Summary: Okay, this is the dreaded babyfic. Remember, it was born from a desire to avenge everyone who read the MSR version. m/m slash

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Scully sat across from Skinner's desk, her jaw set. "So that's it. We're just giving up on him."

Skinner sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, Agent Scully. No one is giving up on him. But we have no leads. The team is still working to develop new ones. Believe me," he studied her, seeing the signs of strain, of worry. "We'll find him," he was just afraid they'd find him dead.

"He's been gone three months, sir." She looked away. "You think he's dead, don't you."

He considered how best to answer that. "I think that if Agent Mulder is still alive, Scully, he's resourceful enough to find a way to lead us there. Or to get out of whatever trouble he's in."

"That damned abduction case." Her mouth thinned, her shoulders straightened. "Thank you, sir."

"I wish I had better news." He nodded somberly. "And if they come up with anything, Agent Scully, I'll call you. Congratulations on the Quantico job, I wish you the best of luck."

She nodded absently. Her mind still on Mulder. "Thank you." Automatically, and she was gone, quick steps to the door, the quiet snick of the door as it closed.

He turned his chair and rose, went to stand at the window. "Where the hell are you, Mulder?" Wearily. Sadly.

The street below gave him no answers.

But then, he hadn't expected it would.

A year later
West Virginia

A long hard search and the snow shrouded building nestled in the West Virginia mountains was the end of it, Krycek thought, peering through the binoculars.

Mulder was there. He'd turned over the wrong stone, nearly fifteen months ago, turned up an operation that was decidedly shady, even for the Syndicate. A side project, someone's favorite pet mad scientist, a Wilhelm Van Fliet. Dutch, not German, although there were some decidedly Third Reich characteristics to Van Fliet's particular interests.

Cloning was only one of them. And, of course, as befitted a mad scientist, the use of artificial wombs so that men might gestate their own.

He couldn't understand why the Syndicate saw fit to actually fund this lunatic, but it was even odds that they would never have approved Mulder's being included among the other experimental subjects.

Not that their concerns were his own.

He needed Mulder. Or thought he did. Anything else....well, it was well worth his while to retrieve his former partner and present enemy from them. To retrieve enough damning data to send to Skinner, one of the few remotely honest men he knew outside of Mulder.

The place wasn't heavily staffed, if he was quick and careful, he could do it very easily.

He hoped. He thought. What he was going to do if the experiment had advanced sufficiently that Mulder was--never mind, the thought gave him the shudders.

Getting back into the van, he drove back to the road, considering his plans.

Get rid of the communications link to the outside world. Get rid of the guards--four of them, two day shift, two night shift.

Get rid of the orderlies, at present only two.

Browbeat or soft-soap Van Fliet, depending on Mulder's medical condition.

Van Fliet had an exceptionally high mortality rate among his experimental subjects. Out of fifteen men, according to his source, thirteen had died. Bad medicine. Bad science.

And why it turned his stomach to think of Mulder in those hands....he wasn't sure. Any more than he'd ever been sure why he'd liked the son of a bitch from the start. Despite his orders.

The road was snowy. Not plowed, this far out, and not used, from the look of it. So much the better.

Smiling grimly, Krycek put the van into second gear and began the climb.

Van Fliet wasn't happy to be awakened by a gun in his face. And unhappier still when Krycek spoke.

"Your operation is being shut down." Glacially. He'd seen Mulder, asleep, restrained. Seen what had been done to him.

Mulder hadn't seen him. Blessedly.

The guards hadn't either. They must have been eking out the days to whatever retirement the Syndicate had planned for them. Somehow, Krycek felt he'd done them a favor.

"I have protection," Van Fliet sputtered. "Who are you?"

"That's a need to know, Doctor." He smiled thinly. "All you need to know is that you made a mistake. You should never have taken Fox Mulder."

Van Fliet opened his mouth, paled suddenly. "Why?"

"He has protection." Krycek put the muzzle to Van Fliet's forehead. "Now, I can do you a favor, or you can cause me trouble, whichever way you want it, Doctor. I have a sure way to deal with trouble, it never fails."

The bastard paled further. "What do you want?"

"You're going to remove the clone from Mulder, I need to take him back with me. And if you do everything right, you and your medical staff will survive. Although you won't be working on this site any more," he studied Van Fliet, smiled thinly. "And, of course, they want all your research, all your documentation."

Van Fliet sat up slowly, eased back against the headboard. "And if I don't?"

"You don't survive. There's a bit of a debate going on as to whether or not you're necessary. I'm willing to err on the side of conservatism once Mulder is in my hands and whole."

Van Fliet licked his lips. "What about the clone?"

Krycek shrugged. "Your business, not mine. I have no orders. They didn't think you'd advanced quite as far as you had."

"All right." Van Fliet considered. "All right. But surely we can wait A while longer, we have only six more weeks to go."

He let his expression go stony. "Don't fuck with me, Doctor. You really don't have any choice."

Swallowing hard, Van Fliet swallowed. Nodded.

"Get out of bed. No false moves, doctor, or I'll cut you down." Evenly. Calmly. "Get up, get dressed, get ready for surgery."

"I will." Van Fliet got up slowly, watching him nervously. "I won't give you any trouble."

"Good." Krycek smiled. "Then we'll get along fine," he left the safety off, just in case.

Mulder woke to the same nightmare he'd been living for months. The thing inside him thumped hard, making him shudder. The restraints on his wrists and ankles prevented anything more than a shudder.

Thin white scars on the inside of his arms attested to why the restraints were used.

He regarded them bitterly. He had to take psychology, he couldn't take anatomy, he told himself and closed his eyes again, hearing the voices from down the corridor.

The rest of the cells were empty, now, he was the only one left. The last of Van Fliet's lab animals. The voices echoed.

One of them sounded like Alex Krycek, which didn't seem surprising in his present circumstances. Sometimes, he had long talks with Scully. It usually didn't happen this early in the day. Morning usually let him find some sanity again.

So he kept his eyes closed. He wasn't ready for Alex Krycek this early in the morning. Real or imagined.

"Mulder, I know you're awake," the voice of Jenner, Van Fliet's assistant was as charming and edged as usual.

He kept his eyes closed anyway. "Fuck off, Jenner." Hoarsely.

He heard the electronic click of the cell door. Why they bothered to lock it was beyond him. Did they think he was fucking Houdini?

He felt another hard kick as the ankle restraints were loosened. Finally opened his eyes as Jenner freed his wrists. He kept hoping that Jenner would forget the shockstick one of these mornings, but he wasn't masochistic enough to want to fight it any more.

With any luck, he'd fuck up Van Fliet's experiment by dying early. And that was going to be bad enough. He'd watched enough of the others die. He was docile enough getting into the wheelchair, conscious of the stun gun. "What's on the agenda today, Jenner? More fun with the Brain?"

Jenner jerked the straps confining his wrists painfully tight. "Why don't you just give up the tough guy routine, Mulder."

He made a bitter sound, in no way resembling laughter. "Hey, look what you've done to me. Gotta hold on to macho any way I can, asshole."

The cell door grated as it slid open again. He closed his eyes, twisting his wrists against the webbing. He always tried, although he had the chance of a snowball in hell of getting out of these mountains in his current physical condition.

A fast walk was likely to bring him to his knees, after months of this kind of confinement.

The voices were louder as Jenner pushed him down the corridor. But they didn't turn right toward the lab, they turned left, toward the surgery.

His heart thumped hard, adrenaline rush. "What are you doing?"

"Delivery day, Mulder," Jenner told him acidly. "You're going to be a mom."

"Fuck you." He took the slap without flinching, hardly caring. Wondered if they'd just let him die, or keep him for more experiments.

And oh, Christ, Krycek was in the surgery, gowned and holding a gun on Van Fliet.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he told Krycek tightly. "You come to watch?"

Krycek stared at him, those eyes giving nothing away. "Something like that." Quietly. Not edged. Not sardonic.

Not threatening.

"You here to do the honors once he's proven his point?" Mulder licked his lips, jerked his head back as Jenner's hand came up again.

"Don't." Krycek's voice was still quiet, but deadly. "Unless you want to lose that hand, Doctor Jenner."

Mulder swallowed hard, stared. He'd thought....never mind what he'd thought.

But Krycek's expression wasn't exactly welcoming any questions. So he kept his mouth shut.

Even through what followed.

Mulder looked worse than he'd thought, but part of that was watching that bastard Jenner do the spinal block. Watching the pain on Mulder's face.

It gave him the creeps to see Mulder's belly exposed. Swabbed with disinfectant solution of some kind. He was wearing a mask now, had his hand over one of Mulder's. Mulder was zoned out, completely gone. Whether because of what was in the IV or because he'd rather be gone, Krycek had no idea. But his pulse seemed regular. Strong.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he murmured, very softly.

Mulder's eyelids fluttered. Mulder's eyes met his briefly. Hopeless. Weary. And in goddamned pain, despite the fucking block.

"You don't cut him until that's strong enough," he snarled at Jenner.

Jenner nodded curtly. Van Fliet was still scrubbing up. Jenner went over to assist him, came back, rolling a tray with instruments on it.

His gorge rose briefly, he looked away, looked back. "And you put a fucking drape here, you hear me?" Deadly again. So angry it was tempting to kill them both now.

He got another curt look. But Jenner heeded him. He glanced down at Mulder, thought he saw gratitude, thought he heard the faintest sound of relief. Squeezed the limp hand under his own.

And waited.

It was puzzling, Krycek's presence was, and he was too tired and dizzy to figure it out. The warmth from Krycek's hand was welcome, even if the whole thing was surreal. It wasn't any more surreal than the rest of the nightmare.

And it was oddly comforting, human in a way he'd nearly forgotten in the last, god, how long? A year?

He began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder, helpless to stop it. Laughed and laughed as his legs went dead, as the rest of him below his chest went dead.

"Easy," Krycek's voice was soft. "Easy, we're getting you out of here, I swear it."

Tears blurred his vision, between one breath and another, he wept silently, his fingers clutching at Krycek's. "I'm cold." Faintly.

"He's cold," Krycek barked at the other two.

"It's just the block," Jenner snapped, but moved away, returned with A warmed blanket.

It didn't stop his teeth from chattering. He wished he knew if Krycek was real. If Krycek was telling the truth. He wished he knew if any of it was real.....

Time sideslipped for him, he was a kid again, broken arm, the lights above too bright. The nurse was holding his hand, touching his forehead. "Almost over," said softly.

But something wasn't right, there was dull pressure on his belly, he couldn't feel his legs, it was hard to breathe and he was scared.

"What the hell is the matter?" Sharp voice near his ear, a man's voice, and a sharp, steady pinging.

"Nothing, he's just bleeding more than I expected, it's under control."

He blinked, his arm didn't hurt. He was cold, though. Closed his eyes against the brightness. Clutching the hand that held his.

So cold.

"His blood pressure is dropping." The sharp voice again.

"Perfectly normal with a block." The second voice.

He didn't like that voice, didn't trust it. Clutched more tightly.

"Ah, there we are." The second voice again, pleased now. Somewhere, a baby wailed.

Jolted him back to real time. If real it was. Van Fliet's chamber of horrors, and he still holding on, Krycek's hand was still warm against his.

Jenner held a wailing infant. Bloodied and covered in some weirdly waxen stuff. Carried it out of Mulder's range of vision and he was shivering convulsively. Revolted beyond sanity.

"It's almost over, Mulder," Krycek murmured. "We'll be out of here before you know it."

He wanted to believe. At this moment, more than ever.

Needed to believe. And didn't dare. Instead, he closed his eyes. Christ, it was enough to have the clone out of him, to have his own body back, however briefly.

To have the human comfort of someone to hold his hand during the horrors.

Van Fliet glanced back over his shoulder, face strangely excited. "Very good, Jenner," he said and turned back to Mulder.

Repairing him. He shuddered, wondering if he really was being repaired.

Greyed out, chilled to the bone and unable to keep reality around him. Managed to exist there in the grey twilight until the pain in his belly brought him back out of it.

Krycek was standing near him, his expression....almost worried. "How are you doing?" Softly.

"Watch them," he husked. "They'll kill you."

Krycek shook his head. "They're dead, Mulder." Touched his cheek gently. "You've been out for quite a while, don't you remember?"

He licked dry lips. Tried to. Found nothing but a blank. "How long?"

"About six hours. I've been checking on you, following medical instructions." Thin, predator's smile. "They were very helpful in that."

He couldn't think of a thing to say. To ask. Except, "Dead? Really dead?"

"As the proverbial doornails." Krycek sounded grimly pleased.

"I want to see," he tried to raise his head, a blinding jolt of pain struck, nearly blinding him.

"Easy, easy, you're going to have a motherfucker of a headache if you try that."

He let his head fall back, groaned. He was so tired of pain. So tired of hurting. "Did you kill it?"

"Here, try this." An arm slid under his shoulders carefully, a straw tickled his mouth and he took it, sipped something cold. God, it felt wonderful.

"I don't want to give you any morphine until I'm sure you're okay."

Krycek's expression was intent. "I watched him like a hawk, but Jenner wasn't happy. And as soon as I can give you the morphine, we're out of here."

He closed his eyes. "Morphine." It sounded better than the water.

"Soon." Krycek put another blanket over him. "You warm enough?"

It was hard to tell. His legs and torso either hurt or tingled. "I think so." Faintly. Already slipping away again. "Yeah." More faintly.

"Just rest, Mulder." Krycek's face faded from vision.

Somehow, he'd never thought to find comfort in Alex Krycek. But then, he supposed to be fair, Alex Krycek had never expected to see him pregnant. The thought made his mouth curve bitterly, but the greyness reached out and tugged him under.

The van was loaded, except for its passengers. Krycek fretted over Mulder, watching the monitor like a hawk and wondering if Mulder could manage the wheelchair at all. It was going to be harder than hell to get him into the van if he couldn't.

A faint mewling sound from the isolette attracted his attention, he went to stand beside it, baffled by his inability to deal with this issue.

He wasn't a baby fan, although he'd never had to kill one. And leaving the infant to starve was anathema. He supposed that the problem was in him. Despite the wrinkled squashed appearance, typical of newborn babies, there was something very Mulderish about the shape of the child's mouth and eyes, about the shape of his head. Weird.

He'd never understood when people swore that babies looked like anyone but other babies.

Until this particular moment.

"What the hell am I going to do with you?" he asked it. Its eyes were still blue. His eyes were still blue, he corrected himself mentally, and knew it for a mistake.

Objectifying was safer, but oh, hell, damned if he'd kill a infant, he was going to have to bring it with them.

Which meant he was going to have to rummage for supplies of all sorts.

And figure out how to handle Mulder when he finally woke up.

He was still in hell, Mulder thought blearily and opened his eyes to see who was touching his face. Patting his face, actually. Only now, they wouldn't let him sleep.

"C'mon, Mulder." Krycek's face was a little grim. "We're going to get out of here, now."

Oh. Yeah. In that case. He let Krycek level him up, held his head as the resultant headache struck. Moaned.

"Easy, easy." Krycek's voice was effortful. "Just to the chair, okay, just lean on me."

Hell, he didn't have a lot of choice. They shuffled a bare foot or so to a wheelchair and he sank down gratefully, slumping to the side slightly to ease the pain in his belly. Krycek bent, tucked a blanket around him. "You'll be able to lie down in just a few minutes, Mulder."

Good, something to look forward to. He nodded. A thought drifted through his drug-mazed mind, he snatched after it and examined it. Ah, yes, why was Krycek helping him? And what the hell was Krycek planning to do with him? "Where're we going?"

"Someplace safe."

That could cover a lot of territory or none at all. He let his head fall back, closed his eyes and floated. Morphine, he thought once, recognizing that he was completely and totally stoned. Cold air woke him, shocked him. The wheelchair crunched over snowy asphalt, he shivered.

A blue van. Perfect serial killer vehicle. Bed and all. He laughed weakly, as Krycek got him out of the wheelchair and into the van, settled back into the padding and pillows with relief.

"How's that?" Krycek's expression was oddly intent.

"Strange rescuer," he husked, "You gonna save me or sell me?"

"Mulder, at this point, I'd have to pay to get anyone to take you." Crooked grin, glint in green eyes.

He let himself sink then, his mouth still curving ironically, sink back under and drown in sleep.

By the time they'd reached Illinois, Krycek was regretting his lunatic decision to bring the infant along. Eight fucking hours old and all it did was make this mewling sounds that threatened to become wails and wake Mulder. So he changed its goddamned diaper, propped one of the pre-filled bottles in the crate and fed it, kept Mulder pretty well snowed and out of pain.

The last thing he needed was for Mulder to go ballistic on him, even in Mulder's currently weakened state. So it was a constant battle with temper and good sense, a battle that got harder to win as the meth began to get to him.

But goddammit, he had to drive more or less straight through, taking the chance of stopping was out of the question with his passenger list.

By the time they'd reached Iowa, Krycek was ready to leave the infant in a dumpster and hating himself for being too soft to do it.

Fuck, he'd always been too soft on Mulder. And despite its present size, the clone was Mulder. Sort of. But this softness didn't keep him from the rage that continued to increase each time he had to take care of the thing.

Or keep him from going ballistic when the goddamned mewling started ten minutes after he'd gassed the van and gotten on the road again. Highway 70, midway through the state, and it was a long barren stretch of highway.

"That fucking does it,' he snarled and jerked the wheel to one side, pulled up on the shoulder of the road. He unsnapped the seat belt from the crate, grabbed it, and flung himself out of the driver's door. Long strides around the front of the van, past the shoulder, until his boots sank into the snow.

He dropped the crate then, breathing hard. He was shaking with the rage, wiped a hand over his face. The small hands flailed and the mewling became a wail as the wind tugged at the blankets.

The wind that cut through his jeans and coat and sweater.

Before he could stop, he whirled, strode back to the van, letting the red haze in his mind carry him forward. Back into the van and he slammed the door shut, gunned the van forward, flooring it.

Sweating suddenly.

He shouldn't have brought it, he told himself, and realized he was still shaking. The meth, that was all it was. He was getting a little strung out, but he wasn't going to make it.

The kid would have died in the lab anyway. It was kinder this way, the child would fall asleep in the cold, it was better than what would have happened if he'd left the kid in the lab to starve to death or die of thirst.

And it would be quick. Mulder sure as hell didn't want to deal with it.

And he didn't know anything about dealing with an infant, the damned thing was driving him crazy.

He was still sweating, he realized, and still shaking, but it wasn't from rage any more. It had to be the meth.

He wiped his forehead with one hand. The wind had been so cold, said A small voice in the back of his mind. It wouldn't take long.

It wouldn't take long. The child wore only a diaper, the blankets in the crate were warm, but not sufficient to withstand the icy plains wind.

There was a bad taste in his mouth, he was still sweating, it was probably the meth.

But he kept seeing those small hands, waving frantically as he'd walked back to the van.

Wiped his mouth and swore under his breath, turned the wheel and drove over the median strip, gunned the engine and drove back, peering into the dark. He'd driven ten minutes, and he'd been driving the limit, it gave him some idea of where to look, but his heart was hammering against his ribs, almost painfully, it was the meth, that was all, that was all it could be.

But why the hell was he going back?

When he thought he'd gone the right distance, he drove over the median again, slowed to watch. Began to fear he hadn't gone far enough, until the outer arch of the headlights caught sight of the crate.

He braked, threw open the door and plunged off the road into the snow. No wailing. None at all, unless you counted the wind.

"Oh, Christ," he muttered and picked up the crate. "Oh, Christ, don't do this, kid, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he carried the crate to the van, dropped it outside the driver's side door, snatching the small form from inside.

Still, too still.

Got into the car, turned the heat on high. Tucked the small body into his coat.

"Come on," he whispered, "Jesus, don't do this to me." He'd killed before. He'd seen and done terrible things. But Christ, something this helpless, and it was, despite everything, too evocative of Mulder.

Small legs and arms seemed hideously cold under his fingers, horribly limp.

Sure, Mulder had told him to kill it, but Mulder wasn't exactly in his right mind; the thought of dealing with a Mulder who discovered he had indeed killed it was enough to make him put the small body on the seat, bend over it, covering the nose and mouth with his lips, breathing in, willing the infant to live.

The infant didn't care for that, he got the first weak wiggle and lifted his head, heart still pounding. Faint little cry. Not even a cry, really.

Christ, he had those warming packs, he could put them in the crate, between the blankets.

Pushing the partition open, he reached, dragged the box of supplies toward him, rummaging through it, glad he'd just shot Mulder up again. Mulder, hopefully, would sleep through a rocket launch over his head; now he only had to worry about some helpful highway patrolman stopping.

Mulder wasn't going to be happy if he killed a cop, either.

The packs got hot quickly, he left the infant on the passenger seat and retrieved the crate and blankets. Shook snow from the blankets and jammed the packs in and got the crate out of his way, on the passenger side floor.

Let the blankets warm, he decided and picked the child up again. Slammed the driver's side door shut tight and tucked the baby into his coat, cradled him with the prosthetic.

Put the car in gear again, nervously watching the rear view mirror.

The baby didn't complain, other than a few weak noises, which worried him. He'd almost have rather had that damned mewling that had been driving him nuts.

Drove another ten miles, to the next exit, by which time the child was at least responding. He pinched a small foot, got a faint cry.

Pulling off at the exit, he drove aimlessly, found one of the country roads that no one would be using at this time of night. Pulled the car over and eased the child out of his coat. No frostbite, so far as he could see, the small hands were okay, and the infant's feet had been covered. "You're gonna be just fine," he told it, felt the chill still on the sodden disposable diaper and cursed himself.

For leaving it and for going back to get it, both. He'd have to find somewhere to leave it that didn't entail freezing it to death. But that was going to have to wait until Mulder was on his feet again, it was his own quixotic stupidity that had brought this on him, he was just going to damned well deal.

He replaced the sodden diaper, tucked the child into the warmed blankets. It turned its head, whimpering, not even flailing its hands as it usually did.

"You're gonna be fine," he muttered again, fumbled in the box again, found one of the prepared bottles and popped the cap and the seal. Teased the baby's mouth with it until he coaxed it to suck, but it gave up after a few tries, closed its eyes.

"Oh, Jesus, don't do this." Maybe....he put the bottle between two of the warming packs, tucked the blankets around the baby's head, shifting the packs to make sure. Hadn't he read somewhere that most heat loss is from the head?

He thought he had. Kept rubbing small limbs to make sure they were warm, that the kid's circulation was warming up.

And finally got a full fledged squeak after ten minutes or so. That seemed encouraging. "You are the biggest pain the ass," he told the child, relieved. Retrieved the bottle and tried again; after all, hadn't it been carrying on when he'd dumped it?

This time, the child sucked more agreeably. Not for long, it swiftly tired, eyes closed. "You're going to be all right," he told it, and realized that he was shaking again. Christ, over this.

Setting the bottle in one corner of the crate--the little worm was going to want more later, he was sure of it--he tucked the blankets in carefully.

Then, sighing, he leaned back against the driver's seat, his hand on the wheel. "Shit." Ruefully. Putting the car in gear again, he pulled out. Got off the country lane and back on Interstate 70.

With any luck, they could make it there without any further....aberrations on his part.

Colorado

Mulder woke slowly, climbing up from the drug haze to see green eyes staring worriedly down at him. 'Krycek,' he husked and tried to move. Pain awoke, nibbled at the edges of the drug. "Krycek, what--" Caught his breath, let himself be lifted slightly, sipped icy water through the straw Krycek guided to his mouth.

The wail of an infant made him stiffen. "Wha--"

"Your other self, Mulder." Krycek's expression seemed caught between genuine concern and cynical amusement. "How do you get yourself into these things? Van Fliet was a lunatic, Mulder, but he was an exceptionally talented lunatic."

Lunatic wasn't the word for the man who had implanted him with his own clone, artificial womb and all. He was freshly aware of why he thought reproduction was just fucking nuts each time he shifted. "Christ, why did you bring it?"

"Sentimentality, I kept remembering that he's really you. Sort of. Interesting version of the nature versus nurture argument."

Another sip of water and Mulder squinted, surveying their surroundings. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Canada?"

"Colorado." Krycek's smile was genuine. "Deep in the Rockies, Mulder. You and the Mulder sprog are okay, you're going to be better."

"How the hell did it live?" Mulder winced as Krycek shifted him. "Christ, that hurts."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, Cesareans are the only way for someone in your condition."

He might have laughed. But he didn't. Krycek helped with necessities, and the occasional wail became a steadier, almost frantic crying.

"Christ, two of you," Krycek complained, easing him back down into bed. "Yeah, kid, I'm coming, I'm coming."

He vanished through the doorway, leaving Mulder to stare at cinderblock walls. Came in a few moments later with a small bundle, scowling at it as the occupant at the bundle made frantic sucking noises while Krycek steadied the bottle.

"Here. Bond with him. I've got to unload the truck. Supplies."

Horrified, Mulder tried to push the bundle away, but Krycek wasn't having it. He couldn't, despite his initial revulsion, let the infant fall.

Dark hair. It looked like a baby. Babies had never interested him greatly, although he didn't mind older children. They were people. But this.....this was him. More or less. Rather less, he thought, steadying the damned bottle. The infant had ended up between his ribs and the wall and didn't seem entirely unhappy, so long as the nipple wasn't removed from its mouth.

A clone. Why in the hell would anyone want another Fox Mulder? It baffled him more than ever.

The level in the bottle was going down rather more rapidly than he would have expected. What the hell was he supposed to do when it as gone.

"We ought to give him some kind of a name," Krycek leaned against the door, holding a cardboard box. "I mean, calling him it seems kind of rude. He is you."

"Fuck that." Mulder scowled at him. "What the Christ have you been giving me?"

"Morphine. But we're down to something with codeine now, ace, becoming a junkie is not a great idea when you're in hiding." Krycek came to the bed, regarded them with something between amusement and annoyance. "He's a little pig, Mulder. I never would have thought it of you."

Getting angry was only going to hurt. "Nature versus nurture," he gibed and closed his eyes. "Krycek, get it out of my bed, please?"

"He, Mulder." The box was placed on the floor and Krycek retrieved the bundle that was the baby. "He, not it. If you aren't going to think of a name, I will."

"Be my guest," he couldn't worry about it, not with the codeine tugging him under.

Krycek's own solicitude for the infant amazed him. Amused him. It amazed him further that he managed to change a diaper without gagging. To think, there were actually people who wanted babies. Getting a whiff of what they deposited in their diapers should cure anyone, but people spawned more all the time.

"I should have smothered you," he told the infant confidentially, still not sure why he hadn't just left it with Van Fliet's cooling corpse. Sure, it was Mulder, more or less, but it wasn't a Mulder he knew. "If I'd known how goddamned much trouble you were going to be, I would have."

The small face crumpled, as if the child understood what Krycek was saying. Which was insane, even for Van Fliet. Not anyone could pick out one gene that enhanced intelligence or self-awareness. "I hope to Christ you can't understand me," he added, catching a small flailing foot and holding it out of his way. Definitely a Mulder, if one went solely by the lower lip. Defenseless. Helpless. Maybe that's why he hadn't left it or smothered it.

He hadn't yet graduated to cold-bloodedly killing children, he told himself, but the thought gave him an odd pang.

Under normal circumstances, Mulder was about as helpless as an UZI. This Mulder.....glancing over at the bed, just visible through the door, he saw the other Mulder asleep, his face still marked with pain. Finishing up with the infant, he sighed. "You're going to be hung like a bull, kid." The small face was still unhappy, but except for a few fretful whimpers, made no sound. "And you still need a name." A smirk took hold of his mouth. "How about Sasha?" It amused him to imagine Mulder's reaction to discover that his younger self had been named after Krycek. "Sasha works," he swaddled the baby again, tipping the small body over his arm and getting a resounding belch for his trouble. "I keep forgetting about that," he muttered. "No wonder you were squalling."

God, he was losing his mind, talking to an infant. A huge yawn and the baby closed his eyes, let himself be put back down with only a minimum of grizzling.

To Krycek, he looked small even in the crate. Scowled at the child. This unaccountable softness for what was a major inconvenience....it annoyed him, even though he knew it was nothing more than biological imprinting. Evolution had trained humans to respond to small squashed faced and big eyes.

Besides, this Mulder was unlikely ever to punch him. This Mulder had no choice but to allow himself to be touched. A wry smile touched Krycek's mouth, he shook his head. Not quite the way he wanted to touch the adult Mulder, he hadn't gone that particular path to degradation, either.

Elbows resting on the crate, Krycek sighed again. Ran a fingertip over downy hair. The baby, already asleep, made a smacking sound.

"Little pig," Krycek murmured, almost affectionately, and went back in to see to his other charge.

All in all, it was clear that he'd lost his mind.

But Mulder definitely needed a shower.

Mulder woke again to find Krycek beside the bed. "Time for a shower, Mulder, you're starting to stink. At least as bad as Sasha."

Mulder looked at him, processing that. His brain seemed sluggish, it took him several moments to realize that not only had Krycek, as threatened, named the child, he'd also named it after himself. "Sasha?" Disbelieving tone.

Krycek arched one eyebrow, daring him to comment.

He bit it back.

"Shower," Krycek said again and leaned forward. "Come on, put an arm around my neck, use it to pull yourself up."

He wasn't entirely averse to the notion of a shower, but he resented the fact that he needed anyone's help. Needed Krycek's help. Who would have imagined his worst enemy would get him out of Van Fliet's experimental lab. Certainly, he wouldn't have.

But he certainly wasn't up to doing it for himself. It felt like Van Fliet had scooped out his guts and replaced them with something unpleasantly.....loose.

"He took it all," Krycek said, somehow divining the nature of his thoughts. "Except for the scar and a low hemoglobin, you're as normal as you ever were, Mulder."

The relief he felt over that made him angry. Worse yet, it had been Krycek who had reassured him. "I wish I knew why the fuck you were doing this, Krycek." But he put his arm around Krycek's neck, steadied himself as Krycek leaned back.

Managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The hospital gown he was wearing had definitely seen better days. Krycek was right, he was definitely a little aromatic these days. "You going to sell me and the kid to the highest bidder?"

For the briefest instant, he thought he saw offense in Krycek's eyes, but it flickered past too quickly for him to be sure. "Yeah, I'm just waiting until you're both healthy and he's older." Acid tone and Krycek levered him off the bed, let him lean as they made their way to the bathroom.

There was a chair in the shower. An utterly prosaic, completely fifties dinette chair. He regarded it, a little bemused, while Krycek reached in and turned on the tap.

Tested the water with his hand.

That jarred Mulder back into remembering the prosthetic. He swallowed hard, remembered leaving Krycek in Russia. Not that Krycek would have gone with him anyway, and not that it would have been wise, he'd have cut Krycek's throat at that point. But....somehow, his usual guilt trip hit him each time he saw the prosthetic.

"There." Krycek helped him in, helped him sit down and proceeded to strip out of his clothes.

"There." Krycek helped him in, helped him sit down and stripped off the sweaty hospital gown. The spray felt like....paradise. But Krycek stepped back and hauled his own sweater off. Stripped down to the skin and stepped in behind him.

"Damn." Some odd sounds and the prosthetic hit the floor beside the stall. "Tilt your head back, Mulder."

He obeyed, acutely aware of a naked Alex Krycek standing behind him. Coolness of shampoo or soap, and Krycek's hand was gentle, massaging it in.

He shivered, remembering other days. Times he'd entertained carnal speculations regarding Krycek. Not just with himself, but wondering which side of the street Krycek played on.

"I kind of like the long hair, Mulder." Conversational tone. "I look like hell with longer hair."

Strangely sensuous to be touched this way. Oddly intimate. Not clinical. Not brutal. He wondered how long this apparent truce would last. Shivered again at Krycek's touch on the nape of his neck, working the shampoo into the hair there.

"Van Fliet wouldn't let me play with scissors," he said faintly. Between the heat of the water, the codeine, and his own weakness, the whole thing felt dreamlike. Like a dream he'd had years ago, when he'd still thought Krycek was clean. Hadn't known the truth.

The spray rinsed his hair and Krycek was beside him, soap in hand. "You okay?" Keen look and he crouched beside the chair. "Let's do this quickly and get you out of here."

But when Krycek's hand spread soapy lather across his chest, he wasn't sure how quickly he wanted Krycek to move. It made his throat hurt to be touched like he was human, not a lab animal.

But Krycek worked quickly, was embarrassingly thorough, helped him stand to rinse the soap, and then guided him back out of the stall. "Thanks." Rustily. "De nada." Krycek draped something around him, a ratty terrycloth bathrobe, slid his arm under Mulder's and walked him carefully back to the bed.

Still naked, he went to the dresser in the corner, pulled out sweats and returned. "I figured you'd probably need some clothes," he told Mulder, his expression oddly diffident. "I, ah, broke into the storage unit where Scully had your things put."

He'd forgotten, Krycek had told him about that. Managed a shaky smile. "She's seen me come back from the dead before."

A quick glance upward and Krycek helped him dress. Humiliating to have to be cared for, but Krycek's manner was comfortingly matter of fact.

He wondered who'd cared for Krycek after the amputation of his arm. Reached out and touched the stump delicately.

Krycek froze briefly. Looked down at Mulder's hand.

"Does it hurt?" he couldn't seem to make his voice go above a whisper.

"Not any more." Direct gaze again and Krycek shrugged. "The phantom stuff drives me nuts sometimes."

He swallowed hard. Pulled the sweatshirt over his head. Sighed in relief as he sank back against the pillows of the double bed.

"Get some rest," Krycek told him soberly. "I'll get you some soup."

He was already sliding under, exhausted by the simple act of walking back and forth to the shower. God knew, he hadn't done anything else but sit there. "Sounds great." Hazily. He thought he saw Krycek smile before his eyelids closed, bringing in the darkness again.

"Is it still fucking snowing?" Mulder's tone was irritable.

Standing in the doorway, Krycek stamped the excess snow off his boots and grinned. "No, in fact the weather report says it will be clear for a few days."

Mulder was doing crunches on the floor of the small front room. Sasha, lying on a quilt near the woodstove, crowed in delight at Krycek's appearance. "You been mean to that baby again, Mulder?"

Mulder raised a middle finger at him and did another crunch.

"It's kind of cold on the floor, you shouldn't leave him there." Krycek grinned, waiting for the inevitable retort.

"He's close to the stove."

Not one of Mulder's best comebacks. He was a little worried about Mulder. Four months post surgery and the escape from Van Fliet and he was still not quite his usual prickly self.

He put the carton he was carrying on the floor, went back out and retrieved the rest of the supplies. Returned to strip off his outerwear, watching as Mulder's energy gave out and he sprawled flat on his back. "You're pushing it a little hard," he said mildly and stepped over Mulder to lift the child.

Krycek picked up Sasha. Got another crow of delight. Mulder sighed from the floor.

He grinned down at him. Mulder never helped him unload the truck, tacit disapproval of theft.

"He learned a new trick while you were gone," Mulder told him. "He rolled off the couch."

Krycek eyed Mulder. That explained the floor. "Trying to give Mulder A heart attack?" he asked the baby, who chortled and wriggled against his chest.

"Evidently." Mulder didn't sound pleased.

"Well, he's getting athletic, that's all." Krycek hoisted the baby up, got a chortle and then crouched beside Mulder. "You're pushing a little hard."

Mulder gazed back at him. "It's been four months, Krycek. Even the most conservative surgeons seem to think you ought to be back in shape four months after surgery."

"That wasn't all you had happen to you," Krycek said softly. Touched Mulder's chest lightly.

Mulder glanced away. "Yeah." Equally softly.

The baby reached out for Mulder, Krycek let him down, put him on Mulder's chest and grinned at Mulder's expression. "I got some stuff we needed."

"I don't want to know." Mulder closed his eyes, but one hand cupped the baby's head, steadying him.

"Well, he's outgrown the crate, I got him a portable crib. And some clothes, he's growing so fast. And some toys."

Mulder tilted his head back, opened his eyes. "The Denver police are probably questioning all the pregnant women and new mothers they can find." Drily.

"Nah, I stole the bigger clothes."

Mulder made a sound that was either laughter or a groan. "Jesus, I told you, I don't want to know. Alex Krycek, one man crime wave."

Krycek grinned again, opened the first box and pulled out the portable crib. "Here you go, sprog. Now you won't bump your head."

"He's already bumped his head," Mulder sat up, holding the baby gingerly. "I put ice on it."

"Good, that's what the book says." Krycek eyed Mulder again. Still too thin.

"I got some luxuries for the adults among us."

Mulder gave him a bland smile. "What did you get for yourself?"

He couldn't help laughing, flipped Mulder off, share and share alike.

"You know, I've been thinking. He needs his shots, Krycek."

"He's not a puppy, Mulder." Lifting the crib out, Krycek folded it into shape. Smiled at it in satisfaction. Reasonable size, yet fully portable, and it would fold flat in the back of the truck.

"Yeah, I know that." Patiently. "But he still needs his shots. Measles. Mumps. Whatever. It's in that damned book of yours."

"It's a very good book," Krycek countered and came back to crouch in front of both of them. "But I think it's time to move on. The weather's going to be clear. West, I think. Maybe north into British Columbia."

Mulder nodded absently.

He studied both faces. The man and the child. "You know," he told Mulder humorously, "I'm beginning to understand how you survived to adulthood, Mulder. You must have been a charming little rug rat."

Somber look. "Not really."

His throat hurt suddenly. Damn the man. He was soft on him, had been for damned near ever.

And he wasn't worried so much about infant immunizations, he was worried about Mulder, who still wasn't up to par.

He knew a doctor in Calgary, which was a little out of the way, but hell, the bastard could be trusted. Reaching out, he touched Mulder's cheek lightly. "Hey."

"Don't." Mulder looked away. His eyes were too bright.

Christ, in trying to make a joke, he stepped on something painful. He let his fingers brush Mulder's cheek again. "Sorry." Very softly.

Got a crooked smile in return. "Forget it. Old news."

He wanted to lean forward, to brush his mouth over Mulder's. But he'd just gotten them both to something resembling friendship instead of armed neutrality. He didn't want to risk it. Not yet, anyway.

So instead, he stood up, reclaiming Sasha. "Did he have lunch?"

"Yeah. I told you the peas were going to be a no go." Mulder sounded easier, smiled faintly. "I loathed peas."

"Nature versus nurture," Krycek told him drily and grinned when Mulder rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, you told me." He held the baby over his head again, making him shriek with delight. "You, sprog, need a nap. I'm not going to listen to your grizzling all evening."

When he looked back down, Mulder's eyes were haunted again.

And he didn't know how to ease that pain. Didn't know if it really was from the past or a remnant of Van Fliet. If it was the latter, he'd gladly go back and shoot Van Fliet all over again. But somehow, he didn't think it was wise to bring up Mulder's father as a subject of discussion.

Mulder watched Krycek put the baby in the crib, feeling the usual mix of emotions. Bafflement was chief among them, but there were others he preferred not to examine too closely.

"What are you going to do with all this stuff if we're leaving?" he asked, when Krycek moved toward him.

"Bring it with us." Bright smile.

"You really have lost your mind," Mulder told him. "Two men and a baby? Hollywood rots your brain."

"Not just a baby," Krycek grinned, leaned against the doorjamb, close to him. "A baby who needs time to grow up and kick ass."

"Yeah? You changed jobs recently and didn't tell me? And I sure as hell didn't do much good myself all grown up." Bitterly.

Krycek looked at him, eye to eye. "You did all right." Softly. "As well as you could. And I....well, I've burned some bridges, let's say. You wanna give me a hand starting to get packed? I think we ought to get out of here tomorrow, while the weather's still clear."

He stared at Krycek. Burned bridges? Getting him out, probably, but that realization hit harder than he'd expected. He couldn't let it go at that, he needed to know, but....maybe for the moment, he could just accept it.

The expression on Krycek's face was almost diffident.

So he nodded. "Yeah. Where do we start?"

They worked most of the afternoon. Sasha woke up and did what Krycek invariably called grizzling until retrieved from the crib and fed. Mulder let Krycek take over, he was still uneasy about the child, never mind it wasn't the kid's fault he was created.

Krycek shook his head over the peas, but fed him the cereal and bottle, talking to him all the while. Not baby talk. If Alex Krycek had suddenly begun to coo, he thought he might have run screaming from the cabin.

And that thought made him smile, once the kid was asleep again.

Krycek looked up from sealing a cardboard box and eyed him. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. Krycek's attachment to Sasha was bizarre. Or it struck him that way sometimes. He did have to admit that the infant was sweet tempered and good natured, considering that Krycek's attachment didn't show as sentiment.

Krycek's collection of baby care books was as strange as anything Mulder had ever seen in the X files.

Watching the man sit and clean his gun with a stack of them on the table was.....mind boggling.

"So when are we leaving," he asked.

"I think we can get out of here tomorrow by noon." Krycek lifted the box, a little awkwardly, steadied it. "And get to someplace reasonably civilized before too late."

"We could drive straight through." Mulder's eyes fell on the car seat on the couch and he had to bite back a grin. Krycek, he thought and shook his head. "Never mind, I know, it wouldn't be good for the kid."

"We can try." Krycek straightened, eyed him a little narrowly. "I know you aren't making fun of me, Mulder."

He couldn't help it, the grin broke free. "Me? Would I do that?"

Krycek walked toward him. Stood in front of him. Touched his face again.

Krycek was prone to this, he'd gotten accustomed to it, although he was uncomfortably aware of those green eyes on him, of the heat radiating from Krycek's body. He'd noticed it first a long time ago, and his body persisted in remembering it. "You look tired," Krycek told him softly.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "Why?"

Krycek's fingers brushed his jawline. "You." Simply.

His heart was hammering. This had been coming, he'd known it and tried not to see it, to recognize it. Tried not to think about it.

"Me?" Faintly.

"You." A little rueful smile curved Krycek's mouth.

"What, you've always dreamed of me barefoot and pregnant?" a weak attempt at a gibe, but Krycek grinned.

Leaned in closer.

He held his breath. The warm, dry lips, the brush of Krycek's tongue against his own mouth, teasing him. Christ, Christ, it wasn't like he hadn't thought about this, long ago, when they were both younger and maybe just a little more innocent.

Krycek's mouth brushed his again, but Krycek stepped back.

He couldn't decide if he was disappointed or not.

"I'm going to finish a few things, why don't you go to bed." Touched his face again.

Right. He took in a ragged breath. "I'm not a fucking invalid."

Something sparked in Krycek's gaze, something dangerous and far more familiar than the domestic Krycek. "You're a fucking lunatic." Edged voice and Krycek pushed him, pushed him flat against the hallway wall. Kissed him again, hard and hungry, drinking him in. Tasting him.

Oh, Christ, he should hate himself for this, but he put his hands on Krycek's shoulders, pulled him closer, it felt too good, his body caught fire, he kissed Krycek back, just as hungry.

They were almost grappling.

Krycek's hand slid up his shirt, traced the shape of his shoulder blades, and all he could think about was the taste of Krycek's mouth, the fact that he could feel Krycek's almost instant arousal pressed against his own.

Christ, so good, so goddamned good, he was starving to be touched, starving for this man, and he had to have lost his mind....

Somehow, they made it to the bed, he was distantly glad the kid was in the front room.

Krycek was on top of him, he had his hands under Krycek's sweater, stroking skin that was fever hot, burning hotter. Krycek leaned back, let him pull the sweatshirt over his head, fastened on to one of Mulder's nipples and he groaned, fell back, pulling Krycek with him.

Arching his hips, he let Krycek tug at his sweatpants, rid him of those, of his underwear, and he tipped his head back and groaned, feeling that wicked, lovely mouth on his skin, moving down his chest and belly.

Christ, he was going to die, he was going to burst into flames, and the heated silk of Krycek's tongue stroked over the head of his cock.

More kisses on his inner thighs, warm mouth on his balls, tongue stroking them against the roof of Krycek's mouth.

Moaning, he pulled his knees back, allowed Krycek the freedom to do what he wanted, arched into the caress of lips and tongue, stroking downward, burning him alive.

A finger joined the tongue, slipping into him, probing, stroking him from inside.

He tossed his head, unable to hold still, unable to keep himself from moaning. "Do it, dammit, oh, please, Alex, do it."

Krycek's mouth returned to his balls, pushed another finger in carefully, two fingers embedded in his ass, fucking him.

"Christ, Jesus, you bastard, get your clothes off!" He tugged at Krycek's hair.

Krycek's head came up, mouth slightly puffy, expression startled. "What?"

Temper and desire warred. "Get out of those fucking clothes and fuck me, dammit."

Uncharacteristic diffidence and his heart turned over. What the hell was wrong, he wondered and leaned up, pulled Krycek up, kissed him.

"Oh." Krycek sounded a little dazed. He drew back, stared at Mulder. And stripped off the sweater and t-shirt he wore in one movement. Shucked the jeans.

And stood up, that expression still almost....shy.

"Everything," Mulder ordered, feeling brutal about it.

Krycek looked at him, looked away. Fumbled with the prosthetic and rid himself of it.

He felt something like tenderness joined with desire, hooked his legs around Krycek and just tumbled him down to the bed, ran his hands over that burning skin, kissing and licking and biting every exposed inch he could reach. The feel of muscle and bone in shoulders and chest, the cup of navel, the velvet softness of the head of Krycek's cock.

"Jesus," a gasp and Krycek tried to shift, levered himself up on his elbow to kiss Mulder again, hard and deep, sucking on his tongue and lips.

But he froze when Mulder's fingers brushed the stump of his arm, froze and drew back. "What?" Mulder moved his hand up to Krycek's shoulders. "What's the matter?"

Krycek blinked. "What?" Huskily. Then shivered and leaned over him.

He fell backward again, rocking his body up against Krycek's, pleasure obliterating his capacity for thought. Skin to skin, and Christ, he really was burning alive.

Krycek arched slightly, pushed his cock down. Slid back slightly, kissed Mulder's chest, teeth closing over a nipple. Mulder moaned, pulled his legs up and rocked back up, felt the pressure of Krycek's cock, wetness of more saliva, and then the stretch and burn of penetration.

"Oh, Christ," Krycek's face was taut. "Are you sure?"

He gasped. "Don't fuck with me, Krycek, just fuck me."

Low, hoarse chuckle and then more pressure, opening him. Filling him. Until Krycek was in to the root. Until the burn melted into something hot, something that burned in a different way.

Flames, he thought dimly and hooked his legs around Krycek's hips, heard the other man groan, felt the warmth of Krycek's mouth on his skin.

"Fuck," he said raggedly, "Do it, Alex. Do it. Please, goddammit, fuck me."

Krycek's hips moved, forward, back, and he thrashed, working himself on Krycek's cock. Krycek moved deeper, faster, establishing a rhythm. He reached down for his own cock, understanding the difficulty inherent in having only one arm in this situation, saw Krycek's knowledge of that in his eyes and erased it by hooking his legs tighter, driving Krycek in deeper.

It was....incredible. Better than his jack-off fantasy a half-dozen years earlier, when they'd been partnered. Better than anything he could remember, although it had been damned near two years since he'd actually had sex with anything or anyone other than his own hand.

The pleasure grew, and he stroked himself mercilessly, feeling his inner muscles clench on Krycek's shaft, heard Krycek groan.

"So good," Krycek moaned into his chest, "Jesus, Mulder, it's so good, so sweet."

He laughed, a little wildly. "Alex, I think under the circumstances, you can call me by my first name."

"Shut up." Leaning up, Krycek bit his lower lip, not gently, not hard enough to draw blood, and the sensation drove him higher, he turned his head, jammed the heel of his free hand into his mouth, muffling the scream as he did, finally, burst into flame, came and came and came, tightening down on Krycek until Krycek muffled his own cry by burying his face in Mulder's throat, thrusting hard and fast and wildly until he, too, exploded.

It took a while for both of them to come back from ecstasy. He made it first, thought and a rueful self-awareness. Lifting his head, he kissed the back of Krycek's head. Stroked the seal-brown hair, too fucking short to really be satisfactory.

"Oh, Jesus." Krycek still sounded dazed. "I wasn't....I really didn't...." His voice trailed off. His mouth pressed hard against Mulder's throat.

"Me, either," Mulder muttered and then out of nowhere, they were both laughing like maniacs.

Setting each other off each time the gales died down to riffs until finally, Krycek simply kissed him hard.

Deepening the kiss, letting it wane until it was no more than a tender contact of their mouths.

"You're crazier than I am," Mulder told him. Krycek pushed himself up, withdrawing carefully, then sprawled beside him.

"I don't know, I'd have to go a ways for that." Krycek smiled. Not the carefully polished smile of the Bureau rookie. Not the cynical smile of a player in the Game. Just a smile. His fingertips touched Mulder's forehead, brushed back a lock of hair.

"Hey, I fucked over my career for myself. You fucked yours over for me."

There was something genuine, something vulnerable in Alex Krycek's face. "Yeah. Maybe for myself, too."

"Crazy," he breathed. Ran a hand over the flat belly. "God, you're beautiful." And blushed at what had escaped him.

"The hell." Krycek looked down at himself, laughed again. "Don't," he begged, "Please don't make me laugh again."

"Asshole." Mulder sighed, tugged the blankets over both of them. Sated. Muscles that would be stiff in the morning, but God, who cared, it was better than great. It was incredible.

He surveyed Krycek, saw the signs of satiation there, as well, and smiled. "Well, at least you're getting something out of all of it," he said humorously.

Krycek stared at him. He smiled, showing it was a joke. Felt his stomach tighten.

"You are *such*

An asshole sometimes," Krycek finally began to laugh. "Who else would have you?" And put his arm over Mulder, leaned down and kissed him.

Something that had been knotted in his gut for, God, forever, for years, unknotted. "Hell if I know," he admitted.

Green eyes, frighteningly intense. "Me," Krycek said and flopped back onto the pillows. Yawned. "Fuck packing."

Mulder grinned. Watched him reach for the lamp. "You fuck packing, I'd rather fuck you."

The light went out. And very solid weight rested on him. "Ambitious bastard." Conversational tone. "Give me twenty minutes."

"You've got it."

And Krycek's mouth still tasted.....incredible.

British Columbia.

the backyard was walled in, cutting the breeze. Krycek loved it, hated the idea that they'd have to leave some time. If there was any interest in them.

Loved sunbathing in the backyard. In the nude.

Mulder thought it was perverse of him.

But it felt luxurious.

And so on a lazy Sunday, he decided to indulge himself.

Lying there on a chaise lounge, lazily sunning himself and watching the nearly two-year-old Sasha play in his sandbox, luxuriating while Mulder rubbed suntan oil into his back.

Over in the sandbox, Sasha cheerfully fed himself a spoonful of sand.

Krycek watched, a little too preoccupied to care.

Mulder dribbled the oil down the small of Krycek's back. Stroked the oil down the cleft of Krycek's buttocks.

Mulder's hands felt.....incredible. He shifted on the lounge, felt his cock thicken. How in hell had he managed to seduce the upright Mulder?

Somehow, he rather thought it had something to do with being legally dead. "Sasha's eating sand," he remarked, arching slightly up to the hand between his legs.

"I told you he would when you got him the damned sandbox." Mulder's tone was absent. His oily finger probed. "Like that?"

"There's something essentially depraved about us doing this when he's not more than six feet away from us." Krycek pushed back, put his face back into the lounge. "Jesus, you know my on button, don't you."

"I'd hope so. It's been nearly two years."

Another finger slipped in, pressing at just the right point.

Oh, he was definitely getting hard. "Mulder," he whimpered. "This isn't fair."

"He's not watching us."

"He's going to watch us if I start moaning," Krycek retorted, hissed as Mulder's thumb stroked his balls. "Oh, Christ, you're the psychologist, isn't that supposed to be bad for him?"

"The primal scene?" Mulder's voice was still absent. There was something highly erotic about being the focus of his attention, never mind Krycek occasionally wished he'd pay some attention to the kid beyond the practicalities.

"Yeah, what you said, " It was getting harder to keep his voice even. "Oh, Christ, that feels good."

Mulder's weight shifted, settled across him suddenly.

"This is so perverse," Krycek muttered and gasped when he felt the warm flesh prodding him. "Jesus Christ."

"He's busy." Mulder's tongue flicked the nape of his neck.

"Who, Christ?"

"No, Sasha." Prodding him, slowly pushing inward. Warm whisper in his ear. "I don't believe in Christ."

It was hard not to laugh, even though he was arching into that heated thrust. "Jesus." Again, it escaped him.

"Nope, just me." Mulder's hand squirmed in between him and the lounge. "You know, it is depraved. There's something so human about you when you're naked. So...." A gentle nip to the nape of his neck. "So unguarded."

He shivered. Pumped into Mulder's fist. "You are one sick puppy, Mulder."

"You can call me Fox at moments like this." Amused, careless tone, but Mulder's body pressed into him, making him bite back a groan of pleasure and pain. "Whatever," he turned his cheek against the lounge, caught the blurred shape of Mulder's face in his peripheral vision. "God, that's good." Huskily.

"Good." Equally husky. Slow movement, building speed slowly, in rhythm with his thrusts into Mulder's hand.

"He's going to be warped for life."

"Hell, he's growing up with us, he's already going to be warped for life."

Mulder licked the side of his throat.

Krycek smiled faintly as Mulder's other hand stroked his shoulder, heedless of the stump. He didn't think Mulder found it particularly erotic, but it warmed him somehow that his lover had never been repulsed by it. Turning his head, he checked Sasha, found that the child had stopped eating sand and was now driving his toy trucks noisily. Good, he could ignore him a little longer. Please God, don't let him look up at them, he could just imagine what that would have done to a Mulder psyche. "Did you ever see your parents?"

Mulder stopped moving. "We aren't his parents." Drily.

"Don't evade the question." Krycek pushed his ass up, got the rhythm going again.

A sigh, warm on his shoulder. "No, but I heard them."

"If you stop again, I'll have to kill you."

Mulder chuckled. "We aren't his parents."

"Ask him."

"You're so sick." Steady thrusting. Steady grip. Closing his eyes, Krycek abandoned himself to pleasure. Bit his lip to keep from crying out. Steady pressure inside, and his cock ached, he thrust mindlessly into Mulder's hand, back into Mulder's cock, heard the ragged sound of Mulder's breathing and let himself fall over the edge, biting his fist to keep from screaming.

Felt Mulder slam into him once, twice, three times, heard the muffled groan behind him.

Felt the heat, the explosion inside him and could have sworn he actually came again. Just from that.

Breathed out on a half-sob, half-sigh. "God."

Mulder nuzzled his throat. "I know what you mean." Warm flick of a tongue against his throat.

He'd tamed Mulder, or Mulder had tamed him, or they were both wild together, he could never decide. He sighed when Mulder pulled out, sighed again when Mulder kissed the small of his back, lingeringly.

Looked over his shoulder to see Mulder sit back on the edge of the lounge, those almond-shaped eyes looking sated, almost drowsy. Shorts back in place. Nothing for Sasha to see. Mulder's mouth curved. "You're the exhibitionist, not me."

Laughter bubbled up. "Oh, right, fuck in front of the kid, and you're not an exhibitionist."

The smile became a grin. "Your fault."

"How was it my fault?"

Genuinely amused, he rolled over, took the towel that Mulder handed him and began to wipe up the mess. Women had it made in some ways, he reflected, no muss, no fuss, no cleanup.

"You were lying there in naked splendor," Mulder told him.

His throat tightened. "You're getting soft on me, Fox."

The grin remained. Pushing himself up, he kissed the lush mouth, found himself drawn into a real embrace.

"Yeah, you've corrupted me," Mulder finally murmured. "Want me to punch you instead?"

"Not particularly." Shifting, Krycek freed his hand, cupped Mulder's cheek. "I guess it's okay, I've gone a little soft on you."

Mulder's grin widened, he glanced down. "Yup."

Tilting his head back, Krycek let laughter break free. "Asshole."

And was kissed again. Hard and hungrily.

"Hey!" Sasha was standing beside the lounge, bright-eyed. "What doin?"

"Kissing," Mulder told him succinctly.

"You don't got clothes on, Alex." Sasha surveyed him.

"I'm getting the sun," Krycek told him, and was horrified to feel himself going scarlet.

"I want to get the sun."

He looked at Mulder, who shrugged, amused and unconcerned.

Sasha promptly took off his shorts.

"You're a bad influence," Mulder told him and got up, tugged the small shirt off. "Christ, don't be so worried about him, it's not going to kill him, I'll get the sunscreen."

Krycek sighed. Watched appreciatively as Mulder moved toward the house. Okay, maybe he was a bad influence. But how bad could he be if it was this good?

"You silly," Sasha told him and ran back to his sandbox, as bare as the day he was born.

Laughing under his breath, Krycek sprawled on the chaise again. Wondering what Mulder would do if he continued to lie in naked splendor.

It seemed like a worthwhile investigation to undertake.

Maine.

Standing in the doorway, Krycek smiled, listening to Mulder gravely correct Sasha's pronunciation as they read together.

Two heads turned to see him as he leaned against the doorjamb, two smiles he would have killed to keep on their faces. Happily. Joyfully. Gladly.

Working as the only computer tech in this part of the godforsaken Maine north country paid decently. He hated losing the time with either of them, there were signs that the dogs were closing in on him. That they'd be safer without him.

Five years and the Consortium had been smashed, but not destroyed.

Skinner had done well. Very well indeed.

He didn't regret burning his bridges, sending Skinner the material needed for indictments, for discovery, for arrests. He regretted that he was still hunted.

There was little interest in Mulder. The faction that had taken him to Van Fliet's lab of horrors was gone. Either dead by their own hands, or with some help.

It was a different world than the one he and Mulder had inhabited nearly a dozen years before.

Christ, hard to believe.

Moving toward the table, he kissed the top of Sasha's head, moved his lips on the nape of Mulder's neck, tasting warm skin.

Sasha looked up at him, grinned, then dutifully returned to his book. Mulder shifted in the chair, pulled him down for a real kiss. "Long day today."

He breathed in the scent of Mulder's skin. Woodsmoke from the fireplace and warm human skin. "Yeah."

Kissed Mulder long and hard.

Thinking about betrayal. Mulder was going to hate him again. Maybe. They'd come a long way in six years. Maybe Mulder would understand. "I'm glad you finally learned to cook," he said, against Mulder's lips.

"Asshole." But it was affectionate, as perverse as that was.

He chuckled, left Mulder and went to the oven. "Something smells good."

"I helped," Sasha told him, "Fox let me cut up the potatoes."

"You're getting pretty grownup," Krycek agreed. Mulder was studying him. He didn't like that, it made him nervous. Too many secrets today. Too many phone calls, trying to reach the people he needed to reach. He didn't intend for Mulder to know any of it until it was far too late.

Until they were both safe.

"You look worried." Mulder had risen, come up behind him almost soundlessly. Mulder was still too thin, damn Van Fliet, six years later. Still tired too easily. Still lacked the febrile energy and stamina that had driven Krycek crazy when they'd been FBI partners.

Maybe this was for the best.

"Just tired," he murmured, pulling Mulder close. "I hate these kind of days." Kissed him again. "I kind of like the telecommuting."

Mulder nipped his chin. "but the real commuting sucks, right?"

"Right." He leaned close, hugged Mulder hard. He'd gotten soft in the only way that could really hurt him, letting Mulder and the kid into his heart. He'd kept himself safe for so goddamned long, but caring was the risk, the greatest danger.

He just hoped that it hadn't endangered Mulder and the kid. Leaned back and smiled brightly. "I'm going to get cleaned up and out of this fucking suit. Reminds me too much of the Bureau."

"Want some help?"

Mischievous glint and he grinned more genuinely. "See to the lessons. We'll put him to bed early."

"Uh uh," Sasha protested, from the table.

"Uh huh." Mulder tilted his younger self a long look. "You've had a busy day, too."

Sasha scowled, a very Mulderish scowl, God knew he'd seen enough of them over the years.

He laughed, moved back to the table and poked Sasha gently in the ribs. "What else did you do?" Storing up the memories, said a traitorous voice in the back of his head.

Sasha forgot his annoyance and beamed. "We carried wood up from the bottom of the hill. Fox says the weather's going to get real cold and that we might need it if the power goes out again."

"Fox is pretty smart," Krycek agreed and ruffled the boy's hair. "I'll be back down in a minute. If you're done with your schoolwork, we'll take a walk, see if there's anything happening at the pond."

He heard Mulder snort behind him. Mulder generally asserted that he was spoiling Sasha, but only when outflanked.

He flicked a grin over his shoulder and went upstairs.

Let the grin drop the minute he was out of sight. Sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. Blinked hard, staring at the rug, willing the softness, the weakness to pass.

If it was just Mulder.....a tendency to ill health aside, Mulder was trained. But Sasha.....Christ, he couldn't risk Sasha. Couldn't risk giving the child to someone else, someone less wary than Mulder.

Mulder could keep Sasha safe.

Besides, it was done. He'd leave tomorrow morning, and it was done. There was no going back.

Sighing, he got up, started the routine of changing his clothes.

Mulder was putting the books away when he came downstairs. "Dinner's ready," he told Krycek and gave him another searching look. "Are you okay? Really?"

"I'm fine." Krycek grinned. "Just tired."

"Can we go to the pond?" Sasha appeared, holding his jacket, small face anxious.

"After dinner," Mulder told him quellingly. "Go wash your hands."

Putting an arm around Mulder's waist, Krycek kissed his temple. "You're such a hard case."

"Somebody's got to be."

Mulder was starting to get grey at the temples. They were both getting older. Christ, Mulder was almost forty-three, and he was thirty-eight. It was frightening how quickly time passed. But he was still tough enough, still young enough to run. Mulder might be young enough, but Van Fliet had cost him the toughness. He kissed warm skin again, this time below Mulder's ear lobe. "Not too tired," he murmured and was gratified by the wicked grin on Mulder's face.

"Christ, I hope we're never too tired for that."

He let go of Mulder, laughing, went to get plates.

Sasha came back sulkily, looking eerily like Mulder in the bad old days, sulking over the closing of The X-Files office.

It made him grin again, but he hid it, remembering Mulder attitude instead. Mulder had damned near driven him crazy, in more ways than one.

Instead of saying it aloud, he picked Sasha up, made him laugh, got him cheered past the sulks before setting him in his chair.

Everything normal, he promised himself, but it was hard. He found himself drinking in even the most casual word, Mulder cutting up Sasha's meat, his expression absent as he talked about his day, his job. Telecommuting was a godsend for people on the run. Technology, you had to love it.

Dinner and dishes and a walk down to the pond, even though it was dark. No ducks to feed, not at this time of year, but Sasha loved it.

Mulder put an arm over his shoulders. "C'mon, don't bullshit me, Alex. Something's wrong."

"I'm just tired," he insisted, putting an edge on it. "Christ, don't you think I'd tell you?"

Mulder was silent, he could just make out that memorable nose in the light from the moon.

"Sorry," he muttered, meaning it. He didn't want tonight spoiled. Didn't want to have to fight or lie. At least not any more than he was lying already.

"Sasha," he called, drawing the child back from near the edge of the pond, "C'mon, that's too close. We need to get back before you fall in."

Mulder snorted. "He'd survive, believe me. I survived."

"Yeah, but look how you turned out," he goosed Mulder, got a smothered yelp and a chuckle.

Sasha, for once, obeyed immediately. Took his hand. The prosthetic hand. It hadn't ever bothered Sasha, either, and that made his throat hurt, remembering that. Remembering how he'd explained to Sasha why he had it. Although he'd lied through his teeth, invented a car accident and turned it into a moral tale about why car seats were necessary.

Life was definitely fucked, he decided, but at least it gave some sweetness now and then. He'd had six years, more than some people ever had. He wasn't going to whine about what had to be done.

But he gave Sasha his bath. Read to him. All the while conscious of Mulder observing him. Mulder might be out of the profiling business for good, but he still had that brilliant mind. Still knew how to put pieces together.

So, once Sasha was in bed, he tugged Mulder upstairs and set about putting a spoke in the wheel of Mulder's intellect.

"God." Mulder lay limply on the bed, sprawled crosswise, gloriously nude and completely satiated.

"No, just me." It had become an old joke. He hadn't expect to live to have old jokes with anyone, let alone Mulder. "Besides, I thought you didn't believe in God."

"At moments like this," Mulder said thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling, "It does seem possible, at least, that there is a benevolent deity."

His throat hurt again. He bent and kissed Mulder's collarbone. "Mmm, let's go soak. I hate sitting in the car all day. I think my bones have melted."

Mulder turned his head, gave him a lazy smile, those damned almost Asian eyes looking sexy as fucking hell and he'd just come. Felt a throb in his cock anyway. God, he loved those eyes. Leaned forward and kissed each eyelid, getting an almost purr in reward.

"Bath," he whispered. "Hot water. You. Me. A couple of cold beers."

Mulder sighed and sat up. "You convinced me. Where are you going?" as Krycek got up.

"To get the beers. Go start the bath," he grabbed a bathrobe, a concession to the winter's chill, rather than to Sasha, who was completely untroubled by nudity.

Returned with two of Mulder's snob beers to find Mulder already soaking in the filling tub.

"Sit up," he ordered and shed the robe, slid in behind Mulder.

"I guess it is your turn to be on the bottom," Mulder murmured, sounding mischievous.

"I don't remember hearing you complain earlier."

"You didn't hear all my pleas for you to stop?"

"Oh, is that what they were? I thought you were telling me not to stop."

"Far from it. Don't. Stop. That's what I said, "

He grinned, nuzzled the nape of Mulder's neck. Short hair again these days, Mulder claimed he had to set an example for Sasha, who had once been afraid of haircuts.

He tasted Mulder's skin. Decided that thirty minutes was long enough to soak and then they were going to do it all over again.

"Here." He handed Mulder the beers, got an open one back, concession to the fact that he'd taken off the arm. Leaned back and savored both the hot water and Mulder's weight against his chest. "Now, this is an argument for a benevolent deity."

"Well, hot water is sometimes considered proof of a sentient deity, at least." Mulder's palm traveled over the leg he'd rested on the edge of the tub.

Wonderful tub, even if the shower sucked. Victorian and huge. They'd had to get Sasha over it at first. "Did you nearly drown? Ever?"

"No." Mulder tilted his head back, eyed him. "We lived on the Vineyard, I learned to swim practically before I could walk."

"We never did get Sasha lessons." Krycek brooded. "Next summer, he's got to have lessons."

"Okay." Mulder shrugged. "Christ, I may have the corner on guilt, but you've got it on worry, Alex. He'll be fine, I'll teach him myself?"

"Promise?" he grinned down into Mulder's face, hiding the gravity of the word.

"Asshole." Leaning up, Mulder turned around, kissed him, and sank back again.

He smiled. Touched the beer bottle to Mulder's shoulder and made him yelp, then kissed his temple.

"Mmmmm." Mulder's hand slipped between his thighs, tweaked playfully, gently. "You're still younger than I am, I hope you're planning on a rematch."

He tilted his head back and smiled senselessly. "My very thought."

It didn't take thirty minutes.

Still in the tub, Mulder turned toward him and began an assault on his senses, on every inch of skin, underwater or not, that brought him to life far more rapidly than he'd have expected.

"Water doesn't work well," he gasped, bent his head and nibbled at one coppery nipple. "Haven't you ever tried it?"

"No." Mulder smiled wickedly, soaped his hand and slid a soapy finger into him. He arched, caught his breath and bit his lip. Pushed down on it. "I know that sand is bad." Mulder's eyes were very bright. "Christ, Alex, I want you, get the fuck out of the tub."

He laughed huskily. "You just put soap up my ass."

Mulder blinked. Grinned. Took great care in rinsing the soap away.

Such great care, in fact, that Krycek very nearly just gave it up and let himself fall, despite Mulder's expression.

"Don't you dare," Mulder warned softly.

"Then stop doing that," he murmured and closed his eyes again. "Oh, Christ, Fox. I can't move, just forget the water and do it."

"Uh uh." Mulder rose, dripping and gorgeously hard. Held out a hand and pulled him up, helped him over the edge, both of them laughing like idiots.

A race for the bedroom and Mulder was on him, kissing and licking, evidently quite determined to drive him out of his mind.

His mouth moved, heat replacing the chill of the air on wet skin, his body warming Krycek's as he tasted each inch of Krycek's skin. Mouth between his legs, making doubly sure, Mulder told him, there was no soap left.

He could have cared less. That tongue was whipping him into a frenzy. He let himself fall free, babbling in Russian, hooked his legs over Mulder's shoulders to keep him captive.

Mulder's mouth moved up, warm mouth covering his balls, teasing him. They were drawing up, he could feel them, felt the flick of that mischievous tongue around the base of his cock.

"Fox, dammit!" a plea, and he sighed, drew his knees back when a slippery finger penetrated him. "Oh, God, you're a bastard."

"Takes one," Mulder told him and reached for him, pulled his hips across Mulder's thighs.

Mulder's cock, pressing at him. He tilted his head back, prayed in Russian, cursed in it, whimpered with relief when Mulder slid home.

He was so hard it hurt, his cock engorged from the teasing, from the play, and he was never going to forget this if he made it to be ninety.

Never, not if he had to take the memory out once a day and polish it.

Rocked himself onto Mulder's cock, moaning, heard a gratifying Mulder sound in return, as his body sheathed Mulder deeply.

Slow and sensuous, despite his need, and then fast and furious, and they were both sweating, Mulder's sweat dripping onto his chest, pooling in his navel.

Moments like this, he could feel his missing arm, felt it ache with the need to pull Mulder closer, to pull him down and ravage that tempting mouth, but Mulder knew him, leaned over him and kissed him, still thrusting, harder and faster, not giving him time for anything more than the pleasure.

Orgasm flung him free of his own flesh, lights spangled the inside of his eyelids, he felt his body arching, felt the hot wetness of his own cum, squeezed tighter on Mulder without volition and Mulder cried out, burying his face in the pillow beside Krycek's head.

He prayed again, out loud in Russian, beseeching whatever God there might be for mercy. For him. For Mulder. For Sasha.

But he was still Alexander Krycek when he returned to the real world. Mulder was still Mulder. And there was no mercy for such as he. Not in this lifetime.

He kissed Mulder deeply. Stroked one stubbled cheek, and smiled. "God, you're beautiful."

Mulder's smile was.....beatific. "Quit stealing my lines, Alex." Mulder bent his head, licked his chest clean.

So unselfconsciously hot, his muscles tightened around Mulder's softening cock. "Oh, Jesus." Tangled his hand in Mulder's hair and pulled his head up again for another kiss.

Gradually, oh, so gradually, so sweetly, they drew apart. Settled down next to each other. Mulder spooned behind him, sighing. Nuzzling. His throat hurt. His chest hurt. Drawing one of Mulder's hands to his mouth, he kissed the palm. "I love you," he told Mulder, still in Russian.

"What?" Sleepily.

"No nightmares," he said softly. Mulder still had them, occasionally, dreams of Van Fliet's clinic, of what he'd seen and endured there.

"None tonight," Mulder agreed, his voice happy. "You either."

"I never have nightmares," he lied and kissed Mulder's palm again.

They drifted into sleep, quite without meaning to, and Mulder was still asleep in the morning when Krycek got up and dressed. "I've got to leave," he murmured, kissing the shell of Mulder's ear.

Sleepy murmur. "Don't be too late."

It made him ache. "I won't." Another kiss.

He stopped by Sasha's room, went in and crouched by the bed, stroked the dark hair. "I've got to leave, Sasha."

Sasha's eyes opened, Sasha sat up, reached up sleepily for a hug. He picked the boy up and held him tightly for a moment. "Take care of Fox for me."

"I will." Sasha rested his head on Krycek's shoulder. "I always do."

"Yes, you do," he kissed Sasha's cheek and put him back in bed.

Drew the blankets up as the child curled back around his pillow. So like Mulder. He was Mulder, but he wasn't. "Nature versus nurture," he whispered and found his eyes were wet.

Damned fool. Soft fool. He had to go. Before anyone got hurt. Anyone except him.

But it was hard to see when he pulled out of the driveway.

The Long and Winding Road II by Kassandra "Many times I've been alone and many times I've cried Anyway you'll never know the many ways I've tried, but still they lead me back to the long and winding road You left me standing here a long, long time ago Don't leave me waiting here, lead me to your door..." (Lennon/Mccartney)

They had just come back for lunch when Mulder heard the car pull in.

"Wash your hands, Sasha," he said, smiling a little. He hadn't expected Krycek to be done with his calls so soon. There was something worrying Krycek, he could tell, maybe it was past already, no need to discuss it, but he was glad that Krycek had come home early.

The door opened, he turned from the refrigerator, smiling in welcome.....but it wasn't Krycek.

He and Walter Skinner stared at each other in frozen silence that seemed to last an eternity. That lasted until Sasha came clattering back to the kitchen and stopped suddenly, his arm around Mulder's leg.

Distantly, he realized that Sasha would be afraid, they'd taught Sasha to be afraid of strangers. With good reason.

He put a hand on a small shoulder, felt Sasha trembling. Tried to find his voice.

Skinner found his first. "Mulder." Gravely. Kindly.

But there were other men with Skinner. And a woman. Scully.

He began to shake. And Scully edged around Skinner, her expression stark. His mouth had gone dry. Bending, he lifted Sasha, held him close. Waited.

Skinner waved the others back. Took a few steps into the kitchen. "Krycek contacted us." Low voice. Somber voice.

He shook his head, denying it. "No, I don't believe you." Sasha clung to him. Probably more terrified by his reaction than the strangers. Put his face in Mulder's neck. Holding tight.

Skinner's eyes rested on Sasha, moved back to meet Mulder's. "He said you were in danger. That he was....in trouble, and that he wanted you and..." Skinner swallowed hard. "The child. He wanted you both safe. In our protection."

"I wasn't safe in the Bureau." His voice was surprisingly strong. Alex had done this. He wanted to scream in rage. To howl furiously. To pound the life out of Alex Fucking Know it All Krycek.

And weep. He wanted to weep. Goddamn Krycek. Goddamn Krycek for leaving and going out with no one to cover his back.

He was going to get himself killed, goddammit, and nobody but Mulder would care. Mulder and Sasha, anyway.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice was hesitant.

He gave her a glacial smile. She was getting older. She'd been married a while, now, Krycek had found that out for him. He looked at her, saw that smugness unchanged, that attitude that she was sane and he was crazy. Sure, he had to be, he'd spent six years on the run with Alex Krycek, hadn't he? "Scully." Coolly.

"Fox?" Whisper in his ear. Sasha was still trembling.

"Get these people out of here," he said harshly, "You're scaring him."

Scully turned back, murmured something to the agents behind her.

They retreated. The front door closed.

Seething, he turned away from them, carried Sasha out of the kitchen to the living room. Let them follow as they would.

The rocking chair. Krycek was endlessly patient when Sasha was ill. Rocked him and read to him until Mulder himself wanted to tear out his hair. He had never known where Krycek, volatile, double dealing Krycek, had learned that patience. But he was going to need it. He sat down in the rocker. "So, why are you here? If he's gone, as you say, there's no more danger."

Skinner and Scully exchanged a look. "Mulder," she began, "Be sensible--"

And Skinner cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand. Moved toward the couch and sat down on it. His expression much less forbidding than Mulder remembered. "He said that they'd tracked you here. That he was worried that they might try and take you back."

Mulder shuddered. "Van Fliet is dead."

Scully's expression was puzzled. "Van Fliet?"

But Skinner knew, he could see it in Skinner's eyes. Felt a faint stirring of gratitude that Skinner had kept that story to himself.

"Then I really think you ought to find Krycek," he told Skinner lightly. "He was your informant, wasn't he? And he's in danger of getting his head blown off."

Skinner's mouth quirked. "Well, we are, actually. If he contacts you, I'd rather you didn't tell him, but we are.

"Fox?" An almost whimper. He set the rocker moving. Patted Sasha's back. Felt the wetness of tears on his neck. And his throat felt like there was an iron band around it. "I don't have a fucking thing to come back to, Skinner."

"Yes, you do, actually." Skinner glanced back at Scully, leaned forward. Spoke quietly. "When Krycek got the information to me....Mulder, you've been legally alive for almost six years, I got, ah, your death reversed. Your mother is still alive. She knows you're alive."

He turned to Sasha, shaking again. "It's okay, Sasha. These people aren't here to hurt us."

"Where's Alex?" the child wasn't stupid. He was far from stupid. He could hear Skinner talking, he put things together.

"He's gone away for a while, Sasha." Looked back at Skinner.

Who cast out one last lure. "You could find him, Mulder. You were always the best. And with the resources I could give you....."

He didn't know why Skinner did it. But it was too potent to resist. Too strong a lure. He just had to pray it wasn't a trap. "Really? After six years?"

Skinner glanced back at Scully, who still looked puzzled. And irritated. "Yes." Flatly.

Krycek's information must have given Skinner a great deal of clout, he reflected. But Skinner, at least, was an honorable man. He could live with that. He could work with that.

"And you'll let me work on that." Calculating.

Skinner smiled faintly. "Let them try and stop you." Soft voice. Deadly voice.

Skinner meant it.

His chest hurt. Don't get yourself killed before then, he thought, remembering other deaths. Christ, Alex--"Okay. But we have to pack. I can't uproot him without his things."

"I want Alex." Faint little voice, scared and miserable and Sasha looked at him.

"I'll find him," he promised. Sasha and himself. "I'll find him, Sasha." Looked back at Skinner and nodded.

What else could he do?

Winter was turning to spring and Mulder felt restless. He always felt restless in spring, but it was compounded by the lack of success in finding Alexander Fucking Invisible Krycek.

Worse, he'd finally snapped out of the trance he'd been in and seen that Sasha, a bright and talkative child, had gone silent and miserable on him. Well, there'd been a lot of change in Sasha's life, Krycek gone, private school instead of learning at home--thank God for his father's goddamn bequest to him--a baby-sitter instead of being with one or the other of them.

He wasn't selfish enough to ignore that. For one thing, Krycek would have his head, for another, it wasn't fair to the child. And over the months, he'd seen Sasha as the only remaining link to Krycek. Was certain that if anything were to happen to Sasha, he'd give up.

So, taking a day off, he spent the day with Sasha, kept him out of school.

"I thought we'd go to the park today," he told Sasha at breakfast. "Miriam won't be coming."

Sasha looked up from Cheerios, small face wary. "How come?"

"I think we need a day off," he poured himself another cup of coffee."

"Why?" Sasha was too damned quick, that was certain.

He smiled faintly. "Just because." When had he gotten so predictable and routine that the kid was alarmed at the change in the daily drill. Christ, he must be getting old. "Is that okay?"

A shrug and Sasha returned to his Cheerios.

He studied the child. Feeling his throat tighten. "Sasha, I know you miss Alex."

Sasha wouldn't look at him.

"I miss him, too."

"I don't miss him." Sullenly.

He had to look away. Right, kid. Welcome to loss. He'd had his sister, Sasha had his Alex. "Yes, you do." Softly. Gently. "Alex didn't leave because he wanted to, he left because he was afraid some bad people would catch up with us and you'd get hurt. And that I'd get hurt. Alex loves you very much."

Sasha's spoon moved slowly through the milk. "I could hide."

He sighed. "C'mere, Sasha."

The little boy looked at him doubtfully. Finally slipped off the chair and came to him, he lifted the child to his lap. "Do you remember the sandbox you had when you were little?"

"Uh huh." Sasha sat stiffly in his lap.

It made his throat tight. He hadn't done too well, it seemed, too many long hours at the Bureau. Snuggling Sasha against him, he sighed. "Alex got that for you. I'm not very good with kids, Sasha." The understatement of the century when it came to his clone. "But Alex knew that you'd love that sandbox."

Sasha went very still on him. "Alex loves me." Very small, shaky voice.

"He sure does."

Sasha's thumb went into his mouth, something he hadn't seen in three years, and then only when Sasha was sick. Came out again, as if Sasha remembered that six-year-olds didn't suck their thumbs. "Fox, the other kids at school have mommies and daddies. Why don't I?"

"You have me and Alex." But his heart was hammering. Damn him for a fool, he hadn't thought of this, hadn't thought that it would come so soon. Cursed himself for not thinking things through clearly enough to realize that it would.

Sasha reached out and touched the fork at Mulder's place. Stroked it. "But I don't have a mommy and daddy." Softly.

"Well, you do, in a way," he could feel himself begin to sweat. "Remember the puppies Mr. Morgan had? And what we told you about how puppies came to be?"

A nod, a quick glance up at him. Still wary. Christ, was he that bad? He hoped not. Of all the things he'd hoped not to become, his father was chief among them. "Well, remember, we talked about how there have to be two parts, the ova and the sperm, about how they make the new puppy?"

Blink. Another nod.

"That's not the only way any more. Scientists can do it another way, but they don't get the same thing that the ova and the sperm would produce," he really was sweating, felt a drop run down his side. "They can take a cell from a person or an animal. And trick that cell into thinking that it's the same thing, more or less."

Small brows drew together. "A person?"

He nodded soberly. "A person. There was a scientist, he was one of the bad people, he took one of my cells and tricked it into thinking that it was a baby." Hard swallow, trying not to think about what it had felt like to have that growing inside his abdomen. "And that's how you were born."

"But where did I grow?" Sasha's voice was anxious.

"You grew inside a special place created for babies without mothers," Mulder told him, feeling a little desperate. He wasn't lunatic enough to give Sasha the entire truth, Christ, Alex really would kill him.

"No mommy?" Sasha was definitely upset. "I just grew in a bottle? I saw that on television."

Christ, another black mark against him, not paying attention to what Sasha watched. "No. Sasha, it isn't important how you grew, the important thing is that you're here and that we..." he swallowed again. "And that Alex and I both love you." Not quite the truth. But close enough.

Sasha's lower lip quivered. He watched, fascinated, remembering accusations from both Scully and Krycek. Christ, he was a sucker, he lifted Sasha suddenly, hugged him hard. "It's going to be all right, Sasha. I'll find him. I'll bring him home."

Small head on his shoulder. It had undone him four months earlier and it undid him now. Christ, it was bad enough what he felt, hurting for Sasha wasn't going to help.

The phone rang. He sighed, glanced at the clock. Hoped like hell it wasn't the office. He'd arranged this two days earlier, idly thinking that maybe he could take Sasha out of town for the weekend. But his energy had run down, he'd dismissed that plan.

"Mulder," he growled, grabbing the cordless from the table.

"Everything all right?"

His heart began to hammer. "Alex, you bastard, where are you?"

Sasha made a sound and sat up, wide-eyed.

A sigh. "I'm okay, honestly. Are you?"

"I take a day off now and then," he growled, glanced at his watch, calculating. Christ, he could never get through to the Bureau in time to trace this. But his phone records might show it.

"Forget it, Fox." Gently. "I'm at a pay phone on the highway. I'll be gone in about five minutes."

"Don't." Shifting Sasha, he switched ears. "Alex, don't do this, please. Christ, I've spent four months trying to find you. Tricky bastard that you are. Besides, you can't hang up before you talk to Sasha." Guilting Krycek. It might work, given his devotion to the kid.

Another sigh. "You're both okay. When you didn't go to work today...." Krycek's voice trailed off.

His mind worked, he tried to gather scattered wits. "We're fine." Softly. "Except for one thing."

"I'm sorry." Genuine regret. "You know why I did it."

"Talk to Sasha. Please." He held his breath.

"All right." A kind of growl. "Christ, can't you deal with the kid yourself?"

He didn't answer, put the phone to Sasha's ear, saw the child's eyes widen more. "Alex?" Plaintively.

Rising, he shifted Sasha to the chair, ran for his cellphone and dialed, spoke rapidly. Watched while Sasha's face brightened, then dimmed. "When?" Sasha asked, his lower lip trembling again. "Alex, I don't like it here. I have to go to school and the other kids make fun of me because I don't have a mommy and daddy."

Christ, how the hell could Krycek get to the truth so quickly when he'd spent weeks trying to find out whether or not Sasha was doing okay at school. He waited, praying. Praying that Sasha could guilt Krycek all by himself. Keep Krycek on long enough to at least give him some idea.

"But Alex," Sasha was crying now, he had to look away. "Alex, you said we could get a puppy. And we can't have a puppy here, Fox says, cuz it's an apartment. And Fox is gone all day, even when I come home. And Miriam makes me eat peas."

The voice came back on his cell phone. "Sure," he muttered. "Ten minutes? I'll be here." And he gave them the cell phone number, disconnected and went back to Sasha who was trying bravely to stop crying.

"I love you, Alex." Very small voice and Sasha put one fist in his eyes, rubbing away the tears. "Okay." He handed the phone back to Mulder. "He wants to talk to you, Fox."

He took the phone. "You bastard," Krycek said roughly, "Why the hell was that necessary."

"He thought you left because you didn't love him." Cruelly. "Was that it, Alex? You got tired of the domestic life?"

"You know why, dammit." But Krycek's voice was shaky.

"I'm sorry." His throat hurt. "I'm sorry, Christ, Alex, I'm sorry."

Along, ragged breath. "I know. Me, too. You guys take care. You know if I could have, I'd never have left."

"Then come back, dammit, we can face it together. And Skinner....Skinner's changed, Alex. God, he was tough enough before, but now he's tougher. We're better off watching each other's backs."

There was a suspicious silence. "I can't." Shakily. "Dammit, I'm sorry, I can't."

The phone went dead. He put the phone down. Dry scrubbed his face with both hands. Pulled Sasha back into his life and let the little boy sob, holding him tightly.

"It will be okay, Sasha," he murmured, hoping to Christ he was right. That his cell phone would ring.

He might really begin to believe in God then.

The cell phone did ring. He looked unhappily at Sasha after hanging up. "Would you like to go and visit Dana?"

Sasha looked at him. Somber.

Sasha didn't like Scully. She scared him, Mulder rather thought, because she tended to treat Sasha as though he were a freak of nature. Which, in a way, he was, and Scully hadn't gotten used to the idea of a clone. A green blooded daughter she could handle. A human clone freaked her out.

Which wasn't fair to Scully. His mother was far worse, completely unable to face dealing with Sasha.

But he could hardly take Sasha with him. That would be lunacy.

He cleared his throat. "I have to call Miriam, Sasha. I'll make sure she doesn't make you eat peas."

Sasha ducked his head, swiped his face with his sleeve. "Okay." Wanly.

"I'm going to try something, to see if I can find Alex, okay?"

That helped, it was evident.

"Okay." Sasha climbed into his lap uninvited. "Do you think you can find him today?"

He rubbed his chin on Sasha's hair. "I'll do my best." And dammit, he would.

Reaching for the phone, he punched in Miriam's number. "Miriam? Hi, it's Mulder. Is there any chance I could prevail upon you to come over? Something came up."

Sasha's small weight on his lap seemed suddenly worth it.

Pay phone in Maryland not all that far from the Metro area. He took a snapshot of Krycek alone, laughing as Mulder had pressed the button.

Another one of him staring at the fire. Somber, almost.

He found the clerk at the gas station across the street remembered seeing Krycek. But no one else. Another goddamned dead end. But at least he had a description of the vehicle, even if he didn't have the tag.

Which was a start. Maybe.

He enlisted the Lone Gunmen on the search. They tended to treat him with the awe and respect reserved for those who return from the dead.

There were sightings here and there, nothing concrete, and the spring turned to summer. Somehow, Skinner had wrangled immunity for Krycek out of the Justice Department, provided he testified about Scully's long ago abduction and the orders he'd been given.

By July, it was set in stone, Mulder had gotten an entirely new identity set up for Krycek, arranged for a better, more sophisticated prosthesis, and there was nothing left to do but wait, and hope one of the lures he'd put out would be taken.

And, by July, Sasha seemed to be resigned to matters as they stood, and the child therapist he'd enlisted seemed to have done the boy some good.

Or so he thought, until he awakened one night to hysterical sobbing from Sasha's room.

Barely awake, he stumbled down the hall, so unnerved he didn't even think of his gun. Found Sasha curled against the foot of his bed, sobbing, untangled the child from the sheet and uncurled him.

Sasha was inconsolable even after the light was on and the details of the nightmare had to be coaxed from him. He listened, felt a small chill. "You dreamt about Alex?" he murmured, lifting Sasha, carrying him down the hall to the bathroom.

"Uh huh." Hiccough and Sasha sobbed again.

Mulder stood him on the bathroom counter and fumbled a clean washcloth from the drawer. Wet it with warm water, and tried to wash Sasha's face.

Sasha countered this by putting a fist in one eye and rubbing. "Alex was so sad." Another hiccough.

"Why was Alex sad?"

"I dunno." Sasha told him tearfully.

"Lift your arms up," Mulder told him; the child's pajamas were soaked with perspiration.

"He was very sad." Sasha obediently raised his arms.

Mulder tugged the soaked pajama shirt off, wiped Sasha's skin. "I'll bet that made you sad, too." Grabbed a towel from the rack, draped it around Sasha and tugged the short pajama pants down.

"Did I pee?" Sasha's misery made Mulder's throat tight.

"No, I think you just got very sweaty."

Another hiccough and he wrapped the towel, picked Sasha back up.

"Alex had his gun, Fox," Sasha told him tearfully.

His skin prickled. "Did he?"

"Uh huh. He shot his gun, Fox, right at his own head." Another sob.

His gut knotted. "Oh, Sash," he hugged the little boy, held him tight, trying to ignore his own dread.

And Sasha burst into tears again.

Mulder carried him back to his own room, sat down in the rocker in the corner. Rocked the child while trying to convince him that it wasn't real, that it was just a nightmare.

"Sasha, you need to stop crying," he finally said, thoroughly unnerved. "C'mon, Sash, stop crying for me, you're going to make yourself sick."

It took a little while longer, and Mulder thought it was exhaustion rather than his plea that worked.

"Sasha," he finally murmured, "In your dream, did you see where Alex was?"

"Inna motel." A shaky breath.

"What hotel, do you remember?" Keeping his voice low, easygoing.

"It had a star on the sign, and a jaggedy thing, but I don't remember if it had a name." A hiccough and a yawn.

Mulder sighed. "Let's get you some clean pajamas."

"I don't wanna go back to sleep." Tears threatened again.

"Okay, we'll just sit here, but don't you think pajamas would be better than a towel?" he brushed sweat-damp curls back from Sasha's forehead. "I know it was scary, but it was just a dream, Sasha."

That lower lip came out again. Mulder sighed. Kissed the child's forehead and tried to think. Van Fliet had made reference to improvements, but he doubted Van Fliet was a good enough geneticist to fine tune Sasha to manifest precognitive skills.

A glass of milk later he and Sasha sat in his bed while Sasha drew pictures of everything he remembered from the nightmare. What looked like a neon hotel sign, something that least marginally resembled a car, and a building.

And then, a very sleepy child crashed again, against his shoulder, at about three am.

The towns were all starting to look the same, Krycek told himself, looking out the window of another cheap, interchangeable motel.

He was so tired of running. So goddamned tired of trying to stay ahead of the game. To stay alive. There wasn't much point, but it wasn't in him to stop fighting, to just lie down and let them kill him.

Sighing, he let the cheap drapery fall back to cover the window, blocking the night scene of cheap bars, and by the hour motels. Went back to the bed and sprawled there. Eyed the bottle of vodka on the scarred nightstand.

Getting drunk was stupid. But a couple of drinks would numb the gnawing loneliness. Christ, he was ruined for this kind of life, six years with Mulder and Sasha had, if not quite domesticated him, certainly taught him something about his own needs.

He missed Mulder. Missed that cracked wit, the totally off the wall humor. The lanky body curled around his in the night. The sex--well, that went without saying, his dick seemed at best half alive, lately. He even missed Mulder's occasional sulks.

Dying legally had been the best thing ever to happen to Mulder. With the quest burned out of him, Mulder had been happier than he'd been when Krycek had first been partnered with him. Of course, he'd been miserable then, The X-Files unit closed, his partner assigned to Quantico.

Reaching out, he ran his thumb over the label on the Stoli bottle. Mulder had been miserable in those days, a right asshole. But he'd found himself admiring the lunatic drive, and more than that, he'd admired that nice, tight ass.

He grinned now, reached for the bottle and opened it. Took a drink. The vodka burned, he welcomed it, it meant that the ache in his chest would ease up soon. Christ, he'd never been sentimental. Despite what he'd ultimately felt for Mulder, he'd betrayed him, followed orders, even though it had hurt like hell to just disappear.

He had no regret over Mulder's father. Never would. He'd seen the file on that bastard, and if William Mulder had talked, Mulder's death would have been a foregone issue. No matter how many people waffled on Mulder's protection.

Another drink, more vodka burn.

The last six years had been a dream, that was all. A dream, an interlude out of the barren wasteland of his goddamned life. That was how he had to think about it. One more swallow and he capped the bottle. Set it aside regretfully. Getting drunk would be stupid, no matter how he craved it. And he craved it like he craved Mulder's smile or the sound of Sasha's laughter. But for once in his life, he was going to do the right thing. Freely, without compulsion. And on that thought, he closed his eyes, sought the black thoughtlessness of sleep.

Krycek woke abruptly, his hand closing over the butt of his gun. Eyes open in the dark. Waiting, sorting out what had awakened him.

Faint sound near the door. Flood of adrenaline to make his heart pound, to make his blood sing, and he waited, waited, letting his eyelids fall again, not all the way. Peered through his lashes at the changing shadows in the dark room. Waited....

And leapt, striking hard, rolled atop the figure in the dark and put the barrel of his weapon against a face.

"If you so much as breathe, I'll blow your head off," he hissed and fumbled for the light.

No one he knew. Hard face, the same training he'd had. Narrowed eyes, watching for the main chance. Christ, he'd known someone was after him.

"You wanna tell me about it?" he asked playfully. "Or did you just wanna have some fun?"

The other gun was silenced. Backing away, he retrieved it, holding his own gun steady. There was a silencer on it, one of those that worked once, the backlash from the shot would have blown it to hell, they were working on the cheap, then, he was small potatoes, but they still wanted him dead.

Well, it was no surprise, even with Skinner's deft use of the material, there were still pockets of the bastards here and there, and he still knew an awful lot about them.

At moments like this, he regretted the lost arm with something very near real agony. Managed to shift guns, held the silenced weapon.

No point in bringing the cops.

The other man's hand moved slightly, fractionally.

"Uh uh," Krycek told him. "I don't want the police involved any more than you do, but I'll do worse than kill you, I'll fucking cripple you if you twitch again."

"You're going to kill me anyway." Conversational tone.

"Not necessarily." Krycek smiled. "You could take back a message for me, if you could be trusted."

Blink. The man's head turned slightly, faint curve of a smile. "And how do I convince you to trust me?"

"There's handcuffs in the small bag near the door. Move slowly and carefully and we'll do just fine."

"The hell with that." A frown replaced the smile.

"Well, I did make the effort," Krycek said and aimed, pulled the trigger. Chest shot wasn't a good idea, there might be body armor, but his aim was still good, he kept in practice. A popping sound from the silencer and the man's head disintegrated into a mist of blood and bone and brain.

Krycek winced. "Sorry." Studied the body. It might be possible to at least fool the motel people. They'd report it, get the police in on it, make things a little visible for a while, the pursuit would either heat up or cool down.

He sighed. Head shots were so fucking messy. And there was no point in cleaning up, although he was going to relieve the bastard of whatever he might be carrying.

Maybe there'd be some cash, as well.

Mulder was in early, found the note on his desk from Skinner and went at once to the Deputy Director's office.

It was still weird to see the sign on the door, time had passed him by and everyone else's life had gone on.

"Come in, Mulder." Skinner's face was grave. "Close the door."

He did, feeling the tension in his gut increase. Christ, no sleep last night, and now this. "What is it, sir?"

"I got a call early this morning from the Richmond police. Mark Andrews, driving a late model Ford Ranger, checked into a motel room last night." Skinner grimaced. "Red light district. They, ah, found his body this morning. He was shot point blank in the face."

Mulder froze in the act of sitting down. "Are you sure it's him," he asked, with spurious calm. Richmond, he thought and tried not to lose his calm. "One armed man?"

Skinner blinked. Frowned. Picked up the telephone and punched numbers in, wheeling his chair around to speak almost inaudibly into the receiver. Skinner's tone suggested an unhappy man, and his expression, when he turned around, was irritable. "Thank you," he barked into the receiver and slammed it down. "False alarm, Mulder. I'm sorry. This man had both arms. I should have cleared that first thing."

Relief let him sink back into the chair. "And the truck?"

"Still there." Skinner eyed him. "Are you all right?" Gruffly.

"I'm fine. Can I go to Richmond, sir? Will you authorize it?"

"I've already sent people down there, Mulder." Skinner picked up a pen, examined it. "I got the results of your latest physical, Mulder."

Skinner's oblique way of telling him he was not cleared for field duty, he imagined. Managed to maintain an untroubled expression. "I know. There's no way they're going to clear me for field work, is there?"

If anything, Skinner looked relieved to have it out in the open. "No. Behavioral wants you, though."

"I can't do that work any more, sir." Mulder shifted. "You said you'd give me carte blanche, sir. When you came to Maine."

Skinner had the grace to look away. "Mulder, it's been nearly eight months. If he'd wanted to be found, I think you would have found him. And if anyone could, I think it would be you."

He shook his head. "No, sir. He's not gone far, I've got pretty firm reports from five states, he keeps coming back. And this sounds like somebody tried for him and lost." His heart thumped dolefully, he tried not to let himself think about it. "I'll be interested to see what they find out about this guy's ID."

A long sigh. "All right, I'll hold Behavioral off for a while, Mulder. But I can't do it forever, not and justify it. You're going to have to make some decisions about your long term future soon."

He nodded. "I know. Thank you, sir. For everything."

"Don't thank me," Skinner told him, irritable again. "I can't decide if I'm doing the right thing or humoring a lunatic who needs to face facts."

Mulder grinned. "Isn't that the way it always was, sir?"

It got a faint, grudging smile from Skinner. "Get out of here. And stay out of Richmond, I'm having them report to you."

He sighed. "It would be better if I could go down there--"

"Mulder." Sharply.

He closed his mouth. Nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Rose from the chair and returned to his office. After a moment, he picked up the telephone. "Langly? It's me, turn off the tape recorder....."

Against all odds, Krycek had traced his would be assassin back to, of all places, Philadelphia. City of Brotherly love.

What a joke.

He wasn't sure what else he'd find, but it had been nice that the silly bastard had left his car close enough to find and identify.

They were using real cut rate help these days, he thought dourly, thinking of his own training. Which probably explained why he was alive now, instead of lying in that cheap motel with his face blown off.

And the dizzy asshole had written things down, there was a small scrap of paper with the address of a post office box in Philadelphia.

Naturally, he staked it out. His diligence was rewarded on the third day. A woman in a business suit appeared and opened the box, checked it, and closed it again. She seemed untroubled by the fact that it was empty.

He tailed her back to an ordinary office, nothing too plush, nothing too tawdry. 11th floor.

Not quite ready to confront the assholes, he left, went back after the building had closed.

Jimmied the lock with skill born of long practice. One of his skills that Mulder deplored.

The office was dark and proved to be that of another middleman, so to speak. He did find a list of contacts on the hard drive of the lone computer. Encrypted, but Jesus, there wasn't anything he couldn't break. So he broke it. Smiled ferally as he recognized a few numbers. Closed the computer down and slipped out, amused.

Too easy. He wondered if it was a trap, but it seemed, given the level of assassin they'd sent after him, that he was safe enough for the moment. Until the man in Richmond was identified.

He left the car. Hot-wired another from one of the suburban neighborhoods and found a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city.

Fast food and he considered which number to call. Which of the prospective candidates was the most likely customer for these people?

Hard to say, really. He ate the gelid burger and soggy fries without tasting them, his mind on his choices. Finally decided. The New York number. There was something almost Mafiaesque about the power brokers there, they'd hunt him down on general principles, just because he'd fucked them over. Never mind they were bleeding to death as the inquiries and investigations Skinner had triggered dragged on.

Decision made, he put his boots back on, put the fast-food detritus in the wastebasket and went back out. He rather thought he'd give them a call. It was his nature, contrary and sly at once. And for what good it would do to track him to a pay phone. He'd leave the room without checking out once the call was made, go back to the DC metro area. And see what happened.

"I need some time off." Mulder lifted his chin at the leave request on Skinner's desk.

Skinner eyed him narrowly. "What have you got?"

He nearly grinned. Bit it back. Skinner had somehow come to know him too well. "I just need some personal time."

That narrow look again. "You're a lousy poker player, Mulder."

His pulse sped briefly. "I think I might know where he is. I might have a chance of finding him alone." Flatly. "And that's all I'm telling you," he owed the Lone Gunmen big time. More than he could repay. From a few facts about the dead man in Richmond, they'd pointed him in the direction of Philadelphia. Not deliberately, but he knew his Krycek.

Skinner stared at him, clearly not happy. Rose and went to stand at the window, his hands in his pockets. "All right." Finally. "Call me when you have him. I'll get a safe house ready. What are you going to do with the boy?"

He shifted uncomfortably. Unlike Scully and her nervousness around Sasha, Skinner had taken a gruff interest in the child. Asked after him now and again. Had been very kind, despite Sasha's obvious apprehension, months ago, when they had first returned to DC. "I'm not sure,' he admitted. "I'm thinking of calling my mother."

Skinner turned back to look at him. "I got the impression that was not a successful meeting," he said, his tone mild.

"It wasn't," he admitted, "But Miriam can't keep him, he's afraid of Scully, and I don't know anyone else."

Skinner looked back out the window. "My niece has come to stay with me, come out here to go to school. But classes don't start for another week."

Mulder blinked. He somehow never thought of Skinner as having a family. Had been stunned, years before, to find Skinner had once had A wife. "Oh."

"I'll talk to her, see what she thinks." Skinner turned back around, gave him a wry smile. "He can stay with us, if I don't scare him to death."

He considered that. "Um, maybe if he could meet your niece?" Hazarding it. God, if Skinner's niece would do this, it would free him.

Skinner nodded. "Bring him over tonight, why don't you."

"Yeah." Mulder suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline, of excitement. "Yeah, that would be--thank you, sir."

A negligent gesture. "Just don't get yourself into trouble, Mulder. I plan on retiring next year, I'd rather not go out in a shitstorm because I let you go off and get yourself killed." Mild tone still.

"Oh, I'm very careful these days." With just a tinge of bitterness. It caught Skinner's ear, he shrugged at Skinner's expression. "Hell, Van Fliet taught me that."

He caught the regret on Skinner's face, looked away from it.

"Go," Skinner told him, sighing. "Tonight. Around seven?"

"Sounds great, sir," he rose, almost lighthearted in a peculiar way. "We'll see you then."

Skinner's niece was an attractive girl, long-legged, dark hair plaited down the middle of her back. Older than Mulder had thought, he'd been expecting an eighteen or nineteen year old, and she was clearly in her early twenties.

After dragging his heels all the way over, Sasha was genuinely charmed, readily went off with her to see the guest room he'd be using, chattering ninety miles an hour.

Skinner chuckled at his expression. "Beth's a wunderkind like you were, Mulder. Getting her doctorate in psychology, specializing in kids."

He blinked, accepted the beer Skinner held out. "Oh."

"My sister's daughter." Skinner gestured to a chair. "My goddaughter."

"I think Sasha is smitten," Mulder sank back, took a sip of the beer.

Skinner took a sip of his own. Stared at the bottle. "I've got something I need to say to you as a friend, Mulder. You're setting yourself up, here. You don't know that Krycek wants to come in from the cold, you have no surety that he's actually going to be willing to testify."

His throat tightened. "I don't think--"

Skinner raised a hand. "Just hear me out." Gently. "If I'm wrong, I'll be delighted, Mulder, believe me. The man deserves some peace, if he hadn't given me what he did, we would never have been able to dig down to the roots of this thing." Skinner looked back at the bottle. "And I'd frankly like to see you have some peace of mind as well." Gruffly. "You've been through a helluva lot."

He looked away. Shrugged. Tried not to think about what might have happened to him if Krycek hadn't decided to rescue him.

There was a silence. "We looked for you, there wasn't any stalling or foot dragging there, Mulder, I made sure of it. There just wasn't anything we could find to go on."

He took another sip. Was this about Skinner's guilt, he wondered vaguely. "I didn't leave much of a trail, sir, I was following a hunch."

"Doesn't make me feel a lot better, Mulder." Drily. When he looked, he saw Skinner was smiling ruefully. "At any rate, that's past. Just...be careful. And be prepared. You may not get the response

You're expecting when you find Krycek."

That was fair enough. He nodded.

They talked of inconsequential things then, baseball scores and football teams and Bureau gossip until Sasha emerged with Beth, his face aglow.

"Fox, Beth says I can stay here when you have to go away. They have a pool, she's going to teach me to swim!"

Beth smiled, leaned against the doorjamb.

Mulder felt a brief pang of guilt, he'd promised Krycek he was going to teach Sasha to swim, had forgotten. "That's terrific," he told Sasha, made room for Sasha on his lap. "You ready to pack your bag?"

Sasha gave Skinner a brief look. Looked back at Beth, who smiled encouragingly. "Okay."

Beth winked at Mulder. "Who knows, Sasha, maybe we can talk Uncle Walt into getting dunked."

Sasha's eyes widened in horrified delight. "Oh!"

Skinner chuckled. "I'm still bigger than you, young lady, if anyone gets dunked, I don't think it will be me."

Sasha examined Skinner's face carefully, Mulder could almost hear the wheels turning, understood for the first time what Krycek meant when he made that comment. "You're joking," Sasha accused shyly.

Skinner, astoundingly, winked. "I don't know, Sasha, maybe you can help me dunk her."

Scandalized giggle. Sasha drew into the curve of Mulder's arm and yawned suddenly. "Time for us to go," Mulder said. Grinned and rose, lifting Sasha with him. "Thanks, both of you." Meaning it.

Skinner waved a hand vaguely. "For nothing," he said drily. "My pleasure."

"He was getting cranky and stiff," Beth told them, "I'm loosening him up a bit."

Mulder blinked, slanted Skinner a grin, saw the resigned expression. "I guess it doesn't matter what age they are, sir."

Skinner's grin flickered. "No, it sure as hell doesn't. Goodnight, Sasha, we'll see you tomorrow."

Sasha nodded. Held out a small hand for Skinner to shake. Skinner did, soberly, though Mulder saw the older man's mouth twitch.

In the car, Sasha talked nonstop about Beth and swimming while Mulder went on autopilot, responding at all the right places.

"Are you going to find Alex?"

The question jarred him back to reality again. "I'm going to try," he told Sasha cautiously. "I think I have a good lead, Sasha."

"Good." Sasha turned his head to peer out the window. Yawned.

God, that trust made his chest hurt. Reaching out, he touched the child's hair. "I'll do my best." Promising that much at least.

It seemed to help.

With Sasha duly cared for, Mulder left for Philadelphia the following evening. Following a trail on instinct, showing pictures of Krycek and once or twice getting a maybe.

He finally pulled over at a highway rest stop. Left the window open slightly and locked the doors of the rental car, leaned back and dozed.

His cellphone woke him. Sitting up in the car, he fumbled for it. "Mulder." Groggily.

"Got a pen?" Frohike sounded jubilant. "He just used the Jeffries credit card, Mulder."

Oh, Alex, he thought, you should never have told me all your secrets. Bittersweet. "Where?" His heart hammered, he fumbled in the glove compartment for a pen, gave it up. "Goddammit, just tell me."

Frohike told him.

He found the map, fumbled it open. Smiled slowly. He wasn't but twenty minutes away. Don't go anywhere, he told Krycek silent, really don't, or you don't want to see what I'll do.

Which was all bravado, he'd keep looking, keep searching.

The area was seedy. Just what he'd have expected, and Scully had always complained about his choice of motels in the past. But, amazingly, he saw the burnt out star and lightning bolt, just as Sasha had described. Felt his stomach turn over at the memory of Sasha's description of Krycek's state of mind.

He parked with a clear view of the doors and the parking area. Slumped down in his seat again and reached for the thermos of coffee he'd brought.

It was hard to slow his pulse. And when a door opened and a shadowy figure stepped out, it leapt again, thundering loud in his ears. He slumped further, narrowing his eyes, reaching for the ignition, but Krycek left the car, walked across the parking lot, looked down the road.

Settled his shoulders, seeming to decide on something, and started south. Mulder worried at his lower lip. Wondering. Reached for the key again, but Krycek didn't go far, stopped at a gas station, its lights out, the station closed. Stood in front of the pay phone.

He let his hand drop. If Krycek left the phone and continued south, he decided, he'd move. For now, he'd watch.

He wondered briefly if Krycek was trying to call him, but Krycek hadn't called since the spring, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to let Sasha talk to him.

If he was better at jimmying doors, he'd try and get back into Krycek's room, wait for him there, but it didn't seem wise.

On the other hand.....he bit his lips again. Krycek appeared to be fully occupied. Deciding, he slipped from the rented car. Closed the door quietly and moved north, crossed the highway behind the glare of A semi's headlights, skirted the motel and came to rest on the other side of Krycek's car. At least he supposed it was Krycek's. But he could watch Krycek from where he crouched, saw Krycek hang up the phone and held his breath.

And Krycek came back, shoulders slouched. Expression grim. He drew back into the shadows, waiting, his mouth dry.

Waited until Krycek was at his door, turning key in the lock, moved faster than he'd known he could and jammed his gun into the middle of Krycek's back. The door flew open, and forty three or not, he slammed Alexander Careless fucking Krycek against the surface, yanked him in, kicking the door shut, and slammed him back against it.

No fight. Surrender. It enraged him, he yanked Krycek around, slammed him back hard again. "I could have killed you, you stupid bastard!"

Krycek's expression testified to shocked recognition, unflatteringly so. But that shock melted to weariness. "Fuck, Mulder, I'm tired of running, they'd be doing me a favor.".

Fury flared to full life, he punched Krycek hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Dragged him to the bed and threw him down, aching to punch him again. Instead, he flung himself down on top of Krycek, angry until he heard the struggle for breath, until he touched Krycek's face. "Don't you ever fucking give up that easily," he told Krycek fiercely, "Don't you ever, do you hear me?"

Krycek found breath. "If you found me, Mulder, I'm losing my touch." Wheezing.

He touched Krycek's cheek again, felt himself undone completely, anger melting to the normal concatenation of rampant lust, aching tenderness and the desire to shake Krycek until his head rattled. Instead, he kissed Krycek's mouth hard, trying to transmit emotions through muscle and bone.

Krycek made a sound in his throat and, abruptly, they were tearing at each other's clothes, everything coming off in something near a frenzy, clawing and nipping and biting at each other, he gained the upper hand and penetrated with nothing more than saliva and a brutal thrust, marking Krycek, claiming him, sliding into hot, tight flesh with an animal growl of victory. "If you ever," he gasped and thrust, "Do this again," another thrust, "I really will kill you."

Guttural voice, meaning it, meaning for Krycek to understand that.

Krycek didn't seem inclined to dispute this, he moaned, hooked his heels over Mulder's shoulders and pulled him down.

Krycek's cock was rigid, pressed between them, he grasped it, jerked it with deft, knowing strokes, hips pistoning forward ruthlessly, mindlessly.

It was a struggle, a battle, and he won, Krycek exploded for him, helpless sounds torn from his throat. Mulder brought his hand to his mouth, tasted him, salty-sour and slippery, it pushed him over the edge into the flesh that gripped him. Gasping and groaning as he pushed harder, deeper, spilling himself into Krycek's body until he hung over Krycek, supporting himself on his elbows. "I really will," he promised, still breathless, sweating.

Long look, slow smile and Krycek closed his eyes, began to laugh. "If you love something," he gasped, "Set it free. If it loves you, it will come back. Otherwise, hunt it down and kill it."

Mulder couldn't prevent himself from laughing. "It's better than the passive aggressive approach."

More crazed laughter. "Christ, I've missed you."

He let himself down, then licked Krycek's chin. "So who told you to leave, asshole."

Krycek sobered. "You know why I--"

"Yeah, yeah," he nipped Krycek's chin. "Asshole. So who's watching your back?"

"Mulder, shut up." A briefly mischievous glint in green eyes. "And don't you fucking hit me again."

Instant remorse. "I won't," he kissed Krycek extravagantly and was flipped on his back, sighed as their bodies separated, drank in the weight that rested on him.

Krycek's mouth brushed his skin, the familiar scrape of beard stubble made him shiver. Alex, he thought and put his hands in Krycek's hair. "I meant what I said, " Growling it.

Sighing, Krycek put his face on Mulder's chest. "Fox, don't be so goddamned stupid. I know, I should have been on my toes, I let you catch me. But what the fuck do you want? I can't do it, I'm one of the bad guys, remember?"

The urge to shake him again flickered through Mulder's mind. "Not any more, you have immunity, you're a protected witness," he cupped the back of Krycek's head, relishing the hard curve of skull beneath the softness. "You stuck me with this kid, Alex, and I'm fucking it up, I don't have a clue how to handle it." Hammering the nails in, one by one. "I go to work and pretend I'm the same Mulder, but how can I be after Van Fliet? You dragged me out of that hell and made me live through it, you made me, dammit, and now you want me to pretend that I'm normal?" Hammering. "And I've been working with Skinner, you've got immunity, you've got protection, we can bring the last of them down, we can put it out in the open, and it's fucking incredible what Skinner and the others have done. Christ, even Scully believes." He couldn't see Krycek's face, only the curve of his brow. "And the last six years, Alex, they've done some incredible things with prosthetics using nerve impulses, you wouldn't believe it."

"Don't." Krycek's voice was shaky. "Don't fucking guilt me and don't try and bribe me, and goddammit, Mulder, you know these bastards are damned near everywhere."

"You're coming back with me, Alex, if I have to cuff you, drug you and drag you," he kept his voice level. Flat.

Moving abruptly, Krycek got up, not looking at him. "I need a shower." Roughly.

He sat up. "Alex?" Softly.

"You win." And Krycek rose, padded over the stained carpet to the bathroom.

Mulder heard the water go on, followed. Found Krycek standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself. "Sometimes I think you and Sasha made me human again," he told Mulder. Softly. Brokenly. "I grew up with this shit. My father worked for them. My mother fucked them. And when he died, they found a job for her as housekeeper." Mulder put his arms around Krycek. "I grew up with it, Mulder. The guy she worked for, I guess you could sort of say he was like a stepfather, I went into the family business." Bitter laughter.

He held Krycek tighter. "I know that feeling." Softly.

"No, you don't." Krycek closed his eyes. "I hated that bastard. I was going to make it in the syndicate, I was going to be higher and stronger than he was, I was going to kick his ass. I was going to be the biggest and baddest of them all, Mulder, I was going to get even for my father, for my mother, and for everything that fucker did to me," he shook his head, opened his eyes again. "If they come after me--"

"They won't. Hide in plain sight, Alex. And they won't dare."

Krycek's eyes were too bright, he could see that in the mirror. "You're such a bastard, Mulder." Faintly.

"Takes one," he told Krycek, kissed his shoulder. "Let's get cleaned up. Go home."

Distracted nod. Not happy.

He furthered the distraction, if not the happiness, in the shower, treating Krycek to luxurious attendance, washing every inch of skin, stroking it clean, rinsing it, kissing it until Krycek caught fire for him again, both of them caught up in a hunger that refused to allow for anything slow.

Krycek claimed him this time, fucking him against the side of the shower stall. Writhing in pleasure, he let Krycek's hand draw him upward in the spiral of ecstasy, urged Krycek on until he got what he wanted. What he needed.

After that, Krycek was somber. They dressed, left the room and Krycek's undoubtedly stolen car behind without a glance backward. Krycek got in the passenger side of his rental, slumped in the seat.

Reaching out, Mulder touched his temple gently. Couldn't think of anything to say. So he simply smiled, started the car, and pulled out.

Mulder called from a highway pay phone, called Skinner. "I've got the package."

There was a soft intake of breath. "Okay, I'll take care of the delivery arrangements."

He smiled. Hung up. The safe house would be ready by the time they got there, if he knew Skinner.

Got back in the car and smiled at Krycek, who was wolfing a hamburger. Wolf was the right description, he was too thin, months on the run, sleepless nights watching his back. "Okay, we're set."

"Right." Dourly.

"Grouch," he started the car. "Sasha will be out of his mind when he sees you." Slyly.

It got him a scowl. He grinned and pulled out again, onto the highway.

Krycek slept the rest of the way, his face innocent and vulnerable, only an occasional twitch betraying his dreams. They reached the safe house around three in the afternoon, pulled into the open garage in time to see Skinner pull into the driveway behind them. Mulder got out, eyed Skinner and waited until the other man got out of the car.

Skinner went around to the other side, opened the passenger door and bent inward, straightened again. He smiled faintly, saw small feet hit the ground. The door obscured Sasha for a moment, but Skinner reached down, tugged the child aside and slammed the door.

Sasha's face was anxious. He saw Mulder and trotted forward. Krycek was still sitting in the car, only now waking.

He opened the driver's door again. "I got him," he told Sasha.

Sasha's eyes widened. Sasha climbed into the car as Krycek straightened, flung himself and was captured in a fierce hug.

Mulder glanced away, blinking hard. Offered Skinner a crooked grin as the older man stepped passed him to press a button. The garage door closed.

The door to the house opened and Scully stood there. She sighed and smiled. "Welcome back, Mulder."

He went up the two steps and hugged her, caught up in emotion. "Thanks."

Krycek's door opened, Mulder turned back to see him get out, holding Sasha, who was currently imitating a barnacle. Krycek's eyes were a little reddened, he avoided Mulder's gaze, nodded politely at Skinner and shook hands. Nodded politely at Scully and didn't.

Once inside, Scully excused herself to go home, Skinner took Krycek off to the other room to discuss the terms of immunity with him and left Mulder with Sasha.

"He's not going to go again, is he?" Anxious voice, big eyes.

"Nope." Crouching in front of the child, Mulder shook his head. "Nope, we're not going to let him."

The eyes that studied him were identical to his own. "Are you sure, Fox?"

"Very sure." Even if he had to get one of those damned house arrest ankle bracelets, Krycek wasn't going to leave again. "But you can ask him yourself when Mr. Skinner finishes talking to him."

Sasha edged closer. "Mr. Skinner scares me," he confessed.

Mulder grinned. "He used to scare me, too."

"The hell," Skinner's voice was mild. "Not that I recall, Mulder."

Mulder looked up, flushed a little, but grinned anyway. "Well, maybe I exaggerated a little."

"I've got people outside. I figure you're obviously in good enough shape and he's not exactly unskilled, you don't need anyone inside. Just don't go daytripping for a while, all right?" Skinner arched an eyebrow. "Sit on him if you have to."

He bit his tongue on the smart ass remark that came to mind. Nodded soberly.

Skinner looked at Sasha. "He was very good for Beth," he told Mulder, his mouth twitching a little.

"I'll bet." Mulder rose, followed Skinner to the door. "Thank you again, sir."

"You're welcome. He knows a great deal that will bring the rest of these bastards down." Satisfied tone, but Skinner's expression gentled marginally. "Besides, he saved your ass, and I know it. That's worth something."

"Yeah, I thought so." Drily. He closed the door. Locked it. And armed the security system. "Let's go see Alex," he told Sasha.

Krycek was brooding at the window. Jacket shed, boots off, standing in stocking feet. "What an asshole."

Muttered.

"He's not that bad," Mulder told Krycek's back. "He's been a lot of help."

Krycek made a noncommittal sound, let the curtain fall and turned to face them. "Hey, Sash."

Sasha shyly edged into the room. "Hi, Alex."

As if he hadn't already greeted Krycek, Mulder noted, amused.

"What have you been feeding this kid, he feels like he's gained a ton." Krycek moved forward, caught Sasha and tossed him up, getting a delighted shriek.

"Bricks. Rocks." Mulder shrugged. "Cheaper that way."

"That explains it." Krycek tossed the boy to the bed, bounced on it as he joined him.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Mulder drank in the sight of him. Greedily. Too thin, rumpled from travel and sleep and decidedly out of sorts, Alexander Krycek struck him as beautiful. Glorious. Sexy as hell, even playing with a six-year-old.

He sat down on the bed. "I'm feeling a little left out here," he complained.

Krycek sprawled back against the pillows. "Sounds like a personal problem to me, Mulder." Drily.

He leaned over. Kissed Krycek's mouth gently. Felt Krycek's lips part slightly and sighed against them.

"All right," Krycek told him grudgingly. "I'll pay attention to you, too."

"Me, too!" Sasha bounced on the bed.

Mulder eyed him, calculating the time, how long it would take Sasha to wear out, and how soon he could put Sasha to bed.

Krycek chuckled. "You ought to see your face," he told Mulder and sat up. "Come here, sprog."

"What's wrong with my face?" Mulder frowned faintly.

"Nothing."

Krycek chuckled again and nuzzled Sasha's hair. "Come on, sprog, let's go examine your room."

"Okay." Bright eyes.

Mulder frowned. At least four hours. Maybe five if Sasha was sufficiently wound up.

He wondered if it was unethical to sedate a six-year-old as the two of them went through the door, Sasha giggling loudly.

And decided it probably was.

First there were cartoons. Then dinner. Then a bath. By the time Krycek tucked Sasha in, Mulder was ready to murder both of them and as sulky as Sasha on a very bad day.

He sat in the living room, arms folded, watching America's Most Wanted, while Krycek put the little boy to bed. Heard Krycek's footsteps in the hallway and ignored them. Scowled at the television screen.

Felt the brush of fingertips across the back of his neck. "You gonna pout all night."

"Asshole," he muttered.

Krycek laughed softly. "Let's go to bed. Coming in from the cold takes a terrible toll on a man."

He considered whether or not to consider being grouchy. Decided against it. Life was too short.

Got up, let Krycek tug him down the hallway to the bedroom.

"You're so transparent sometimes," Krycek teased.

"Hey, I missed you, too," he muttered.

"I know. But aren't you the guy who guilted me about Sasha?" Arched eyebrow.

He resolved that argument by simply tipping Krycek backward on the bed. "God, did I miss you," he muttered and began undoing the buttons of Krycek's shirt. Kissed the skin revealed at each button. Warm skin. Beautiful skin.

Followed through as he unbuttoned Krycek's jeans. "I really like the no underwear look you've adopted," he muttered and licked the stirring shaft.

Krycek's fingers tangled in his hair. Tugged lightly. "Yeah?" Lazy voice. "Maybe I'll keep it."

"Lift up." Mulder shifted back onto his heels, tugged at denim until the jeans came down, tugged harder over Krycek's feet, pulled off the socks as well. "Oh, yeah." Surveying Krycek, sprawled back on the bed, wearing only the opened shirt. "Very nice look."

Slow smile. "Yeah? Well, you're wearing way too many clothes, Mulder."

Settling again, he nipped at Krycek's navel. "Fox."

Asigh. "Fox." Quietly. And then suddenly, Krycek tugged him up, claimed his mouth, tongue stroking in deeply against his own, tasting him, teasing him....

"You're still wearing too much," Krycek complained.

Sitting up, he straddled Krycek's legs, began ridding himself of clothing. He had to roll away to get the jeans off, which was a tactical error of sorts, Krycek rolled over him, smiling down mischievously.

Green eyes glinting with it. He caught his breath, blinked hard. "Oh, Christ, Alex." His voice trembling.

The mischief died to embers. "Fox, don't." Kissed him gently. Tenderly. "It's okay. We'll manage it somehow."

He put his arms around Krycek, held him tightly. "Yes."

Krycek's mouth moved to his throat. "We will. I trust you. And even if he is an asshole, I trust Skinner. He's one of the few honest men, outside of you, I've ever met." A kiss to his collarbone, a nip. "Prick that he is."

He couldn't help smiling at that. "He really isn't," he said vaguely, defending Skinner, but with his mind on what Krycek's tongue was doing. "Oh, Jesus, Alex."

"Ummm?" Krycek shifted back, drawing a line of flame down his belly to his cock. The rough silk of that tongue on the head of his cock and he closed his eyes, made a sound in his throat.

Just like the first time, Krycek's mouth on him and he was going to spontaneously combust. Licking the underside of his cock. Gentle suction on his balls. He spread his legs, drew his knees up and Krycek lifted his head, smiled up at him.

"You got any lube?"

Did he? Christ, he wasn't sure. "I think there's oil in the kitchen," he offered, racking his brain.

Krycek nearly fell off the bed laughing, Mulder leaned up, smacked the bare ass and got up, went to his bag, and found some. Brought it back and handed it to Krycek. "You're such an asshole."

Krycek erupted again. Holding the small bottle and gasping for air.

Mulder lay back on the bed, sighing. Crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms. "You're going to get Sasha up," he warned.

And Krycek pounced again. Straddling him. Kissing him. Starting from scratch again. Until Mulder was unable to think.

Until he had to turn the tables and explore every inch of the familiar body. No new scars. Just the same old territory, and nothing could make him happier at the moment. He took Krycek's rampant cock into his mouth, sucked teasingly, stroked the muscular thighs, bent and nipped the seam where groin joined hip.

"Mulder," Krycek warned huskily. "Don't, I swear to god--" a gasp.

Mulder obligingly let him up, rolled to his back. Let Krycek settle between his legs and gasped as a slippery finger stroked into him. And another one. Moved on them, gasped again as Krycek found the spot and pressed upward.

"You're so easy," Krycek teased, but his gaze was intent, hot as flame, his voice was hoarse.

"The hell," he gasped it, arched into that touch.

"Skinner wants your ass." Krycek leaned back, applied lube to his cock. Guided himself to press against Mulder, who brought his legs up, around Krycek's hips. Locked ankles in the small of Krycek's back.

Heavy-lidded, intent gaze. "I really think he does." That mouth, almost a cupid's bow, he wanted to bite it. Tried to pull Krycek into him and onto him. "Let him find his own date," he growled and Krycek closed his eyes, eased in slowly.

"Oh, yeah, I will." It was a whisper, Krycek let himself be pulled forward. Thrust into Mulder, backthrust.

"Oh, Jesus, yes," Mulder gasped, "Oh, Christ, Alex, that's so good."

Krycek bent his head, teeth closing over one of Mulder's nipples. Worried it, sending an electric jolt straight down Mulder's spine to his cock. "Christ, I have missed you." Hardly audible.

But Mulder heard it.

Slow, then faster, the familiar dance, the burn of pleasure, of having this man inside him, the feel of Krycek's skin under his fingertips, smooth skin of Krycek's back, the short, feathery sensation of the hair at Krycek's nape.

The taste of Krycek's mouth.

Sweat dripping from Krycek's chest to pool on his belly. Nothing existed but this. Nothing existed but the two of them, locked into each other, for better or worse, there was no escape.

He couldn't live without this. He didn't think Krycek could, either, protests aside.

Too good, Christ, too hot, too needful. He tossed his head, feeling the intensity build, squeezing Krycek with his body, feeling the jolts travel up his spine until he closed his mouth over the tendon in Krycek's shoulder and stifled his scream.

Came and came and came and heard Krycek making guttural sounds, felt them against his throat, felt Krycek explode inside him. And sink back over him, breathing raggedly.

He had trouble getting his own breath. Stared up into green eyes.

"He'd better find his own damned date," Krycek growled. "If you dragged my ass back here."

It took him a moment to remember what the hell Krycek meant by that. "Skinner doesn't want my ass, he's as straight as they come."

"Huh." It was a scornful sound, but Krycek kissed him again, deeply, hungrily. And then put his face in Mulder's neck. "Jesus, I missed you."

Mulder smiled at the ceiling. "Good." Softly. And cupped the back of Krycek's head. "It's going to be fine. You'll see."

"It had better." Krycek seemed boneless suddenly, and Mulder welcomed the weight. Welcomed Krycek's presence.

"It will be." It was a promise.

And he didn't intend to break it.

Alexander Krycek woke to the sound of his lover's voice.

"Sasha, goddammit, you're going to be late to practice, get your ass down here!"

He smiled into the pillow, rolled over in time to see a lanky almost thirteen-year-old run past the open bedroom door, dressed in his soccer gear.

Soccer practice this morning, and damned if he hadn't overslept. On the other hand it was Saturday and someone else's turn to take Sasha and the other boys. Stretching, he smiled senselessly at the ceiling, listening to the voices down the hall.

Mulder had, after all, gotten closer and closer to the boy as Sasha had grown up. That eidetic memory never lost anything, and the psychology training had enabled Mulder to do a far better job of child-rearing than he'd had. Or, for that matter, than Krycek had endured. It had also helped them through tough times as Sasha came to understand just what and who he was, that he wasn't like other boys in the matter of his birth or in the matter of his genetic makeup. Well, except for one other boy, long since a man. The resemblance to Mulder didn't help, Sasha had recently started agitating to dye his hair an electric blue or green. Mulder was resisting this with unexpected conservatism, but a look at pictures from the Oxford era explained that. Mulder had been into the punk look.

He'd nearly laughed himself sick at the look of horror on Sasha's face.

Sometimes, he thought his life had gotten as surreal as any Beckett play. Domesticity. Happiness, even, although they certainly had their rough times. In an apartment, thank God, no white picket fence, but it was more a townhouse Apartment, with a postage stamp yard, a sort of underground domesticity.

Sighing, he stretched again, turned his head to see Mulder come into the bedroom. Ratty t-shirt and sweatpants and a cup of coffee in each hand. And that smile.

Only for him. Scully didn't see that smile. No one else did, he rather thought, and relished the notion selfishly.

Mulder put the coffee down, offered him another one. "I let you sleep in."

He didn't deserve this life, might never deserve it, but he cherished it nonetheless. "I noticed." Lazily. Leaned up and kissed Mulder's mouth. "Good morning."

"Good morning." Mulder kissed him back for good measure, sprawled beside him on the bed. "We have the entire morning to ourselves."

"Good," he rolled on his side, slid a hand under Mulder's t-shirt. They didn't call it anything. They didn't exchange many terms of endearment. But he knew what he felt for Mulder and he was reasonably certain what Mulder felt for him. "Have I told you that the rumpled unshaven look works for you?"

"Frequently." Mulder grinned, rolled to face him. "Have I told you that rumpled, unshaven and naked works for you?"

"Frequently." Another kiss, luxurious, lazy. "Have I told you that I think this is a pretty good life?"

Mulder cupped his cheek. "No." Softly. Hazel eyes studying him intently.

"A grave oversight on my part." Krycek allowed himself a mischievous smile. "Surely, though, the man they used to call Spooky already knew that."

Slow smile. "Still nice to hear."

Krycek sighed. Nipped the lush lower lip. "You were right."

"I was right?" Arched eyebrow. "Can I get that one tape?"

"Sure." Generously and he nipped Mulder's jawline. "You know, I got sick of it, too. Christ, you ruined me, Mulder."

"Right." Comfortable tone. "Glad to have had the pleasure, then."

Mulder's mouth was warm and lush and tasted of coffee. "I would have come back," he told Mulder, knowing it for one truth among many. "I would have had to come back."

"Just keep thinking that way," Mulder muttered and slid a hand down his belly. "But for the moment, Alex, shut up."

He laughed outright. "Yes, Fox." Obediently.

Yes, it was a good life. And as his lover bent over him, he gave himself up to it. Again.

Finis

A Missing Scene: The Long and Winding Road by Kassandra They made it to Calgary without incident, which eased Krycek's mind considerably. He'd been following the news on his forays away from the cabin, although he'd kept it from Mulder.

He wasn't entirely sure that Mulder was ready to hear news of the outside world.

What Mulder had endured at Van Fliet's hands had quenched him. No fire burning there any more, no more obsessive quest for the truth. It could be a good thing, or it could be a bad thing, Krycek was of two minds about it.

It was good when Mulder turned to him in the night, warm skin and both arms wrapped around him.

It was bad when Mulder was content to simply read or sleep in the car. No questions. Not much conversation.

And there were still lines of pain around Mulder's mouth and eyes. He suspected there was something Mulder wasn't telling him, but didn't push the issue. He was going to have to approach it carefully; somehow, he thought Mulder's trust of doctors was going to be fairly limited from now on.

Sasha was the perfect excuse.

He contacted Rodebaugh the second day in Calgary.

Managed to convince Mulder that he needed help with Sasha and the shots, that he wasn't sure how well he could handle it.

"Like I have any experience with it?" Mulder seemed wearily amused, although he let Krycek deal with the baby.

"Hey, what the hell, he likes you, maybe he won't take it so hard." Krycek kept his voice light, sitting in the examination room.

"I think you have to take off his clothes," Mulder told him and sat down in the room's single chair.

"No shit?" Krycek looked down at the wriggling infant. "For a shot?"

"I think they give it to them in the leg." Mulder picked up a magazine, scowled at it, but opened it anyway.

"Ouch." Doubtful suddenly, Krycek studied Sasha, who was cooing at him flirtatiously. "He's not going to think much of that."

"Well, unless you want him to get diphtheria or whatever it is, he needs shots."

He supposed that made sense. Sighing, he unsnapped the buttons on the one piece thingie Sasha was wearing. Levered the baby out and laid him on the blanket.

Sasha thought about complaining, but settled for chewing on one fist instead, making little semi-grizzling sounds.

The door opened and Rodebaugh came in, looking unhappy. He hadn't wanted to see them, but Krycek knew where certain bodies were buried, so to speak, and Rodebaugh knew how to stay on the right side.

Rodebaugh glanced at Mulder, then at the baby. "Immunizations, right?"

"Right." Krycek smiled thinly. "And I'd like you to have a look at him, too." Lifted his chin in Mulder's direction.

Mulder looked up, startled away from Sports Illustrated. "What?"

"You're not getting your energy back." Krycek gave Mulder a long look, waiting for rebellion, for temper.

Mulder's mouth thinned for a moment, but then relaxed. "Sure. Fine."

The swift capitulation was worrying, but confirmed his instinct that this was necessary. The old Mulder would have come out of the chair and punched him.

Or at least gotten in his face.

Rodebaugh took a vial out of his coat pocket, got a syringe from the cabinet and filled it deftly. "All right, let's get this over with. Give him Tylenol if there's any fever, and I'll give you one of the handouts. Any of the symptoms on the handout show up, you take him to A hospital, not here."

Challenging look, but Krycek nodded, ignoring that. "Fever?"

"Yeah, there's often a little fever as the body adjusts." Rodebaugh swiped the baby's thigh quickly, stuck the needle in.

Sasha shrieked, predictably. Krycek took the handout and skimmed it quickly. "Convulsions?" he read, disbelieving. "He could die from this?"

"I survived mine," Mulder said, from the corner of the room. Dry voice.

Good point, Krycek thought and picked up the squalling infant. Jiggled and jollied him back into semi-tearful calm. "Your turn."

Rodebaugh looked interested then. He'd had to tell Rodebaugh the bare outlines of Mulder's condition, there was no help for it. He could always kill Rodebaugh later, if necessary.

Mulder submitted to a thorough examination, answering Rodebaugh's questions indifferently.

Krycek listened with growing concern, cursed Mulder's reticence inwardly.

Sasha had finally stopped crying and was sucking unhappily on his fist. He'd have to get a pacifier or something or the kid was going to end up needing orthodontia worse than Mulder.

Rodebaugh listened to each answer, his expression growing graver with each answer. He finally nodded and told Mulder to get dressed again. Gave Krycek a long look. "When he's finished, just come to the office. I don't have any other patients."

Krycek switched Sasha to his shoulder and nodded. "Okay."

The moment the door closed he moved to the examination table and put the baby down. Shifted to stand between Mulder's knees.

"You happy?" Mulder clearly wasn't.

The first sign of resistance he'd seen in months and while it was cheering, he was still worried, damned worried. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

Mulder's gaze dropped. "What the hell were you going to do about it? Last I knew, you weren't board certified."

He tilted Mulder's face back up. "I'd have gotten you to someone who was. Who is. A lot sooner than this."

A ghost of a smile. He leaned in and brushed his mouth over it. "Dammit, Mulder, talk to me."

"It's just--it's just pointless, I guess." Mulder blinked at him.

"No, it's not." Krycek leaned in. Kissed him gently. "It's not pointless at all. If you let them make you believe that, they won, Mulder."

Mulder rested his forehead on Krycek's shoulder. "I just--I'm okay."

"We'll see what Rodebaugh says," he raised his hand to touch the back of Mulder's head, fingercombed the too long hair.

"Okay." Muted voice.

And that was all.

What Rodebaugh had to say, over the course of the next few days, was that there was a suspicious mass in Mulder's abdomen.

Mulder took this news as indifferently as he had the examination. But when the word surgery came up, so did Mulder's head. "No." Taut, tense and fighting panic, Krycek recognized the signs.

"Mr. Davis, I'm afraid you don't have a great deal of choice. It's clearly causing problems, and I suspect there's some attachment to the bladder, or you wouldn't have blood in your urine."

Reaching across the space between their chairs, Krycek put his hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Easy," he murmured, feeling the muscles knot. "Nobody is going to do anything against your will."

Mulder shuddered. "No surgery." Thickly. "No more."

Rodebaugh blinked in surprise. "I realize you've gone through an ordeal--"

"You don't know anything." Mulder shuddered again.

"There's a small private hospital we'd better use," Rodebaugh said softly. "To keep you out of the public eye."

Mulder shook his head. "No." Eyes too bright.

"No." Krycek looked at Rodebaugh, his stomach knotting. "Not until he agrees. It's his decision."

Mulder's head came up again, hazel eyes searched his face. "You won't--"

"It's your decision." Krycek held that gaze. "Your choice." He waited, breath held. Saw the irrational terror retreat, one breath at A time. Waited longer, giving Rodebaugh a warning look. Rodebaugh, thankfully, took the hint. He leaned back in his chair, patting Sasha's back as the grizzling threatened to start.

Mulder sat, hands gripping the arms of his chair, fingers almost white knuckled. Finally nodded. "All right, dammit." Whispered.

"How long will he need to stay?" Krycek asked, his eyes still on Mulder.

"At least two days. I won't be able to give you a better prediction until we're sure what the mass is." Rodebaugh answered Krycek, but his eyes were on Mulder.

Two days. Krycek was suddenly uneasy about that. But there wasn't any help for it. He looked back at Mulder.

Mulder's face was pale. "All right, fine, when?"

"I asked them to pencil you in tomorrow, I'd like to admit you this evening. I made arrangements with a surgeon." Rodebaugh looked at Krycek. "I've taken care of the paperwork."

A not so subtle allusion to the issue of payment. No problem, he'd deal with it. He nodded.

"All right." Sasha had stopped grizzling. "Private hospital, private room and I'm not leaving him."

Rodebaugh nodded back.

"Let's do it." Mulder got up, his jaw set. "Just do it and get it over with."

Krycek rose with him, juggling Sasha. "Okay."

Rodebaugh wrote out the directions to the hospital.

The surgery took place early in the morning.

At first, the surgeon wanted to quibble about Krycek's presence in the private room, and Sasha's presence nearly made him apoplectic.

Rodebaugh settled the issue of who was staying in Mulder's room before the nurse arrived to give Mulder pre-op medication.

By the time Mulder was brought back, in the early afternoon, Krycek was feeling restless, nervous, and his state of mind seemed to infect Sasha, who was fretful.

He found his temper strained, but having Mulder out of surgery seemed to ease it. Standing by the bed, he touched Mulder's face.

Mulder's eyelids fluttered, his eyes opened briefly to regard Krycek with drugged confusion.

"It's okay, it's all over," he told Mulder softly.

"Yes, I think it is," Rodebaugh's voice brought Krycek around to face the door. The doctor's face was serious. "I had a time settling Jorgensen down once he got him open."

"What was it?" Krycek kept his voice low.

"I think--I think it was essentially uterine tissue left over from this--experiment." Rodebaugh's expression was odd. "Krycek, what have you gotten me into? Is this....their business?"

"No." Krycek managed a smile, faked it. "No, it's a side issue, but he got caught in it. No worries, Rodebaugh."

Rodebaugh nodded, but there was something in the set of his mouth. Shit. He was going to have to deal with Rodebaugh tonight. No other choice.

Mulder made an unintelligible sound, he turned to see Mulder shifting, grimacing at the discomfort.

"Hey, take it easy," he soothed, "What's the matter?"

"'M thirsty." A flick of the tongue over dry lips and Mulder struggled to focus on him again. "Water."

"Ice," Rodebaugh said swiftly. "I'll have them bring some in. Sparingly, Krycek, we want to make sure he doesn't vomit."

"Okay, hang on." Krycek moved back toward the door, glanced at the hospital crib where Sasha slept, fist tucked into his mouth. Taking Rodebaugh's arm, he led the doctor out the door. "How is he?"

Rodebaugh's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Well, whatever was done to him did some damage. Jorgensen cleaned up the adhesions as much as possible. He's got a lot of scarring internally, it looks like there may have been some peritonitis at some point, some of the small bowel was damaged and patched, not well. Real battlefield type surgery, I saw some of this in Vietnam, you put boys back together fast, to keep them from dying on you, but somehow, I don't think that was the reason."

"No, it wasn't. How is he?" Krycek tightened his fingers on Rodebaugh's arm. "Is he sick? Is he going to be all right once he heals?"

"He should heal well. But he's not going to be what I'd call robust. And I'd watch his kidneys, it wouldn't surprise me to find out he'd had what we would have called pre-eclampsia if this had been--normal."

Krycek cursed Van Fliet silently, and his own damned stupidity. "If you had their records, you could tell," he told Rodebaugh regretfully. "Didn't bring those out."

"Well, he's probably lucky you intervened. I'm not sure he would have survived--what did you say, six more weeks? I think he'd have died. I think the infant would have died." Rodebaugh's eyes moved back to the door. "Looking at the butchery there--the incompetent bastards left tissue inside him."

"They've paid for their incompetence," Krycek said silkily, suddenly wondering if Rodebaugh was too valuable an asset to eliminate. If Mulder's health was at issue--"I'll see that you get the money tomorrow, Rodebaugh. Remember our terms."

Rodebaugh grimaced. "I'm not going to tell anyone anything, Krycek. I had enough trouble keeping Jorgensen quiet. I don't want to deal with any of Them again."

His tone made the word uppercase, emphasized it. "Good. Keep that attitude and you'll live a lot longer."

"Do you have someplace you can take him? I'm a little nervous keeping him here?"

The surgeon might have to go, Krycek decided suddenly, but Rodebaugh was scared shitless of dealing with the Syndicate and knew quite well where his profit lay.

"Yeah, I can take him out of here. Not tonight, though. Not in this shape."

"No." Rodebaugh shook his head, rubbed his forehead. "I can get you medical supplies. Maybe tomorrow night. If his vitals are good. Otherwise--"

Krycek nodded. "I've done it before, we'll manage. I'll need the supplies, though."

"When you get him out, come by the office. Rodebaugh turned away. "I'll see to that ice."

"Good." Pushing the door open, Krycek watched him go, eyes narrowed. He'd have to deal with the surgeon, but Rodebaugh--they might need Rodebaugh again, and since he'd cut himself off from his other resources by sending the material to Skinner.....but the surgeon was going to have a messy accident.

Mulder was out again, as pale as the pillowcase beneath his head. Going back to the bedside, Krycek touched his cheek again, stroked it lightly with his forefinger. He regretted nothing, not betraying the Syndicate, not killing Van Fliet--he just wished he'd had time to make Van Fliet suffer, that's all.

Not that it would have done Mulder any good. Fuck, he should have come back from Russia earlier. But there was no point in trying to second guess the past. He had to deal with the present. So no looking back.

Mulder's eyes opened again, struggled to focus. "Alex?" Faintly.

"I'm here, it's okay." He leaned over, touched his mouth to Mulder's forehead. "It's okay."

Mulder went under again, seemingly reassured.

The world had changed in radical ways, he thought, bitterly humorous, when Mulder accepted reassurance from him. He stroked Mulder's cheek lightly again. "Just rest," he whispered and sighed. He needed to find a safe place outside Calgary. Someplace where Mulder could rest, regain some strength.

And that was going to take some thought.

He got Mulder out with surprising ease. One of the benefits of the small, private hospital. Thanked whatever beneficent powers might exist in the universe for the ease of it as he maneuvered Mulder into the van while Sasha slept blamelessly in his child seat, strapped into the front passenger side.

Flat on his back, in a bed like the one Krycek had improvised months earlier, Mulder gave him a foggy smile, roused slightly, groggy as hell. "What're we doin'?"

"We're making the great escape," Krycek told him lightly and closed the back doors of the van. Shoved the gurney to one side and went around to the driver's side. Slid behind the wheel and pulled out slowly, no need for police interest.

He'd found a small furnished cottage for rent about sixty miles from the city. Close enough for him to reach Rodebaugh if need be. Close enough for medical supplies as needed.

They drove without incident to the cottage. Sasha stirred fretfully when Krycek carried the baby seat in, but settled again once Krycek had gotten him out and settled on his stomach on a blanket on the floor. No rolling off anything, he told himself, and went back.

Mulder was going to be tougher. The wheelchair he'd kited from the hospital was going to have to do, he'd just be as careful as he could.

Fortunately, Mulder had slept off some of the last dose of morphine and was able to lend some cooperation. He was still sweating by the time he got Mulder to the bed, and not solely because of exertion. It had to hurt, but Mulder wasn't making a sound; he didn't until safely in bed, when a small noise escaped him, almost of relief.

Krycek sat on the edge of the bed, touched Mulder's cheek. "You hanging in there?"

"Yeah." Huskily. "Hurts some."

He nodded. "We're done now. You don't have to move again."

"Thank God." Brief flicker of a smile.

He fumbled for Mulder's hand and squeezed gently. "Can't give you anything else for a while, Mulder." Softly.

"I know." Mulder turned his head, sighed. "S'okay."

It wasn't okay, but there wasn't any help for it. He sat with Mulder until those eyelids finally fell. Until Mulder's breathing slowed and evened out again.

Only then did he go out and begin unloading the van.

Mulder woke to an unfamiliar room, stared at the ceiling for a few moments as he managed to reorient himself.

This was becoming a habit, he thought vaguely and smiled at the thought, as demented as it was.

Turned his head to see Krycek, out like a light, lying on top of the bedclothes, face stubbled, completely exhausted.

Well, fine, it was early and he wasn't going anywhere. His body hurt, but not as badly as it had during that blurry time after Van Fliet.

Raising his head, he tugged up the hospital gown blinked at the dressing. Smaller than he'd expected, from the way it felt. A lot smaller. And it looked liked they'd cleaned up some of the older scar tissue from Van Fliet's butchery. He shivered, in spite of himself, in spite of safety and distance from the past.

"Hey." Krycek's voice made him turn his head. "What're you doing?"

"Counting my parts to make sure there's nothing missing." His own voice was hoarse.

"And?"

"As far as I can tell, they're all there. Can I have some water?"

Krycek rolled off the bed just as the wail came. Mulder sighed. "Get him first."

"The hell," Krycek told him. "He can wait a minute, he's not going to starve to death."

Mulder laughed shortly. "I suppose not. You did feed him last night."

"Of course I fed him last night." Krycek headed for the door. Sounds in the hallway. Distantly, he heard the sound of water running, heard what sounded like a refrigerator door opening. Or freezer door--Krycek came back with a glass of ice water, took the time to put more pillows behind his back before leaving him again.

By that time, the wail had grown stronger, far more insistent; he thought he caught a harried look on Krycek's face, but carefully did not smile.

Krycek returned with Sasha, a bottle, and the diaper bag slung over one shoulder, increasing the noise level in the room exponentially. Put Sasha on the bed, poked the nipple into his mouth and silence reigned.

"Thank God," Mulder grumbled.

"Hey, imagine you woke up every morning thinking you were starving to death." Slightly defensive tone and Mulder hid another smile.

Krycek grabbed another pillow and propped the bottle. Went about the business of diaper changing to the accompaniment of small sounds of desperate hunger from the baby.

Mulder watched, amused as always by Krycek's bond with the infant. Atriple agent, possibly an assassin, undone by an infant. It was worse than Three Men and a Baby. But it was apparently genuine.

Which was no more surreal than the rest of his life, he supposed.

"There," Krycek told the child. "Now stay put."

"Now," Krycek told Mulder, "I'm going to make you something to eat. I'm afraid your diet's going to be fairly limited, but you do get fruit juice and," a grimace, "Cream of Wheat."

"Be still my heart," Mulder told him, still sipping at the water.

Krycek raised his middle finger. "Scream if the sprog tries to roll off the bed."

"How about if I just shout." Mulder glanced at the child. "Shit, Alex, put him up here, he's going to lose the bottle that way. And I'm not up to hearing him shriek."

Krycek looked doubtfully at the propped bottle. Sighed and did, moving infant and bottle within Mulder's reach, although he left it propped. "He'll be fine."

Mulder nodded, sank further back into the pillows. "Little pain in the ass," he grumbled.

Krycek grinned. Went back out of the bedroom.

Mulder closed his eyes, listening to the small frantic sounds. Krycek was right, it must be hell being small and helpless and dependent. It wasn't a lot of fun being grown and helpless and dependent, either, but at least he had the experience of life to know that it wouldn't last. That Krycek wasn't going to abuse his temporary dependence. "You're all right," he told his younger self.

Maybe that wasn't right any more. Genetically, Sasha was identical. But already, their lives had diverged pretty radically.

Sasha was him and yet not him. Sasha hadn't had William Mulder as a father.

"You're okay," he told the child, still not looking at him. "Nobody's going to let you starve."

He hadn't had Alex Krycek as a father. Sasha wasn't really him. He had to stop thinking that way. It wasn't fair to Sasha. And maybe it wasn't fair to him.

Mulder sprawled on the couch, pleasantly sweaty, even if for nothing more than a walk down the country road. Freed from the confinement of his crib, Sasha lay chortling to himself on a blanket, the sun slanting in the front window and picking up the chestnut gleam in that ridiculously fluffy swatch of hair.

Krycek had taken off the day before, deeming him fit enough to be left alone. It was almost amusing, overall, a list to tell him what to do with the kid, and another list reminding him to eat, to rest, yadda.

Maybe that attention to detail was what had made Krycek successful at surviving.

They'd talked a lot in the last few weeks. Careful conversation, neither of them really wanted to disturb the equilibrium, but he'd come to understand how Krycek might have been recruited, what Krycek had once meant by calling himself a patriot.

He still didn't like it, but he had come to understand that things couldn't always be pinned down in shades of black and white.

They hadn't discussed his father or Scully's sister, and his mind jinked away from those subjects even now. He watched Sasha instead, presently rocking back and forth on hands and knees with apparent glee. "Big stuff, huh, kid? I'm not looking forward to your increased mobility."

Sasha turned his head, grinned at him, baring the two new teeth and rocked harder, crowing in delight.

He wondered idly if he'd been that delighted himself. If he'd been thrilled to be mobile, no longer dependent on other people carrying him around. Sighed and sipped at his ice water and looked back at the television.

Letting himself sink into the inanity of a bad movie.

Four weeks, nearly five, since this last bit of surgery. Nearly two years since he'd followed a lead and found himself in hell. Thinking about going back to his life made him physically ill--how could he? How could he ever pretend to be Fox Mulder again, how could he ever work, as reckless as he'd been, without being afraid that he'd be taken again.

Not by Van Fliet. Van Fliet was dead.

But by any of the others.

It made him sweat just to consider it. They'd broken him, that was all, and he was never going to be able to consider finding the truth without feeling that knot in his stomach, that fear.....

A wail interrupted these meditations. Lying on his belly, arms and legs extended stiffly, Sasha had evidently bumped his nose, was screaming at 90+ decibels. Getting off the couch, Mulder rescued him, picked him up carefully and examined him for bumps, but found none.

The kid was starting to weigh a ton, he could feel muscles and healed incision complain as he lifted him. "What a whiner," he told Sasha irritably and took him back to the couch. Put the kid back on his belly and barred the path to further self-destruction with his own leg. Sasha grizzled a bit more, but swiftly became fascinated with the weave of the fabric underneath his small fingers.

"You're so easily entertained," he told the infant and sighed, picked up his ice water again. But instead of returning to the movie, he watched Sasha. There was a dreadful fascination in watching the child develop, in wondering if he'd done the same things.

Wondering if he'd been as--Krycek was right, really, overall the baby was sweet natured and good tempered. Relatively easy, as far as he knew, to care for, to keep amused, to keep happy. Except for peas, he seemed perfectly willing to eat whatever Krycek fed him, although he was more discriminating with Mulder.

Maybe he suspected Mulder was going to give him something nasty--the thought made his mouth quirk. Maybe the kid could tell that he wasn't exactly charmed and overfond.

Whereas Krycek played stupid games with the kid, tickling him, making him laugh, talking to him when he cooed.

Kids needed interaction, he wasn't so locked in detachment to forget that. Sighed and picked the kid up, propped him up. "You really are a pain," he told Sasha.

Sasha gave him a tentative grin, babbled at him.

He wondered if he'd been that easy to cheer up. Wondered what had happened in the intervening years. And heard a vehicle pull in instead of passing by on the road.

Krycek, he hoped. But he picked up the kid, ignoring the complaints from his belly, and reached for the gun he kept close at hand. Peered through the curtains and let his heart slow again. It was Krycek.

So he put the gun down and went back to the couch, feeling ridiculously relieved and glad.

The back door opened, footsteps and, "I'm glad you're alert," drily.

"I checked," he tilted his head back, offered Krycek a small smile and was kissed. Beard stubble, and a warm hand cupping his cheek for A moment. He grinned as Krycek moved back, sat on the coffee table, holding out his hand to Sasha, who crowed in delight.

"You have a way with Mulders," Mulder told him drily.

Got a grin in return. "Well, he was pretty uncritical from the start. I had to win you over. Where were you this afternoon, I tried to call." Narrowed green eyes.

Mulder sighed. "I just went for a walk, Alex. A short walk."

Alonger look this time. "That wasn't on the list."

He raised his hand, the single finger salute, and Krycek finally grinned. "Well, you know your own limits, just don't push them. You want to heal right this time."

Which was unvarnished truth. He handed Sasha over, relieved of responsibility.

Watched as Krycek dandled the baby quite competently, prosthesis or not. Tried not to grin.

"We're heading out tomorrow," Krycek told him. "I found a good place to stay for a while, got a real job that will keep people from wondering, and you're my brother-in-law, recently widowed in a tragic accident and still recovering.".

Mulder laughed outright. "Brother-in-law?"

"Well, nobody was going to buy that we're brothers." Krycek's mouth twitched. "I'm comforting the grieving widower and helping him with the baby."

He couldn't help it, he cracked up. Laughter just slightly tinged with hysteria.

Krycek watched him, a faint line between his brows, settled Sasha against the prosthetic and reached for his hand. Warm flesh against flesh and fingers laced with his and he caught his breath. Calmed down.

He comforted himself with that touch, let himself sink back against the arm of the couch. Krycek knew, that was the weirdest thing. Krycek understood, which was even weirder.

They sat like that in silence for a moment, or near silence, broken only by the infant's babbling. He finally sighed. Squeezed Krycek's hand, just giving up thought for a moment. "Sounds good to me. I don't suppose you're going to let me get a job?"

"Well, I would, but you're still recovering." Krycek's eyes glinted. "However, telecommuting is a definite possibility."

"You're going to leave me with this kid all day, aren't you?"

Another grin. "Yeah. I don't think I'd feel quite safe putting him in daycare, Mulder. It's like the baby stuff...Alex Krycek delivers an infant to daycare every day? Hardly unnoticeable, and definitely dangerous."

It was true enough. And despite his ambivalence about the child, he didn't want Sasha to end up in their hands. "I suppose."

Krycek looked down at Sasha's downy head. "How'd you two do?" Cautious question.

"He was fine." Mulder allowed himself a grin. "I fed him once a day and watered him."

Krycek rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. Good thing he's a patient kid, he tolerates a lot."

Mulder sobered. "He does, doesn't he? Weird."

"Nurture versus nature," Krycek told him slyly.

He chuckled. "Asshole."

"You've got that right." But Krycek lifted their joined hands, brushed his mouth over Mulder's palm.

Nerves flared to life again, hell, it had been nearly five weeks. He wondered how soon Sasha would tolerate being put back into his crib, half-idly, half with intent.

Krycek released his hand, swung Sasha up into the air and got another crow of joy. And drooled on, which made Mulder laugh helplessly, head thrown back on the arm of the couch, undone by Krycek's startled expression.

"You'll get yours," Krycek told him mildly, having mopped the baby spit away.

"I count on it," he teased, and felt that flare again at the hunger in Krycek's eyes. "Soon. He should be ready for a nap."

The hunger was banked. "Ah, that's a little premature, isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes. "I used to be a big bad FBI agent," Faltered a little at that, "And I'm not made of glass."

Krycek studied him, he almost resented that. And then Krycek smiled, rather wickedly. "Oh, I suppose a little fooling around wouldn't hurt."

He arched an eyebrow. "A *little* fooling around?"

"Yup. With certain constraints." Humor gone, voice gentle. "You've already been through hell, Fox. I ought to be shot for taking advantage of you back in Colorado."

It irked him. "As I recall, there were two of us there."

"Uh huh. And one of us, at least, had no business fucking you." Serious gaze. "I want you to heal right this time. That bastard did a number on you, I want you to heal as well as you can."

He shifted uncomfortably. Unable to keep any detachment at all, unable to pretend they were just fucking. "I'm fine, Alex."

"The hell." Krycek rose, leaned over and kissed him. "I'm going to grab a sandwich, you want one?"

"I don't think he's old enough for sandwiches, two teeth or not."

Krycek grinned. "Nah, I was thinking that he gets to have the banana pudding and rice cereal."

"You're spoiling him. What do I get?"

Another kiss, a long one, and he put his hand to Krycek's cheek, slid it to cup the back of Krycek's head, releasing reluctantly when Krycek drew back.

"You get a roast beef sandwich," Krycek told him, "And if you're very, very good, you get dessert."

"I'm always very, very good."

Wicked grin and Krycek was gone, leaving him to his own thoughts, the painful admission that whatever had happened in the past, whatever happened in the future, he needed Krycek. Needed to be touched. To be reminded that he was alive and that there was someone who gave a damn that he was.

And worse, that he cared about Krycek.

Krycek fed small bits of beef to the baby while they ate, lolling comfortably on the couch.

"I don't think you're supposed to give him that," Mulder finally told him, bemused at the zeal with which Sasha gummed the meat. "He could choke or something.

"I'm giving him very small bits." Krycek's tone was blithe.

"Or he could develop allergies or something." Mulder took a bite of his own sandwich.

Krycek eyed him. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"Not that I know of," he admitted. "But I have no idea if my parents fed me roast beef at five months."

Krycek's eyes narrowed briefly. "What's your earliest memory?"

He grinned. "Not as young as this. I think probably about eighteen months. Which seems pretty early, but I can't place it anywhere else, given the situation. I was staying with my father's older sister, Margaret." And what the hell was he telling Krycek this for, it would bring up questions and memories he had no desire to address.

"Hear that, sprog? We can be mean to you until you're eighteen months old, because you won't remember it."

"Sure he will." Mulder grinned again. "He just won't remember that he remembers it. Memory is a pretty strange thing. I know that false memory is probably a bigger player than I ever wanted to admit."

Krycek arched an eyebrow. "False memory as in implanted?"

"Not necessarily." Mulder shrugged. "Sometimes it can shift and change based on what other people tell you, whether under hypnosis or no" His eyes suddenly burned. "Or so the studies indicate."

Krycek eyed him. Sasha extended a hand and made an interrogative sound, and Krycek stuck another tiny bit of beef into his mouth.

"Baby bird," Krycek told him. "Although I think you're probably less obnoxious."

"Baby birds leave the nest a lot earlier," Mulder countered, glad of the opportunity to change the subject. "This one's going to need a lot more care."

"Yeah. Don't worry, kid, we aren't pushing you out of the nest." Krycek ran a thumb over the small cheek. "There are predators out there."

Mulder looked back at his sandwich, touched in spite of himself, in spite of his resistance to feeling anything for the child. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the child--it had to do with Krycek.

And that was easier to deal with.

With his belly full and exhausted from being played with, Sasha submitted meekly to being put into his crib, put his face down on the mattress without so much as a murmur, sucking on his fist quietly.

"Should have gotten him a pacifier," Krycek muttered. "Did you suck your thumb?"

"I wouldn't have dared," Mulder told him honestly. "If I did, I got over it fast."

A brief glance, but Krycek made no comment. Tugged him out of the second bedroom and into their own. "Time for your nap, too."

Mulder gave him an incredulous look. But he was apparently serious and incredulity turned swiftly to temper. "I don't need a goddamned nap."

"Humor me," Krycek told him and gave him a little push. "I'm going to take a shower. If you're good, you'll get dessert."

Caught between the sudden return of hilarity and temper, Mulder stood, watched Krycek strip off his sweater. Finally chose hilarity and laughed, sprawled on the bed. "You're such an asshole."

"Takes one to know one," Krycek told him amiably and finished stripping down to his shorts, strolled back out of the bedroom.

Sighing, Mulder kicked off his shoes, not bothering to untie them all the way. Sank back into the pillows and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the shower. In spite of himself, he drifted off, listening, started awake to find Krycek in bed next to him, the blankets tugged over them both. "Tryin' to trick me," he told Krycek muzzily.

"You don't sleep well when I'm gone," Krycek told him comfortably, put an arm over Mulder's chest. "I know that. You know that. Probably even Sasha knows that."

Mulder sighed, relishing the warmth next to him. "Hmmm, you aren't wearing much."

"I'm not wearing anything but a towel," Krycek agreed gravely. "You, on the other hand, are wearing far too much."

"I can take care of that."

"So can I." Astonishingly deft fingers unfastened his jeans, he found space for both amazement and awe at how well Krycek had come to manage the loss of one arm.

But he arched his hips and pushed the jeans down, careful of Krycek's pride, helped slide them off, and felt arousal flare back to life. Turned on his side and worked the towel loose.

"You're still wearing too much," Krycek murmured.

It was true. Sitting up carefully, he stripped out of his sweater, t-shirt and short, curled back under the blankets. A warm hand stroked his belly, carefully avoiding the healed incision. He arched into that, leaned closer to kiss Krycek's mouth. Stroked Krycek's skin, still damp in places. No more beard stubble to chap his lips, Krycek had shaved. He wrapped an arm over Krycek's waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, making a little noise in his throat.

Krycek pulled back, slipped his knee between Mulder's legs, moved his hand down to stroke stirring flesh. "Nice and easy," he murmured, breaking away from the kiss. "Nothing too athletic, Fox."

Exasperation warred with desire. He thought about protesting, decided it was counterproductive. Dove back into another kiss, tasting, touching--God, it was good, good to touch and be touched, to be cared about. To care about someone else.

To feel anything.

He nuzzled Krycek's throat, slid his other arm out from under him and closed his fingers around Krycek's thickening cock. Rubbed his thumb over the head and got a gasp.

Arched his hips forward as Krycek returned the favor.

Slow and sweet and careful, and while it was maddening, it touched something in him, something that needed comfort. That needed gentleness. He finally let Krycek lead, let himself be pleasured until he came, eyes closed, colors flickering on the inside of his eyelids, thrusting up into Krycek's fist and crying out.

Caught his breath again, was kissed, and then concentrated on Krycek's pleasure, still tingling from his own.

Krycek came for him, holding on to him with one arm, gasping in Russian. Kissed him hard after, and tugged him closer, using the towel to clean up. "Mmm, better?"

He felt too sated to talk, nearly. "Mmhmm."

Soft chuckle, warm breath on his shoulder. "Go to sleep now."

"Asshole." But his voice was affectionate. And he closed his eyes obediently.

Krycek watched, leaning up on one elbow, watched and waited until Mulder's breathing was slow and regular. The silly bastard didn't want to accept that he might not ever be 100%

It was just going to take time.

And if he had his way, they were going to have plenty of that.

Finis

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