Strange Allies, an X Files story by Glacis. Rated PG for language. No sex, very little
violence, some cussing, lots of conspiracy, not much angst and no romance.
Third season spoilers included. Characters of Mulder, Scully, Krycek, Skinner, Cancerman, Mr. X
and the Well Manicured Man belong to CC and 10-13. Names were changed to keep
track of the guilty. Enjoy.
ps ... yeah, one really could escape a silo this way ...
His eyes hurt.
His hands hurt.
His throat hurt.
Even his skin hurt.
So much of it was hazy, and the little that was there was overwhelmed by
the horror of the present. Exhausted, frightened nearly out of his mind,
disoriented, confused and feeling the last shred of hope seep away, he allowed
his body to slide down the cold metal wall. Staring at the hulking darkness of
an undoubtedly alien craft, spidery tracings of the access ladders blending into
the bulk of the ship, shifting aching eyes to seemingly endless metal walls and
far distant lights above him, he gripped torn, bloody fingers together until
the knuckles shown white through the oily residue on his hands.
He didn't want to die. Not yet. Not here. And not like this.
Special Agent Fox Mulder stared at the smug little man in the dull gray
suit and wondered, not for the first time, how he managed to retain enough self
control to not strangle the little toad. Another cover
assignment, not killer kitty cats or disruptive astrological phenomena, but
another pissant assignment that was getting in the
way of what he really wanted.
Answers.
His diminutive partner sent him a deceptively calm glance. She knew he
was about to explode, and he could almost see the gears turning under her cap
of auburn hair. The mental image broke the tension in his mind long enough for
him to stand abruptly and turn to face his boss. Assistant Director Skinner had
been sitting with his usual stoic demeanor as the little gray toad driveled on
about the importance of interdepartmental cooperation and shared case
responsibilities. God, Mulder grimaced silently, I hate the CIA. And they call
*me* a Spook. Mustering the last of his composure, he addressed the AD.
"If that will be all, Sir, Agent Scully and I need to make those
transportation arrangements."
Skinner almost let his lip twitch, but managed to control it in time.
Tact was not Mulder's strong suit. "You have the
information you need in the case file, Agent Mulder. Go to it."
"Yes, Sir." There was no enthusiasm in his voice, merely grim acceptance.
Dana Scully kept her questions behind her teeth until they closed the
door to the basement office behind them. Settling against the doorjamb, she
studied her agitated partner for a long moment. His jaw was tensed, full lips
pulled in tightly, and his hand clenched around the case file as if the
innocuous manila folder was an enemy he needed to choke.
"Okay, Mulder. Spill it."
He stopped stuffing papers into his briefcase and pinned her with sharp
hazel eyes. "We're running out of time, Scully." Despite his efforts
to control his voice, the anger in his body was bleeding through. She could
read his frustration as clearly as if he was shouting it.
"Time for what, Mulder?" Calm, reasonable, diffusing. She hoped. His
next words dashed that hope and tensed her up as badly as he was.
"Time to get back to that damned silo before Krycek
bites it. Time to find the *one* weak link in this whole
goddamned conspiracy, to find out who was behind Carlos, who *really* killed
Melissa and my father. If we don't get him *out* of there and get some
answers, we'll be *too* *late*." He'd given up on his briefcase completely
and crossed the floor to stand in front of her, leaning into her until she
almost recoiled from the intensity of his presence.
"He's probably already dead, Mulder." She couldn't look at him,
couldn't let him see the hopelessness in her own eyes. He reached out with
unexpected gentleness, catching hold of her chin and turning her face until she
had to meet his eyes.
"We don't know that, Scully." His fingers softened their grip,
opening to lay a soft palm against her cheek. "We don't know, and we have
to find out."
They stared at one another for a long moment, each torn by the depths of
sadness and need for closure in the other's expression. So much pain, mirrored
between them. Finally, she nodded, turning from him to carefully place some
closed case folders in a small locked drawer in her desk.
"They won't let us go." She looked up at him from beside her
chair.
"Vacation?" He sounded hopeful, knowing now that she was with him on this, not
regretting informing her of his plans beforehand, for a change. She shook her
head. "Sick leave?" She pursed her lips, then
shook her head again.
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"Watching our backs and covering our tracks?" He barely waited
for her nod before continuing. "Three days max."
She smiled suddenly, startling him. "Well. I suppose it's time to go
AWOL, then."
The first time he saw them he thought that he was hallucinating. No
features, just bulky, shadowy light figures making odd creaking and whooshing
noises. He'd scrambled back, still too disoriented and afraid to understand
what was happening. Later, when his mind cleared a little, he cursed himself
for his stupidity. It might have been the only opportunity he would get for a escape. But the solid steel door swung shut, leaving him
in the semidarkness again, alone with the dark metal shape that gave him
nightmares. Well, the ship, and a pea green canvas bag, with field rations and
canteens full of water.
He didn't know why they were keeping him alive. There was no one to ask.
After eleven days, he felt like he was in hell. The stench was horrible.
He'd done the best he could to remain civilized, but he'd had to use the far
curve of the round room as a latrine, and he had no way to wash, determined not
to waste his drinking water when he didn't know when or if he would ever get
any more. There was no ventilation in the metal silo. The fetid air was making
him ill, and he was becoming nearly frantic with the need to escape.
On the twelfth day, they returned. This time, he was better prepared,
using the shadow of the alien craft as cover until they were inside, then
making a break for the door.
They were expecting it.
The first blow was a glancing one to the ribs, and he managed to twist
aside and keep his footing, almost making it to the dim rectangle of light that
marked his freedom.
Almost.
The second blow caught him in the back of the neck, breaking his stride
and propelling him to his stomach. After the fifth blow, he lost count, rolling
into a fetal position to lessen the surface they had to strike at, and still
trying to crawl toward the door in the small intervals between blows. Whoever
they were, they were professionals. The blows were painful, and effective, and
did not cause any life threatening injuries. They simply battered him until he
stopped moving. Then one of them dropped another canvas bag next to his
unconscious form and shut the door firmly on the now-silent chamber.
On the twenty first day he found out why they were keeping him alive. Why
*he* was keeping him alive, his old mentor, his ex-boss. They needed a test
subject. The others who had survived the alien possession had escaped, and the
Consortium member from
His erstwhile superior stood calmly smoking while he explained in great
detail exactly what the alien possession would do to his body, until it undoubtedly
self destructed from rage and frustration at being kept from its ship. By which
time, of course, the Consortium and its scientific staff would have all of the
useful information they could get from this particular alien. Not that Krycek would know, of course. He would have died from the
radiation poisoning, or burns, or internal bleeding, or hemorrhaging organs, or
any one of a number of unpleasant possibilities by then. He had listened in
silence as long as he was able, then cursed the
bastard softly, viciously. All he received in return was a serene smile.
When he was alone again, for the first time, he cried.
On the thirty seventh day they returned, bringing more food, more water,
and beating him again. Of course, he had tried to escape, and he had hurt two
of them in the attempt, one seriously enough that the others had had to carry
him out. He hadn't had the satisfaction of watching, though. He'd been
unconscious.
On the forty sixth day he found the seam.
Neither agent spoke as they buckled themselves into the small Cessna.
Once again, Mulder's flaky friends had come through,
Scully thought to herself with a quirk of her lips. Her mind flashed back to
the scene, in the cramped, dark offices of the Lone Gunmen.
"We can't be seen, and we're on a very strict time limit. Skinner's
going to be on our tails soon enough."
"We'll need medical supplies, as well," she broke into the
rapid-fire conversation flowing around her. The men were deep in details, but
she wanted to remind them of the purpose for the mission. "After over six
weeks in a missile silo, if he even *is* alive, he will not be in good physical
condition." Her eyes met Mulder's, and she
silently warned him not to get his hopes too high. He answered her with a
barely perceptible nod, his own gaze reassuring her that he was keeping one
foot on the ground while his head was in the clouds, planning rescue attempts.
Their connection was barely disturbed by
"There they go again, with the telepathy." He grinned at Byers,
who nodded solemnly.
"There has been some interesting anecdotal evidence regarding close
mental linkages from individuals who have faced extreme danger together over a
period of time-" Before he could launch into a full explanation, Frohicke sighed deeply.
"I'm still waiting for my chance to create some linkages with the
lovely agent Scully," he grinned, then raised his hands helplessly when
all four of the other occupants of the room glared at him. "Well, one can
hope," he muttered, looking somewhat relieved when Byers took a freshly
printed sheet from the small laser printer and handed it to Mulder.
"Here are the locations and contact information for your pilots.
You'll change planes twice, then meet up with a
private helicopter pilot who will take you on the last leg of your journey. A
locally-owned vehicle will be waiting for you both as well." Mulder
nodded, scanning and retaining the details from the sheet before handing it on
to Scully. "These are good people, friends of ours. You should be safe,
but stay alert."
Mulder grinned at him, the expression belied by the grimness in his eyes.
"Always."
"Shouldn't be," Scully reiterated. "I've
talked to the ME and gotten the autopsy and toxicology reports faxed to me here
in DC."
"And I know Mark Weldan, SAC at
"The helicopter will pick you up at a private landing strip just
south of
"Their presence would certainly indicate some sort of precious
cargo," Byers added.
"Yeah," Mulder agreed, a hard edge creeping into his voice.
"And that cargo has our answers."
Scully was pulled abruptly back into the present by the light touch of Mulder's hand on hers. She looked inquisitively at him, and
he leaned closer to her so that she could hear his voice over the rattle of the
engine without his having to shout.
"There's something I didn't tell you, Scully," he admitted. "In
She pulled away and gave him an incredulous look. The corner
of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes were steady, serious. "He
pulled me into the hotel room where he was supposed to meet his buyer. Then he
shoved her out in the hallway and slammed the door shut, before he hopped out
the window. The alien incinerated her out in the hallway, but the door between
us gave me enough time to unlock the cuffs and get the hell out of there."
He paused, his gaze straying from her puzzled face to the clear gray spring sky
outside the small window. "I don't know why he did that." With a
jerky shrug, he slumped back against the seat.
"Just one more answer to find, I guess," she replied softly.
Their eyes locked with perfect understanding, and she leaned against the
headrest and tried to relax. It was going to be a very busy few days.
It was a gamble, but for once it paid off.
He knew they'd be coming soon. It was anywhere from nine to sixteen days
between the visits so far, and he knew from the fact that the old bastard had
told him so much that they wouldn't be waiting much longer before the
experiments began.
The time had begun to blend in the eternal semidarkness of the silo. He
no longer knew the difference between night and day. His voice had sounded
husky when he finally tried it out, but he had to try. He could feel it. He
didn't know how, or why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the
alien had used him to transport it, and there was some sort of residual link.
He didn't know, he just knew that he could feel its
presence. So he talked to it. It didn't seem threatening. Just
... there.
"You can fight them, you know."
"It's you they really want to use. Me, I'm dead, anyway. But you
could stay here in your saucer, or can, or whatever the hell it is."
"Please. Don't let them do this to you. To
me."
"Please."
He knew the place was bugged, so he didn't say anything about the seam.
And he made sure that his movements were slow, and appeared random to whomever was monitoring him. But he calculated the darkest
area of the shadows, and with the silent, watchful presence of the alien at his
back, he made his only possible attempt at escape.
The thin metal framework he had used to climb to the ship while the alien
was carried within him moved easily, noiselessly, as he dragged it to the
slick, cold walls. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty feet, straight up,
moving as quietly as a cat under the eyes of a wolf, praying to a god he'd
stopped believing in years before, he worked his way up the side of the wall.
The maintenance had not been kept up. After all, this was an abandoned missile
silo. No one cared if vermin should get in, or in this case, a desperate
prisoner should try to get out. Isolation, clear ground, watchful eyes on the outside
and immoveable doors on the inside were enough to keep him in. They thought.
They were wrong.
The seam sagged and he was able to slip first an arm, then, carefully,
his head and shoulders through into the darkness beyond. Forced himself to stay
still until his eyes, already well adjusted to the darkness of the silo,
adjusted to the different shades of darkness in the no mans' land between the
outer and inner walls of the silo. For the first time in weeks, he felt the
muscles of his face move into a genuine smile.
Catwalks. For
maintenance.
He reached, and wriggled, losing some skin and tearing his jacket and
jeans in the process, but he managed to snag the near handrail with an arm made
strong by desperation. For an endless moment he hung in what felt like midair,
heart in his throat, before he was able to swing his body around and ease onto
the narrow metal steps. Once there, he checked the two canteens he had belted
to his hips, patted the packets of dried beef and crackers he had taken from the
canvas bag, and listened to his heart beat in his ears until he could breathe
again.
Then he began to climb.
It had taken nearly a day, and they had been amazingly lucky at that.
Scully swept her eyes over the bleak vista surrounding the helipad, reminding
herself that they weren't that far from
Mulder gestured to the nondescript brown jeep sitting at the edge of the
helipad. She climbed into the passenger seat and he handed her the small map
without a word. Working in tandem, relying on the silent communication they had
developed over their years as partners, she began to watch for patrols as he
concentrated on getting them as close as possible to the target area before
they would have to go in on foot.
Two miles from the silo they caught sight of the first of the perimeter
patrols. Mulder stopped the jeep off the road, carefully memorizing the few
landmarks in the immediate area. He turned to find Scully holding out his pack,
and dangling a pair of high powered binoculars from her other hand. He looked
at the three fingers she was using to support the strap, and gave her an
innocent smile and the Boy Scout salute.
"I think you do it like this, Scully."
She rolled her eyes slightly and tossed him the pack. Reaching into the
passenger side and retrieving her own pair of binoculars and the medical kit,
she allowed herself a small dig.
"You be prepared your way, Mulder, I'll be prepared my way."
They shared a smile and shouldered their packs, beginning the cautious
trek across the flat prairielands toward the silo
and, hopefully, the answers they sought.
The end of the gamble played out as the beginning had, in unexpectedly
good luck.
The single guard at the top level of the silo was bored, and distracted
by the handweapon he was so carefully cleaning. Rifle
by his side, within easy reach, he never saw the shadow slip behind him,
hugging the wall and making its silent way to the outside world. After it had
passed, his nose registered the lingering aroma. His whole face twitched.
"Who killed the fuckin' skunk?" No
one answered his disgusted mutter, and he sighed, bringing the clear barrel up
to his eye and checking for stray specks of oil.
Krycek stepped cautiously
from the silo, pressed flat to the wall, eyes and ears straining in the
gathering shadows of dusk. He sighed softly. If they were using night vision
goggles they wouldn't be able to see him yet, it wasn't dark enough. And if his
luck held out just a little while longer ...
There were four guards. Irregular sweeping patterns so the timing was
dicey. Happily, even the best trained troops could get bored after forty days
and nights of watching the few tufts of
Just even enough for one desperate man to find cover.
He moved quickly, the need for survival boosting him with a much needed
adrenaline surge. Ground cover, trees, and buildings were nonexistent, but
there were vehicles scattered around the silo. He made his way to a flatbed
with a black canvas shell, looking around thoroughly, almost compulsively,
before sliding under the flap and burrowing under the burlap and tarp tossed
near the cab. He had no idea what his next move would be, but for now, he was
safe.
There was very little ground cover, just frozen mud. Spring time was late
coming to this part of the north. Mulder shifted the pack on his shoulder and
tried his best to look like a hiker.
"Cows. I had no
idea there were so many cows in
"Outnumber people five to one, Mulder." She was panting
lightly, trying to keep up with his longer legs. They had seen two patrols, one
bearing the insignia of security police from the SAC base at Minot, one bearing
no insignia at all. They had escaped notice by hiding in the scrub, and so far their
luck had held true. They heard the trucks before they saw them.
It was a small convoy, trundling along at a sedate thirty miles an hour,
four trucks and a motorcycle, of all things. No markings here, either, and they
stared at the trailing truck as its tail lights disappeared down the road.
"Looks like someone's pulling up stakes," he whispered close to
her ear. She nodded agreement, a sudden sense of urgency pulling her out of the
bushes and back on the hunt.
"I don't like it, Mulder." He nodded agreement.
"Yeah. Guards
leaving means nothing left to guard."
Almost before the words left his mouth, the heat and the sudden pulse of
displaced air knocked them from their feet. They lay for a few moments,
stunned, feeling the shaking in the earth beneath them. Squinting against the
flying dirt, they saw the fire in the distance. She looked at him in dismay,
and he grimaced. They continued, as quickly as they could, to stop again a half
mile from the burnt out remains of the silo.
"Damnit," Mulder growled softly.
"He's dead." Her voice didn't have any hope left in it. She
turned abruptly. "There are no answers here, Mulder." He reached out
and grasped her wrist lightly, stopping her and turning her to face him.
"We don't know that, Scully." He met her disbelieving stare
with grim determination. "He may be alive. We've thought he was dead
before and he turned up alive."
"What do you suggest, then, Mulder? Sifting the ashes?"
"No." He gestured toward the road behind them. "Following those trucks."
She followed his glance and took a deep breath. "Skinner's going to
have our hides for this."
He grinned. "Depends on how fast we move."
Rhythmic jolting woke him from his exhausted sleep, and he froze in
place, feeling the truck vibrate underneath him. They were moving. This was a
good sign. The more distance between himself and the
silo the better. Now he just had to figure out where the hell he was and how to
get away from them without being spotted. He cautiously pulled one corner of
the tarp back from his face and peered over the edge. There were boxes stacked
up between himself and the opening at the back of the truck. He shifted against
the largest crate experimentally. It didn't move. Whatever was in here, it was
very heavy. As he leaned up next to the wooden crate, he felt it.
The alien was here. In the truck. With him.
For a moment, blind panic gripped him, thinking that they knew, that they were going to take him to experiment on him.
Then he realized why the boxes were so heavy. They must have removed some parts
from the alien craft, and they were using them to transport the alien to
another location. But why hadn't an alarm been raised? Why weren't they looking
for him? Questions chased themselves feverishly through his mind as he tried to
find some sense to this situation. Before he could come to
any useful conclusions, the truck rumbled to a stop. Motion shifted, and
he felt the sudden impact as the driver backed the flatbed to a stop, the lip
of the back settling firmly next to a metal unloading dock. He tensed, then slipped back under the tarp.
The truck moved sluggishly as a forklift slid its arms into place under
the palate holding the crates, lifting them with great care and removing them
from the truck bed. Krycek lay completely still,
breathing as lightly as he could, his eyes barely registering the change in the
quality of light as the obstructions between himself and the outside world were
removed. All his thoughts were on escape, timing, chances ... light footsteps
caused him to catch back his breathing. They neared his hiding place, then stopped. He couldn't hear anything over the rapid beat
of his heart in his ears. Then he caught the light rasp of a match, and the
faint stench of cigarette smoke. His eyes closed involuntarily, and his fists
clenched.
"Very impressive, Mr. Krycek. Completely wasted effort, of course, but an impressive
display of ingenuity nonetheless." The thin, cold voice paused for
a moment, then continued. Krycek
could visualize the smoke wafting about the old man's head. Hatred made every
nerve in his body sing. But it still could be a bluff. He still might have a
chance. So he kept quiet.
When the rough hands tangled him in the tarp and dragged him from the
truck, he knew the bluff had been called. He exploded from the folds of
material with a fury born of desperation, but there were too many of them. He
was unconscious again when they dropped him onto the cold concrete of the
warehouse floor, next to the crate carrying the alien. Next
to his worst nightmare.
There were very few cars on US 83 that early in the season, but Mulder
and Scully managed to remain undetected as they followed the small convoy. The
slow speed had given them time to hike back to their jeep and still pick up the
trail. Their slight advantage was lost, however, when they arrived at Bismark. The convoy split, with no warning, and Mulder
reacted instinctively, following the third truck as it turned west.
"Why this one, Mulder?" Scully's fingers dug into the edges of her seatbelt. Mulder had had to
make some quick turns to keep the truck in view and not be spotted.
"I.. I don't know, Scully. Instinct." He wasn't sure how to explain it. Something
about that truck felt, tasted, familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it, but
his gut was telling him that there was something on that truck that he needed to
find. "Trust me."
She sighed, but it was too late to follow any of the others.
"Always," she admitted, "even if I don't understand you."
He grinned briefly, but concentrated on the task of following the truck.
"Sirens," he murmured.
"What?" She wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.
"Siren song," he answered, distractedly. She tilted her head,
one brow climbing slightly. "It's almost as though ... there was some sort
of siren song coming from that truck." He shrugged. When it finally
stopped and they were able to poke around, he would be able to explain. Until
then, he'd just have to trust his sixth sense.
"Oh," she deadpanned. "Spooky
sense."
He mock-growled at her, then leaned forward. Their quarry was coming to a
halt. He shut off the headlamps and pulled the car to a silent stop at the
corner of the building. They were in the warehouse district of a small town
called
Cancerman.
Scully caught her breath and glanced at her partner. He was already
reaching up to flick off the interior overhead light, so that it wouldn't give
them away when they left the car. His gun was in his right hand and his left
hand was unlocking his seatbelt. She took her cue from him and had her own
weapon out as they crept along the side of the car, keeping to the shadows of
the building. The attention of the guards around the side of the truck was
suddenly diverted by a tarp bound parcel, man-sized, being wrestled from the
back of the truck. Whomever was wrapped in the tarp
was not a willing prisoner, and the two agents took advantage of the commotion
to slip up along the loading dock and into the building, to get a closer look.
They were rewarded with the sight of Alex Krycek,
utterly filthy and appearing on the verge of physical collapse, fighting like a
demon to free himself from four men dressed in black.
He didn't stand a chance. They bludgeoned him to a standstill, then knocked him
out and dropped him in an untidy heap next to a large wooden crate. The
soldiers backed off, with a nodded dismissal from the smoking man, and they
watched as the old man walked closer to Krycek's
still form. Moving as one, they eased into the shadows along the inner wall of
the warehouse, careful not to be seen as the door rolled closed.
"Oh, Alex. You never
could take the easy route, could you, my boy? You never did learn when to quit.
Of course, if you had, I'd have killed you long before this. Then I wouldn't
have had such a perfect ... testing candidate." He curved the toe of his
shoe gently under the supine form, rolling Krycek
onto his back, peering at the battered, exhausted face. "You should have
known that you couldn't run forever. I would catch up, Mr. Krycek.
I always do."
Turning from the body, he strolled with studied nonchalance through the
shadowed warehouse through the side door into the dimly lit office. Mulder and
Scully could hear him giving orders to the guards for patrolling the perimeter
of the warehouse. Mulder began a search for internal cameras, and Scully began
a circuitous approach to where Krycek lay. Mulder
nodded to her that the area was clean of exterior cameras, and they had to take
their chances on interior ones. Neither had understood the Cancerman's
cryptic remarks about Krycek trying to run, but they
would have time to try to decipher them when, and if, they managed to get out
of there alive.
The sound of footsteps echoing across the floor sent Scully scurrying
back to Mulder's side in the darkest shadows along
the side of the warehouse. The old man had returned, with two younger men
wearing the plain black clothes of the Consortium's special
forces. They carried crowbars, and each went to an opposite side of the
large crate and began to pry at the side panel. After a few short, strong
pulls, the panel came loose, and the old man gestured for them to leave. They
did so silently. He watched them go, then bent over Krycek once more. Fishing a small capsule from his pocket,
he broke it open with a barely audible click and held it under Krycek's nose. The double agent woke suddenly, rearing his
head back as far as he could to get it away from the sharp fumes emanating from
the capsule. Cancerman chuckled, a dry, unpleasant
sound.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Krycek.
Rest assured, it won't be a long stay." He
reached forward and pulled the panel completely away from the box.
Krycek stared into the
blackness within the crate, mesmerized and frightened to the point of
paralysis. Mulder and Scully inched forward, Mulder fascinated by the glint of
alien metal alloy he could see in the packing, Scully's firm hold on his arm
keeping him tethered to her side so that he didn't accidentally give away their
position in his enthusiasm. All four heard the eerie swishing sound at the same
time, and each had drastically different reactions to it. Cancerman
smiled, a feral slice of teeth in an otherwise impassive face, his eyes
remaining as cold and empty as always. Krycek began
to shake, and a low, keening cry tore from his throat as he lay, eyes fixed on
the back inkiness of the alien sliding toward the spot where he and the old man
were watching. Mulder's breath caught in his throat,
and he moved forward, trying to get a closer look, dragging a reluctant Scully
along with him. Scully reached for her gun, not wanting to believe what she was
seeing, having a vague feeling that somehow a bullet wouldn't do a lot of good
here, but needing the reassurance of the heavy weapon in the palm of her hand.
None of them expected what happened next.
Krycek put his hand out in
a futile attempt to ward off the alien presence, only to feel the slick
sensation of it sliding over his legs and heading directly for the older man.
Eyes widening, keening stopped in his throat, his gaze locked with the Cancerman's as the alien reached its goal. The old man
didn't even have time to cry out. Mulder felt his stomach clench as he watched
the oily fluid being absorbed by the old man's body, seeping into his skin, not
leaving any trace of its passage on his clothing. Scully found herself pressing
a fist to her mouth to hold back the scream as the wintery
light blue of the Cancerman's eyes was replaced by a
sifting pattern of black tracings, oil in water. For the longest moment,
silence reigned. Finally it was broken by a rusty voice.
"What do we do now?" Krycek still
hadn't seen Mulder and Scully, so it appeared he was talking to the alien
entity inhabiting Cancerman's body. It came slowly over
to where he half-lay, half-sat, staring at him impassively. The agents could
see the shudder that rippled through Krycek, and they
found themselves sympathizing.
"Will you try to stop me." The voice
was monotone, a statement, not a question.
"Hell, no," responded Alex, hastily. "I just want to
forget I ever met you!"
It stared at him for a long moment, the patterns shifting and flowing, as
it measured the man at it's feet. Then, without
another word, it turned and left the warehouse, striding toward the office,
ignoring Krycek as though he had ceased to exist.
With the immediate danger past, the shaking started again, and he curled up
into as small a ball as he could, trying to keep himself from falling
completely apart.
Scully came out of her shock first, running the short distance to kneel
by Krycek's side. Mulder heard the voice that was/was
not Cancerman's giving orders to pull the guards and
get the trucks started. The men in black were well trained. There were no
questions, there was just obedience. He moved forward to join his partner as
she spoke softly to the traumatized man they had come here to find. His nose
wrinkled involuntarily as he approached. Wherever Krycek
had been, hygiene wasn't part of the picture. He smelled horrible. Scully didn't
seem to notice, but then, she cut up dead bodies for a living.
"Krycek?" At the soft query, his head snapped up, and she found herself staring
into wide green-blue eyes, pupils dilated with shock. Dark rings of exhaustion
underscored his eyes, and his face was an unhealthy pasty color beneath the
heavy beard and the bruises.
"Scully? How'd you get here?" His words were slurring.
"That doesn't matter, Krycek. We've got to
get out of here, now."
Krycek's head swung around
to see the man growling at him, and he instinctively tried to back away from
Mulder, memories of the beating he had received in
"I'm not going to hurt you, Alex." His voice had dropped to
what Scully privately thought of as his 'taming the wild witness' tone.
"We're here to get you out of this mess and take you somewhere safe."
"Why?" His voice sounded like his throat was hurting him. He
was desperate, but he wasn't ready to trust anyone yet, especially not a man
who hated his guts and a woman he'd helped turn over to aliens for
experimentation. Scully reached out a soothing hand and he cringed. She dropped
the hand, but didn't back up, fixing him with her calmest professional 'I'm a
doctor, now behave' look. It worked on him as well as it worked on Mulder. He
relaxed a fraction and swallowed. "Why would you help me?" he tried
again.
"Because you have answers we need," she replied firmly.
"Now, can you walk?" He nodded, without much confidence, and Mulder
leaned forward to slip a supporting arm around his back. The stench nearly made
him gag.
"God, Krycek, when was the last time you
had a bath?" he grunted as he lifted the slighter man to his feet. Krycek looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"I've been stuck in a fucking missile silo for god only knows how
long. I saved the water they gave me to drink. The last time I was clean was in
Mulder saved his breath for carrying Krycek and
tried to breathe through his mouth. Krycek
concentrated fiercely on staying conscious. Scully wrapped a strong hand around
Krycek's waist and thought longingly of formaldehyde.
The journey to the jeep felt like it took forever, for each of them.
Dumping Krycek into the back seat, Mulder
pulled out from the side of the building and headed for the open highway,
keeping a close eye out for signs of pursuit. Scully leaned against the back of
the seat, turning a critical eye on their passenger, who lay with his eyes
closed and his head back, taking deep breaths. When she noticed the jeep
slowing, she looked askance at her partner.
"What are you doing?" He gestured at the Best Western sign
lighting up the parking lot. "We can't stop here, Mulder. We're on a time
limit. Krycek," she waved in the general
direction of the back seat, "needs medical attention. And our plane is
waiting for us."
He studied the steering wheel for a long moment. "It's still there,
Scully."
"What is?" Curiosity fought with impatience in her voice.
"The ship. It's there,
in the warehouse. I need to be able to see it."
"Won't do you any good," a low voice husked from behind them.
Mulder looked into the rearview mirror, fixing their passenger with a glare.
"Why not?" he challenged.
Krycek looked at him
wearily, through red-rimmed eyes. "I spent weeks in that goddamned silo,
Mulder. They didn't take enough of the ship to tell you anything, just a cube,
just enough to contain the alien. They didn't have a body available,
'cause I'd escaped, so they just took a chunk of metal and let it suffuse
it."
"What do you mean, you escaped?" Scully's voice was hard.
"That was a missile silo, not your standard jail cell."
"Look, can we talk about this after I've had something to eat, and a
shower?" He was almost pleading.
Mulder took a shallow breath, weighing his need to know about the alien
craft against the information that Krycek would be
able to supply them. He had, after all, been locked in with the ship for quite
some time ... and he had been host to the alien ... Before he could formulate a
reply, Scully answered for both of them.
"Two hours. That will give you time to clean up and us time to get
something to eat, and we will still make the plane." The set of her jaw
told Mulder she'd been pushed as far as she would go, so he gave in gracefully.
Krycek nodded, thankful to have the opportunity to
take a breather and soak away the filth. Without another word, Mulder turned
the key off and went into the lobby to get a room. Scully watched Krycek in silence the entire time he was gone.
There was a slight smile on Mulder's face when
he returned, tossing the key negligently into Scully's lap. "I don't think
they're used to people renting rooms by the hour."
She repressed a grin, surprised at herself for
the momentary feeling of lightheartedness. "Not your usual, hm, Mulder?" He grinned back, then bit his lip and
glanced into the mirror. Krycek was watching them
with an odd expression on his weary face, almost ... envious. Mulder drove to
the rear entrance of the hotel and parked without speaking, pursing his lips in
thought. There were too many niggling questions about this situation, he
couldn't really call it a case, but he supposed in a way it was. He just hoped Krycek would be able to shed some light on what had
happened tonight. If he balked, he might have to beat it out of him.
Scully saw the gleam in his eyes, but wasn't sure she wanted to know what
he was anticipating, so she didn't ask. Between the two of them, they helped
Alex into the room, taking him directly into the bathroom and not letting him
touch anything until they got him to the tub.
Mulder had to help steady Krycek while Scully
efficiently stripped him. His arms and legs were like lead, and he wasn't much
assistance. She took a deep breath at the sight of the abrasions and contusions
mottling his body, and her eyes met Mulder's with
some consternation.
"Looks like somebody's been using you for a punching bag, Krycek," Mulder noted softly.
"Uhm-hmm," Alex mumbled. He was
having a hard time staying awake, the steam from the water and the unaccustomed
feeling of safety, no matter how transitory, causing his muscles to relax for
the first time in weeks. His head rolled forward onto his chest, and he slipped
into the tub. Scully gave up on the idea of a shower. Krycek
was much too limp to stand for that.
"Mulder, none of these cuts need stitches, but some of them do need
dressings. And he needs food. As do we. Why don't you go order room service and
then bring in my medical bag. By that time I should have the worst of the grime
off." She was squeezing shampoo through Alex's matted black mop of hair.
Mulder looked at the now-nude Krycek sitting docilely
allowing Scully to wash him down, and grinned.
"So, do I need to sit in a silo for six weeks to get you to do this
for me? I swear, Scully, you run baths for everyone except your partner! And
this one even gets his back washed." The only response she deigned to give
him was a hand full of water flicked at him. He grinned and headed for the
telephone.
To his back, she muttered, "I'm a doctor. It's not like I'm doing
this for fun." Raising her voice to be heard over the water, she called,
"And bring in some of your clothes, Mulder. He
can't wear what he had on him."
"Yeah," he responded, twitching his nose again. "Those
should be burned."
Krycek felt dizzy. He also
felt clean. He came back to himself to see capable, feminine hands running a
rough washcloth over his chest. Had he died when he wasn't looking and somehow
ended up in heaven? The snort of laughter behind him indicated that he had spoken
aloud.
"No, Krycek," came Scully's clear
voice. "But I am glad to see you alert again. Here," she dropped the
washcloth into his lap. "You finish up here. I'm going to go see what
Mulder ordered for dinner. And, Krycek," he
looked up to see very cold blue eyes pinning him down. "Don't even think
about trying to escape. Last time I shot Mulder and you ran away. This time I
don't have to protect him, and he won't be the one I aim for."
He watched the door close briskly behind her, and absently began to
lather his stomach. "Damn," he muttered bemusedly. "Just
when we were getting along so well, too."
Scully took advantage of the brief respite to plug in her laptop and
check her email. She'd done the best she could with the faxed information, but
those preliminary reports and Mulder's psychological
profiles would only cover them for so long before they actually had to go into
the field. It might be a mickey mouse case, but it was a Skinner-assigned case, so they'd
have to put in an appearance. And that meant leaving Krycek
alone. She had honestly not expected to find him alive, so her planning had not
included a contingency plan to deal with what to do with Krycek
while they were in the field. Of course, that was life with Mulder. Always
expect the unexpected. The thought crossed her mind as she was reading a
message from their CIA liaison in
"Mulder! I don't believe
this." Her sharp exclamation caused him to swivel from his rapt attention
of the room service tray and hurry to peer over her shoulder. A grin grew
slowly across his face as he read the report. When he finished, he whistled
softly.
"Damn, we're good."
She re-read the screen with some disbelief. "The elevated heparin
levels and the abnormalities in the medullae oblongatae
matched when they did the third autopsy. They were able to make a trace from
two partial prints found at the murder site, and the psychological profile was
a perfect match to a PA at the intermediate care facility. When they questioned
him he broke down and confessed."
"Not bad," Mulder added. "I told you it was a no-brainer,
Scully. We cracked the thing and we never even made it into
"We start solving cases long distance?" She still sounded a
little shocked at the ease with which they had gotten out of pursuing their
assigned case.
"No," he grinned, "vacation time."
She looked at him, a small wrinkle appearing between her brows as she
tried to follow his logic.
"We've earned it," he continued earnestly. "And we
certainly have enough of it built up. This way, we don't have to handcuff Krycek to the doorjamb and stuff a gag in his mouth while
we're out interviewing potential witnesses." He looked so sincere she had
to believe he was serious. He didn't give her much time to think about it,
either. "I'll call Skinner. You email Elaine in Personnel."
She found herself nodding, and couldn't help the grin that tilted the
side of her mouth. Just how she wanted to spend her vacation.
Chasing aliens in
She started typing up the message. "Speaking of Krycek,
he's been in there long enough to turn into a raisin. And we do need to stop in
at the
"'Copter from Bismark Municipal Airport to
Aberdeen, stash our buddy in the back seat of a rental car, nicely trussed up,
check in with the locals, make some face time, file some reports. Then back up
to
She closed the laptop with a decisive click and began to pack the remains
of their dinner to feed to Krycek on the ride to the
heliport. "Sounds workable to me, Mulder."
The object of their conversation paused in the doorway to the bathroom, a
towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. "And what do I get out of this
little plan?" They turned in unison to look at him. The bath had helped
considerably, but with the grime washed away the bruises and cuts stood out
lividly against his fair skin.
"Protection," Mulder responded. "You know as well as we
do, if not better, that there are members of the shadow government who want
nothing more than to see you dead. You know too much. Alone, you haven't got a
chance. You'd be dead already if Cancerman hadn't
been keeping you alive for his own purposes."
"With us, you've got two more sets of eyes to cover your back,"
Scully continued where Mulder left off. "And you'll have the opportunity
to make it permanent." He cocked his head at her in silent inquiry.
"Help us bring them down, Krycek. With them
gone, you won't have to run anymore."
He laughed, a soft coughing sound. Scully left
the table to look at him more closely.
"It's the only chance you'll have, Alex. Working together we can do
it. We need your information and you need our protection. How long do you
really think you'll last if we leave you alone now?" Mulder's
voice was calm, and reasoned, but there was a hard edge behind it. Krycek didn't really have a choice, and he knew it.
"Well, if we're going to go somewhere, I can't go like this."
He gestured at the towel slung low on his hips. Mulder rummaged in his bag and
came up with a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, tossing them to Krycek.
"Here. They'll be a little long, but you'll be covered." Krycek nodded his thanks, and turned to go back into the
bathroom. Scully's hand on his forearm stopped him. He looked from the fingers
lying along his arm up to her face.
"Before you get dressed, have a seat. I want to check your
injuries." He stared at her for a long moment, then
allowed her to lead him to the single wooden chair by the small desk. Her
examination was thorough and swift, and resulted in several applications of
hydrogen peroxide and iodine along with gauze and paper tape. He didn't make
any noise, even when she cleaned the deeper scrapes, just stared at a point
somewhere in the middle distance. Mulder wondered what he was thinking, but he
didn't interrupt them to ask. From the expression in his eyes, whatever it was,
it wasn't pleasant. Scully finished up with the bandaging and took his jaw into
her hand, turning his head from side to side, checking
along his neck under his jawbone, his eyes, ears, and having him open his mouth
so that she could check his throat.
"Been doing much talking lately?" He laughed again at her
question, that same soft coughing as before.
"No. Not much opportunity for conversation in an abandoned
silo." She shone her penlight down his throat again.
"Screaming, maybe?"
He pulled back slightly, eyes drifting off again. After a moment, he
replied, "Yeah. A bit of that."
"I thought so," she answered, snapping off the light and
replacing it in her bag. "Get used to the Kathleen Turner rasp, Krycek." He looked at her, then, with complete
confusion. "Looks like there's been extensive damage to your vocal chords,
your throat's enflamed and the tissue is
discolored." She reached over to the desk and handed him the clothing.
"Go get dressed. We need to hit the road."
She watched the door shut behind him, then
turned to her partner, who was watching her intently from his seat on the bed.
"What did you find, Scully?" He knew that something from the
examination was bothering her more than she had let on.
"I don't know what they did to him, Mulder. But whatever it was, it
left some permanent damage. And it takes a lot of screaming to break a voice."
She frowned as she gathered up the last of her equipment and set it by the
door. "You're the psychologist. You know better than I do how to handle a
case like this."
"You want me to go gently with him." It was not a question.
"I think, if you don't, you're not going to get any information from
him. He's close to cracking now." He nodded his agreement, but his
expression made it plain he didn't like the idea.
"We don't have a lot of time, Scully."
"I know that, Mulder. But he's the one source of information we have
at this point, and I'm afraid if we push him too hard he's not going to be any
help. I want answers, Mulder. Not another head case who
has to be locked up for his own protection."
He bit at his lower lip, fighting the instinct to go into the bathroom
and shake the truth out of Krycek. She was right, and
he knew she was. But it was so hard. Sighing, he rolled his shoulders to
release some of the built up tension. "Okay. We'll go easy on him. But he
will help us. Or so help me, I'll push him out of the
plane at cruising altitude." He didn't smile when he said it. She believed
him.
It knew where it needed to go. The mind it had taken held many, many
secrets, and cold, hard purpose, but the one secret it needed was not to be
found there. Not in this mind. But there were others, others that this one
would lead it to, and they would know. They would be useful, or they would die.
The ride to the heliport was a quiet one, broken only by the sounds of
Alex Krycek digging into his ham and Swiss sandwich
and potato salad like a starving man. Scully watched him in the mirror with
some concern.
"Don't go too fast, Krycek. When was the
last time you had anything solid to eat?"
He thought it over for a moment, chewing diligently and swallowing before
he could answer her. "They gave me MREs, and
water. I don't know, what day is this?" When she
told him, he paled.
"Forty seven days."
"Yeah," Mulder tossed in, "We were surprised to see you
still alive. Care to give us a reason why they might have kept you
around?"
His eyes met Krycek's in the mirror. The other
man looked somewhat green. He carefully replaced the rest of the sandwich in
the bag it had been wrapped in and swallowed dryly. Looking out the window at
the dark landscape passing by, he hunched his shoulders, as if trying to appear
smaller than he was.
"Not ... right now." Mulder could see that Krycek
was on the verge of a breakdown, and, heeding Scully's warning, he didn't push
him any further. They would have time for that later.
"Hope that food settles. You've got a lot of flying in front of
you."
"I'll be fine."
"You'd better be."
Scully let them snipe at one another and watched her partner. Some of the
tension was easing, although she could see from the set of his jaw that he was
unhappy about leaving the alien craft behind. Settling deeper into her seat,
she sighed. They had to start somewhere, not go running off half cocked and end
up in the middle of something with half the facts, like they usually did.
Pushing the odds only worked up to a point. After that, somebody got hurt. She
glanced over at Mulder again. She knew who that someone would probably be.
The helicopter was waiting for them when they arrived, and the short
flight was accomplished in necessary silence. They couldn't have heard one
another over the beating of the rotors, and they didn't want to discuss
anything over the headphones that might make the pilot curious. Once they
arrived in
By eight thirty they were in a motel room that *was* used to renting by
the hour. Mulder, of course, had chosen it. Scully lay sleeping on one of the
double beds and Krycek slept on the other, on his
stomach with his head buried in the pillow, one arm handcuffed to the bedframe. Mulder sat on the floor, leaning his back against
the foot of Scully's bed. The remote for the television hung limply from one
hand as the other hand absently popped sunflower seeds into his mouth and
received the shells he spit out, the motions automatic, the
muted images of the television flowing past his unseeing eyes. He was too wired
to sleep, too tired to move. The answers, at least some of them, were right in
front of him, and he had to wait while the man holding them slept. Patience was
not his strong suit, but he could only try.
This one had more resources than the previous host. It wasn't as healthy,
however, and needed more frequent rest periods before shutting down. It drove
the body as hard as it could, impatient with the delay, needing to find the
others. Dimly, it was aware of the terror and anger of the host. As always,
they made absolutely no difference. It had a mission. It would accomplish that
mission. Anyone or anything that attempted to interfere would be eliminated.
People treated this one with deference. With fear.
It walked in the sunlight, not hiding in the shadows as the other had needed to
do. It made it all much quicker. One phone call. A flurry of activity. Denial. Disapproval. It's need burned more
hotly than before. It agreed to a meeting, the host with two others. They would
assist. Or they would die. It was immaterial. Only the rejoining mattered.
Sixteen solid hours of sleep did wonders for Krycek's
disposition. He awoke to find Scully changing a dressing on his back and Mulder
cracking more of those damned seeds. There were times, when they were partners, that Krycek had begun to
believe that Mulder was part bird.
"Uhm, I hate to be a bother, but I need to
be unlocked, here." The sarcasm sounded strange in his raspy voice. This
would take some getting used to ... he felt vaguely ridiculous, as if he was
trying to sound sexy or intimate, when all he really wanted to do was go to the
bathroom.
He was rewarded with the click of the key in the lock, and the cuff slid
free. Lifting himself gingerly, he felt abused muscles clench at having spent
so long in one position. "Oh. Ouch. Shit," he groaned, and felt
strong hands pull him up and over into a sitting position. He looked up to
thank her, to find himself nose to nose with Mulder. His eyes widened, and he
instinctively cringed.
Mulder sighed impatiently. "Okay, look. Ground
rules. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you. Scully has
convinced me that you're not up to getting your ass kicked so I'm going to
refrain. For now. But we have to work together on
this, and we have to get a move on." He pulled at Krycek's
arm, propelling from the bed and shoving him none too gently toward the
bathroom. "So get it in gear." Alex shut the door and cranked the
shower, inhaling the steam and climbing gratefully under the hot water. After
the last few months, he felt like he would never be clean again, and hurry or
no hurry, he was going to enjoy it.
Mulder let himself out and strode to the small restaurant adjacent to the
hotel to bring back breakfast. The sooner they were out of
Scully looked up with surprise to see Mulder swing into the room, tossing
a bag and thermos onto the end of the bed before twitching the curtains aside
to peer out into the parking lot. She joined him in a heartbeat, alerted by his
attitude that something strange was going down.
"What is it, Mulder?" Her eyes swept the nearly empty lot,
seeing what was causing concern even as Mulder answered her query.
"What the hell is Mr. X doing here?" The deep brown eyes of Mulder's secret contact met theirs through the window, and
the dark form hurried across the lot toward their door.
"We're about to find out," she answered, unbolting the door to
let their unexpected visitor in.
He stopped just inside the door, hearing the sound of the shower being
turned off, and narrowing his eyes at the agents.
"Welcome to the wilds of
"There are certain developments that you need to know about, Mr.
Mulder." Mr. X was not in the mood for humor. But then, Mulder sighed to
himself, he never was.
"They must be pretty important for you to come all the way up here
to tell us." Scully's tone was challenging. Mulder contented himself with
waiting for X to come to the point.
"Very. The man you know as Cancerman has
taken some ... unusual steps."
"Like getting possessed by an alien?" Mulder politely inquired.
"And blowing up silos?" Scully chimed in.
"And calling for a meeting?" Krycek
added from the doorway to the bathroom. Mr. X had his weapon out and trained on
his chest before he could finish the question. Mulder reacted instinctively,
stepping between Krycek and the older black man.
"Don't shoot him. He's on our side." Mulder put his hands out placatingly. "At least for now.
He has information we can use."
X slowly put away his gun, eyes locked on Mulder's.
"I don't trust him." Mulder snorted derisively.
"None of trusts each other, except Scully and
myself. But we all have a common enemy. We can work with
that. Can you?" They stared at one another for a long moment, then X nodded curtly. "Good. Now, what has Cancerman done?"
Mr. X leaned against the wall next to the door, his seemingly casual pose
not fooling anyone. "Just what your 'friend' Mr. Krycek
suggested. He called for a full meeting of the shadow government of which he is
a part. There has been some dissension of late, and many members refused the
meeting, claiming the timing was suspect and other obligations kept them from
meeting. Two members of the Consortium did agree to meet. This was late last
night."
"And?" Scully prompted him when he fell silent. He stared impassively at her.
"And all hell broke loose, Dr. Scully."
They had attempted to stop it. The one, a large, blustering man with a
harsh voice, had begun to verbally abuse the host. It had probed, and found
some knowledge of it's kind, but not enough, and not
the right kind of knowledge. This was not the right source. It was on the right
track, but this one was useless. And it threatened the host. The other, a quiet
old man with a pleasant voice and a mind of ice, was useful. He had more
knowledge, and he would help. It reached into the ice, melted it, took what it
needed, and left, uncaring of the damage it caused. When the large man
attempted to stop him, it directed the heat of it's hatred toward him. The
quiet man was also caught in the blast.
The screams were brief. The hatred had been immense.
The concierge was alerted to the problem on the eighteenth floor by a
gibbering courtesy phone call. The maid had been frightened out of her wits by
the sight of the corpses, and had vomited in the doorway when the stench
reached her. When he arrived at the floor and saw what she had seen, he joined her
in the hallway and forced his trembling fingers to dial for the paramedics. Not
that anyone would be able to help these ... whatever they had been.
The cleanup crew got there before the police could. Ten
men, wearing black, ruthlessly evacuating the floor and closing off the area.
A telephone call over a secure line, a precise description, two body bags and
one thorough cleaning later, the Consortium was on alert. The man hunt had
begun. And the shadows knew fear.
"So now, he's the one being chased." There was a definite note
of satisfaction in Krycek's hoarse voice.
"You needed to know this information. I have other matters to attend
to. Whatever you are going to do, Agent Mulder, it had better be soon. Your
nemesis is a dead man." Without another word, Mr. X turned and left the
room.
Mulder settled on the side of the bed, Scully perching beside him. Krycek looked at the closed door for a moment before
picking up the discarded bag and rummaging around in it. Pulling out a muffin,
he held the bag up. "Anybody else hungry?"
Scully took the bag from him and pulled out one of her own before passing
it to Mulder. "Might as well. It's going to be a long morning." Mulder
set the bag down and poured three cups of coffee, passing one to Scully before
handing the other to Krycek. Blowing on the steaming
liquid, he fixed Krycek with a compelling stare.
"Okay, Alex," he prompted softly. "Talk to us."
"What did you need to know?" Sitting cross legged on the bed,
muffin crumbs on his fingers and damp curls falling over his forehead, he
looked about fifteen years old. Mulder reminded himself that looks could be
deceiving and started his questioning. Scully leaned back, observing closely.
"Why did they keep you alive?"
"Cancerman was going to use me as a test
subject. Put the alien back into me, put it under different stressful
situations, try to figure out how it could create bursts of radiation strong
enough to kill without harming the host body. Of course," the muffin
seemed to be particularly fascinating, judging by the way Alex was studying it,
"eventually the alien would get frustrated and I'd end up dead, but that
wasn't a consideration, since the son of a bitch has been trying to kill me for
months."
"Why?" Soft, inviting confidence.
"I fucked up." He said it simply, as if it would explain
everything. "Three strikes and you're out."
When nothing more was forthcoming, Mulder prompted him again. "What
strikes, Alex? What did you do?"
Krycek finally tore his
eyes from the muffin, locking them with Mulder's.
"I don't suppose it matters, now. You'll probably end up killing me,
anyway." He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his body, accepting
whatever would come next.
"The first mistake was your father. He had asked for Cancerman to protect you, and Cancerman
said that he had been and would continue to do so."
He ignored Mulder's widening eyes and Scully's
gasp of disbelief. "He was dying, and had the need to confess, to lighten
his soul, if that was possible. Even as strung out as you were on the psychotropics, you could have learned more than would have
been healthy for you. Cancerman couldn't allow that.
He visited your father earlier that day, warned him about talking to you, reminded him that he was looking out for you."
Mulder's hands drew
themselves into fists. Krycek watched warily, but
continued his story. "I was there as backup to
make sure he didn't talk too much. He came into the bathroom, took a bottle of
pills out of the cabinet, took a handful like he was going to overdose, then he
dropped them on the floor. Straightened his shoulders.
I knew then that he was going to talk. So I did what I'd been sent there to do.
I stopped him."
It was too much for Mulder. He exploded from the side of the bed, crossed
the small strip of carpet between himself and the other man, and landed with
his hands around Krycek's throat. The smaller man had
been expecting it, and drew his knees up forcefully into Mulder's
midriff, kicking down with his feet at Mulder's
knees. Bringing his forearms up to try to break Mulder's
grip, he arched his body as hard as he could, and the two combatants rolled
over the end of the bed to fetch up hard against the wall. Krycek
was beginning to black out and Mulder was gasping for breath himself from the
blows to his chest when a cascade of cold water mingled with ice cubes splashed
over both of them. They froze at the sensation, and Scully's voice came clearly
through the red haze that enveloped them.
"Stop it. Mulder, get up and let him finish. I know this is hard,
but we have to find out what else he knows. *I* have to find out. Damnit,
Mulder, just *back* *off*." Her voice was cold, and loud, and sounded
brittle. Mulder let his hands drop from his enemy's throat, looking into Krycek's eyes for the first time since he had begun to
speak. They were bleak, and carried a burden of sadness he had not expected.
"Why?" he whispered in the other man's face.
"I ... had to." Krycek sounded even
raspier than normal, swallowing several times to try to loosen his bruised
throat. "I need to tell you the rest of it."
Mulder levered himself off of Krycek and moved
stiffly back to the far side of the bed, as if adding the physical barrier
between himself and Alex would help him maintain his control. Scully studied
him for a worried moment, then nodded at Krycek, who had pulled himself back onto the other bed.
"Go on." His voice was harsh. "What happened next."
Krycek retrieved his cup,
sipped his coffee, and took a deep breath. His hands were trembling.
"After I shot him, I escaped out the back window. Then I was supposed to
go to your apartment and make sure you made it back in one piece." At Mulder's incredulous look, he shrugged. "That's been
my assignment from the beginning. Keep you from the truth, and keep you alive.
By whatever means necessary, for both goals. That was the first mistake."
"Killing my father?" A world of pain in the words,
carefully muted.
"No. Allowing you to see me, and getting you
shot."
Scully shuddered. He slid his eyes to meet hers, and swallowed again,
painfully. "The second mistake was ... I'm sorry. Mulder's
father knew the risks. He was one of the players for a very long time. I ...
didn't want the assignment to take you out. One of the leaders in the
Consortium argued against it, but I had to go. Carlos went as well, I guess by
that time they weren't trusting me. Cancerman didn't approve of my reaction when you were
abducted. Maybe he thought if I was alone I wouldn't do it."
He paused, dropping his gaze to his cup, staring at the black liquid
swirling around in the bottom. "He was probably right. When she came
through the door, I froze. Couldn't squeeze the trigger.
Carlos fired, and I realized as she was falling that there was something off. You, but not you. I went to the door and turned her on her
side and saw that he'd hit the wrong woman. I freaked. Kept it inside so Carlos
wouldn't report me, but I got the hell out of there as fast as I could, and
made an excuse to stop and use the bathroom at a 7-11. When we got there I used
my cell phone to call 911. But you were already there." He looked
hesitantly at her. "I am sorry."
Her eyes were as cold as her voice. "So am I."
He licked his lips and continued. "My third chance was when we
ambushed Skinner in the stairwell. I'd gone to Cancerman
after ... the mistaken shooting ..." He tried to ignore the choked sound
coming from Scully and concentrated on his story. "I'd told him I had to
get out. It wasn't working. I was marked, too well known, every excuse I could
come up with. He gave me one last assignment and told me I'd paid for my
truth."
"What truth?" Mulder broke in. Alex looked at him sadly for a
long moment.
"It doesn't matter now." He looked away, and kept talking.
"Anyway, we caught Skinner alone and beat him up, and I took the DAT tape.
Carlos wanted me to give it to him, but I wanted to give it to Cancerman personally, and get some sort of guarantee that I
was truly out of the deal. Carlos called him to report, and they must have come
to some sort of agreement, because later that afternoon we stopped at a
convenience store. Vince and Carlos went into the store and seemed to be really
taking their time. It ... felt funny. I looked down and noticed the car clock
was flashing, and it hadn't been the previous night, I would've remembered
that. Something told me to get the hell out of there, and I got about fifteen
feet away when the car blew up."
Both agents were staring at him intently now.
"I ran as far as I could, then called Cancerman from a diner and told him to back off or I'd make
him famous. I've been running ever since. I managed to hack some of the
information off the DAT tape, mainly numbers and some stuff on locations of
experimentation centers, and was selling it to keep myself funded after my
stash ran out. Then came
"Not everything." Mulder was calm again, forcing his anger and
hatred behind the wall he had carefully constructed over the years to keep his
emotions under control. He would deal with the personal ramifications of this
conversation later. "What happened at the airport?"
Krycek's eyes widened.
"I'm not quite sure. I was at the head, and I looked down, and there was
this woman in the urinal next to me. I started to say something to her, and she
reached over and literally yanked me off my feet. The next really clear memory
I have is being on my hands and knees on top of the alien ship, with this oil
stuff coming out of my mouth, and my ears ... and my eyes ..." His voice
trailed off, the remembered horror of that time clouding his face. Mulder
interrupted impatiently.
"Do you remember *anything* of the time when the alien was inside of
you?"
The rough question jerked Krycek back to the
present. "Yeah, actually. It's sort of muted, as
if there was something else controlling me and I was just watching from a
distance, unable to do anything to stop it or get in it's
way." He shuddered sharply. "I remember being taken from the car
after the wreck. These men tried to stop me. There was this incredible hatred,
and it just sort of reached out, and then this light, and warmth, not like a
burning sort of heat but like sunshine or something. Then I remember getting
into the locker and I was trying so hard not to do it, not to take the tape
out. It was my life line. Without it I was dead. But it didn't care. It took
the tape to Cancerman."
"Shit!" Mulder exploded. "I knew it! That black lunged son
of a bitch has my proof!"
"Yeah. My insurance."
"Why did he, you, hm.
Why did *it* take the tape to Cancerman?" Scully
managed to force out.
"It wanted to get back to it's ship."
Mulder and Scully looked at one another. This was not a good sign. If the
ship had been destroyed when the silo was bombed, what would it try to do now?
"Why Cancerman, Krycek? Why didn't it go
back into you?" Mulder was trying to fathom the creature's actions, but
building a psychological profile on a homicidal alien was harder than he'd
expected. Not enough data to go on.
"I think it's because it knew I was no more use to it."
"Then why didn't it kill you?" Despite her earlier efforts to
get Mulder to go easy on him, she sounded like she rather regretted that the
alien hadn't killed Krycek.
He shrugged. "I wasn't trying to stop it, I guess. If you can't help
or can't interfere, then you just don't exist to it."
"Now what?" Scully turned to her partner.
"Do you think you could communicate with it?"
Krycek looked at Mulder as
if he was insane. "Why the hell would I ever want to come anywhere *near*
that thing again?" he almost shouted.
"Because we have something to bargain with,
now. An exchange -- their safety for
our information. We want that tape. They're at risk from this alien. You
can help them take out Cancerman, which will remove
his threat from you. You can find out from the alien where the tape is, in
exchange for helping it find others of it's kind,
which is what it seems to be looking for. You'll be safe from them. They'll be
safe from the alien. And we'll have at least some of the answers, because we'll
have that tape." He looked from Scully to Krycek,
determined to make them see that this was their best chance at the truth.
"All we can do is try."
Scully pursed her lips, weighing her need to punish Krycek
against the sure knowledge that he would never see a trial for his crimes. The
Consortium would see that he was dead long before he could shed light on any of
their activities in a court room. Working with him wouldn't bring Melissa back
to her, any more than it would return Mulder's father
to him, but it would help her take down the ones truly responsible for their
deaths. And that, in the end, was more justice than she had ever actually hoped
to find. "Let's do it."
Krycek nodded, relieved
that he had been granted a reprieve. They weren't going to kill him for his
role in their relatives' deaths, and perhaps, by bringing in the ones who gave
the orders, he could channel their need for revenge onto other targets and take
himself out of their sights. It was certainly worth a try.
Later that day, as they settled into their seats on board the 737 bound
for
Alex looked at him distrustfully. "About
what?"
"Why was Cancerman supposedly protecting
me?" He turned his head to meet Krycek's eyes,
determined to get the truth from him. The younger man paused for a moment,
wondering how to put this so that Mulder would understand without flipping out.
"Before I tried to leave, I knew that I'd need some heavy ammunition
if I was going to stay alive and away from the Consortium. So I hacked into
some of Cancerman's personal files. I'm actually
pretty good on the computer. That's how he caught me in the first place."
Mulder cocked his head, indicating that he should go on, but he shook his head
in return. "Another story, not important right now.
Anyway, turns out that William Mulder had originally volunteered you for the
experiments, not your sister. Cancerman countermanded
that order. I did a little digging and found out that DNA typing had been done
on all the members of your family. Samantha was William Mulder's
biological child. You were not."
Mulder gasped and drew back, biting at his lip to keep from cursing. He
wasn't sure at all that he wanted to hear this. Krycek
gave him a worried look, and hurried on.
"You and I both know how easy it is to fake computer records and
test results, Mulder. So I dug deeper. Your DNA profile is a close kin
biological match to that of Edmund Wilkes." Mulder gazed at him
uncomprehendingly. "Cancerman."
For an instant, Alex was certain that Mulder was going to vomit. He
swallowed and finished the story. "When he was young, his hair was auburn
brown. The color, combined with his counterintelligence capabilities, high
intelligence, and eidetic memory, led to his being given the nickname 'The
Fox.'"
He watched sympathetically as Mulder clamped a hand over his mouth and
breathed slowly through his nose. He offered him a motion sickness bag, but the
offer was glared down. Softly, from the other side of his seat, he heard Scully
cursing. Casting about for something, anything to take Mulder's
mind off of this newest piece of the nightmare, he asked, "What was the
other thing you wanted to ask me about?"
Mulder breathed deeply, his color gradually losing the tinge of green but
remaining paler than normal. His eyes looked bruised in his face. Finally, he
was able to clamp down on all the extreme possibilities that were running rampant
in his mind, and concentrate on Krycek's face.
"Why," he had to work up some moisture in his mouth before he
could finish the question. "Why did you save my life in
Krycek looked
uncomfortable, actually squirming a bit in his seat before coming up with an
answer. "You might not believe this, but it's the truth. All that stuff I
told you when we were first partnered, about my respecting you and admiring
your work? It was true. I had my reasons for what I did, but they also had
their reasons for giving me you as an assignment. My primary assignment was to
keep you alive. The same assignment Scully had, whether she knew it or not. It
got to be a habit."
When he didn't get any answer to this, he turned to see Mulder staring at
him. The wide hazel eyes were curiously blank, as if they had tried to see
something more than they could assimilate. Alex bit his lip and looked away. He
imagined that that would be the look one would see in the eyes of the shell
shocked. A light voice on his left side brought him out of his reverie.
"What were they, Krycek? Your 'reasons'?" She looked directly at him, clear blue
eyes seeming to see into his soul, and he found himself answering before he
could censor himself.
"Stupidity. False expectations. Trying to protect someone
who was past protecting and only finding out that she was gone after I was in
too deep to get myself out." He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at what he
had inadvertently revealed. Opening them again, he gazed dully at his seatmate.
"It doesn't matter any more. It really doesn't matter." She saw the
hopelessness in his eyes and, for the first time, felt some kinship to him. He
had been in hell. They were still there. Despite all that had gone on, there were
some similarities here that she couldn't ignore. She looked past him to see her
partner, slumped against the side of the airplane, gazing sightlessly at the
clouds rushing past the window.
War made very strange allies.
Another unexpected visitor met them at the airport. Apparently some
members of the Consortium had reached the same conclusions that Mulder had. A
well-dressed, older man whom Mulder had met along a garden path and Scully had
met at a graveside stood on the tarmac, awaiting them when they touched down.
He nodded in a cordial fashion at Krycek, and the
young man nodded back.
"I do believe we need to parlay." It was an order, not a
request. Mulder glanced fleetingly at Scully and read her acceptance, then
ducked into the nondescript blue sedan waiting for them just beyond the parking
area. Scully followed him in, and Krycek slid in next
to her, pulling the door shut behind him.
The old man settled himself in the front passenger seat and gestured to
the driver to pull out. The short drive from the airport, through the access
tunnels and the double security checks, was accomplished in complete silence.
Just a few miles from the airport, the driver pulled off the highway and
stopped at a small restaurant, leaving the engine idling while his passengers
disembarked. The old man murmured something to which the driver replied with an
affirmative, and the sedan pulled away from the curb.
"We have an hour." He led them into the softly lit confines of
the restaurant lounge, free of patrons this time of day. The hostess approached
and set down four glasses of water, then was dismissed with a slight wave of
the man's hand. The other three settled into their chairs with varying degrees
of discomfort, all carefully masked. "This is what I have to offer."
He slowly drew a familiar DAT tape from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Mulder and Scully exchanged glances, and Krycek
reached for the tape.
"May I?" Mulder's hand on his wrist
delayed him, and he looked him impatiently. "I'm not taking it anywhere,
Mulder. But I had this tape for a hell of a long time. If it's a fake I might
be able to tell." Mulder reluctantly allowed him to pick up the tape, and
the old man cleared his throat delicately.
"I can assure you it is not a fake, Mr. Krycek.
I, perhaps more than my fellow members, have much to lose in this particular
situation. There were three men who were involved in this salvage operation
from the beginning. One was William Mulder."
Mulder sat upright and stared fiercely at the old man. "The second
was Edmund Wilkes. And the third was Johnathon
Abernathy, the man you knew as Deep Throat, Mr. Mulder. Two of these men are
dead, and the third may as well be."
He paused to take a sip from the water at his elbow. "I am the only
person still living who has as near to complete information on this unusual
being and it's needs as possible." He took another sip, weighing his
audience in the pause. "It will be coming after me next. Unfortunately for
both of us, I do not have the information it seeks. A meeting between us will
end in the our deaths. I wish to avoid that outcome,
for obvious reasons."
"What do you want us to do in return for the tape?" Mulder cut
to the heart of the matter.
"With the increased instability of the Consortium as a whole and the
deaths of two of the six major players," he ignored their start at this
news, "not to mention the untimely possession of our American colleague, I
am in a rather unique position to offer you, Mr. Mulder, this tape, to offer
Dr. Scully some, but not all, of the details of her abduction, and to offer Mr.
Krycek immunity from further persecution at the hands
of the Consortium. And, Mr. Krycek, you will have the
information you have sought regarding your wife's demise and ultimate resting
place."
Mulder looked askance at Krycek, but the other
man refused to meet his eyes, concentrating on the old man's proposition.
Scully leaned forward. "Why not all the information?
Why just bits and pieces, as always?" Her voice
was forceful, but controlled, as if she feared she would scream if she allowed
it full rein.
"Because the full details would place me in as
much jeopardy as this creature currently pursuing me. This is all I can give you, Dr. Scully. And I assure you, it is more than
I otherwise might be able to offer. I am acting on my own authority. If this
does not work, it will not matter. The creature will kill me. If it does work,
then no one will be able to gainsay my actions because I will have prevented
the wholesale slaughter of my colleagues by a creature determined to find an
answer that does not exist."
"You didn't answer *my* question," Mulder inserted softly.
"What do you want us to do in return for this information?"
"I need something from each of you, Mr. Mulder. You have in your
possession certain diaries kept by William Mulder covering the time period from
1952 through 1958. I need them. A straight trade, then, for you, the DAT tape
for the diaries. When the creature leaves Mr. Wilkes, Dr. Scully, it is my
belief that Mr. Wilkes will die. I need for you to do an autopsy on the body,
and I need the results to be given into my possession solely. In return, I
offer you as much information as I can give you regarding your abduction and
any possible long term effects on your health and well being. Mr. Krycek, you have the most dangerous task, and the greatest
rewards. I need you to convince the alien that it's
craft was the only one of its kind to reach the planet surface intact, and that
no other survivors exist. In return, I will cancel the current contract out on
your life, release you from all obligation to the
Consortium, remove all record of your ever working in conjunction with our
projects, and give you the information you have sought regarding your late
wife."
He paused to give his audience time to absorb his offer. Taking slow sips
of water, he looked from one to the next to the third, gauging the effect of
his words. He had them. They knew it. Mulder spoke for all of them.
"When do we start?"
"Now, Mr. Mulder. The car will return you to the airport where a charter plane awaits. You
will fly directly to
"And the alien?" Krycek's husky question caused the old man to
look at him with some surprise.
"It will find us, Mr. Krycek."
"I don't trust him, Mulder." Scully's sotto voce comment came
as no surprise to her partner. She and Mulder had stepped away from the other
two for a moment, needing to confer before going any further.
"Neither do I, Scully, but this is the best
chance we've ever had of getting some answers."
"What's in these diaries? Have you had a chance to look through
them?"
"Actually, I have, and they don't make any sense to me." He
looked over his shoulder at Krycek and the old man,
standing in uncomfortable silence by the table. "I even had Frohicke and the guys take a look at them. Numbers, mainly, and a few cryptic notes about depths and pressures
and ergs. We couldn't make heads or tails out of them."
"So you won't be giving up anything you haven't already tried to
crack, then."
"No. And I think it's worth the trade. He's scared, Scully."
She looked around him at the utterly composed old man, and looked back up at
him with patent disbelief in her eyes. "He never would have approached us
unless he was desperate," Mulder insisted. "The one thing we can be
assured of is that these people will act in their own best interests. I've seen
what this alien can do. So have you. I don't trust him, but I do believe him."
"You *want* to believe, Mulder. I'm not so sure I do."
"What's the alternative?" She met his tired hazel eyes with
very little hope. He read his answer there, and clasped her shoulder briefly.
The sounds of two cars pulling up outside the front window drew their
attention, and the old man stepped over to join them, Krycek
trailing behind.
"The first car is yours, Mr. Mulder. We shall see you later this
evening, then." Mulder nodded, squeezing Scully's shoulder for a moment
before letting his hand drop. His eyes met Krycek's
for an instant, and something there reassured him, something he hadn't expected
to see. Determination, and hope. Whatever it was the
old man was offering, it had put Krycek's
heart back into him, something Mulder had never seen. He turned and left the
restaurant. Scully watched through the front window as he ducked into the
sedan, then turned and joined the others as they bundled into the second car
and headed for the city.
It was growing tired. This host had a deeper strength of mind than it had
expected, and it was having to fight harder than it
ever had to maintain control. It could feel the strength seeping away as it
fought back the mind of the man. Each fresh assault made it angrier, and it
could feel more and more of the host mind slip away as
it was battered down. Not that it cared if the mind was completely lost. But he
still had some information it sought, and time was running short. With a brief,
internal struggle, it forced the host mind to release the next part of the
puzzle, the next link in the chain that would lead it back to it's own kind. An address. Another step toward home.
It tried to force the host body forward toward the address, but the legs
gave out, and the old man's body fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for
breath. Another sliver of consciousness disappeared into oblivion upon losing
the battle for control of the address, and the body reacted with exhaustion. It
considered it's options, fighting to bring the alien
body back under control. It would have to allow the host to rest. Not long. It
couldn't afford long. But it didn't want to lose this host before it attained it's goal.
The old man's body curled into the fetal position on the thinly carpeted
floor, tears leaking from eyes that had once been ice blue. The liquid was
tinged with black.
The diaries were right where he'd left them, tossing them with
frustration into the bottom drawer of his father's desk. He sat for a moment,
tracing a finger over the cracked leather bindings, wondering what was so
important in the yellowed pages that the old man was willing to give up so much
for them. He blessed his eidetic memory, knowing that he could call up the
information if needed and try to crack the code once again. Memories of his
father, sitting at this desk, reading papers, cracking sunflower seeds, came
back to him as vividly as if it had been yesterday, not twenty five years ago.
The sound in his ears made his heart clench, and he thought of Krycek's words on the airplane. If it was true, then
finally, it might make some sense. Why his father had been willing to give him
up, had always blamed him for Samantha's disappearance. Why he had never been
able to measure up. Why his father had hated him.
Drops fell against the dry leather, and he took a deep breath. Tears
wouldn't help, not now. No wonder his mother hadn't wanted to talk about the
men in the photograph. No wonder she felt there were secrets better left
unspoken. He gathered the diaries and stuffed them haphazardly into the small
backpack he carried, thankful that his mother was out of town visiting friends.
He didn't want to, no, *couldn't* face her right now. He would find himself
asking questions that she would not answer with her words, and he would read
those unspoken answers in her eyes. He didn't want those answers yet. He wasn't
ready for them.
He might never be ready to face some truths.
Scully lay back in the antique cherrywood sleighbed and stared at the delicate tracings of the
painting hanging on the far wall. She was worried about Mulder. And about herself. And, surprisingly,
about Krycek. Giving up on the idea of sleep,
wondering if insomnia was contagious, she pulled a robe from it's
hook on the door and slipped quietly into the hallway, heading from the
library. If nothing else, maybe she could find something to read. Lying there
thinking was making her feel crazy.
Wandering into the large, book-lined room, she flicked on the lamps and
stopped to peer at the first shelves. Classics, Herodotus,
Thucydides in the original Greek, Virgil, Longus,
Ovid in Latin. She sighed. Not exactly light reading.
"Not much in the way of bedtime reading, is there?" Krycek's husky voice came out of the shadows and she
instinctively whirled on him. He raised both hands in the air in a half mocking
gesture to show her that he wasn't armed.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Same thing you are, I suppose," he replied quietly. "Just sitting, thinking. Gave up on trying to get any sleep tonight. Too wired."
She moved over to take a seat on the couch opposite his chair. "Are
you afraid?"
"Of meeting up with the Oil Slick from Outer Space again?" he
snorted. "Hell, yes. Who knows if it will listen to me? It might just
decide to fry me and get it over with, *I* don't know." He looked past her
to the rows of books extending into the shadows by the ceiling. "Maybe
it'd be better that way."
She settled into the cushions of the couch, resting her cheek on one
palm, utterly unaware of the lovely picture she presented. Krycek
glanced at her and found his gaze caught by the fire of her hair as it spilled
over her palm. It brought to mind a different fire, golden instead of auburn, and his expression spasmed
with pain. "Tell me about her," she invited, trying to understand. He
stared at her hair, lost in his memories, and let the darkness cover him as he
told her about Caitlin. Young, and idealistic, and drawn to
the wrong cause. He'd known her since high school, had dated her all
through college, hadn't known about her other
activities until he was almost through training at
"It was bullshit, of course." He didn't seem to be aware of the
tears glittering in his eyes. "She'd been working for them for almost
three years by that time. I don't know how they hooked her, but they had
letters. In her handwriting. They were holding her
hostage, I thought, so that I would do this one small job for them." He
tilted his head back, ignoring the moisture escaping the corner of his eye to
trail down the side of his cheek and slide down his jaw. "She was probably
dead even then. But by the time I figured that out, I was in too deep to back
out. I was partnering Mulder by then, and then came the mess with Duane Barry.
I couldn't get any straight answers. So I just kept going. Until they decided
that they couldn't count on me to do it any more, and they tried to kill
me." He stopped and looked at her again. She was surprised to see what
looked like relief in his eyes. "At least now I know. She's gone. If I get
nothing else from this, at least I'll know that."
She pursed her lips in thought. "Do you think you can believe what
this man says?"
He laughed slightly. "No way. That's why
I'm getting the grave site. Or the urn, or something.
I'll exhume the body if I have to, but I'm going to know, one way or the other,
what happened to Cait." She nodded understanding.
"Good luck. With that, and with the
alien."
He gave her a half smile. "Thanks. I'm going to need it."
Mulder arrived at the apartment after
"Mind if I join the party?" he tossed into the pool of silence
in the room.
Scully looked up at him and smiled, patting the couch beside her.
"Got a seat already reserved for you. Any problems in
Chilmark?"
"No," he responded wearily, dropping onto the soft cushions and
glancing curiously at Krycek. "Mom was with
friends, so I didn't have to answer any questions."
"Or ask any?" Scully sent him a concerned look.
"Or ask any," he affirmed. "You two have a cozy
chat?" He noticed the tear tracks on Alex's face, but the other man had
closed his eyes and was off in his own world.
"Just comparing notes," she answered. "They really are
getting what they deserve, Mulder." Her voice had a familiar hard edge to
it. "Anything that happens to the members of this Consortium is no more
than they've earned."
He settled further into the cushions and dropped his gaze to the pack at
his feet. "Yeah. I guess ... it all comes full
circle, doesn't it." She noticed where his eyes were directed, and reached
out silently to take his hand. He gripped it gently and took a deep breath.
Unseen by the two agents, Krycek watched their
by-play through slitted lids. He recognized the
connection. Thought he'd had it once. Hopefully, they'd be luckier than he had
been. Mulder rose to his feet and pulled Scully easily to hers.
"Bed time. Full day tomorrow." She started to reply and was taken
aback by the full yawn that suddenly cracked her jaw. She gave him a wide eyed
look, and he grinned at her. Shaking her head, she turned and left the room. He
looked over his shoulder at Alex.
"Krycek?" He wasn't sure why he was feeling protective of the younger man,
considering what he had learned about him. But he couldn't help but see the
fresh faced rookie he thought had been his partner when he looked at him,
superimposed over the weary face of a double agent who he thought had tried to
kill him, and it turned out, had been protecting him. He didn't know how he
felt about Krycek. He just knew that he had to be up
for the morning confrontation with the alien, or they might all end up burned
to death in a blaze of radiation. "Get some sleep."
Alex looked solemnly up at him. "I'll be fine here." Mulder
held his tongue and left him to it. God only knew he preferred the couch
himself.
It stood in the foyer, ticking off the floors in its mind. Twelve. The host was weak, but elevators could be traps, no
way out if the wrong alien stepped in with it. It placed a hand over the pulse
in the host's neck, feeling the rapid beat. The host would not last much
longer. The elevator it would have to be.
Krycek was nibbling his
way through his fifth piece of bacon when he felt it. His hand began to shake
and he dropped the meat on the sideboard. The servant gave him a dirty look at
the small spot of grease on the fine Irish linen, but he was completely unaware
of the rebuke.
It was here.
He turned to Mulder, eyes wide with distress, unable to say a word.
Mulder got up from the table so quickly the chair tipped over, alerting Scully
and the old man to Krycek's predicament. One curt
word sent the servant scurrying from the room, and Mulder reached out a hand to
steady Alex.
"Is it here, Krycek?"
A mute nod was his only answer.
"We'll be in the anteroom. It's going to work. You have to believe
what you're telling it. It's the truth. And the truth is the only thing that
will get all of us out of here alive." Mulder grasped Krycek's
upper arm firmly enough to leave bruises. "Trust yourself, Alex. Trust
what you're telling it. And give it the answers it's looking for." Wide
green eyes met determined hazel, and Krycek swallowed
heavily.
"I'm ... it's okay. Go on. Get out of
here." Mulder nodded and joined Scully at the door to the anteroom. As it
swung shut behind them, the hallway door swung wide and the man who had been
Edmund Wilkes stepped into the room.
The old man felt the tremors in his limbs begin and tried to will them
away. He couldn't allow fear to cloud his mind. From what young Krycek had explained, this creature was somehow able to
reach into people's minds and pull out information. If the person tried to
resist, they were simply crushed, from the inside. His only chance lay in
allowing the alien to read the truth, and take his chances that they would be
able to kill it before it killed them. Not that his temporary allies were aware
of that aspect of his plan, of course. He didn't have the same need to protect
Agent Mulder and his partner that the American had had. And Mr. Krycek was certainly expendable.
"Where are they?" A demand, and an
arrogant one at that.
Krycek forced himself to
relax the best he could, and concentrated on reaching out to the alien, trying
to assure it of the truth of his words. "There aren't any more. The one
you are in right now, he was lying to you. He wanted to use you for research.
Remember? Back at the silo? He said he was going to
put you back in me and run tests. Try to find out how you protect yourself, so
he could use it as a weapon. Remember?"
"There are others. Like me. I must find them. You will help me find
them."
It reached out, moving faster than either had expected, leaving the old
man in a crumpled heap on the floor, seeping over Krycek's
foot and into his skin. Krycek tried to scream, tried
to deny it access, and it paused, seeming to understand that this one would be
no help, that this one was a victim of those who had victimized it. Not an
enemy. Not a tool. With a sudden whipping surge it pushed Krycek
away from itself, sending him tumbling against the wall. Rolling like a wave in
a riptide, it caught the old man and enveloped him, desperate for the knowledge
it believed he had. With a wrenching scream, he was submerged in the alien
presence, and the knowledge it sought was ripped from his memory.
Mulder and Scully heard the scream through the closed door, and looked at
one another for one indecisive moment. With a deep breath, Mulder tore the door
open and they spilled into the room, weapons drawn, to find Krycek
unconscious against the side wall, Cancerman
unconscious on the floor by the sofa, and their host nowhere in the vicinity.
Mulder went from one end of the room to the other, trying all likely and some
unlikely hiding places, before catching a glimpse through the front window of
what appeared to be the old man stepping into a plain black coupe. He banged his
fist against the window, but the old man didn't pause. He turned, cursing under
his breath, to see Scully kneeling beside a groggy Krycek.
"I think he's going to be okay, Mulder." She felt the strong
pulse at his throat and raised his lids to look at the slightly dilated pupils.
"Mild concussion, but he's hard headed. Not much worse than he's already
had." She left him propped against the wall and moved to crouch beside the
unmoving form of Cancerman.
"What about this one?" Mulder wasn't quite sure what to call
him. Wilkes seemed odd, he sure as hell wasn't going to call him Dad, and black
lunged son of a bitch took too long to say. He squelched the laughter bubbling
up in his chest, recognizing it for the effective if inappropriate coping
mechanism that it was, and looked quizzically at Scully.
She felt along the jugular, looking for anything, but there was no
movement. "He's dead, Mulder." His skin was already cold. "I
think the alien pushed him literally to death." She drew back a lid and
saw the burst blood vessels in his eyes. "Stroke, maybe aneurysm, but it
looks to me like his brain simply imploded." She dropped the head back to
the carpet, and looked up at her partner. "Okay. What now?"
Mulder strode over to the massive desk and gathered up William Mulder's diaries, slipping the DAT tape in with them.
"Now, we head home. Try to find out what was so important about these
diaries. Try to follow the paper trail." He paused and set the backpack on
the polished surface. "But first things first. He
may very well have been jerking our chain about the records on your abduction,
Scully, or," he turned to include Krycek,
shakily pulling himself up by the side of the sofa, "about your wife's
documentation. But we have a little time before their spies let them know what
happened here. I vote we make the best of it." Scully nodded and began an
in-depth search of the library, and Krycek shook the
last of the ringing from his ears and started in the old man's bedroom. Mulder
took the desk and worked side by side with Scully, in as thorough and fast a
search as they had ever conducted.
Alex hit the jackpot. A floor safe.
"Mulder! Scully! In
here!" He had the carpet rolled back and was listening intently to the
tumblers when they got in the room. Mulder opened his mouth to ask him about
his find, but Alex raised his hand for quiet -- and got it. It was a
surprisingly old fashioned lock for such a highly placed man, but the old man
hadn't trusted electronics. Krycek had it open in
less than five minutes.
"I had no idea you were such an adept burglar, Krycek,"
Mulder complimented him. "Although I suppose I should have known."
The younger man gave him a brief glare, but he was more interested in the
contents of the safe than Mulder's jibes. He pulled
two folders from the safe, feeling a shiver at the sight of the labels. There
was nothing else in the safe save the folders. Silently, he handed Scully the
one marked with her name, and sat back to open the one marked 'Caitlin Griffin Krycek'.
Before he could begin to read, they heard the commotion of booted feet
stamping down the hall. Mulder darted back into the library, gathering up his
pack, checking to make sure the precious DAT tape was still there. Scully
stuffed her folder into the pack along with the diaries, and all three ran down
the back hall to the stairwell in the back. As Mulder opened the door, they
heard the echoes of footsteps coming up the metal stairs. He pointed up, and
Scully nodded. Krycek made a pushing motion with his
hands, and Mulder took the hint. The bootsteps
drowned out their lighter steps as they ran up the stairwell to the fifteenth
floor, thankful that someone, somewhere, kept the fire doors unlocked. Pausing
to catch their breath, they walked to the side elevators and headed for the
lobby. By the time the doors opened, the last of the black clad clean up crew
was gone from the first floor, and they were able to slip out the side entrance
undetected.
Frohicke had assured Mulder
that the Gunmen had thoroughly swept his apartment for bugs the previous night,
anticipating his need for privacy when he got back. Mulder was appropriately
appreciative, although he'd have to explain to Scully later why she'd have to
change her email address again. Krycek had settled
into the corner of the livingroom next to the fish
tank, and was deeply engrossed in his late wife's file. Scully was curled up on
his couch, equally as involved in her own file. And Mulder sat next to her,
close enough to offer support if she required it but not touching her, giving
her the space she needed. He was trying once more to make sense out of the
encrypted entries in the diaries. The answer was there, he was sure, at least,
some of the answers. The DAT tape resting securely with Byers would have more,
of that he was certain. And eventually, with enough of the pieces of the
puzzle, he would have his truth, and he would find his sister.
The soft rustle of pages in the corner stopped, and Scully raised her
head to look over her glasses at Krycek. Mulder
followed her gaze to see him, sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at a
picture from the file, pages scattered around his knees.
"What is it, Krycek?" Quietly. Mulder looked at her, eyes narrowing. One of these
days she would tell him the whole story. There had to be a reason why she was
so gentle with the man who had assisted in her abduction.
"She's not dead." He appeared dazed.
"What?" Mulder was confused.
"She's not dead," Krycek repeated. He
looked up at the agents sitting side by side on the couch. "She's still
out there."
"You're going to go looking for her, I take it." Scully sounded
sure of the answer.
"Yeah. There are
some pointers in here, assignments they put her on, some places they sent
her."
"But if she's still working for them, Alex," Mulder began, only
to be interrupted by the other man.
"I have to find her, Mulder. They could be controlling her the same
way they were controlling me. That's over now," he rasped fiercely,
"for both of us. I just have to find her and tell her. Get her out of
it." They watched as he gathered the file and shook it into place.
"You're leaving tonight?" She was a little surprised.
"I've lost enough time, Scully." He stopped on the way to the
front door, taking a deep breath and staring at them in turn. "Thanks. For saving my life. And for helping me get
this far." Scully just nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Mulder
looked from his partner to the tense figure at the door.
"Good luck, Alex." He meant it. Krycek
smiled at them, that shy half smile that made him look so young, and ducked out
the door. Mulder wasn't sure where his hatred had gone, just that it was caught
in the gray area that made up so much of his life. It had never been easy to
tell the good guys from the bad, and it was getting harder by the day. A
muffled exclamation from the woman at his side brought his attention back to
her.
"Scully? What'd you find?" Her eyes were wide, fixed on the
page on her lap. He scooted closer to her, peering over her shoulder to look at
what appeared to be a series of random numbers tossed into tables and crammed
in no particular order onto the page. It must have made some sense to Scully,
though, by the way her face drained of color.
"These records are fragmentary, Mulder, but there are some things
that are clear." She swallowed dryly, running one fingertip down a series
of numbers. "Findings include manipulation of levels of growth hormone, adrenocorticotropic hormone, androgen and estrogen levels,
insulin and glucagon levels, extensive scarring of
the Fallopian tubes, foreign growths in and ... shredding of the endometrial
lining, uterine fibroids..." her voice trailed off. "My god. What did they do to me?"
The pain in her voice prompted him to curve his arm protectively around
her shoulders. She sank against his side, staring in horror at the statistical
evidence of the experimentation her abductors had carried out on her over the
months that she was missing.
"You said they were fragmentary, Scully. Can you tell what's missing?"
His soft voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. She nodded
slowly.
"Results. Rationale. What they were trying to prove, or disprove. Permanent aftereffects." Her voice was deadened by the
weight of what she read. He gently closed the file and placed it on the coffee
table, drawing her into the warmth of his embrace.
"We'll find the answers, Scully. We won't stop looking. This is one
more piece of evidence." She allowed her head to fall on his chest,
feeling vaguely reassured by the steady thrum of his heart under her ear.
"We'll get to the truth, partner."
It was a heartfelt promise. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes,
taking refuge for a little while from all of the questions. They would find out
what happened to her, and to his sister. Together, they would cut through the
lies. Until then, she would be satisfied with the small measure of justice
these last few days had brought. For all of them.
He held her while she drifted off to sleep, staring into the dim glow of
the fish tank, watching his few remaining fish swimming purposefully back and
forth. They were going around in circles, not really accomplishing much, but
they seemed satisfied. He sometimes felt as though his life was on the same
circular track as the fish. But at quiet moments like this, a small victory
behind them and a continuing search in front of them, he was content to listen
to his partner breathe and know that they were one step closer to the truth.
end