly. Mulder pulled his pistol and held it to his head.

Krycek stilled abruptly. "You wouldn't Mulder. You're not a murderer." He didn't sound all that positive.

"Push it, you bastard. Just push it. For you, I might be willing to make an exception."

Krycek stood passively as Mulder, with his left hand, uncuffed one wrist, passed the chain behind the pipe, and snapped the cuff once again around Krycek's wrist. Mulder turned and walked away, pretending not to hear Krycek's voice behind him.

"No way. You're not serious. You can't leave me down here." Anger turned to pleading. "C'mon, Mulder, this is a big house, surely there's somewhere else. Please, Mulder, don't do this."

Mulder paused half-way up the stairs, surprised by the note of desperation in Krycek's voice. The rat hadn't thrown this much of a fit over being chained out on Skinner's balcony. The basement was at least relatively warm and out of the elements. He looked around, trying to figure out what had Krycek so upset. He saw no snakes, no spiders, and he knew Krycek wasn't asthmatic, so the dust and mold wouldn't kill him. He continued up the stairs. When he turned out the light and closed the door, Krycek's pleas segued into what Mulder assumed were Russian curses.

Alex shifted again, trying to get comfortable. He hadn't slept much lately, the pain in his ribs conspiring with natural edginess to keep him awake. By now, he told himself, he should be exhausted enough to sleep anywhere. He only had to close his eyes and let himself relax, and Mulder would be back in the morning to knock him around and maybe feed him something. No matter how much he hated Alex, Mulder was incapable of the cruelty of the Consortium. Mulder might shoot him, or even beat him to death in a fit of rage, but he wouldn't abandon him to die slowly of thirst and hunger.

He listened hard, trying to catch some sound that indicated that Mulder was still in the house above him. Nothing but silence roared in his ears. He was, for all intent, alone. Alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the dark.

Alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the dark.

Stop it! This isn't the silo. Not the silo, he repeated to himself. Not the silo, nothing like the silo.

Except that he was alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the dark.

At first, the screaming seemed part of Mulder's own nightmares. Gradually, he woke, realized the sound was external, remembered where he was. Remembered that he had taken a man with more people gunning for him for him than a twelve-point buck in hunting season, and left him handcuffed, helpless, and undefended.

Cursing, he grabbed his gun and charged down to the basement, yanking on the light as he reached the crumbling steps. Krycek struggled madly, pulling and twisting against the cuffs, more in blind panic than a calculated effort to win free. Bright blood stained Krycek's white t-shirt and gleamed wetly against his jeans.

Mulder saw no attacker, but in his experience, that didn't always mean anything.

"Krycek!"

Krycek didn't seem to hear him, and continued his struggle without pause. Whatever started this fit, the handcuffs weren't helping. Mulder made a quick decision.

He holstered his gun, and knelt by the thrashing young man. This close, he could see that most or all of the blood came from his wrists, where the cuffs had cut deep. Sweat dripped down his face and terror shone in his eyes. Mulder used his weight to pin Krycek against the wall, holding him still long enough to unlock the cuffs.

Krycek sprang up and bolted for the stairs. Mulder thought for a moment that he had made a bad mistake, fallen for Krycek's escape plan. But when Mulder managed to block Krycek at the stairs, his prisoner didn't fight as a rational Krycek would. Instead, he sank to the floor, trembling, and sat, knees to chest, looking at Mulder with a mixture of pleading and dread. His breathes came in quick, shuddering gasps. With Mulder's background in psychology, he immediately recognized the signs of a severe panic attack, knew he would have to proceed with care or risk triggering a worse breakdown.

"Krycek," Mulder said softly.

The young man closed his eyes and shook harder.

"Alex," Mulder tried again. "Talk to me."

Krycek looked up. "Please," he whispered. "Please."

Mulder squatted down in front to him, careful not to invade his space, and used the word as a hook. "Please what? Alex, tell me how to help you." Mulder spoke in the warm, calming tone he used with traumatized abductees.

"Out," he whispered. "Let me out. I swear I'll do anything. Please."

Do anything? What is he talking about? "Okay, Alex, it's okay."

Krycek seemed to take the use of his first name as an indication that Mulder wasn't about to pound him, and so Mulder repeated it. "C'mon Alex, let's go get you cleaned up."

Alex worked his way to his feet, using the wall for leverage, but seemed hesitant to step forward.

Mulder put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. "C'mon. You'll be okay."

Alex nodded and allowed Mulder to guide him up the stairs and into the small bathroom. His breathing steadied, but still he seemed so lost, so vulnerable. Mulder felt a protective instinct wholly at odds with his usual dealings with his ex-partner.

Mulder rummaged in the medicine cabinet until he found bandages and antiseptic. He adjusted the tap until the water was warm, then turned to Alex. The young man watched him without expression. An occasional tremor ran through his body.

"Here." Mulder took his arm, just above the wrist. "This is going to hurt a bit, but we need to flush out the wounds before they become infected."

Alex nodded. He hissed as Mulder stuck his wrist under the running water, and gently cleaned the cut with liquid hand soap. When Mulder was satisfied that the wound was clean, he made Alex switch wrists and repeated the procedure. Alex let him, neither resisting nor helping. The passivity worried Mulder. He had never seen Alex this subdued. The bleeding had slowed, but the cuts were deeper than Mulder thought. How long had Krycek struggled against the cuffs before his screams woke Mulder? If he hadn't been so childish, had confined Krycek upstairs, the rattling of cuffs would have woken him before the screams started.

Mulder picked up the antiseptic. "This is going to sting like a bitch."

Alex nodded. Mulder held Krycek's wrists over the sink, and liberally poured antiseptic into the wounds. Alex jerked and yelped.

"Easy," Mulder told him. "Easy. We're through the worst of it. We just need to bandage you up now, and we're done."

Krycek trembled harder, but he extended his wrists to Mulder.

"You could probably use stitches, but we can't risk taking you to a hospital."

A brief smile flitted across Krycek's face, the first reaction Mulder had from him since they came upstairs. "Yeah, Mulder, I do know something about being on the run."

Mulder bandaged his wrists carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" He still wasn't sure of what happened in the basement, and with blood all over Krycek's shirt, he couldn't tell if there were other injuries.

Alex shrugged, as if the question didn't matter. Krycek had always been argumentative, defiant, and Mulder had fantasized about seeing him broken. Now that he got his wish, he didn't like it nearly as much as he thought he would.

He eased off Krycek's leather jacket, ignoring the flash of fear in the green eyes. When Mulder started to tug up the stained T-shirt, Alex stiffened and jerked back.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just want a look." He pulled the shirt up, and Alex raised his arms, so Mulder could remove the garment. "Oh, shit," Mulder gasped.

Black, purple and blue bruises mottled Krycek's torso. He looked like someone had worked him over with a baseball bat. Breathing must hurt. Moving would be agony. Mulder felt sick. He didn't think he had hit Alex that often, that hard.

Krycek must have read his expression, because he gave a cynical smile. "Don't give yourself too much credit, not all of this is your work. I had to jump from a moving car last week. They don't make trunk latches like they used to."

Krycek's word's brought small relief. A good number of those bruises were fresh, and in Krycek's condition even a touch would be painful. No wonder Krycek had been so uncharacteristically meek on the trip here. He probably would have done just about anything to avoid getting hit right now, but Mulder had just kept pounding him anyway. At that moment, Mulder felt about as low as someone who kicked lost puppies.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said. "I didn't mean to. . .If I'd known you were hurt. . ." What? He wouldn't have hit him? Wouldn't have hit him so hard?

Krycek let him off the hook. "Yeah. Sure."

Mulder stepped forward, to comfort or confront he himself wasn't sure. Krycek flinched. Damn

"Listen, let me get you a change of clothes. Okay, Alex?"

Krycek looked confused; clearly he had expected Mulder to hit him again. Mulder started for the bedroom, and hesitated, pondering the wisdom of leaving Krycek alone and unrestrained, even for a minute. He shook his head. His ex-parntner was a wreck, clearly no threat, and the bedroom was just across the hall. He ducked out, and rummaged through the overnight bag. He always kept one packed in the trunk of his car, and this wasn't the first time he'd needed it.

He came up with a T-shirt and sweats that he thought would fit Krycek, and returned to the bathroom. Krycek sat on the edge of the tub. He stood as Mulder approached. Mulder tore his gaze from the frightened, hopeless eyes, and noticed a deep, grooved scar on Krycek's arm. He reached out, almost touching it, before pulling back.

"Tunguska," Krycek answered the unspoken question.

Mulder shuddered, remembering grim, one-armed men. "The peasants?"

Krycek nodded. "I was looking for you, believe it or not. I wanted to be sure you got out. Damn it, Mulder, I was doing my best to get us out of that gulag. If you had just trusted me for once. . ."

Mulder snorted. Alex paled and stepped back. Mulder remembered that his usual reaction to any of Krycek's statements that he didn't quite believe was to bash the younger man into silence. Quite frankly, he was sick of that game, and Krycek was in no shape to handle it right now.

He gave the clothes to Krycek. "Okay, Alex, let's call a truce for tonight."

"Truce?"

Mulder smiled. "Yeah. You don't run away, and I don't hit you. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Mulder waited while Alex dressed.

"So was that what triggered it?"

Alex looked up from tying his laces, and cocked his head at the non sequitur.

"Your panic attack in the basement. Did you flashback to Tunguska?"

Terror shadowed Alex's eyes. "Not Tunguska, The silo."

"What silo?"

Alex ran a hand through his hair. "How much have you figured out about what happened in the Hong Kong Airport, and after?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. We got off the plane, and into the rental car. We were run off the road, then the alien showed up from somewhere and killed the bad guys. When I came to, you were gone." Mulder felt only slightly guilty. He didn't know the alien had taken over Krycek, although he was pretty sure based on the evidence. He couldn't miss this chance to get the details.

"The alien was with us all along, Mulder. I thought you would have figured that out by now."

Mulder heard the stark horror in Alex' voice. He thought about going to him, putting an arm around his shoulder for comfort, but with Alex' shaky nerves and their past history, it might not be a good idea. Before, Krycek's alien possession had been a curiosity, an interesting tidbit for an X-file. Never before had he contemplated how horrible it must have been for his ex-partner.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, putting as much warmth and concern into his voice as he could manage.

"In Hong Kong, when you sent me to the men's room to clean up. A woman came in."

"A woman?"

"Yeah. I was too startled to react. She picked me up by the back of my neck, slammed me against the wall, and that was the last thing I remember clearly for a long time. The rest was just bits and pieces, watched from a distance."

"The oil alien?"

Krycek shuddered hard. "Yeah. It scared me more than anything in my life. I was trapped, in my body, yet not in control. I kept on waiting for you notice something different, thinking surely you'd do something to help me, you wouldn't let anyone go through this, not even me. But then it separated us. I watched as it gave the tape—my insurance—to Cancer Man. It took my body to the silo where its craft was stored, and ripped itself out of me. I thought it was going to take my guts with it." Krycek took a deep breath. "I was locked in the silo. The cigarette smoking bastard knew it. I saw him smile through the window, and turn his back.

"I screamed, I cried, I pounded on the door 'till my hands were bloody. I was alone, in absolute darkness, with no food, no water, and no hope of rescue. The alien was locked in with me, and I knew there was no way of stopping it from taking over again if it wanted to.

"I fantasized, sometimes, in those horrible days, that you knew where I was, that you'd come for me, that somehow you'd take pity and save me. Then I started thinking that you knew where I was, and wouldn't come for me."

"I suspected you were at the site. I didn't know they'd left you locked in the silo," Mulder interrupted. "I wouldn't have left you there."

Alex gave him a shaky smile. Mulder felt both sad and touched that Alex found reassurance in such a small thing. No matter what Krycek had done, no one deserved what he'd been through.

Alex took a shuddering breath. "Handcuffs, I can handle if I have to. Darkness is usually okay, unless I'm alone in an enclosed space. But being locked up, in the darkness, alone. . ." Alex closed his eyes. The trembling had returned.

"Why didn't you say something?" Mulder asked, horrified at what he'd unwittingly done.

"I tried. You wouldn't listen."

Mulder closed his eyes, remembering Krycek's desperate pleas. "You could have told me why."

Krycek laughed sharply. "And give you one more tool to use against me?"

Anger flashed through Mulder. Yes, he'd knocked Krycek around some. Yes, he'd been petty in locking him in the root cellar, instead of finding someplace less stifling. But he wasn't capable of deliberate psychological torture.

Mulder noticed Alex sidling away, and realized his anger must show. I guess I'm not giving him much reason to believe better of me. He forced a smile, trying to make the younger man relax. "C'mon, Alex, we can't stay here all night."

At Mulder's gesture, Alex reluctantly rose and headed for the hallway. Mulder followed, careful to give him some space. Halfway down the hall, Alex froze, and his breath became quick and shallow. Puzzled, Mulder edged around him. Alex stared glassy-eyed at the open doorway that led down to the basement.

Mulder closed the door firmly. "Let's go sit in the kitchen."

Alex nodded, relief evident in his face. Mulder could tell the younger man still balanced on the edge of a breakdown, and dug through dim memories of his psychology classes. What Alex needed was a semblance of normalcy. He regarded the young man slumped at the table, and remembered that Krycek hadn't eaten in at least ten hours. Or more, he thought, remembering seeing ribs under the bruises.

Mulder opened cabinet doors until he found one with a small supply of canned goods two cans of sauerkraut, one of 'fancy mixed fruit' and - aha!--one lone can of Country Style Chicken Noodle. Comfort food.

"Want some soup?"

"Please." Alex brightened at the offer.

Mulder pulled a bowl from the cabinet over the sink, and rummaged through drawers until he found the can opener. He dumped the soup into the bowl, and shoved it in the microwave. While the soup was heating, he filled a glass with tap water and set it in front of Alex. The younger man hesitated, watching him carefully, then picked up the glass and drained it without pause.

Careful, you'll make yourself sick, Mulder wanted to say, except that it seemed a bit hypocritical, since he'd caused Krycek's desperate thirst. Denying him food had been deliberate, but Mulder had actually forgotten his prisoner would be thirsty as well. Damn, if I can't keep goldfish alive, how am I supposed to look after Krycek?

The microwave dinged. Mulder put the bowl in front of Alex and found him a spoon.

Alex looked up. "What? No crackers?"

Mulder smiled; Alex' spirit must be improving. He watched him wolf down the soup so fast he must have burnt his mouth.

Krycek finished the soup and looked up at Mulder almost shyly. "Thanks."

It was more than an off-hand courtesy; Krycek spoke with the gratitude of a kid who'd expected coal in his stoking and instead had gotten a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger. The sincerity in his voice made Mulder feel worse. Thanks for finally letting him eat? For giving him a few moments not chained like a dog? For not hitting him in the past few hours? What a life he must have led, that he felt he needed to express such deep gratitude for occasional humane treatment.

Krycek watched him warily, probably wondering what he would do next. Mulder could see lines of tension in his posture, even from across the room. Alex would need more time before he could handle any kind of restraint. He refilled Krycek's glass, and watched him drink it, a little more slowly this time.

"I don't think either of us are going to get any sleep for a while. Why don't we go into the living room and see what's on TV? Knowing the Gunmen, any friend of theirs has got to have the best illegal cable available."

A ghost of a smile flickered on Alex' face, and was gone. Mulder had expected a crack about a federal agent condoning the violation of FCC regulations, but the smile was a start. Mulder refilled Krycek's glass once more, got him settled on the rustic couch in front of the wide-screen TV, and handed him the remote.

"Your choice. I'll be back in a minute. I saw some microwave popcorn in the kitchen."

When the popcorn finished popping, Mulder dumped it in a wooden salad bowl and returned to the living room. Alex retreated to the other side of the couch. Mulder sat toward the middle, and placed the bowl on the low table in front of them.

The TV was off, and the remote lay on the table. Was Krycek too shell-shocked to channel surf, or did he think Mulder would hit him for a poor program choice? Come to think of it Mulder had hit him with less excuse in the past. He sighed, picked up the remote, and started flipping through the channels. *Men in Black* played on HBO. Mulder stole a glance at Alex, to see if he appreciated the irony, but his ex-partner stared blankly at the screen. Mulder settled back to watch the movie.

Fifteen minutes into it, he noticed Alex eyeing the popcorn hungrily. Mulder thought that placing the bowl an equal distance between them should have told Krycek that he intended to share. In fact, he'd made the popcorn mostly for Krycek, to tide him over ‘till they could go for supplies and get some real food into him. He casually nudged the bowl over until it sat directly in front of Krycek. Krycek looked over, startled. Mulder pretended to be focused on the movie, but he allowed a smile to escape as Alex dug into the popcorn.

Halfway through the movie, and Krycek no longer tensed when Mulder moved, and actually smiled at J's wisecracks. By the end, he'd actually laughed out loud once or twice.

As the closing credits rolled, Mulder retrieved the cuffs from the bathroom sink. He turned them over in his hands. They were sticky with blood. He went back into the living room, and turned off the TV.

"Alex," he said gently.

Krycek looked up, saw the cuffs, and stiffened.

"You can sleep out here. I'll push the couch over to the radiator, and cuff on wrist to it. You can see the bedroom, so you'll know I haven't left. And there's a window, so you can't forget where you are. I'll even leave the light on."

Alex nodded, but when Mulder reached out to cuff one wrist, he started to shake. Mulder realized two things. First, the only thing that kept Krycek from bolting was the fear that, if he pissed off Mulder, he would end up back in the basement. Second, within minutes of being cuffed, Alex would be as panicked as before, handcuffs cutting into already damaged wrists. Alex may not have had a phobia about handcuffs before, but, with Mulder's help, his subconscious now firmly linked them with being trapped alone in a dark place.

Mulder dropped the cuffs onto the table. "Okay, obviously this isn't going to work. We'll have to try something else."

Mulder's rational mind told him it wouldn't be safe to sleep with the turncoat assassin loose. On the other hand, he didn't want to be responsible for Krycek's total mental breakdown.

"C'mon, Alex. Let's go to bed."

Krycek followed him into the bedroom, and stood uneasily by the bed.

"Go on, Alex," Mulder prompted. "You get the side against the wall."

"I meant what I said before. Anything you want, Mulder."

Mulder heard chilling resignation in the dead calm voice, almost worse than the hint of fear and the unspoken plea in his eyes please, don't make it too terrible. With sudden insight, Mulder knew Alex had been forced to make this offer before, with very unpleasant results. Once, we would have taunted Krycek with the knowledge, but now he'd lost all desire to hurt his ex-partner.

"Non-consensual sex isn't one of my kinks. The only thing I want is for you to stay on your own side and not snore."

Mulder woke a few hours later to the sound of Alex sobbing in his sleep. The younger man sounded like his heart was breaking. Mulder reached out to rub his shoulder, trying to soothe him back into more restful sleep without waking him and embarrassing them both. Alex rolled toward him, snuggled against him, still weeping, unconsciously seeking warmth and comfort. Damn. Mulder put his arms around him, stroked his back, made soft shushing sounds. Alex burrowed harder against him, but the sobbing eased somewhat. Mulder nuzzled his hair and continued murmuring nonsense. Impulsively, he kissed his forehead. Alex lifted his head, and Mulder looked into wide-open green eyes. How long has he been awake? Just as Mulder began thinking the kiss was a mistake he would regret, Alex latched onto his mouth with a desperate kiss. Mulder responded without thinking, Alex' passion igniting his own, until Alex' earlier words rang in his memory . . anything you want. . . . Did Alex think he had to do this, to pay for a little human comfort?

It took all his willpower to put his hands on Alex' shoulders and push him away gently. "You don't have to do this."

But Alex pressed forward insistently, raining kisses along Mulder's neck and shoulder . "Please. . .please."

Mulder could not push him away again, could not reject him in the face of his pleading and Mulder's own desire. Even thin and bruised, Alex was beautiful, and so very talented with his mouth. Mulder's conscience still nagged. Even if Alex were apparently willing, he was in an extremely vulnerable state of mind, not able to make rational choices. Mulder worried that he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. Then Alex started humping against him, rubbing his erection against Mulder's own, and all reservations burned to ash in the face of his body's urgency.

It had been too long since he had been with anyone, and he hadn't been with another man since his first year in Quantico. He managed enough rational thought to remember Alex's bruises. Mulder rolled onto his back, shifting Alex on top of him, letting Alex set the pace and the level of contact to what his battered body could handle. Alex licked at his ears, sucked his neck, bit lightly at his shoulder, smoothly and deftly removed both their clothes without breaking the rhythm.

"Yes," Mulder whispered. "Yes, so good, yes."

Shivers ran up and down his spine. Alex whimpered against his neck. Mulder found the sound intensely erotic.

"Yes, yes."

Then Alex gasped and shuddered, and Mulder felt the hot spurt of his orgasm splash his belly. Alex kept moving until, moments later, Mulder followed him over the edge.

Alex slid off him, and Mulder pulled him close, encouraging him to snuggle close against his side. He tugged a wad of tissues from a box on the nightstand, and cleaned them both up. Alex, already half asleep, acknowledged his attention with little contented noises. Mulder smiled and kissed his cheek, and soon drifted off to sleep.

Mulder opened his eyes to bright sunlight and a warm body snuggled against him. What -- where? Then the warm body moved, and he got a good look at the face. Krycek. His ex-partner cuddled against him, sound asleep and trusting, short-circuiting Mulder's normal hate/anger reaction. He remembered last night's events, and in that moment Alex blinked up at him sleepily. It took maybe a minute for Alex's thought processes to catch up, and then he pulled back, fear in his eyes.

To his own surprise, Mulder found himself drawing Alex back to him. "Ssh, you're all right. We have a truce, remember?"

The green eyes remained wary. "You said for the night. It's morning."

Survivalist's logic. "Tell you what," Mulder said. "Let's extend the truce."

"How long?" Alex remained suspicious, calculating.

Mulder paused, unwilling to make a commitment, but knowing Alex would not trust a vague promise. "Indefinite. I'll give you warning before I end it, you do the same. Fair?"

Alex nodded and settled back down, resting his head on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder realized that the younger man still suffered some effects from his trauma; the Alex Krycek he knew was not cuddly. What the hell. He stroked Alex gently along the back and shoulders, while he contemplated last night's revelations.

"Alex?"

"Mmh?" came the sleepy response.

"How did you get out of the silo?"

Alex tensed slightly in his arms. "I don't remember," he whispered. "I hate not remembering. I think it was the militia. The next thing I remember, after curling up in a corner of the silo and waiting to die, was being in the militia camp. Someone gave me water, told me I would make it."

"So that's how you ended up with them."

Alex nodded against his shoulder. "You find yourself in the middle of the desert surrounded by a bunch of crazed anti-government racists, you don't exactly start mentioning your general opposition to their views." His voice was sleepy, a pillow talk sort of voice used between old lovers. "And when I got strong enough, they watched me too closely for me to make a break. I had to earn their trust. When I found out what they were planning, I knew I had to stop it. I know what you think about me, Mulder, but I couldn't let another Oklahoma City, another four or five Oklahoma Cities go down."

"And so you started mailing me those receipts."

Alex nodded "You're the best the FBI has. I didn't dare do more, but I knew you'd figure it out."

The absolute confidence in his voice reminded Mulder of the puppy-dog hero-worshipper Alex once pretended to be.

"I thought. . ." Alex faltered. "I thought I could give you what I knew as a good faith gesture, and maybe you'd forgive me, just a little, enough to help me out of the mess I was in. I wanted to come over to your side, but you never gave me the chance. You and Skinner just kept on hitting me, and Scully looked at me like I was a not-very-interesting variety of cockroach."

Mulder felt a twinge of conscience. His behavior, and Skinner's had been unprofessional, to say the least, especially toward a cooperating witness. They'd let personal grudges interfere.

"I hadn't intended for you to go to Tunguska yourself," Alex continued. "I should have known better. But then, I've never been half the profiler you were. When I thought you were going to leave me locked alone in that car for god knows how long. . .."

"Oh shit, Alex, I thought you knew I was bluffing. I was going to call for Scully to come get you before I boarded. I think airport security would have noticed if I left you there too long."

"Yeah, well, you know how rational I am when someone locks me in an enclosed space and leaves. And when we got off the plane, all through the frozen hell, I stayed by you, translated for you, helped you every way I could. I could have escaped a dozen times, gotten you killed a dozen more."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was still trying to convince you of my intentions, still wanted to join up with you against the bastards who had ruined my life. I thought I was making some progress, right before we were captured, when you started answering my questions instead of hitting me for asking. Besides, I couldn't leave you stranded in a country where you didn't speak the language. You'd have been helpless."

"And why should you care?"

Alex ducked his head lower on Mulder's shoulder, and blushed. Mulder hadn't thought him capable of blushing, but then he hadn't ever imagined him crying in his sleep., either. It hadn't been a fair question, but then this whole conversation wasn't fair. He was using Alex' desperate need for affection to pump him for information. The guilt pangs didn't stop his next question.

"So, you said before you were trying to get us both out of the gulag. How? And how did you know the camp commander?"

Alex answered Mulder's questions, sleepily, but thoroughly. He knew what Mulder was doing, but it didn't matter. If false affection was all he could get, he'd take it. It was easy enough to snuggle into the warm embrace and pretend, just for a little while, that someone loved him. He would have given Mulder the same information earlier, anyway, if he and Skinner would have stopped beating up on him long enough.

He couldn't say which of them fell back asleep first, or how much time passed before Mulder nudged him gently awake.

"Hey, Alex, wake up."

He really didn't want to; he was comfortable lying half on top of Mulder, and feeling more content than he had since. . . since the smoking bastard came into his life, but he'd been a different person then. Someone with hopes for the future beyond mere survival. He closed his eyes again. To his surprise, Mulder didn't pummel him awake, or even nudge him harder, only slid out from under him. He heard Mulder's footsteps down the hall, heard the bathroom door close. When he heard Mulder move on to the kitchen, he realized that, like it or not, the day had started, and he had best get up and face it. He took his own turn at the bathroom, figuring it was safer to worry about the consequences later, on an empty bladder, then to ask Mulder's permission first. Then he hesitantly padded down to the kitchen, wondering which version of Mulder he'd find.

Mulder turned from the open cabinets, holding up a box of blueberry pop-tarts, proud as a prehistoric hunter with a brace of fresh-killed rabbits. "Breakfast?"

Still the friendly, safer, Twilight Zone Mulder. `"What's the expiration date?"

Mulder checked. "Good through next October. These things have a shelf life that's truly frightening."

Alex grinned. "Maybe you should open an X-file."

The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. Mulder was being nice to him for some unfathomable reason; Alex didn't want to screw that up with some off-hand comment. He never knew what would set Mulder off. This time, Mulder just smiled, and dropped two pop-tarts into the toaster. When the pastries popped up, Mulder put both of them on a plate and set them down in front of Alex.

He looked up. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Toaster pastries are my specialty."

When the second set of pastries came up, Mulder took one and put the other on the plate Alex just emptied.

Damn. Guess he's figured out I haven't been eating too well lately, not that I didn't prove what a mess I am in general, last night.

Memories of last night, of Mulder comforting him, rose unbidden, bringing a pleasant warmth. He had expected Mulder would use his weaknesses against him, but instead, instead. . .

"Hey, Alex, you still with me?"

"Huh?"

"You looked a little lost there, for a minute," Mulder said.

Oh, shit. He probably expects me to freak out on him at any moment.. Still, he loved hearing the gentle concern in Mulder's voice. No one had spoken to him like that in a long. long, time. He should be trying to find some way to use this compassion in his favor, but it felt too good just basking it. No telling how long it would last.

"We need to go into town, such as it is, for supplies," Mulder said.

Something in his tone set off warning bells. "And?"

"Will you be better off cuffed to something here, or in the car?"

After the semi-relaxed morning, the question came like a blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Don't make this difficult, Alex. You know I can't leave you here alone and loose, and I can't trust you loose in public."

"Mulder, I've been uncuffed all morning."

"I've been watching you all morning."

Mulder's dry, biting tone returned. Alex wondered how long it would take before Mulder started hitting him again.

"I was uncuffed last night, while you slept," Alex persisted.

"I'm a light sleeper. I would have felt if you tried to leave. And you were in no shape to fight me."

He still wasn't but he wouldn't tell Mulder that.

"Look," Mulder said more softly. "If you can't manage it, it's okay. I'll call the store and have them deliver."

"In a small town like this? You think they'll deliver? All the way out here?"

Mulder frowned. "I'll bribe them. We'll work it out."

"Too dangerous. It'll attract attention."

"What do you want me to do?" Mulder exploded. "I'm not going to leave you here loose and unattended. I'm not going to let you have a panic attack in the car, and I'm certainly not going to leave you here to cut your wrists to pieces when you forget I'm coming back."

Alex stood and edged back as Mulder's voice got progressively louder. Then his words registered, and Alex realized that at least some of Mulder's worry was for him.

"We have a little food," Alex said. "Enough to get by."

Mulder snorted. "Two more pop-tarts, a can of mixed fruit, and some microwave popcorn. I'm not even going to consider the sauerkraut."

"I've seen you live for days on sunflower seeds and ice tea."

"Yes, but, thin as you are..." Mulder stopped abruptly.

So Mulder worried about him, about his weight, and didn't want to admit it. Was he afraid of embarrassing Alex, or embarrassing himself? Regardless, Alex was touched by the concern, though he'd rather have a little trust.

"I'll call for supplies, Alex. It'll be all right."

Mulder would risk calling attention to themselves to accommodate Alex' unreasonable fears. The Mulder he thought he knew before last night would have locked him in the basement without a thought for his mental state. Alex always had a soft spot for Mulder, despite the agents obvious hatred. But with Mulder being nice to him, Alex's emotions surged dangerously toward love.

He could not afford to love, could not afford the trust that accompanied it. Mulder would turn on him, sooner or later. If Alex allowed himself to feel, the blows would shatter his heart as well as bruising his body. Maybe he deserved everything Mulder did to him, but that didn't make it hurt less.

Mulder picked up the phone and started to dial. Alex's attention snapped back to the moment.

"Mulder, no. Let's take the car."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm not going to let you loose..."

"Fine," Alex cut him off. "Use the damn cuffs then."

Mulder put down the phone. "Are you sure?"

Alex nodded. "I was just a little shaky last night, after the. . ."

"Flashback," Mulder supplied quietly.

"Yeah, whatever." Alex avoided that term in his mind; it sounded so serious, so frightening. "It's not like we haven't done this before. It'll be daylight, and I know you'll be coming back. No way you're walking all the way back from town."

Mulder insisted on wrapping another layer of gauze around Alex's right wrist, to pad it, before cuffing him to the door of the car. It was nearly noon when they entered the town limits. There was a Dairy Queen just off the highway, and without a word Mulder swung the car into the drive-though. He ordered a plain vanilla cone for himself and a large chocolate milkshake for Alex. Alex accepted it, slightly bemused. Chocolate milkshakes were his favorite, but he was surprised Mulder would have noticed, or remembered, such a detail from their brief partnership. He hadn't thought Mulder noticed anything about him back then beyond the annoyance of his presence.

Mulder parked the car at the far end of the Shop n' Go parking lot. He opened the door, then paused, looking back at Alex, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Mulder." I'm not that fragile, honest. Still, he couldn't be too annoyed. Concern from Mulder was too precious a thing to resent, even if it were misplaced.

"I'll leave the radio on," Mulder said. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Alex watched his retreating back with only a twinge of uneasiness, more a fear of the fear returning than the fear itself. The radio and the milkshake comforted him, not for what they were but what they represented Mulder cared for him, at least enough to try to soothe him, therefore Mulder would not abandon him here.

Fifteen minutes passed on the dashboard clock. Twenty. Half an hour. Alex's stomach churned. Mulder would not leave him intentionally, but what if Mulder were captured or killed by Consortium agents? They'd come for Alex next, and find him trapped and helpless.

He'd almost lost the battle of wills with himself, to keep himself from thrashing uselessly against the cuffs, when he saw Mulder returning, laden with bags.

"What did you do, Mulder? Buy enough to feed the alien invasion?"

Mulder tossed him two of the bags. "I didn't give you time to pack, so I thought this was only fair."

Alex peeked in the bags. One contained several white T-shirts, underwear, a towel, and a toothbrush, the other two pairs of black jeans and one blue, and three button-down denim shirts. Mulder had bought him far more than he had to; he probably noticed the threadbare state of the clothes Alex had been wearing. Both shame and gratitude burned in him. It had been a small gesture, but Alex simply wasn't used to anyone being nice to him.

They returned to the house, and worked together in companionable silence, unpacking and putting away groceries. It felt comfortable, domestic, reminding Alex of one of his favorite fantasies, the one where he had gone to Mulder and confessed while they were still partners, and Mulder had forgiven him, and together they took down the Consortium, and somewhere along the way they fell in love. . .

"I'm going to call the guys, see what they got off that disk," Mulder said.

"I, uh, I'd like to take a shower, and change." Alex wasn't sure if he should be informing, asking, or suggesting, was half-afraid that even a reasonable suggestion might set Mulder off.

Mulder merely waived him toward the bathroom as he picked up the phone and started to dial. He borrowed Mulder's soap and shampoo, and took a long, hot shower. The dive Alex had been staying in had only lukewarm, rusty water, so he determined to enjoy this rare luxury. At last he turned off the water, toweled off, and dressed in his new clothes.

Mulder was still on the phone when Alex came out. "No, Byers, I swear to you he's still alive. I've been taking care of him." Pause. "No, I haven't been beating on him." Pause. "You don't believe me?" Mulder's voice sounded hurt and a little angry. "Should I put him on?"

Apparently, Byers decided to accept Mulder's word, because Mulder said good-bye in a calmer tone, and hung up. "They haven't been able to read the disk, yet," Mulder said. "I'll have to call again tomorrow."

"Won't Skinner expect you back soon?" *How long do we have, and what happens after?*

"Nope. Took a week's vacation. Had it coming."

They watched bad B-movies and worse series on the Sci-fi channel until Alex got a headache from the flickering screen. Mulder found a Scrabble board, and they played for hours, laying side-by-side like kids, passing the dictionary back and forth. Mulder won four games, Alex three, when the declared a Scrabble truce and went to bed.

Between the sheets with Mulder, Alex felt suddenly shy and diffident. He wasn't sure what, if anything, Mulder expected. Last night seemed like a dream, as if it couldn't possibly be real. Mulder rolled toward him, looking at him, but Alex couldn't read his eyes. He decided that being in bed with Mulder was too rare an opportunity to let slip by, even if he had to risk rejection, or even another beating.

"Do you want to fool around?" He would have chosen other words, but he couldn't let Mulder know how much this meant to him.

Mulder smiled gently. "Yeah." He gently caressed Alex's face with the back of his fingers. "But only if you want to."

Alex couldn't stop the huge grin from splitting his face. "Oh, I want to."

Mulder sobered. "I want something clear between us. Whatever happened out there," he gestured vaguely, indicating the world at large, "has nothing to do with what we do here." He patted the bed. "It can't be about revenge, or hatred, or head games. I won't ever hurt you here, or force you, or coerce you. I only want what you give freely."

By his tone, Mulder could have been negotiating a peace treaty between warring countries, but Alex had never heard anything so touching, or erotic. A lump formed in his throat. How much has he guessed, how can he touch me if he knows. . . But that past had no place here between them, either.

Mulder drew Alex into his arms and kissed him tenderly. Alex responded with gentle passion. He licked the edge of Mulder's ear and sucked the lobe, turned on beyond imagination by Mulder's groan. He licked and sucked Mulder's neck, rubbing himself against his thigh, then slid lower, worshiping his body with lips and tongue and hands. He reached Mulder' erection and kissed the tip reverently, smiling at Mulder's gasp. He bathed the length with tiny little licks, feeling Mulder tremble beneath him. Alex settled between Mulder's legs, stroking the slight hollows of his hips as he nuzzled and licked his balls.

"Oh, yes. Please, Alex, more."

The breathy sound of his name on Mulder's lips made his cock jump. He arched up and deep-throated Mulder in one smooth motion. Alex worked him with the skill of a professional and the passion of a true love. Mulder shook and writhed helplessly.

"Alex," he gasped. "Oh, god, Alex , I'm coming."

Alex fought down the gag reflex as he swallowed the bitter-salt viscous fluid. Though he enjoyed blowing Mulder, this one part he never could stand. He tried to suppress the retching after, but he feared that Mulder heard. Most of his 'partners' ignored or revelled in his discomfort with this part of things, but he suspected that it would upset Mulder.

His instincts proved correct. As Alex moved back up to face him, Mulder frowned. Alex refused to meet his eyes.

"Sorry, Mulder. I, uh, have a little problem with the taste."

"Why didn't you pull back? I warned you so you could stop if you wanted."

"I thought you expected . . ."

"Didn't I say I didn't want anything you didn't give freely?"

Alex dropped his head. He'd manage to screw up even this. "Sorry."

Mulder caressed his cheek, then slid his hand under his chin to tilt his face up. "Damn, Alex, you don't need to apologize for some of the best sex in my life. Just, next time, stop if you want to."

He gave a mischievous grin as he started to slide down Alex' body. "I, on the other hand, like the taste."

Mulder woke the next morning, Alex still snuggled against his side. He looked sweet, peaceful, almost childlike, his long lashes casting shadows under his eyes. The dark circles were gone, and Mulder hoped it wasn't his imagination that Alex looked more rested, and less gaunt, then he had been two days before. He watched the younger man breathe, slowly and evenly, until the brilliant emerald eyes opened and fixed on him. Alex gave him a beatific smile.

"Good morning." Mulder barely stopped himself from adding an endearment to the greeting.

Whatever happened between them last night, it wasn't 'just sex', but Mulder didn't feel ready to explore just what it *was.*

"Morning," Alex whispered, and reached out to stroke Mulder's face with the tips of his fingers.

Mulder pulled back slightly, distancing himself. "You can have the first shower, okay? I need to call the guys."

"Thanks." Alex slid out of bed and left the room without a backward glance.

Mulder had feared a confrontation, or at least hurt puppy-dog eyes, but this calm indifference bothered him more. Obviously, Alex had learned not to expect any relationship to last past break of day, and Mulder just fed that expectation.

When Alex got out of the shower, Mulder was just hanging up the phone. He turned to Alex. Alex had never seen that look in his eyes before, and could not identify it.

"What's up?" he asked cautiously.

"Langley finished deciphering the files you gave them."

"And?"

Samantha's dead. Has been for a while. They killed her when they no longer needed her to control my father."

Alex felt as though he'd been sucker punched. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Oh, god, Mulder, I didn't know. I swear I didn't."

Without warning, Mulder slammed him into the kitchen wall. He gasped as his body remembered its bruises. Pain and surprise took his breath away. Mulder pressed his arm against his throat, choking him.

"Like hell you didn't," Mulder hissed. "Wasn't that the plan all along? Mulder's getting a little too functional, let's do something else to throw him for a loop."

"I didn't know," Krycek protested. "I was trying to help." *I knew we would be back to this. I shouldn't feel so betrayed.*

"You know you killed her," Mulder gritted out.

Alex squirmed, wondering if Mulder had finally, completely cracked.

"You're crazy. I never even met your sister."

"After you killed my father, they no longer needed her."

"You think I'm not the only thug the Consortium had? If it hadn't been me, it would have been Cardinale, or someone else."

The rage in Mulder's eyes burned brighter, and this time no Scully would stop Mulder for his own good, no Byers would lecture him on honor and ethics. He struggled, trying to break loose. Mulder punched him hard in the solar plexus, and the pain doubled him over.

"I guess this is my warning that the truce is over, huh?," Alex gasped out. "So much for not hitting me when I'm already hurt."

To his surprise, the comment stopped Mulder's assault. Alex stayed down, feeling he'd be safer if he appeared non-aggressive. That, and he thought he might throw up if he stood too soon.

"Someday, Mulder, you're going to go too far. You're going to kill me, and you're going to discover that I'm not the root of all evil, that evil does just fine without me. And you won't have anyone to take it out on."

Mulder turned, went down the hall to the bathroom, and shut the door. Alex could hear the shower running. He got to his feet stiffly. No major damage done. I should be used to it by now. It shouldn't matter more because we made l-- had sex last night. It meant nothing. If only he could convince his heart of that.

Every instinct learned in years of undergound existence told him to run. He could slip out the door and hot-wire Mulder's car before the agent was out of the shower. Still, he sat in the kitchen and waited for Mulder. This was the first time in years Mulder had shown him any sign of trust. Okay, more likely he'd just been too upset to remember to lock him up, but still.. . .Alex desperately wanted to prove to Mulder that he could be trusted. More important, he cared about Mulder, had since back when they were partners. Or before the hero-worship thing hadn't all been an act. Alex knew he screwed it up badly, had panicked and made bad bargains, had bartered his soul for the illusion of safety. This time, he vowed, he'd do it right. He knew how very important the search for Samantha had been to Mulder, and he wanted to offer what support he could.

Mulder came out of the bathroom dressed in fresh jeans and T-shirt. His face seemed normal except his eyes. Alex had heard of dead eyes before, had thought it was just an expression, until now.

"How are you feeling?" Alex asked awkwardly.

"Maybe I should ask you that." Mulder sat across from him at the table. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"No, you shouldn't have." Alex agreed. "But you had quite a shock."

Mulder shrugged. He pulled out his key ring, separated out his car keys, and pushed them toward Alex. He took out his wallet, emptied it of cash, and laid the bills on the table. His platinum Visa and ATM card followed. As Alex watched in confused silence, Mulder jotted a four-digit PIN on the back of a business card. He added it to the pile and slid everything over to Alex. Finally, he laid the gun he had taken from Alex between them on the table.

If Mulder had just offered him some cash, or even cash and the car keys, Alex might not have caught on, but this was too complete, too final. "No."

"Scully's coming. You have to get out."

Alex shook his head.

"Why not?"

Alex avoided his eyes. "I don't think you should be alone."

"Why should you care?"

Alex sighed. "I don't know how to put this into words."

"Try."

Alex shook his head. "You don't know, Mulder. You have no idea. . . Remember, when we were first partners. I wasn't lying when I told you how much I admired your work. God, Mulder, I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be you."

"Is that why you betrayed me?" Mulder spoke in hard, brittle tones, but he didn't seem about to explode into violence.

Alex felt a glimmer of hope; maybe this time Mulder would hear him out. "I never set out to betray you, Mulder. Cancer Man set me up. He claimed you were a traitor, a threat to national security."

Mulder snorted. "And you believed him?"

"No, never. But he told me that by working for them, by getting information on you, I could prove your innocence, if you were innocent. All suspicions would be cleared, and we'd all live happily ever after." He ran a hand through his hair. "God help me, I was naive enough to believe that. I can't even imagine being that young and stupid. It was like I was a different person, and that Alex died on Skyland Mountain."

Mulder smiled gently. "I wish I had taken the time to get to know that Alex. I think I might have liked him."

The words were meant to be kind, but they cut Alex to the core. If only, if only. . .

"Of course, I found out too late they didn't care about the truth, and by then I was the traitor. I thought about going to you, confessing, begging your help. But you didn't like me, didn't trust me."

"I didn't realize. . ." Mulder began

"Yes you did. You took every opportunity to discourage me, to humiliate me. I think if it wouldn't have interfered with your moral high ground, you would have tied me in a sack and drowned me in the river like a puppy."

"So what you're saying is you wouldn't have betrayed me if you liked me more?" Mulder spoke harshly; Alex knew he attacked whenever he felt defensive.

"It wasn't that I didn't like you. God knows I lo-- " Alex coughed. "It wasn't that. But I couldn't trust you. You would have thrown me to the wolves. I tried to keep you safe, as best I could. I couldn't keep Scully safe, too, not without risking my own life." He took a deep breath. "I'm not like you, Mulder. I'm not a hero. I didn't set out to be a double agent, a triple agent, an assassin. . .But when push comes to shove, I'll do whatever I need to do survive."

He expected Mulder's scorn at the confession, but Mulder just looked at him steadily. "So why are you staying? A survivor would take the money and run."

"Because, even though I betrayed you, even though you hate me, I need to know that you're alive, that there's one pure thing left in my world."

Mulder snorted. "If you think I'm pure, you obviously haven't seen my video collection."

"I'm not talking about sex, " Alex said. "That's never meant anything. It's your commitment to truth, your willingness to sacrifice anything, everything for it. You are the only person I've ever met who couldn't be bought. You taught me that integrity, honor, nobility can exist, and that someone has the courage to fight the Consortium, someone, someday , may take them down. I'm not sure I can survive without that hope." He smiled wryly. "Okay, so that doesn't exactly give you a reason to live. But think of what your death would do to Scully, to Skinner. They've risked themselves for you, they believe in you."

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. "What makes you think I'm contemplating suicide?"

"I may never be the profiler you are, Mulder, but I do know a little. Enough to recognize the warning signs."

"You're a murderer and a traitor, Krycek. What do you care?"

Alex knew Mulder resorted to the verbal attack and the use of his last name were meant to drive him away. "You didn't leave me alone in the basement with my fears. I won't leave you alone with your pain."

"Alex, please, leave, go. I can't hold it together much longer." Mulder's voice trembled a little, and tears welled in his eyes.

Alex went to his side of the table and knelt by Mulder's chair. "It's all right, Mulder. I lost it in front of you, so it's okay to let go in front of me."

Mulder's shoulders were shaking, but he made no sound. Alex took him by the hands, led him back to the bedroom, and lay down with him, holding him close, stroking his back. Mulder sobbed into his shoulder until exhaustion took him, and he slept. Alex soon followed him into slumber.

"Oh, god!"

The gasp woke him instantly, and he reached for his gun, then remembered that Mulder had taken it from him. Mulder, who still slept in his arms. They were both pretty tapped out, for Mulder's approach not to have awakened them.

"Ssh, Scully, I'll explain," Alex said softly, not wanting to disturb Mulder.

"What did you do? What did you give him?"

"Ssh, let's go into the next room. You can arrest me there."

The oddity of the situation was apparently enough to make Scully hesitate. Alex used the time to carefully disentangle from Mulder and head to the kitchen. Scully followed, gun still drawn.

He sat down at the table. His gun still sat beside the pile of money and plastic. Scully picked it up, slid it into her own purse, then, after a moment, holstered her own weapon.

"What's this?" She gestured at the offering on the table.

Alex hesitated, weighing how candid he should be. He decided that Scully needed to understand if she were going to help Mulder. She loved her partner, not in the same way, but almost as fervently as he did, and she'd never do anything to hurt him.

"Mulder wanted me to leave him alone. I didn't think that was such a good idea."

He could see in Scully's face that she caught his implications. Her ice-blue eyes held him fast. "Why should you care?"

Alex shrugged. "Even a rat like me needs someone to care about."

"And what I saw in there. . ."

"Was nothing. He needed comfort, and I was the only one here to turn to."

"You stuck around, knowing I was on my way?"

Alex nodded.

"You didn't think I'd arrest you?"

"I'm fairly certain you will And we both know I won't live to stand trial."

Her face softened a bit. "Why are you doing this?"

He gave her a flippant grin. "'Tis a far, far, better thing I do. . ."

"Krycek "

"They're going to get me sooner or later. At least this way it counts for something."

Scully regarded him for a moment. "You love him, don't you?"

Alex drew a sharp breath, then forced a laugh. "Love? I'm just a rat."

He couldn't read her expression-- probably condescension . Scully had always looked down on him, back to his FBI days. Then she took his gun from her purse. He tensed, but she reversed the gun and handed it to him. She then took Mulder's ATM card from the pile on the table.

"I think he'll need this, don't you?" Scully asked.

She handed the cash, the credit card, and the car keys to Alex. He stared at her in shock.

"Officially, I never saw you," Scully said. "Unofficially, I'll tell Mulder good-bye for you."

Alex suddenly appreciated why Mulder liked her so much. "Thanks, Scully."

"Thank you. For Mulder."

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

Continued in When the Bullet Hits the Bone

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