From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 18:07:13 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (8/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: strong pg-13. classification: see part one disclaimer: see part seven summary: see part one warning: character death - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 8/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sunset was a prettily colored lie painted in reds and purples and golds like a mask to hide the decay surrounding them. Everyone else in the camp was in the mess hall, eating and fighting over spilled soup and other "important" matters that suddenly had lost their significance. Well, almost everyone. She sat alone in front of the barbed wire fence, her fingers curled around the wire as she gazed on the outside world with unabashed longing. So he wasn't the only one without an appetite. Trader had said she came here to think, to be alone. "Hey," he said, wondering if that was what she wanted now, if he was intruding. "Am I interrupting something ?" "Only my thoughts," Scully said, turning towards him with something that used to be a smile but now he couldn't tell what it was. "Sit down." He did, settling on the ground beside her. Her face was bland as she watched the sun die, but Mulder could read sadness in the tiny lines and wrinkles of her forehead. In her eyes. Something told him it was not his conversation to start, so he merely sat and shared in her silence until she turned to him again. "How long have we been here?" "A little over two months." "Two months." She shook her head. "Who could have thought that we'd lose lifetimes that quickly? Everything feels old now, worn out." Scully looked at him. "It's what dying feels like." "You're not going to die Scully." Her laugh was flavored bitter like arsenic. "Do you want to know what he did to me ?" Scully was tired of holding back, and it was so easy to tell him now that she knew she would descend one level lower into hell and he would not ever see her again after she did. She didn't want to leave in a lie. "If you want to tell me," Now that he was confronted with the knowledge he had sought, Mulder wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it. If he could hear it. "He wanted my mind," she said. "The implant that I depend on for life also works against me. It lets Them into my thoughts." He didn't have to ask who "They" were. The same people who offered him freedom. "I didn't let him have it. Pavlov tried to take the information by force, tried to pull it away from my mind. He said if I fought back it would destroy me." She blinked to hold back the tears that pricked at her eyelids. "I had to fight. I couldn't just let him inside me..." the thought made her stomach quiver with nausea even now. "So I stopped him. I kept him from getting to the answers he wanted, but he was right." Her voice died away, and she took a deep breath before telling him the empty truth. "I can't remember, Mulder. I can't remember anything past the night we were captured. I see images of us, of what we were before, but they vanish when I try to touch them, when I try to bring them back. Now, when I need them most of all, they aren't there." "Did he take them?" Mulder spoke in calm measured tones that hid the struggle within him. Align with such a monster of his own free will? Betray thousands to their deaths? Save her life? "No." Scully held her chin a little higher at the fresh memory. "I destroyed them to keep him away." "No you didn't. You hid them, and they're still in hiding, but I refuse to believe that they're gone. If you wanted to, you could find them." "I can't Mulder!" Her eyes were a little wild as they looked from him to the sunset to him again. "I've tried and there's nothing left but this black hole that sucks everything about me inside." "Scully, you can do anything if you want it badly enough. Close your eyes." "I don't want to do this," She couldn't go back, couldn't visit the places defiled by Pavlov's presence. He didn't what he was asking. "I can't-" Her protest stopped as his hands closed around hers, his touch as warm as his voice. "You won't be alone." Taking a deep breath, Scully let her eyelids droop shut, finding herself standing in the dark wasteland of her thoughts. Her memories lay around her, some in twisted fragments, some in broken pictures. She didn't know where to begin. "There's too many of them." she told Mulder. "I'll never put them back together." "Don't concentrate on all of them. Focus on the important memories and all the others will come together on our own. What did I say to you when we first met ?" She tried to grasp the thought and pull it free of the rubble, but it wouldn't budge. "I don't know." "Think, Scully. Concentrate." Scully tried again, biting her lip as she trailed deeper and deeper into thought. This time the thought moved, almost coming free but slipping away at the end. "I'm trying..." She made one desperate grab for it, and the images came together into the collage of memory. <"Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation." Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein.> A smile began at the far corner of her mouth and worked it's way to the other side as other memories began to appear out of the rubble. < If I can save you, then let me.> The last image faded away into a darkness no longer empty nor frightening and Scully opened her eyes to peer straight into Mulder's worried gaze. "You remember, don't you ?" he said, the tension around his eyes relaxing to see her relief. "I remember." Her smile faded as the present came back into her mind. "For all the good it does." "How can you say that ?" Now that she was herself again, her walls were going back up rapidly. "In a few days, I'll be gone and we'll never see each other again. What good can the past do now ?" "Scully, you just said-" She pulled away from him, anger coloring her voice red as she thought of what the future held in store. "I know what I said! The past is gone, and it should have stayed buried. This is my future Mulder!" She brushed her hair aside and tilted her head so the burn on her neck was visible. "Let me face it on my own terms." "No!" It was his turn for frustration now, unable to understand why she wouldn't let herself feel at all, why she had to be such a machine. Around others yes, he could see why, but not now. Not around him. "When are you going to cut this granite statue crap and let yourself be human for once ?" The impact of his words hit home with a vengeance. She faltered around excuses and reasons she could give him, but instead honesty took over and tumbled out of her mouth in a voice husky with barely contained tears. "I can't be human. I'm a slave." "Don't even say that." He reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. "He doesn't own you yet. He never will." Her hands reached around the back of her neck, unclasping the gold chain to her necklace. She let it dangle from her fingers, the cross shining in the light, and then took his hand. "Keep this for me." she said, placing it in his palm and then closing her fingers around it. "Wear it and know my thoughts will stay here even when my body doesn't." "I can't accept this." "Please," Her hand tightened around his. Mulder sighed. There was no way he could refuse her now. He placed the cross in his pocket and smiled at her. "Ok. I'll keep it but only until we see each other again." "What makes you think we will?" "What makes you think we won't?" She didn't answer, and he could see her looking at the last dying embers of sunset, the colors reflected in her eyes. "I've forgotten what the sunset really looks like. The barbed wire makes it all so ugly." He wrapped his arms around her mainly to relieve the ache in his own chest as well as the pain in her voice. Either decision would be fatal to him- for he knew that once he joined the enemy he would never see her again. Never touch her, never hold her. "I want to give you the sun," he said. Scully turned, surprised again by his simple intensity, to see his eyes fastened on her the same way he had looked at her that night in solitary. Like she was an ocean and he was drowning in her. Another freshly discovered memory of another time standing in a hallway when the impossible had almost happened. Like it was happening now. His hands hovered around her arms, gentle in a way that was paralyzing. Before she could move or think or breathe he was bending toward her, his eyes telling her his one intent. Closer....and closer... she couldn't move away even though she should.... but why should she? She wanted it to happen so badly, her forces of logic waited to kick in until the second before their lips met. "No." She pushed him back, rising to her feet at the same time. She couldn't focus on his face, couldn't bear the questions that his expression of confusion was asking her. "We can't. Not when I'll never see you again." With that she turned and nearly ran into the blue darkness of evening, reminding herself again why she couldn't let him kiss her. As far as she could tell, it was the same reason she couldn't let herself cry. It would require her to feel. Mulder tried to ignore the hurt that had returned to his chest with the thought of what almost happened. The two words seemed to define their relationship. Almost happened but never quite. The familiar electricity that came from being close to her had intensified to a point near pain. When would the "almost" no longer be necessary? Not for a very long time, he was afraid, because she was right. She would never see him again. But not because out of any reason she had given. He had come to a decision on Pavlov's offer. The only decision there was to make. He would turn Judas. It was the only way to save her. ************* "Are you sure of your answer?" Pavlov sounded thoroughly contented and Mulder felt thoroughly nauseaous. He stood in the warden's office, trying not to listen to the accusations of his conscience. The voices could hiss and rail on him all they wanted too. The breath of one memory was enough to shaken his waning resolve. He didn't care how much blood stained his hands as long as it wasn't hers. "Yes," He said, meeting each of the three men in front of him in the eye. "I am." Pavlov was smiling broadly in contrast to the mild disappointment mixed with pleasure on the Cigarette- Smoking Man's face. Mastof was different. He seemed almost saddened by the betrayal. he thought. "You do understand that you will never see her again. She will be told that you are dead, and from the moment of your release you are to do nothing to convince her otherwise." "I can accept that. Just let her go." "Not so fast." Pavlov seemed to be the spokesman, and he handed Mulder a piece of paper covered with writing and a pen. "This is your statement of allegiance to the New Order. Once you sign it, you have publicly stated your devotion to us and your sworn hatred for the resistance." Mulder glanced down at the paper, knowing full well what it was. he mused. He couldn't do it. There were too many others, too many innocents that would die if he pulled a Benedict Arnold now. The Cigarette-Smoking Man caught his eye, and Mulder could read the smug satisfaction easily. Either way the man won- he would own Mulder or he would own Scully. The thought moved Mulder's hand across the paper, signing his name to the statement in bold letters. By far he preferred losing himself. The ink came out black but it was almost a surprise that they didn't make him sign it in blood. "Very good." Pavlov picked up the paper, examining it, and then placed it in a folder. "I will personally take it to Headquarters when I return tomorrow. I estimate it will take me a week, prehaps, to obtain the pardons and bring them back here." "If you are lying to me," Mulder said. "if I find that any harm has come to her, I will kill you. And don't think I don't know how." "I am fully aware of your capabilites," Pavlov said. "That's why I hired you." Mulder felt his spine stiffen but let the hate build inside. It would be better to hate, because it was the only thing hot enough to burn up guilt. The Smoking Man was staring at him again, and Mulder turned the fire to ice long enough to meet his gaze. "What are you staring at, old man?" "I was just thinking what a waste it will be to turn a lovely body like Scully's out into the world without even once-" He never finished. Mulder was on him before the next words left his mouth, shoving him up against the wall. "You'll never touch her." he growled, wishing he could choke the smile off the man's face. "Never." "Now Mulder," Pavlov's hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him away. "You should treat your superiors better. This is no way to get ahead." The Cigarette Man stepped out of Mulder's now slack hold, his hands shaking slightly as he lit a fresh cigarette. "Don't over estimate the strength of your position," he told Mulder. "She can be found, you know. She can still be killed." Leaving the last words to hang as a threat, he turned and followed Pavlov out of the room, a trail of white smoke in his wake. "Do you know what you're doing?" Mastof said, walking across the room. "When I said cooperate, I meant with the interrogations. I never said to join up with the freaks." "I did what I had to." Mulder said. "Now I need one last favor." "Anything short of a hole in the fence." "I need you to get a letter delivered for me. Before Pavlov gets back." "Ok. To anyone in particular?" Mulder nodded. "His name is Walter Skinner." ************* The week was the shortest of his life. Oh, there were long moments, like the times he would wonder if his letter had reached Skinner, if the man was still alive to reach. He could still sleep, if only to escape from the guilt that hounded him during the day. When he was around her, Mulder could almost forget the fact that he had betrayed everything he used to hold so dear. The idealistic young crusader who thought he could save the world by lunch was dead. Or maybe he had died a long time ago and this was just his funeral. He tried every way he knew to tell Scully goodbye without actually telling her. Mostly he didn't tell her. When she wondered why she hadn't been transferred, he painted a scenario that made Mastof the hero who had refused to approve her paperwork. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for lying. Wouldn't Pavlov be pleased. Thursday night brought slightly better news. Mastof called him into his office and handed him Skinner's reply to his letter. The former AD was suspicious of a trap, but said he trusted Mulder's judgment and would be there by Friday. Then Friday came and rumors of Pavlov's return preceded the two guards who came to get him in late afternoon. Scully didn't ask where he was going. Mulder guessed she thought it was another routine interrogation. He knew she never dreamed this would be the last time she saw him. At the same time he wondered how she would act if she did. Or if she knew that Skinner was waiting outside the gate with the rest of the visitors. "How long will you be gone ?" she said, not even looking up from what was left of her lunch. "I don't know." The ache in his chest was back, and it took Mulder a minute to get it down where he could still breathe. Over his shoulder he could see the guards waiting expectantly. "Scully I...." She looked up at him just as he remembered what he couldn't tell her. "Goodbye." He brushed a chaste kiss on her forehead, and even before her surprise could fully set in he was halfway across the yard, walking so fast even the guards had trouble keeping up. ************ "Mulder, how very nice to see you again." Pavlov reached out his hand to shake Mulder's but lowered it when it was coldly ignored. "Do you have the pardons?" "Right here." Pavlov handed Mulder a manilla folder containing multiple copies of the same two documents, one bearing his name and one with Scully's. "But before we got down to that I wanted to show you one of the many benefits of choosing the right side. I believe you've been looking for your sister for quite some time now." "Are you gonna pull her out of a hat or something?" Mulder asked, not bothering to mask any degree of his open saracasm. "No." He opened the door that led to the hallway outside the warden's office and knocked on the secretary's door. "Samantha, come here for a moment. I need you to meet someone." Mulder had to scramble in order to pick his jaw off the floor before Pavlov turned around again, followed into the room by the young woman Mulder had been so positive was a clone. From the look on her face, she was just as surprised as he was. Ever the showman, Pavlov closed the door behind them and then gesture towards Mulder with a flourish. "Samantha Mulder, meet your older brother Fox." The surprise turned to out and out shock like someone had dropped a bomb in her lap with one second left on the timer. The response was so genuine, in fact, that Mulder found himself believing it really was her before he remembered the other clone who had pretended with such skill. "You're a clone." he said. "Just like all the others." "Fox?" his words didn't seem to register with her. "You were him....he was you....you're alive?" Mulder forced himself to ignore her again, turning instead to Pavlov. "What kind of trick are you trying to pull? I'm right where you want me- enough of the mind games!" "This is no game, Mulder. She's the real thing. I told you we could give you what you want." Pavlov looked from Samantha's back to him and then walked to the door, motioning for Mastof to follow him. "We'll let you two make up for lost time then finish our deal later." The door shut a minute later and Mulder found himself alone in the room with whoever she was, clone or sister, still the object of her amazement. "Are you really my brother?" she asked, breathless as if she wasn't convinced either. "That all depends," Mulder crossed the room until he stood beside her. "On whether or not you're my sister." "How could you even ask a thing like that?" Mulder shook his head and tried to think. So far he responses had seemed real, but then again so had the others- the first who had been traded for Scully and the second who had met him in a diner with a story of a normal life. "I've been fooled twice before. I don't have the stomach for that again." "Clones?" she asked, her eyes widening. "That's what they cloned me for?" "Among other things." He stared at her keenly for a second, trying to find some crack in her story. "If you're really Samantha, you'll have a scar on your left shoulder-" "From where I fell off a rope swing when I was six." She nodded, the dawnings of a smile brightening her face. "Dad blamed you for it because you were pushing me." Her words came out faster as the excitment in her tone rose. She pulled aside the collar of her shirt. "Look." He wasn't one hundred percent in touch with reality by the time he saw the white mass of scar tissue running in a thin line over the bone. He ran his fingers over the scar, almost expecting it to come off in his hands. It was impossible to believe that after all these years he was here, and she was here, and this wasn't a dream or a hallucination or anything else but reality. Reality wasn't supposed to be this wonderful. "Sam?" he whispered, a staggering wave of mingled emotions keeping him from talking any louder. A second later they were in each others arms. She was crying, and Mulder felt the tell-tale wetness of tears on his cheeks as well. "What happened to you ?" he asked after they had embraced, eager to find the answer to the question he had spent his life asking. She sat down in a chair beside the warden's desk, and Mulder did the same, unable to take his eyes off her. "They told me you died, that night." Through the film of tears covering her eyes and her voice, Samantha smiled at him. "I never believed it. Not even during the tests." Her words faltered a little at the memory. "After they were...finished....I was sent to some kind of laboratory. I think I was about eleven then. I kept asking when I could go home, but by then I knew they would never let me out." "How long did you stay there?" "My whole life. The scientists there became my family. They taught me and cared for me. Even though I knew what they were, and who they stood for, they were good people. I have nothing against them." "So they let you go ?" "No, not exactly. When colonization started, we were attacked." "Attacked?" "Yes. From what I could learn, they were supposed to be working with the colonists. But they weren't. They were trying to finish the last stages of a vaccine or something meant to prevent all this. I was injected with it. All of us there were. When the colonists found out, the laboratory was destroyed, as well as everyone in it." "But you survived." He had a hard time feeling sympathy for the people who held her captive for so long. "I escaped during the confusion to find that the world had fallen apart. I expected to find you, Dad and Mom waiting for me just like nothing had happened. Instead I found a smoking heap of debris where the house used to be, and a shallow grave with Mom's name on it." She looked up at him. "Do you know where Dad is?" "He's dead too." Mulder broke the news as gently as possible. "We can talk about it later." "I did the only thing I could do. I fought back. I joined a cell of the resistance and killed as many of them as I could before I was captured." Samantha held up her wrist, showing him the charcoal numbers seared into her skin. "Since they knew about my training, they let me work as secretary in exchange for better food and a room of my own. I was to have no contact with other prisoners, due to the things that I knew from my time in the laboratory." She reached out and wrapped her fingers through his. "When you walked in that door, I was so postive it was you, but then you said you didn't know me and I wasn't sure anymore. I was young when they took me, Fox. I barely remembered what you looked like." "The important thing is that you're here. Now." He managed to give her a full fledged smile. "We can start making up for lost time." Samantha smiled at him in a way that he knew without a shadow of doubt was truly hers and not a replica. "So tell me. How have you spent your life?" For the next two hours, he told her in as much detail as possible, about the X-files. About his search for her. About Scully. He ended the story with their capture. No need to tell her he had become one of the people she hated so much. "To think." she said when he was finished, "We were so close all along." She shook her head then met his eyes in a question. "Why didn't you give up? Why did you keep looking when Mom and even Dad didn't?" "I believed you were alive. I didn't have proof, or logic, or reason to back me up. I just knew." "You kept me going, you know." Her grip tightened on his hand and her voice was soft like cotton when she spoke. "All those nights I was alone and wondering if anyone remembered me. If anyone cared. I would think about you, and know that you would never give up on me." Mulder put his arms around her again, feeling her body solid and real against his, not the vapor he feared would vanish at his touch. "I never gave up, Sam. Not even when I wanted to." He let the burden of speech drop to his side and simply indulged in the luxury of holding his sister, something he never thought he would do in this life. Minuted passed, slowly and sweetly like candy drops on the tongue, and then the door opened. "Now isn't this sweet." Mulder looked up to see Pavlov walk through the door. He stepped in front of Samantha without fully realizing he did so until he looked down at his feet and saw he had moved. Instinct told him to protect her from Pavlov's evil even though the creature had been the one to reunite them. "As much as I to break up the family reunion," he said to Samantha. "I need to speak to dear old Fox for a moment." A small sigh left her body as her fingers released him. Their hands had been joined so long, Mulder was surprised the flesh hadn't grown together. Already he missed her. After so long apart, her presence was addictive like the sweetest drug. "I"ll be right back," he said, squeezing her hand one last time. She smiled at him. "I won't be going anywhere. Not this time." "I know." He returned her smile before settling into the mask of stone that he wore in front of Pavlov as he walked into the hall. He shut the door behind him, but saw no sign of the alien. "Pavlov? You called me out here for a game of hide and seek?" "Not at all." He appeared at the doorway of Samantha's office. "I just thought you might appreciate the view out the window." Mulder walked into the room and over to the large window in the far wall. It looked down on the courtyard, a smaller version of the one he had seen in Mastof's office. As his eyes scanned the yard, he noticed something out of place. Four guards were standing at attention around one prisoner, a short woman with brown hair turning reddish in places. Scully. Mulder's gaze flew to the fence to see Skinner's tall form waiting expectantly. Even from this distance he could see the tenseness in his boss's shoulders. The stage was set, but the play hadn't started yet. No one was moving. "You're releasing her." "Not quite yet." In confusion Mulder turned to see the man pointing a silenced 9 mm in dead center line with his heart. "We have one more item of business to attend to." "Wait a minute....you're going to shoot me *after* I've done what you want?" Pavlov laughed the same way he had during the slave auction. "No, Mulder. The gun is for you. Go ahead, take it. It's your weapon of choice from now on. You will treat it like your best friend....your lover even." Suspicion beginning to cloud over the back of his mind, Mulder took the weapon from his hand, his fingers automatically closing around the familiar steel. It had been a while since he had held a weapon of this type but shooting a gun was like riding a bike. Once you learned, it was with you forever. "Why the silencer?" "Because you're going to use it." "Tell me I get to shoot you." Pavlov laughed again. "Come now, Mulder, we both know how pitifully ineffectual bullet are against us. You'll only end up hurting yourself." "So what do I have to do?" "To truly validate your pardons, and your statement of allegiance, you have to pass a test to prove your loyalty. It's a ritual each Enforcer must go through before truly becoming one of us." He paused and eyed Mulder. "Each must give up something he holds close to his heart." Mulder's mind came to a screeching halt as he came to the horrifying conclusion the minute before Pavlov could tell him. "You want me to shoot my sister." ************* The sentence was near blasphemy to his ears. Is that what they were asking him to do? Destroy the thing, the person, that had driven him into who he was? The very core of his belief systems? "Yes." Pavlov's voice was deadly serious, the hiss becoming more prominent. "She is to be executed for crimes against the state. Her work and the work of her colleagues on a vaccine can not be tolerated." "Why me?" he asked. "Why not any of the other stooges around here?" "Because this is your test. Shoot her and I will know that your loyalty is with us. The moment her body hits the floor, I will give the order to release Scully." "And what if I refuse?" "If you refuse," he held up another document. "I have the signed authorization orders for her to become the immediate possesion of the man who purchased her. You hadn't forgotten about that, had you ?" "No." Mulder snapped his own thought with his voice. "I haven't." His tone sounded dead even to his own ears. "You might want to look outside the window again. Then decide where your priorities really are." His eyes tumbled through the glass to land on Scully. Her face was confused, alert, but a tiny bit hopeful. If Samantha was his soul, she was his heart. And now he was asked to tear out one so that the other might survive. Which one would it be? He clicked the safety off the gun, detaching his mind from the thing he used to call his humanity as he walked towards the door. Pavlov walked after him. "Where do you think you're coming ?" "With you, naturally." Pavlov told him. "There has to be a witness." As his words sunk in, the last hope Mulder had for deceiving them and saving a life crumbled into dust and slipped through his fingers. His heart beat slowly, as if it were wearing down as his feet carried him back to the door of Mastof's office. He paused a moment, staring at the doorknob, then back at Pavlov. "You will pay for this," he said, his voice low with promise. "No time for cliches now." Pavlov said cooly. "Time is running out. I suggest you make your decision." Memories of Samantha and Scully collided in painful conflict inside his head. Scully's whisper died away with the last of his thoughts as Pavlov's voice demanded action. Opening his eyes and slamming the door on his rational mind, Mulder turned the doorknob and walked into the death chamber "You're back," she rose to her feet when she saw him, a glowing smile on her face and in her eyes. "What'd he want?" Speech was impossible. His throat was too tight, and even breath was a labored chore. All he could do was stare at her while his soul bent under the weight of pain like nothing he had felt before. She was alive, the beautiful young woman Mulder knew he would find. He never imagined he would kill her. Even now, as his hand brought the gun up to bore an invisible line through her forehead, he wasn't sure if he could. Her smile vanished and her face was blanched white as waves of disbelief doused the glow in her eyes. "Fox.....what is this?" The beginnings of tears tugged at the back of her voice. Mulder wished he could cry. That he felt enough to be able to. His finger began to tighten on the trigger, when a possible way of escape dawned in his mind. His arm turned inward until the nozzle of the gun was a cold kiss on his temple. Death was better than the choice he had to make. And far less agonizing. "Shoot yourself and they both die." Pavolv's voice methodically slashed his hope into dying pieces. "Time's up Mulder. Pull the trigger or put the gun down." "Fox....please...." Samantha held her hands out to him, her voice pleading with him. "Don't do this...." A surpreme effort freed his vocal cords enough to edge two words around the pain. "I"m sorry....." He may be stone on the outside but he was screaming in his mind, begging her to forgive him. Mulder turned the gun toward her in a slow arch, lining the barrel up with the center of her heart. Death would be quick and she would feel no pain. His fingers struggled against the command to pull the trigger, but finally they began to tighten. The crack of the gunshot couldn't quite drown her scream as the bullet shattered her rib cage then cut her dying breath short as it landed in her heart. Her eyes were frozen open, wide with utter disbelief and betrayal, carved a path into his, forever searing the image into his mind as she reached her hand out toward him then crumpled lifeless on the floor. Death was a quick and skilled gardener, and the red rose of blood was already beginning to blossom over her chest. The ghost of his soul passed more quietly, slipping from his body to hover around her fallen form like he wished he could. The tears he couldn't shed before blinded his vision as he turned toward Pavlov, his voice shaking with rage. His hand was deadly still. "I will !kill! you for this !" he shouted, his fingers eager this time to pull the trigger. "Shoot me later." Pavlov said, motioning toward the window. "But before you pass out from the toxins in my blood after you do, I was thinking you would at least want to watch her leave." His words were bitterly true, and the gun fell limply to Mulder's side as he staggered like he had been the one shot over to the window. Halfway there, something squished under his foot. He looked down to see a puddle of blood under his shoe trailing from the body. Samantha's blood. Mulder had to tear his eyes away by force as he leaned against the window, wiping the blur of tears away from his eyes so he could see. Yes, the guards were walking. Scully kept looking back toward the buildings, and he wondered if she had heard the gunshot. ************* Not for the first time, she tried to guess where they were taking her. Toward the fence? A cold chill snaked around the base of her spine. Was she to be executed? Mulder was nowhere to be found. The gunshot had frightened her- it came from the building the guards had taken him in to. The very thought that he could be dead sent the chill through the rest of her body as well. When she looked up she saw two things at the same time that made her jaw drop. One, they were heading toward the gate, and it was opening. Two, there was a certain bald man waiting outside that she thought she would never see again. "What's going on?" she demanded of the guards, the need to know surpassing all caution. "Where are you taking me?" The leader turned around, his eyes hard and his voice curt. "You've been pardoned." Her legs stopped working and she stood in the middle of the courtyard, staring at the man in disbelief. "Pardoned...." she echoed, the meaning of the words making her knees uncharacteristically weak. No more wire, no more beatings, no more pain. No more Mulder "What about Mulder?" she asked. "Has he been pardoned too?" "You will not ask questions. You will come with us." The guard reached for her arm, but she pulled away. "Not until I know what happened to him!" "I'm sorry m'am, but my orders are to take you outside the gate and that's what I'm going to do." Two of the other guards grabbed her arms just above the elbows, practically lifting her off the ground and dragging her toward the gate. "Let me go!" she shouted, struggling and kicking against them. "I want to stay here! I'm not sorry for what I did- if you let me go I'll just do it again and *kill more of you*!" They were stronger than she was, and they forced her kicking and screaming every step of the way towards freedom. Outside the gate, they abruptly let go of her, shoving her into the dirt. Scully scrambled to get up, attempting to charge back into the prison before the gate could close, but someone grabbed her arm, keeping her away from the thing she hated most and loved more.... "Agent Scully." A familiar gruff voice caught her ear and she turned to see Walter Skinner standing behind her, his hand holding her back. "Don't." "I can't leave! Mulder's still in there!" she tried to pull away. "You don't understand-" "I'm afraid I do." The serious tone of his voice made her stop and listen. "Agent Mulder is dead. He exchanged his life for your freedom." "Oh dear God....no..." Horror mingled with disbelief to freeze her will to fight. "The gunshot....." The truth crashed down on her with such a force that the world tumbled down around her, burying her in the ruins of oblivion. Mulder watched her crumple to the ground, and his muscles ached to run and pick her up, but instead it was Skinner's arms that gathered her from the dirt. He knew Skinner would go along with the story he had asked him to tell Scully. That he would take her somewhere safe. Somewhere not even Mulder himself knew about. As Skinner walked, carrying Scully away from the camp there was no doubt in his mind that he had done the right thing. But as he turned around to watch two guards drag Samantha's body from the room, a smear of blood trailing after her, the question remained how he was going to live with himself. Or if he even could. ************* Night came but sleep, kept a wary distance as if it was too ashamed to associate with him. He couldn't even stand to be around himself. If there was any way short of suicide he could leave his body, he would be the first one to run. Pavlov had warned him that if Mulder killed himself, Scully would follow him on his journey into the last great adventure. Now he was the recluse, using Scully's release as an excuse to get away from Trader, from questions he couldn't answer and pity he didn't want. Once, the darkness of evening was a refuge for him. Now it was a prison, filled with voices and images and accusations. The past was never easy to let go. His steps took him far and away from the buildings that made up the nucleus of the camp, into the section partitioned off as a final resting ground for the many who couldn't stand up to the rigors of life. And for one murdered woman. The one line he had never crossed, not even where it would have been deserved. An almost forgotten night when he walked that line sprang into his mind, pictures of his gun and Scully in a coma and the ever smug Smoking Man. Yeah well now the man had him right in the palm of his sooty little hand, where he wanted him all along. If he had pulled the trigger and crossed the line then would this have been spared? Mulder wondered how he acquired a perversion of the Midas touch- turning everything around him and everyone not to gold, but into death and despair. Scully had survived it but only by leaving him. His eyes swept the night sky, knowing that somewhere under the blanket of stars she was out there, heading towards the better life she had always wanted. Skinner would take good care of her, but contact by proxy wasn't the same as watching over her himself. Yet he was taking care of her, the only way he knew how. The cascade of thoughts came to a stop as his gaze fell back to earth, particularly to the mound of dirt smoothed in a fresh grave at the end of the rows and rows of white crosses. It was a bleak, desolate place, not at all where he would have wanted her to spend her eternal slumber. Mulder knew he had no right to be here, that the killer could not seek comfort from the slain, but it was impossible to stay away. "After you were taken, I had a hard time believing anything good or pure or noble could exists in this world." He didn't know if she could hear him as he talked, but she had to know. "Now I find more and more that I want the believe in the existence of a life after this one, if only for the slim chance that there you could find it possible to forgive me." he mused silently. "But then I harbor the most serious of doubts that would would even meet in the hereafter, for you would be a part of the bright and beautiful place Scully believes in so much. And as for me...well I will spend eternity in a dark empty place that cannot be any lonelier than this shell of life, or any more painful than this private hell I am burning in." The night refused to answer him, watching his grief in silent condemnation. Mulder looked up again at the wasteland outside the wire, then his gaze hung up on the wire itself. Black, wicked looking lengths of spikes and razor wire, choking life and strangling hope. It was a symbol, he realized, of the men who specialized in just those things. The true murderers of Samantha. His mind barely struggled as the forces of overwhelming rage killed off logic and better judgment. He attacked the wire. Mulder threw himself at the fence, feeling the teeth of the barbs and spikes tear greedily at the tender flesh of his arms and face. He slammed his body up against the fence again and again. He wholeheartedly threw himself into the pain, screaming his anger to the stars and the ghosts as he charged again and again into the tangle of wire, almost as if he could batter it down himself and be free. He was battered down first, collapsing at long last in a heap of torn flesh on the loose dirt of her grave. Finally the sobs ripped loose in great gasps that wracked his body. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry." The words became his mantra, repeated over and over in a bid for absolution that wasn't there. When his eyes finally opened, a glint of gold caught his glance, and he realized it was Scully's cross, that somehow it had fallen out of his pocket in the confusion. Mulder picked it up, staring at it a long moment before clenching it in his fists like he was holding his life in his hands. In many ways he was. He stayed that way for a long time, until sheer exhaustion closed his eyes and opened his hand. The cross lay gittering under the heavens, a fallen star of gold smeared by a mix of dirt and blood and tears. ************* I can't see nothing, nothing, round here. You catch me if I'm falling, You catch me if I'm falling. Will you catch me cause I'm falling down on you ? I said I'm under the gun, around here. And I can't see nothing, nothing, around here. ************* to be continued... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 9/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I stare in this mirror So tired of this life..... Once I swore I would die for you But I never meant it like this Oh, I never meant like this..... -Shame Stabbing Westward Present time: The gray charcoal of morning was beginning to smear in places, patches of blue sky showing through the gaps in what promised to be the epitome of a perfect May morning. The streets of what once was uptown New Orleans were now divided from the open sore that was the rest of the city by a black wrought iron fence. On one side, people fought over scraps of moldy bread and children died every day from starvation or any other of the diseases that ran unchecked in the streets. On the other, the rich and powerful lived in immaculate white houses "requisitioned" from their old owners. But the blood stains had long since been cleaned up and the bullets removed to preserve the "aesthetic beauty" of the buildings, and now most of the occupants found it quite easy to pretend that they had always lived there. He had never been one of those people. Nor was he one of the starving masses who eyed him with a mix of envy and fear as he walked toward one of the smaller gates in the fence. No, he fell somewhere in between. He didn't wear a uniform, military, Enforcer, or otherwise. He didn't have to. Mulder was a member of the small but effective hit squads whose main purpose was to take out key members of the resistance without detection. The fact that his apartment was on the right side of the fence, not far away from the mansions, testified to the fact that he was good at what he did. It was a compliment he wished he hadn't earned. A child playing in the street in front of him froze in the middle of her mud pie, staring at him in the frank way children often did. He attempted a smile, but it had the opposite effect he had hoped. Hastily scrambling to her feet, the girl ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her over to the skeletal woman that must be her mother. The woman picked up her little girl, eyeing Mulder with both suspicion and hostility. So much for playing nice. He supposed at one point in his life it would have disturbed him that his mere smile caused such fear in others. Was it really as long ago as it felt? No, he decided. It was longer. The sentry stiffened into a salute when he recognized him. "Welcome back sir." He swung the gate open in front of Mulder. "How did the mission go?" "Successful." Two targets, both who had the bad luck to have infiltrated a cell of the government laboratories. They had been drawn there by rumors of a vaccine, a cure for the virus that still ravaged the planet. Both disposed of in classic execution style, their bodies dumped in the yard of their headquarters as a warning to any other curious individuals. The rebels mirrored his old human self. They never took the warnings so more of them would have to die. "Glad to hear it sir. Will Commander Krycek be coming in soon?" Krycek was the other half of the hit squad he was a part of. The commanding half, once upon a time, until Mulder had pulled off the public assassination of the owner of one of the few remaining television stations. Not content with his position, the man had decided to use his company to broadcast pro-rebellion sentiments. His brains had been blown out on live camera from eight hundred yards with a hollow point bullet that ensured the effectiveness his gray matter would provide to the public at large. The lesson had gone over rather well; no one else in the news business had uttered so much as an unofficial peep since. The higher-ups had liked that one, and promptly decided to make Mulder a commander as well, and cancel any additions to the squad. As much distaste as he had for Krycek, the two of them worked well together and were usually sent on the more difficult missions that a larger, less experienced team would botch. "He's in debrief." Mulder said. "Give him an hour or two, then he'll show up." In reality, he was probably in a bar drowning in the vodka the loved so well with his woman of choice at the moment. Krycek didn't drink much in the time between missions, but right before and right after he could be found in any of the bars or taverns around town, making up for lost time. He seemed to like the company, while Mulder preferred seclusion. People reminded him so vividly of what he used to be. "Yes sir." The soldier saluted sharply. "Will that be all, sir?" "Make sure he gets the right apartment when he comes back." The soldier nearly smile at that one, but contained himself. Mulder nodded to him. "Carry on." He took a sidewalk that wound through the mansions and the lawns to the far side of the district, and to a set of apartment buildings built in Victorian style that, apart from the inevitable signs of aging, had made it through colonization in admirable condition. The third building on the left was his destination, an apartment in the corner his home sweet home, shared by Krycek. Swiping his access card at the door, Mulder dropped by the mail station to pick up two letters before continuing up three flights of stairs- due to the sometimes unpredictable electric system he didn't trust the elevators- to Apartment 703. The door was locked. Despite the already strict security of the building Krycek had a paranoia streak in him to rival Mulder's own. Once he opened the door, he hung his overcoat on a peg by the door as well as the empty holster of his gun. The gun itself remained in his hand until it landed on the table along with the key and his mail. It was the same weapon that Pavlov had given him. Headquarters had been reluctant to give him a new one despite his many requests for one. The piece had too many demons clustered around it, and Mulder wondered if that was the reason he had managed *not* to lose it this time. The apartment was not quite the same as his old one, but it made a nice pretension. It was small- made up only of a combined kitchen and dining room, a living room, then a bedroom with a tiny bathroom in the corner- although Mulder didn't mind the size since he was hardly ever home and didn't take up much space anyway. A black leather couch was his prized possession, often doubling as his bed since old habits died hard. Krycek preferred a bed anyway, and Mulder suspected it had something to do with the steady stream of women that his roommate brought home. That was supposed to be one of the job benefits- you could have any woman, any time. It wasn't that he hadn't had his share of offers either, some of them looking like animated cut outs from his old magazines. The interest just wasn't there, and he never spared them a second glance. Walking dead men didn't make love very well. And the bleached blonde silicon dolls he used to picture as his perfect type fell short beside blue-eyed redheads who fought aliens in their spare time. There he went thinking about her again. It was a blessing and a curse. She was there with him, if only confined to the space of his memory, a constant remindeer why he got out of bed and what made him live another day against his will. The drawback was that it hurt like only loss could every time he remembered that a dim shadow of a dream was the closest he would ever get to her again. Although he didn't dream anymore. Horror ruled the night, or at least the nights he slept, which were few and far between. He shed his dress shirt and pants, not mandatory wear but a hangover from the Bureau days, in favor of a more comfortable t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Both had been bought on the black market, so the jeans were a little big and the shirt a little small, but it beat the crap out of the uniforms most everyone else had to wear. The only reason he and Krycek got out of it was their work was so sensitive and possibly explosive if word got out to the public, that the Enforcer Headquarters wanted all stages of plausible deniability intact. They still wore them occasionally, when they were on "official" business, such as arrests or man hunts, but assassin work occupied most of their time as of late, and any excuse would do to get out of the stuffy wool outfits. A bottle of amber tequila stood waiting for him in it's accustomed place above the counter, almost full. Drinking was another habit that came with the job. If you couldn't sleep to get away from the guilt, you drank yourself out of it. But you had to get away. It was a survival rule that he and every other hired gun lived by. Mulder had found there were very few true loyalists among his colleagues. Most were simply in it for money, or the power, and all were in it to survive. It was "kill or be killed" in its purest form. Picking up the bottle and the shot glass sitting beside it, Mulder sat down at the table for his daily dose of never never land. He picked up the two letters, turning each over in his hand. One, a thin manila envelope, bore the blood red insignia of Enforcer Headquarters. That would be the evaluation of the mission reports he had to file and probably their next orders. He tossed it on the floor at his feet. That could wait until he was a little more out of touch with himself. When he touched the second envelope, a thrill sent a shiver down his spine when he noticed that he didn't recognize the address. His fingers tore at the paper until the name at the top of the letter was visible. Dear Nephew, It was from Skinner. In his original letter, Mulder had set up this very bridge of communication. His dear old "Uncle Frank" would take care of his cousin "Kitty" and keep him posted now and then in letters. They came once every couple of months, rays of light in a world of darkness. The address would be bogus, whatever place Skinner felt like putting down that was far away from their real location. Mulder could not write back, but the letters gave him one more reason to "stay strong" as Scully used to put it. He pulled the cap off the bottle of tequila with his teeth, watching the thick liquid fill the glass to the brim. Mulder tossed it down his throat in one gulp, shuddering as the drink burned like acid down his throat. After he had finished a second glass, he was ready to read the letter. Dear Nephew, I hope my letter finds you well. We are doing fine, and the second crop of corn is about ready to be harvested, weather permitting. The first paragraph was always like that, filled with some benign chatter in case someone decided to be inquisitive. A few sentences later, the real tone of the letter began to show through, and Mulder could nearly see hear his boss talking as he read the words. Your cousin is healthy, as much as can be expected. She has regained most of her bodily strength, but that's not what I'm worried about. Something's changed about her. She's not the agent I used to depend on, nor is she the woman I called my friend. Don't get me wrong- she's still dependable and she's still my friend, but there's something different. She doesn't talk about the time in the camps, and I don't ask her. Sometimes I think she should talk, that it would do something to take the pain out of her eyes. She has her own ways of coping. We all do. Hers is the medicine and science she loves so dearly. There's a fishing village about two miles down the coast from where we are, some place where the natives still have bones in their noses and none of them have even heard of the television, much less a race of aliens. Fate seems to have forgotten this little pocket of the world, left it back in time before, and that's fine with me. Scully is their doctor. They call her a medicine woman, and it's funny when she tries to talk them out of their superstitions. Her face gets that determined patience I saw so often whenever you voiced a theory about moth men or liver eating mutants. It's almost like old times. But the old times are gone, aren't they? Just like the people who lived them. When she's not busy gathering herbs or mixing medicines, she's draining her blood. A syringe full is sacrificed to the petrie dish god every night. I was able to scrounge around and find her a microscope and some other instruments. I thought it might be a way to take her mind off her problems. I was wrong. And I thought *you* had your obsessions. She's glued to the thing from the moment she walks in the door, almost until sunrise. She compares her blood with that she takes from me and from some of the natives, trying to isolate what makes the vaccine. I'll have to give her credit, she's pretty close to making real headway. If she doesn't kill herself first. She still mourns you, Mulder...... Skinner looked up from the letter at the woman walking the line where the ocean met the sand like it was some kind of tightrope. A white dress billowed out behind her like she was some kind of ghost, and in the soft light of morning it wasn't hard to imagine that's what she was. Even from the porch of the house he could see the sadness in her face, the intense private grief she bore like her personal cross everywhere she went. He stopped staring, picking up his pen to continue his letter.... I think she blames herself for what we called your death. She doesn't cry. She doesn't weep. She doesn't do anything to even let on that she misses you and that's what's starting to scare me. And though she is stronger, I can count every one of her ribs through her clothing. Did I tell you her hair is red again? The brown was coming out from day one and it vanished completely not long ago. She's cut it. Used one of my razors to do it. It's short now, and though the ends are kind of jagged, but it suits her. I used some money from the accounts you set up to buy her some new dresses a couple days ago, the last time I went into town. Isn't that a guaranteed smile for any red-blooded woman? At least it always worked on my wife. New clothes were right up there with roses and candlelit dinners. Of course, when I bought *her* clothes, they weren't exactly the same kind.... but that's not important. The only colors they had were ebony black and wine red. I didn't know what she'd like, so I took them both. I was hoping she'd wear the red. It was a vibrant color, alive on it's own. There's so little about her that's alive now days. Everything about her is black and white and gray like the dresses she wears. And true enough, the black dress is a hot item but the red hangs in the closet collecting dust and dust mites. I have never asked what you did to arrange her freedom, and I am sure I don't want to know. But whatever it is, wherever you are, it's time to think about coming home. Forget all the other reasons I could give you, she needs you. She'll never admit it, it's not her way, but this kind of guilt is killing her slowly, in pieces and in whispers. Get here soon, Mulder. Or when you do, you might find that there is nothing left. Sincerely yours, Uncle Frank. The impact the last sentence of the letter had on him was doused by the latest glass of liquid fire. Mulder wiped his mouth, staring at the black handwriting and white paper. He buried his face in the letter, inhaling the starched smell of the paper mixed with a faint wisp of salt like from the ocean. A tiny smile flickered around his eyes. So she was near an ocean. It was fitting. She had always loved the sea. If only it was that easy. If only he could just pick up and walk away. At this point he might just be crazy enough to do it too, except that her location remained buried under layer after layer of secrecy and well laid deceptions. Mulder had asked Skinner to protect Scully from *all* dangers. If he had become one of those dangers, Skinner would protect her from him too. And after reading the letters, there wasn't much doubt in Mulder's mind that his former boss would kill him to do it. Carefully folding up the letter, Mulder crossed the room and pulled up the left cushion of his couch. A pile of older letters, folded and creased from handling greeted him, and he laid the letter on top of them. He would read it more times than he would be able to count the next few weeks. He was nowhere near as eager to open the second letter. Mulder took his time- and another drink- before picking up the manila envelope. He took his time opening it, shaking out the papers inside. First was a neatly typed up memo congratulating him and Krycek for a job well done and dropping subtle hints of vacation time in the near future. Mulder made a half-hearted attempt at reading it, until the hypocrisy became to much for him, and he crushed it into a paper basketball, tossing it into the wastebasket. Swish. Three points. If Krycek wanted to read the lies, he could dig them out himself. The only other slip of paper was small, unobtrusive by itself. Mulder unfolded it, reading the neatly typed orders near the top. Wanted for high crimes and treason against the state. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Another piece of him died when he read the names listed in cold impersonal ink. John Fitzgerald Byers. Melvin Frohike Ringo Langly. Mulder folded the paper back up and left it on the table. He reached for the glass, but changed his mind and headed straight for the bottle. He welcomed the numbing effects of the liquor. Tonight's mission would be one he didn't want to remember or feel at all. Scully was alive and well, so three more good men had to die at his hand. ************* She adjusted the control knob of the microscope, watching as the jewel-like kaleidoscope of blood cells came into clearer view. Tiny deposits of amber colored liquid within the cells distinguished her blood from the other samples carefully arranged within easy reach. It was the mark of the vaccine, a silent testimony of the time Mulder had pulled her quite literally from the jaws of an icy death. But she didn't want to think about that now, did she? It was hard enough to comprehend that he ended his life to buy something as trivial as her freedom. It was also hard to understand what had made it so important before. If she had known that he would make such a foolish bargain once he found out how much she loathed the idea of slavery, Scully would have kept her thoughts to herself and said goodbye to him. She didn't even get that small privilege. Had he known, that day so very long ago, when he kissed her goodbye that it would be forever? Maybe that's why he had kissed her at all. While the memory was treasured, it wasn't exactly the kind of kiss she would have given him if she had known it was indeed the end. Scully supposed she should do something to pull herself out of the melancholy way she viewed the world. After all, she had everything she had said she wanted. A normal life. No midnight escapes, no fear of capture at any moment. She even had a booming "medical practice", which was something she had longed for even back in the old times. It just wasn't the same without him. Nothing was good anymore, and even the food she ate was tainted with an indescribable taste of blood. With a sigh she turned back to her microscopes. She had arrived home from the village one day to find them sitting on the table, and to see Skinner trying to hide a smile at her reaction. Although times had changed, there was very little that was different about her old boss. He was a little gruff at times, unsure of quite how to act around her. It made her smile to see the uncomfortable look he got whenever he handed her new clothes, or a book or some other item he had picked up in town for her amusement. He seemed to like it when she smiled. Maybe she should try it more often. If only she remembered how. She had finally isolated the vaccination, but the problem remained how to isolate it and cull it from the normal blood cells. All truth be told, the limited tools she had just weren't up to that task. Scully had on several occasions brought up the idea of moving into the "real world" as she called it, only long enough to get the information in the hands of the resistance scientists, but Skinner refused and made it clear that there would be no room for argument. He said Mulder had asked him to make her disappear from the face of the earth, and disappear meant no turning back. As tranquil as their home was, a modest clapboard house on the beach, and as happy as she could be, Scully didn't know if she could live here forever knowing that the rest of the world was being destroyed in the same way she had almost been. The time of the running and the camps blurred together now, in jumbles of emotions and tangles of memories. She chose to let the past be the past. It was simpler that way. "Find anything?" Scully turned around to see Skinner standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "No, nothing new. I'm just re-checking my work." "It's getting late." "I know." "So are you going to hit the sack or do I have to pull rank on you?" She almost argued, but an unexpected yawn changed her mind. "Well, I do have a busy day tomorrow." She said, more to convince herself than him. "I have to deliver the chieftain's wife's baby and from the size of her belly, it'll be twins." "Sounds like you'd better go to bed." Powering down the microscope, Scully carefully covered the remaining slides and then wrapped them in strips of cotton. She yawned again as she passed him. "G'night, sir." She couldn't quite keep from omitting the title unless she thought about it. "Good night." Her bedroom was dark, but Scully chose the mellow light of candles over the louder lights of the ceiling. The room was suited her well. A baby blue rug that her bare feet had grown to love covered the wooden floors to match curtains on the windows. The bed was underneath one of those windows, since she liked to feel the moon as she slept. Secretly she knew it was because she could pretend that Mulder could see her through the moonbeams, like he was still with her in some tangible way. A small closet occupied the far corner, and there was a full length oval mirror beside that. She slipped out of her dress and into an oversized flannel shirt. It was something Skinner had taken her into town with him to buy- she could tell he had been embarrassed to even bring the subject up, but she had to sleep in *something*. And the shirt was soft, warm against the chill of night. Like Mulder's arms used to be. Scully refused to dwell on the thought, instead turning her attention to the reflection the mirror threw back at her. This time she recognized herself much more easily. Her head was back to it's original flame red, hanging just to the middle of her neck. Sure, a razor might not be the New York salon way to do things, but her long hair had been a permanent reminder of things she needed to forget. She had saved a lock of it, though, still in the strange brown color. It sat in a drawer, wrapped in cloth. At times she would take it out, and look at it, fingering it almost lovingly. At others she would come close to throwing it away. The longer she looked in the mirror, the more she realized that this woman looked like her, but was very different too. The changes were less noticeable, for they were not of the physical kind. Haunted eyes. A hollowed soul. The ever present sigh of unshed tears. Scully didn't know if she would ever look like herself again, if she would ever *be* herself or if the rest of her life would be spent as a stranger in a borrowed body. A yawn reminded her what the bed was for, and she took the candle with her across the room, setting it on the dresser beside her bed. The kiss of the flame cast a soft glow around the small bronze crucifix hanging beside her bed. Scully touched her lips to her fingers and her fingers to the cross. She moved to get into bed, but as an afterthought slid to the floor beside it. "Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among woman and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death" Now that her life had slowed down, she could afford the time to pay attention to her faith. "Holy father, I come before you tonight in thanks and praise for the gifts and the life you have so freely bestowed on me...." Her voice trailed off. It wasn't good policy to lie to God. "Actually I'm not grateful. I know I should be, that it is wrong not to take joy from what I am given, but how can I when all of it is coated with his blood ? I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even pray properly because he is in my mind constantly like his phantom haunts me still. Sometimes at night a strange feeling that he is still alive comes over me, like he out there somewhere thinking of me at the exact same moment. I knew this is but an illusion, and I pray you to give his soul the peace and rest he could never find here." Scully let her pray die away and climbed into the bed, sliding under the blankets. Her eyes wandered through the window, up into the full moon and the sea of stars. Maybe it was just because she mentioned it, but the feeling was creeping up from some hidden place in her soul again, warm but melancholy like his eyes used to be. She whispered in her mind what she could not speak aloud. ************* Mulder noticed the full moon, but his thoughts were far away from the beauty of it. A full moon and clear skies meant a harder mission. He wore black, although not his uniform, simply to make it easier to blend in with the shadows the moonlight made. His gun was outfitted with a silencer, and tucked in a pocket under his shirt. The first priority of the mission, the part he would go solo on, would be to actually get into the building. Outwitting the infamous Lone Gunmen security systems was close to impossible. He planned to walk right on in. They still called him friend. Paranoid as they might be, they wouldn't expect a betrayal. Not from him. Krycek played backup this time, coming in during the confusion after the first shots had been fired. If Mulder did his job right, the mission would be over by the time he arrived, bringing the plastic explosives that would forever bury the secrets his friends had uncovered. "Showtime." Krycek pulled the car to a stop in a rotting section of some generic city east of New Orleans. "Intel gives their location as a warehouse two blocks down the street. We'll leave the car here, and then you take it on foot. I'll give you eight minutes to get in and ten to get the job done. It's longer than usual, but you might need the time to talk your way in." Mulder nodded, his throat suddenly dry and wishing for the other half of the tequila. He had been truly *drunk* for a few wonderful hours earlier that afternoon, but over the months he had developed a high tolerance for alcohol and now only a little of it remained in his system. Just enough to help him forget how many times he owed his life to the men he was going to kill. Not enough to effect his aim.. "Eighteen minutes. Got it." He got out of the car, but before he shut the door behind him, Krycek leaned over the seat, looking him in the eye. "Take it from me- don't make it personal." he said. "Once you get in, you don't know them from Adam. Aim accordingly." "Coming from the expert on close betrayal, I'll take it as good advice." Mulder slammed the door shut on the last of his sarcasm and followed his demons down the street. The red glare of the video camera caught him as soon as he rounded the last corner before the warehouse, even though he was still a vacant parking lot away. There was no turning back now. They saw him, and if he didn't act convincing, Mulder was sure he would find his way into any one of their nasty brand of surprises. He crossed the pavement toward the camera, until he was close enough for them to recognize his face. "Guys, it's me." Mulder couldn't believe he was actually doing this. "Cut off the booby traps." Byers' voice come out over a hidden speaker. "Step over to the warehouse door." A slightly nasal voice in the background muttered something that sounded like "land mines". "Oh and Langly says watch out for the mines. He isn't sure if Frohike got them all turned off this time." Land mines. Great. Mulder was very, very careful where he stepped as he walked towards the warehouse, expecting a flash of light at any moment to part the company of him and half of his body. He stopped at the door, which, to no surprise, had at least twenty locks on it. Another video camera watched him. They had obviously forgotten to turn off the speaker beside it, because he could hear their conversation clear as a bell. "Looks like him." That was Byers, his voice steady and even. "Well it did the last time too. Remember what nearly happened?" Langly's voice was a little more cautious. "I remember." Frohike piped up. "You and the narc almost got wasted. Let me see." There was slight scuffle and then silence. Mulder looked directly into the camera and tried to appear sincere. "How do we know it's you?" Frohike said, a healthy dose of his usual suspicion heading his words. "I'm the only one crazy enough to cross a mine field just for an audience with the Three Stooges." "The last one didn't know our nickname." Langly commented, his voice quieter now that it was in the background. "Yeah well they might have learned." Frohike must be in front of the speaker, because his voice was the loudest. "If you're really Mulder, where's Scully?" "She's somewhere safe. I sent her there after we got out of the camps." "Where?" "I don't know the location." There was another pause as the three thought his answer over. They had stepped away from the speaker again, because he could barely hear their voices. "An imposter wouldn't have known that." It was Langly again. "I dunno. It'd be safer to blow him up and see if he bleeds green." "That's Mulder we're talking about, you little troll!" "Shut up, punk! If I hadn't caught onto the hybrid last time your ugly blonde head would be sitting in a trophy room somewhere." "Both of you!" Byers spoke with the patience of one who was accustomed to mediating. "We'll let him in. Langly's right- no one but Mulder and Skinner know about Scully. If he was a fake, he would have tried to make something up." "I still think we should blow him up." Frohike grumbled, even as the locks on the door clicked out of position, and the door itself swung open. Mulder looked up to see an empty warehouse. "Guys?" A rat skittered across the floor as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in the pitch black. Turning around, he noticed tiny red and green lights on the locks which meant they were robotic. Mulder shrugged off his nervousness. "Come out, come out, wherever you are...." A plank in the floor slid open, light spilling from inside to illuminate a man with thick black horn-rimmed glasses and stringy blonde hair. "C'mon in Mulder. We've been expecting you." Langly smiled and then disappeared underground again, leaving Mulder to follow. The new "office" wasn't much different from their old headquarters, at least as far as the organization went. Old coffee cups with as yet unidentified types of fungus growing out of them sat side by side with computer equipment sensitive enough to rival the government's. The security seemed even more frenzied than the first time he had visited. And while they were very good at what they did, the simple reality was that they just weren't good enough. "So what brings you to our humble abode?" Langly asked, perching atop a ragged chair. "We'd almost given you up as dead." "I had some business to take care of." The three exchanged glances. "And it's finished now ?" He glanced at his watch. Krycek would be coming in two minutes. His friends had to die, but better at his hands than at the hands of a stranger. "It will be." He said. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, his hand had darted in and out of his jacket. The deception was over, the gun now trained on the three of them. "What the-" Frohike never had time to attach his curse word of choice. The silenced ping of two gunshots cut him off, followed by a muffled thud as Langly and Byers hit the floor, blood oozing from the holes in their foreheads. To his credit, Frohike lunged for a gun of his own, and got off a wild shot in Mulder's direction before a bullet caught him in the stomach. The little man crumpled to the floor, his hands trying to ebb the flow of blood coating the floor. Dropping his guard and his gun, Mulder rushed to the side of his friend, rolling him over. Shock and disbelief registered in Frohike's eyes underneath a glassy coat of pain. "Tell me...it's not you." He begged. "Mulder couldn't do...this." "I had no choice. It's my job now." It was a pathetic attempt at apology, but the best he could do. Understanding dawned in Frohike's eyes. "So that's why...they...let her go." He coughed, the sound garbled as if there was fluid in his lungs. "You sold out." "I had to stop what they were doing to her..." He nodded, his face a contortion of pain as his free hand reached into a hidden pocket of his coat. Mulder almost wished he would pull out a gun, and give him peace by a violent death, but instead Frohike held out a tiny slip of white paper. "What is it ?" "Skinner left this in case...you came back." A smile crossed his face, twisted by a fresh wave of agony. "This wasn't exactly what he had in mind, I'm afraid... but find her. While you're still human." Mulder took the paper from him and placed it inside his pocket. He met his friend's eyes with sorrow. "I didn't want to be the one to do this. I'm sorry." "For what ?" Frohike's laugh broke off in a fit of coughing that brought up blood this time. "I'm the lucky one. I get out. Now do an old friend a favor and finish me off.....I don't want to die this way." Nodding in numb agreement, Mulder left his side long enough to retrieve the fallen gun. He stood over Frohike's body, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch his own doing. A single shot rang out and then all was silent as Death came to claim his quota of souls. ************* "NO!" Scully bolted upright in bed, her eyes flying open in horror. Sweat soaked her hair and face, and she felt her heart pound inside her like a racehorse in sight of the finish line. She stood to her feet, pacing the floor in an attempt to calm herself. Something horrible was happening. Death was in the air, the scent of destruction she knew all too well from her bout with cancer. Death and horror and in the middle of it all Mulder's eyes staring at her from the back of her mind in silent grief. Somewhere under the cloak of the sky, she knew that a terrible thing had happened, but it drove her to insanity that she didn't know what. Her mind issued the order to her body, but somewhere in between the rational explanation fell short. She winded up sitting on the edge of the bed, staring up into the sky and wondering what the moon saw and if he knew why she dreamed. ************* Mulder was locked in the final stages of a drinking contest with himself. He let the last gulp of tequila blister down to his stomach before reaching for the glass and the bottle. The world was sliding from one side to another in a blur of dulled emotions as the drink began to at long last numb his consciousness and his conscience. He turned the bottle upside down. Nothing came out. Frowning to himself, Mulder shook it again. Still nothing. Where had it all gone? And more importantly, where could he get more? Krycek had to stash liquor somewhere around this place... He pushed himself away from the table, trying several times before actually succeeding in standing up. The mush that was the leftovers of his brain sloshed backwards, nearly taking him with it. "Whoaaaaaaa . . ." He grabbed the corner of the table before he tipped completely over, focusing with serious concentration on the counter a few feet away. On the count of three, he let go of the table, staggering forward until he crashed into his goal. "Ouch." Mulder whispered to the voices in his head laughing at him. It wasn't nice to ignore a conversation, now was it? "What do we want tonight, guys?" Throwing open the cabinets under the sink, Mulder dug around until he pulled out a short square bottle of clear liquid. "Jackpot. . .I knew our little Russian friend kept vodka around here somewhere." He looked back toward the table and decided it was way too much trouble to walk the long distance back to his seat. Besides the floor was comfy in a strange sort of way. The cork wouldn't hold still long enough for him to get a good grip on it, but after five minutes of fumbling around with the three bottles dancing before his eyes, Mulder finally got it off. Smiling, he tossed the offending object aside and raised the trophy to his lips, his throat open in eager anticipation of the drink. Right as the first few drops began to tantalize his tongue, the bottle was suddenly wrenched away from him. Mulder looked up, confused for a moment, until he saw Krycek towering over him. "Heyyyy now, that'ss mine." He reached for the bottle, but the movement threw his balance off, and he missed both Krycek and the vodka completely. The floor wasn't so comfy the second time around, when it slammed into his face. Undaunted, Mulder rolled over. "Gimme it back." He said, to the closest of the three Kryceks. This was interesting. . .three of everything. An X-files, yes. Maybe he could call Scully and they both could track it down just like old times. . . "Not this time, Mulder." Krycek reached down and helped the man up. He had seen Mulder drunk before, but not like this. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad. "I think a pot of black coffee is more what you need at this point." "I don' wanna no coffee." Mulder mumbled as he was deposited back in his seat. "We like being drunk jest fine." He didn't bother to ask what Mulder meant by "we", instead reaching for the jar of coffee and a pot, a tiny smile playing on his face. "Well you certainly have achieved that." When there was no answer, he turned around to see Mulder in deep contemplation of the mysteries of the human hand. He put two scoops of coffee into the pot, then added two more as an afterthought. Turning the stove on, he added water before setting the coffee pot on the nearest burner. "You know we should be celebrating." Krycek poured half a glass of the vodka for himself, taking a tiny sip- one of them had to stay sober- as he talked to Mulder, or whatever part of him was sitting in the chair. The man didn't look up from the study of his thumb. "Those guys were packrats- they had loads and loads of old data and new data that the guys in lab will just eat up. The explosion was nice too. Neat, clean, everything went perfect." Still no answer. Krycek wasn't really expecting one. As soon as the pungent aroma of the coffee hit his senses, he took two cups from the cupboard and filled them both with the thick black drink. He set one of them in front of Mulder. "C'mon now. It's good for you." Mulder grudgingly picked up the cup, his mind barely registering the fact that it was hot, and took a sip. His face contorted into a grimace. "What'ss this shtuff ?" "Coffee." Krycek picked up his cup. "It'll blow away the fuzzies." He blew on the drink to cool it before taking a sip. A second after his taste buds kicked in, he leaned over the sink and spit his mouthful out. "Strong" wasn't quite enough to describe it. After he poured the rest of his portion down the drain, he turned back to Mulder, setting the pot in front of him. "Drink up." He said. "If this doesn't get you sober, nothing will. I'll be back in a minute- I have to call in our report to Headquarters." Mulder shuddered again as the bitter coffee mingled with the aftertaste of the tequila. It wasn't a pleasant taste at all. But Krycek was right, it was at the least effective, and after three cups the world was back to right side up. His brain had stopped moving, and the beginning of a killer headache were just sinking its claws into him. He noticed slight burns on his fingertips, red and puffy, and for a moment it was puzzling where they came from, until he touched his cup again. It was warm. In fact, it was hot and he hadn't even noticed it. Was it really the drinking or had he just lost the capacity to feel pain? Hybrids didn't feel pain. Neither did clones. Even the aliens didn't experience the sensation to its fullest extent. Only humans did. So maybe it really was too late. He was going to find out. It was easier to stand this time, although the headache sharpened when he did so, putting pressure on the area of his skull right behind his eyes and forehead. Mulder took a slow step forward, looking around the kitchen. Shoot himself? No, that was too messy. A knife? The pain was sharp but over too quickly, like a fireworks display. His gaze lighted on the stove and the brightly glowing burner where Krycek had heated to coffee and forgotten to turn it off. He walked until he was standing right in front of the stove, one hand gripping the side for support. The heat rose from the reddish coils in waves he could feel on his face and neck. He laid his palm on the surface of the burner, waiting for the pain to overwhelm him. It came, but not in the torrent he would think the burning would cause. "I want to be human!" he told his body, his voice louder this time. Even as he could hear his own flesh sizzling, he didn't pull away. "Have you lost your mi-" Krycek couldn't finish his sentence for the surprise at seeing Mulder with his hand planted firmly on the burner. "What are you doing ?" He rushed over to the stove, pulling Mulder and his hand away. Some of the flesh stuck behind, crackling and hissing like bacon on the surface of the burner. "I want to feel..." Mulder felt the world take a nosedive again, spinning him around and around until his legs gave out from under him. "I can't feel it." "Huh." Krycek snorted, reaching above the sink for their first aid kit. "Wait until your liquor buzz wears off. You'll be feeling it all right." He smeared some burn cream on strips of gauze bandaging and wrapped it around Mulder's hands. "Now let's get you a nd whoever else is in that head of yours into bed." Mulder made no protest as Krycek helped him over to the couch, laying him down then tossing him a blanket. "Sleep. You'll be back to normal tomorrow morning." He didn't bother asking the question aloud, choosing instead to roll over so that his face was against the back of the couch. "And Mulder. . .if you decide to play patty cake with another burner, I'm not going to be here to peel you off. So behave." The lights went out and a few seconds later, Mulder heard the door open and shut. He was alone with the darkness and the ghosts. They stepped out of the shadows of his mind, a silent congregation of the dead. Some were strangers made familiar by their appearance in his nightmares. Others he knew all too well. "Leave me alone..." he whispered, knowing it would be useless to plead with those who lacked ears to hear and souls to understand. He had taken that away from them. This was only part of his punishment. Even the solace his tequila used to provide was gone like vapor under the sun. His senses drew away from him, whether at the hands of sleep or unconsciousness he didn't know. "Times up Mulder! Pull the trigger or they both die!" Pavlov's face loomed in front of his, the black void of his eyes glowing from inside out, his voice dripping the venom of a snake. He stepped aside, motioning toward Samantha. "Shoot her!" "Fox...please..." her voice was a thin pale whisper lost in the very air that breathed it. "Don't do this..." "Don't listen to her! Finish the job!" "Fox!" The faces and voices slammed into each other, growing louder and louder until the glass walls of his mind threatened to shatter with the noise. There was only one way to end it. The crack of his gun silenced the confusion. Samantha's body crumpled to the floor, but when Mulder looked down it was Scully that sprawled lifeless in front of him, her blood staining his hands. Screaming his anguish, he turned and emptied the rest of his gun into Pavlov. The alien smiled as green ooze dripped from the bullet wounds, the toxic fumes already stinging Mulder's eyes. As Mulder fell to his knees, the creature's voice surrounded him, low and hissing. "You didn't think we'd let her live, did you?" "I'll kill you!" Mulder opened his eyes, his breathing coming in ragged gasps that threatened to rip his lungs in two. He sat up, shaking his head to clear the last of the nightmare- or what ever it was- from his head. He fumbled in his pockets until he found the tiny piece of paper Frohike had left him with. He left the couch, crossing the room until he stood by the window. A mix of moonlight and overflow from the streetlights outside illuminated the words on paper smeared with bloody fingerprints. 72.5 degrees south. 39.5 degrees west One word scrawled under the coordinates stopped him cold. Scully. He stared at the piece of paper for a long, long time, his thoughts on things of treason I don't know if I am real without you What is left of me without you? I dont' know what's real without you How can I exist without you? - Shame Stabbing Westward to be continued.... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 10/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - She scrubbed a fresh handful of soap into her hands, the lather turning a pinkish red as it mingled with blood then rinsed away into the sink. The delivery had not been quick, or easy, but after sixteen hours of exhausting worry, both mother and daughters- she had been right about the twins- were on doing fine. "How did it go?" Skinner looked up from the rifle he was cleaning long enough to ask the question. She looked tired, but happy so it must have went okay. Well, okay for child birth. That was one thing he was keenly glad that she had *not* needed his help on. "Fine," she said, drying her hands on a towel and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "At least as fine as fine can be with limited medical resources and a shaman covered in white paint and feathers dancing around us the whole time." He had to restrain his smile on that one. She must have meant the witch doctor. The wiry little Indian had been resentful of Scully when she first arrived on the scene, but now he had accepted her presence to the point of being helpful. How much benefit his herbs and potions actually were remained to be seen. Still, it was harmless and it kept the natives happy. "What was it?" "Girl," Scully looked over her hands carefully to make sure all traces of blood were gone before reaching into the refrigerator for a head of lettuce and some other vegetables. Even before colonization, electricity had been rare in the place they lived, but the house came with a fully self-sufficient generator that was more than adequate. "Actually two girls." She began to slice the vegetables into paper thin strips to make a salad. Cooking had never ranked too high on her list of things she excelled in. It had always been a little too....domestic....for her tastes. But it wasn't like she had a choice. Skinner got lost trying to boil water, and generally avoided the kitchen like a plague. That left her to take the food supplies he brought home and turn them into something edible. She had to admit, it wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be, and after a few primary mishaps she was starting to really get the hang of it. She still stuck to easy things like salads and sandwiches and pastas, but occasionally Scully could get up enough courage to try something a little more adventurous. She was even mastering the art of baking. Now that was something she never pictured herself doing- planning meals and baking chocolate chip cookies. Or if she was going to be totally honest, she had thought about it on the rare occasion, but it always went along with thoughts of marriage to a certain man who hated his first name. A man she had killed, just as surely as if she had pulled the trigger herself..... After a moment of silent reflection, Scully cleared her throat and asked Skinner a familiar question, one that had kept her up yet another night. "How did he die?" she asked, looking up while she continued to dice a cucumber. Skinner sighed, not looking up from his gun. He had at least two that she saw- the rifle and his government issue handgun- and probably a great many more hidden from view. It must be a hangover from his military days, she decided, but he cleaned them with the same religious concentration she used to see in herself. Or at least the person she thought she was. "I thought I told you." "I want to hear again." He dropped the cleaning rag and met her eyes. The story was a lie he had told so many times it felt like the truth. Every little detail was perfect. "Agent Mulder traded his life for your release." "Why kill him? He had information they wanted." The conversation was very predictable. She would ask the questions and answer by answer he would debunk her hope back down to reality. "They must have gotten it from someone else, or decided he wasn't going to break. You heard the gunshot." "I know," Scully scraped the cucumber from a plate into a glass bowl and started work on some carrots. "But how do we know it was him?" Now for the hard part. It was inevitable in these conversations, the time when he had to firmly dash the hopes he could tell she was hiding from him. He hated doing this, hated what it was doing to her, but there was no other way. If she even got a whisper that he was still alive, she'd be on her way to find him and nothing short of a small army could stop her. "Trust me, Scully. He's not alive. He's not coming back. That's just something we live with." The way she ducked her head instantly told him he had hit a nerve, and her voice wasn't quite as strong when she answered him. "And how do we do that.....sir?" Skinner swallowed and picked up the rag again, his interest suddenly returning in his gun. It was the one question he had no answer to. Neither did she, he knew, and that was why he hoped Mulder got his letter. Before she decided living with it was one thing she could not do. ************** "Commander Krycek, Commander Mulder, step forward." Mulder moved in mechanical obedience to his superior. Today was supposed to be a red-letter occasion for him. The higher-ups had been so pleased with the cache of information stolen from the Lone Gunmen that they decided to bestow commendations on both him and Krycek. In the Enforcer regime, pats on the back were few and far between, which was all the more logic behind his happiness. Except that he wasn't logical and he wasn't happy. Krycek, on the other hand, had turned his charm and his smile up to their highest wattage. The effect was blinding, and earned him the lion's share of the credit. To be absolutely fair, he had tried valiantly to give some of it to him, but Mulder hadn't wanted it and bounced it right back. If Krycek got a kick out of this, let him get the glory. Mulder would settle for clean hands. It was strange, the way blood and skin refused to part company once they had been joined. No matter how many times he washed his hands, scrubbing them until the skin was pink and raw, the blood from the murders he committed never came off. It was constantly before him, and he didn't understand why no one else could see it. "On behalf of the World Coalition, we recognize your supreme effort for the good of the people and the State, in retrieving large amounts of data that can be used to strike a decisive blow against the forces of the resistance." The officer beamed down on the two of them. Krycek stiffened to attention. Mulder tried to ignore the way his black uniform was making him itch and sweat around the collar. "In rewards of your efforts, we would like to award you with these commendations for your efficiency, as well as two week's paid leave." Now it was Mulder's turn to stiffen with surprise as the statement struck home. In two weeks he could be a long way away. Heading south, and west, toward Scully. What was he thinking??? They'd follow him straight to her and then his nightmares would come true. The wheels of his mind kicked into gear, spinning slowly and then faster as treason became hope. He didn't even hear the rest of the speech until Krycek's cough pulled him back to reality. Snapping out of his trance, he saw the officer standing in front of him, hand held out expectantly. He shook his hand, accepting his commendation with a stoic nod. As the man walked off, Mulder noticed that there was a smear of blood where his hand had been. When he blinked nothing was there. Maybe the vacation was a good idea after all. Before the delusions caught up with him for good. "Hey, man, what are you doing?" Mulder looked up from the charred remains of his commendation to see Krycek standing behind him. "Playing with fire." he said. "I had some trash to burn." " That 'trash' got us a two week leave with pay. You won't find me complaining." "I wouldn't find you complaining if they ordered you to shoot your own grandmother." "Ouch," Krycek opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. "You should be nicer to me, Mulder. I can make a worthy friend." "Yeah well I haven't shot you in your sleep yet, so consider yourself an acquaintance." He poured a cup of water over the pile of ashes, watching the smoke curl into the air. "I'm being serious. At least tell me where we're going on vacation so I can know what to pack." He stopped short and turned around. "My hearing must be screwing up. I could have sworn you said 'we'." "Oh no, I said it all right. W-e." Mulder sighed. "What makes you think you're coming ?" Krycek took a sip of his beer. "Because they don't kill deserters with nice, neat shots to the head. Believe you me, the penalty will make whatever they did to you back in Arizona look like a kiss on the cheek." "You think I'm deserting." "Actually you haven't gotten that far yet. You're considering it, but you haven't made the official decision." He snorted. "You're pulling rabbits out of a hat. I'm not listening to this gibberish and I'm not taking you with me on leave." He started to walk toward his closet. "So find yourself a broad and be happy." "But isn't that what you're going to do?" When Mulder turned back around, Krycek knew he had won a small victory, or at least a foot in the door. "I wouldn't go so far as to call her a broad- Scully's more of the ladylike type." he continued. "If you ever say her name again," his voice dropped to the low pitch he usually reserved for Pavlov, "I will kill you." "I know you want to find her, Mulder," He walked across the room until he was standing beside him. "And I know how you feel, but it's not worth it. Once we get out there I'll have to figure out some other way to stop you, but either I go with you or I make a phone call to Pavlov." "Or we could open up a third option and I shoot you now," He took another swig of beer. "You could," he agreed. "But they're watching you. You're still considered high-flight probability. So I figure you have a choice of baby-sitters. Me or a Enforcer shadow unit." "I'm not running away." "Try telling that to them when they have a gun shoved in places where the sun don't shine." Krycek smiled at Mulder. "Face it. I'm coming." He didn't answer for a moment, then turned around and walked to his closet. "We leave tomorrow morning. Five AM." "For where?" "Texas." The look on Krycek's face said it all. "Haven't you had enough of the wild west? I was thinking more along the lines of Old Vegas. Gambling...vodka....blondes" "Bring your cowboy boots." He said, throwing his suitcase on the couch. "Cowgirls...." Krycek brightened at the thought and then headed into him room to pack, reminding himself to call the red-head and reschedule her "appointment". ************** "We have a situation." Pavlov looked up with more than mild annoyance at the intruder. "You come unannounced, my friend. There are more proper ways of doing business." "This can't wait. It concerns Mulder." With a sigh of resignation, he stepped back to his desk, waving to someone in the shadows. "You can go, for the moment." The Smoking Man was surprised to see a girl around the age of nineteen, her face streaked and stained with tears, hurriedly flee from the room. "My, my, my." He said, shrouding his smirk in a cloud of whitish gray smoke. "I didn't think your kind indulged in such decidedly *human* pleasures." "I have no interest in the things you creatures define as pleasure." Pavlov smoothed his hair back into place and took a seat behind his desk. "My only attraction is her mind. How do you humans say it- a mind is a terrible thing to waste." He smiled in self-content. "What news do you bring of our mutual friend?" "One of yours has given him two weeks leave." "Yes, I know. Did you interrupt me for something as trivial as that ?" "I think it is unwise to allow him so much freedom at this point in time. He has just killed three men he once called friend. He will be depressed. Depression leads to introspection, which, my friend, could very well lead to treason." "Mulder has been beaten. I have profiled him extensively. He poses no danger to us as long as he remains blinded by his guilt." Pavlov yawned. "If this is all you have to tell me, leave and send the girl back in on your way out." The Smoking Man regarded the alien coolly, taking a long draw from his cigarette before speaking. "I thought much as you did once. For years I plotted the destruction of Fox Mulder, plotted in careful detail until I knew he was beaten." he walked toward the door. "I underestimated him then. I shall leave you to do the same." "Wait-" Pavlov's voice called after him. "What are you so convinced will pull him back into what he was?" "You forget one tiny detail. Scully is alive. As long as she is alive, he has hope." He turned in smug satisfaction, pausing before he left the room. "Do you want the girl now?" "No. Send her back to her quarters, unless you've taken a fancy to her." Pavlov waited until the door slammed shut to pick up his communication link. "I need a shadow team to report in my office, full ensemble, in two minutes." He said. "Complete intel updates. We're moving out." The final pieces in this, the grandest of his chess matches, were falling into place. He had not forgotten the only human ever to beat him at his mind games. And to add insult to injury, the offending creature was *female*. Revenge had long been his desire, but she seemed to have vanished. He had assigned shadow teams to the bald man who left with her, but three days away from the camp the teams sent reports that they had were nowhere to be found. It was only natural that Mulder would know where she was. Pavlov was surprised that the man had kept his distance this long. The whole situation was made to order. If Mulder didn't bolt, it would proved that they had beaten him. If he did, sweet irony would take over and he would lead them straight to the woman he had hidden so well. After Scully was gone, his old enemy would be crushed beyond repair, and it would be Pavlov who restructured him into a vessel more worthy of the State. The glory would be his and his alone- he would not share it. He would handle this incident personally, without telling any of his associates or superiors, who might want to share in his credit. The High Command itself might even grant him a promotion, the recognition he deserved. The old man was right. Hope could be very dangerous. Or it could be very useful. ************** "Not a bad place," Krycek dropped his bag on the floor and looked around the cabin. "Except of course for the fact that I'm spending the only leave I'll get until Christmas in the middle of God's outhouse." He looked out the window, wrinkling his nose at the drab expanse of forlorn desert. "Do you have a thing for self-torture or do you actually get some kind of perverted kick out of this ?" "I like the solitude." Mulder had packed light, bringing only a duffel bag packed more with equipment than with clothes. He'd wait a few days, gathering supplies and checking for shadow teams, then slip out. Forever. "We certainly have overstocked on *that*." He snorted. "I think the only speck of humanity for miles is that dust bowl of a town we passed through ten miles ago. And I'm sure the nightlife is less than interesting." "Read a book." Picking up his duffel bag, he walked into the nearest bedroom and dumped it on the bed. "Where'd you find this place?" Krycek's voice floated out of the hallway. "Scully and I used it as a hideout once." "Ahhh." "Not *that* kind of hideout." he said, hiding a smile at Krycek's insinuating tone. "Mulder," he appeared at the door, still holding his suitcase. "You can't tell me that you never-" "No." Mulder cut him off. "We never." "Man," Krycek shook his head. "You don't know a good thing when she's right beside you." The thought was sobering, attended by the demons of old memories. "You're right," he agreed. "I don't." The same strange note of almost pity darkened Krycek's eyes, but the change was gone before Mulder was sure it was really there at all. "I'm going to hit the shower. This place does have a bathroom, doesn't it?" "Down the hall and to the left." Mulder said. Once he was alone, he reached down inside his shirt and pulled out the slip of paper, reading it for the thousandth time. 72.5 degrees south. 39.5 degrees west. Scully. He was insane. But he was going to do it. The sun glowed like a disk of molten gold, bleeding drops of scarlet and purple along the horizon as it fell into the night. His feet made tiny scooping noises in the sand as he ran, the cool air of a desert evening drying the sweat on his face and neck. The rhythmic in and out of his lungs matched pace with the beating of his heart and the pounding of his thoughts. Mulder could almost imagine that if he ran fast enough, he could catch up with the sun's chariot of flame and ride beyond the world. This type of running did so much more than condition his body. It salvaged pieces of his mind, dredged them up from darkness to light. He lived for those moments, if only for the scant glimpses of sanity they provided. Part of him remained alert, refusing to totally shun reality. His gaze probed the desert in search of the slightest indication that something was amiss. Nothing looked out of place, but he wasn't blind to the camouflage skills of Enforcer teams. He had been a part of them once. But no more. As soon as the sun finished drowning in itself he would leave it all behind. Death awaited him if he failed. Death awaited him if he succeeded. It was not a life he was living. The part of him that had made him alive died the moment he shot Samantha. The flesh and bone shell that remained was simply carrying out leftover commands. He had to make his peace with Scully and then the ritual of dying would be complete. He had even laid aside a special bullet, hollow pointed to make sure he blew his worthless brains out on the first try. And it would not be defeat for They had already won. They won every time he took another life in Their name, and this was the only way he could strike back them. Mulder corralled his thoughts to the narrow island of Logic as he ran a mental check on his equipment listing. The past two days had passed in the slow drawl of desert time, more than long enough for him to prepare. He had everything from maps to ammunitions to a hand-held GPS finder, courtesy of his old employers. Tonight was the night. The desert floor ended in a cascade of rust red rock as a ribbon of water carved a gorge through the sand. He slowed to a stop, watching a sprinkle of dust and pebbles skitter over the edge from his feet. The sun was nearly gone, throwing it's last rays over the canyon like ropes of gold through the black shadows shrouding the walls. Mulder let his eyes fall as far as they could, standing as he caught his breath. It would be so easy for his body to travel where his gaze had paved the way. To fly until he fell and to fall until the rocks made him forget who he was and what he used to be. His hand touched the cross around his neck, a loving kiss of flesh on metal. She had given it to him on a sunset not so different from this one, and the memory was bright, like a speck of gold among soot in his mind. No, he would not heed the call of the desert and of his own guilt. He would find her and he would give her back her cross. He would kiss her hello and goodbye all in the same breath. And then he would die. ************** "We have visual, sir." Pavlov looked up from the maps he was studying to see a scout in full paint-and-brush camouflage gear step into the building. He had established a temporary headquarters in the only town around, located around ten miles from the cabin Mulder and Krycek were staying. "And?" "Nothing out of the ordinary. He went for jog, then went back. Just like he has every day." "Keep up surveillance of the cabin in two man shifts. Don't get too close. I want a full status report every two hours." "Yes sir." The scout saluted and then ran back to his desert. Pavlov watched him disappear, then turned back to his maps. "What are you planning Mulder?" he mused to himself. "What are you planning..." **************** He opened his eyes. A symphony of silence greeted him. For a moment Mulder lay in the darkness, letting his ears search for any sound or movement. Nothing. Krycek was asleep. Now was the time. His feet hit the floor without sound, his hands at the same time feeling under the bed until they met a canvas back pack, already packed. He pulled it out, setting it on the bed and opening it for a last minute once-over. Gun. Check. Ammo. Check. Maps. Check. Rations. Check. Coordinates. Check. One dose of complete insanity. Double Check. Well, the last item wasn't in the bag but he carried it with him nonetheless. He pulled out one of the maps and a flashlight, shining it along the thin red line that designated the Mexican border. It was about eighty miles to the south west of the cabin, easily reached in a matter of days if he hurried. Even faster if he picked up a car from somewhere. Krycek's old Jaguar sat in front of the house, but Mulder didn't want the attention it would bring. He would cross the border at the tiny town of Soledad. It was a good site- one he had visited before on a mission right at the beginning of things. They wouldn't be expecting him there. Although he was hoping that they wouldn't be searching for him at all until he was safely over the border and on his way through South America. His flash light traced the way he was to go. It ended on a tiny red X on the west coast of Chile. That was where she was. That was where he had to go. A not so small puzzle began to form in the back of his mind as to how to dispose of Krycek if he woke up. Despite his good-natured complaining, the man had actually proved himself something of a worthy companion. It hadn't been Mulder's choice to bring him along, but it certainly wasn't his intent to kill him. Although he was sure Krycek wouldn't balk at shooting him to keep him from escaping. It was just that he was tired of killing. He zipped his pack shut, tucking the map in his pocket, and sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. He moved with caution through the house, walking on the balls of his feet to minimize the creaking of timbers. Down the hallway, past the dark shadows of Krycek's bedroom, into the living room. So far so good. Past the couch, past the kitchen. Now he was at the door, a thin fingernail of moonlight visible from underneath it. Mulder took a deep breath, reaching for the handle... "Going somewhere, Mulder?" The lights came on to reveal a very wide awake Krycek sitting on a stool in the kitchen, a gun trained with aim that was also fully alert on Mulder. "Step away from the door." ************* Mulder sighed heavily as he did so, the sound meant to portray disappointment and cloak his real actions. His hand slid toward the silenced 9 mm hidden underneath his jacket. "Why don't we just leave that there," Krycek said. "Hands on your head. Shed the pack and take a seat." He put his hands behind his head, but made no other move. "You're making a mistake, Krycek," he told him. "I don't want to kill you just when I found out you could cook." The man laughed. "You should thank me. I'm saving your life." "You got a funny way of doing it," Krycek rose to his feet, gun hand unwavering. "How far do you think you'll get before they're on you like hounds on a rabbit ?" "Far enough." Mulder said. "C'mere." He motioned Mulder over to the side of a window. Some people never learned. Here he was trying to do his good deed for the century and the man he was wanting to help was giving him nothing but garbage. "Look past the car out at the clump of brush." "I see a clump of brush." His tone was impatient- he had no idea why Krycek wanted to play these games. "You're right- one that *wasn't* there three hours ago." The implications of the sentence promptly left Mulder speechless. He leaned against the wall by the window, hands in his pockets. His gaze met Krycek's in cold accusation. "You set me up." "No," Krycek's reply was simple. "They moved in the evening after we did, but I had nothing to do with it." "And you didn't bother telling me," "You didn't need to know then." Mulder looked away in a mix of disgust and annoyance. When Krycek spoke again, there was an edge to his voice as well. "Hey, listen Mulder, I could have let you walk out there and get your butt blown off." "Instead you're going to blow it off yourself? Get yourself another commendation and two weeks more leave that you can blow on some cheap whore? I'll have to hand it to you, Krycek, you've got the makings of a real company man." "You think I enjoy this?!? That this is what I wanted my life to come to? I didn't want to sign up with these monsters." "That's crap and you know it. You've always been on their side from the day you walked into my office. I trusted you once, and I won't make that mistake again." "That was a different time and a whole lot different world. The men I worked for tried to stop this from happening! Sure they weren't boy scouts about it, but they fought. And I said *worked* for, Mulder! I never swore my allegiance to them, or to the aliens." "Then why do you continue to work for this government? Why don't you fight?" Krycek's eyes were burning now, twin pools of black oils that snapped and crackled with his anger, as he took a step closer to Mulder. "You want to see why I work for them Mulder??? You want to see it?!?" He turned around, pulling his shirt and his t-shirt over his head. Highlighted by the moon, the skin on his back was criss-crossed with a web of scar tissue, enough that his real skin was barely visible. Mulder couldn't quite find words as he felt his anger disintegrate into shock. That type of scars were very familiar- he bore them on his back as well, but Krycek was marked with even more than he himself had. "You've got them too, don't you Mulder? From the camps? From the interrogation rooms?" "What...happened?" Krycek turned back around, his voice hardening with bitter memories as he began to speak. "Everything I did before Colonization was for me, to ensure my well-being. It was my goal, and I sacrificed my life and literally my limb-" he glanced down at his prothestetic arm. "to the god of survival. The ultimate ideology, or so they said. "After the invasions began, I began to break into containment facilities, searching for the ultimate pawn- the vaccine we both know exists. In one of those places, I found Marita." "Marita Covarrubias?" "Yes." he nodded, his voice momentarily softening. "You didn't think I could feel, did you Mulder? That I could care for anyone else but yours truly?" He laughed but this time it was sharp and hard like his face. "She was my pupil, my protege. I taught her how to survive the game we both played and she did it so well. But she made a mistake. She wanted out and she betrayed me and the Consortium in a gamble for her freedom. She lost." He shook his head. "Do you know what they did to her ? The experiments they performed on Scully were nothing compared to the hell she existed in. I found her and I took her with me. Why? I loved her, Mulder. Me! Alex Krycek! Loved another human being! We were going to find the vaccine and trade it to both the aliens and resistance in the greatest double cross of all time. It would make us free forever." "What stopped you?" "A squad of Enforcers at midnight. They took us to the camps. I tried to bargain with them to leave her alone..." The razor edge to his voice and face faded into sadness as he continued. "But they didn't. They did things to her you wouldn't ever want to imagine, and I'm not just talking about the routine interrogations. I killed a guard for trying to hurt her, and they sent me straight into solitary, into this little four foot cell and threw away the key." Mulder fought back a shudder at the memory of his own time in solitary. He knew what Krycek was talking about, better than the man expected. "They wanted me to work for them. When they finally pulled me out of solitary, the torture began. They used all their favorite "persuasions" on me for eight days straight, without so much as a pause. In the end my old survival ideologies won out. I signed over. Just like you did," There was a heavy pause. "I shot her Mulder. I shot Marita. Because they told me to. And it might surprise you to know that I'm just human enough to hate myself for it." The truth was much harder than the misconception he had been clinging to. Mulder could still hate Krycek, but not as readily as he once had. Not when they shared so many of the same demons. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to hate him anymore. Krycek's voice had fallen down to a thin whisper When he spoke again. "Who did they make you shoot Mulder? What took away your will to fight back?" His shoulders sagged and he sank to the floor as he answered, almost unable to speak around the guilt he felt. "My sister. I killed Samantha." His own words screamed back at him, hitting him like fists to the face. They shared in the silence until Mulder looked up to see Krycek extend his hand to him. "Get up." He said, pulling Mulder to his feet. "Get up and get out." "But the shadow team...." "Use this." He handed him something that looked like a compact cell phone. "It's a satellite feed disrupter. It will mess with their communications systems, as well as the searcher satellites they'll try and hunt you down with it." Mulder flipped the device open to see a keyboard and a screen with red and green alternation lights. "I'll take a wild guess and bet that this isn't something you just happened to have in your pocket." "No, um, I checked it out of Requisitions before we left." His rakish smile returned, dancing a tango with the night. "I told you I knew you were escaping." "Come with me." Mulder took a risk and made the offer. "Nah," Krycek said. "I'm a survivalist, remember? Besides, someone has to stay behind and cover your butt. The disrupt's only good for twenty four hours at a time. Any longer and it has to be recharged." "How do I turn it on?" "The red switch in the corner. I'd suggest trying it now, that way the sand man will be distracted by the time you get outside." "Why are you doing this?" He had to ask, had to know why the man who was so much of an enemy turned friend in the last moment. "We all have to fight back somehow. I don't have a taste for heroic causes and dying in battle. I'd love to see Pavlov's face when he finds out you're gone. And also...I need to avenge her some way." "We all do." The rest didn't need to be spoken. Both of them knew without saying the need that came underneath the Enforcer steel. A need to gain revenge for those you were made to destroy, for the pieces of your soul ripped away by your own hands. Mulder picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, punching the red button on the disrupter before securing it in his pocket. A moment passed, and then a glance out the window showed the "bushes" moving, two forms just visible in between sand and sky, heading in the direction of town. "Thanks." he said, finding the moment suddenly awkward, and wishing he was out in the desert taking his chances with the Enforcers. "Don't mention it. But are you going to stand here all night or are you going to find her?" In response, he drew his gun and then held out his hand. "Take care of yourself." he said. Another smile accompanied Krycek's handshake. "Hey, don't sweat it. That's what I do." Mulder released his hand, taking a handful of heartbeats to collect his thoughts before walking towards the door. He smiled to himself. It was good to know some things hadn't changed about him. Here he was, taking yet another impossible risk against impossible odds that would probably wind up with his butt in a sling. The only difference was, Scully wasn't there to catch him if he fell. That last sobering thought stayed with him as he stepped outside. ************** Morning came amid a thousand aches and pains from joints he hadn't even expected to work anymore, much less register pain. Krycek peeled one eyes open, squinting as an assault of bright yellow-white hit his senses. Morning, definitely, and a long time past sunrise. He had overslept. In the middle of the floor no less. A screech of brakes sent his internal alarms blaring, and he was on his feet before he could blink, gun in hand as he crouched in front of the window. The black uniforms of Enforcers swarmed toward the cabin like spiders on the march. So much for his good intentions of keeping watch on Mulder's behalf. How far did the man think he would actually get? He had often wondered exactly what made Mulder risk everything on a slim chance at what might be nothing. Krycek remembered he used to hate him for that very thing, among other reasons, but now he admired him. And wished him good luck, because he would need it. Backing away from the window, Krycek straightened to his feet and noticed a piece of folded paper lying on the table. A closer look revealed it to be one of Mulder's maps, his intended destinations marked in nice neat red marker. The Enforcers were at the door. Visions of Mulder walking into his safe haven and being greeted by her body filled the picture screens of his mind and it wasn't pleasant. The crash of splintering wood and jamming cartridges returned animation to his body. Krycek bolted for the pot-bellied stove, ignoring the sear of hot metal on flesh as he pulled the door open barehanded and stuffed the map inside. "Step away from the stove!" Strong voices preceded strong hands as members of the team shoved him away from the stove, keeping him back at gunpoint as one of the soldiers pulled the map out of the fire and doused it with water from his canteen. Krycek peered around the bulk of the man guarding him to see with some relief that the bottom half of the map was seared beyond recognition. The tiny red X that marked Scully's location had fallen prey to the fire. Another smudge of water logged red caught his attention, a mark on the border between the United States and Mexico, but he hoped that it would blend in with the soot and not attract attention. "Building a bonfire, Mr. Krycek?" The muscles in the back of his shoulders tightened at the voice calling his name. Even with the hissing quality, he could tell Pavlov anywhere. The alien was the first person to ever call him "Mr." and walk away from it alive. And that was only because Krycek just hadn't had the opportunity to kill him yet. "He was trying to dispose of this document, sir." A fresh faced guard whose Uzi looked older than he did spread the remains of the map on the table. "It looks like a map." "Why don't we give our friend a seat?" Pavlov gestured to his minions, and they unceremoniously hauled Krycek off the ground and into a chair. "I'm sure he's going to tell us all about the whereabouts of Agent Mulder and a certain satellite disrupter. Both have gone missing." "Gee, did you check your other pocket?" Krycek asked him. The baby faced soldier landed a blow hot with indignation across his face. "You will address your superior with the respect due his office!" he demanded. Krycek turned and met the boy in the calm stare he had used so many times before, on the Smoking Man and others. It had penetrated their jaded exteriors, so it was no surprise when the soldier began to shift his weight from side to side uncomfortably. "The next time you hit a Commander, boy, I suggest you decide how you want to die in advance. I am your superior and you will treat me with the respect of my position." "Yes, sir." The soldier gulped, tacking a salute onto the end of his words. "Of course. . .sir." "Enough." Pavlov's voice commanded both of their attentions. "There are more important matters at hand." He focused on Krycek, his face eerily unexpressive as he spoke. "When did he leave?" "I wouldn't know. I woke up this morning to find me, myself, and I but no one else." He remembered an old proverb from his Consortium days. That was truth number one. "Did he do or say anything that would make you think he was planning a desertion?" "No. Last night he said he might take a day and head up north to check out an old friend of his." That was the lie. "And what about the satellite disrupt my men experienced last night? The one that is still troubling us?" Pavlov's tone made it clear that whoever had caused the problem would indeed pay. "That was Mulder. He suspected you guys were shadowing him, and thought that it might throw you off the trail." That was truth number two. Now all he had to do was throw in a little bit of imaginative thinking and presto! One lie, ready to swallow. "Now that I think about it, he did seem rather disturbed before he left. Preoccupied you could say. Kept muttering her name over and over." "By her you mean the woman." From the look on his face, Pavlov wasn't hungry even for the most appetizing of lies. The early chills of dread began to wrap themselves around Krycek's stomach when he thought of the last time he and the creature had played question and answer. The scars on his back ached with the memories. "Scully, yeah, that's her name." Pavlov paced the floor, his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration as he walked toward the stove. Borrowing a glove from one of his men, he shoved a pair of iron tongs into the heart of the fire. For a moment he held them inside, then withdrew them, the tips red hot. A demon smile whisked around his face, moving from his eyes to his cheeks to his mouth and then back again, as he held the tongs in front of Krycek's face. "You never fail to spin an entertaining story when the mood strikes you. But I see through your lies and your greater lies. Tell me where Mulder went." "I don't know." A truth fell from increasingly desperate lips as the tongs edged closer and closer to him. At a nod from Pavlov, two of the soldiers pinned him to the seat while a third pulled the glove off his good hand. "It must be strange, only having the sense of touch in one hand," Pavlov said. "But then I would think it would make you appreciate it all the more. And that you would want to preserve that sense from things like, oh say, burning, which would deaden and harden the nerves." He lowered the tongs until the glowing tips rested mere inches above the skin of his hand, his voice a mere whisper as he spoke. "Where is Mulder?" "I told you- I don't know! You've got to believe me---" Krycek sealed his words off to contain the surge of pain that burned through him as the tongs sank into his palm, eating hungrily at the flesh. He wasn't doing this for Mulder. He was doing it for Marita, for the one thing in his life that had been truly his. Until Pavlov had taken it, taken her. He chose a new course of action, letting his pain out in a roar and a rush of adrenaline, pushing aside the guards and landing on Pavlov. Before the alien could move, Krycek grabbed the tongs and pressed the heated end into the creature's face. A scream different from humans though it was in human voice pierced the air, and for one moment the facade of skin wavered to reveal the true face of the monster. He was still filled with the drug of anger and didn't realize he was no longer on top of Pavlov until he crashed into the table, surprised at the casual strength of the throw. Pavlov had fully regained his human costume, pushing away the hands that tried to offer help. One side of his face was now horribly disfigured in a ragged red burn, but the alien barely noticed the pain. He took a step forward, and the cold menace in his stride told Krycek that he had just done something incredibly rash. Something squished under Pavlov's foot, and he looked down to see the map lying in a dirty puddle on the floor. Not taking his eyes off Krycek, he stooped and picked it up, holding it close for examination. Something in his eyes changed and turned to victory. "You may count yourself fortunate, Mr. Krycek, that you were able to be of service to us after all." He tossed the map to one of his men. "Match that map with another. The red x on the border tells us where he's going." Krycek watched, something that tasted cold like the early stages of fear clinging to his every breath as the soldier spread a new map over the counter, comparing it to the old one. "Soledad, Mexico." He said. "Eighty miles from here. He's got a days head start but we can beat him there easily. It would help to know which route he was taking, but with the satellite disrupt still on, it could be hours before we can determine that." Pavlov smiled back at the man in patronization. "You humans are so weak, so dependent on your technologies. My people have advanced to other ways of tracking down those who would escape our justice." He turned his smile to Krycek, and his eyes became even more black, intensifying the air of utter "un-humanness" about him. "Surely you are going to see us off." "I'm comfortable right here, thank you so very much. Just do me a favor and open the door before you go out this time." "Your career as a Commander is over. If you are lucky I will spare you your life, now !stand to your feet!." Biting his lip at the pin pricks and stabs of pain shooting through him, Krycek rose to his feet. He remained silent as he walked beside Pavlov until they reached the doorway. There he chose to lean against the frame, kicking at fragments of wood while the rest of the soldiers filed past. Pavlov was last, staring him straight in the eye with a warning. "Once I have Mulder, and the High Command knows what I and I alone have accomplished, you will be nothing more significant than a pitiful little worm to be squashed under my thumb. I do not have the time to properly enjoy your death, so consider this a stay of execution." He stepped off the porch and into the sun. The true meaning of his words sunk into Krycek Slowly, and then gave birth to a smile he had to work at concealing. The smile drained as he counted the members of the shadow team. Seven soldiers, if he counted the team leader. Eight total if Palov was included. Against one man With those odds, maybe he should head for the border too. If it was any other human besides Fox Mulder, he would have. But Krycek knew that the man was good at what he did, with years of both resistance and Enforcer training to back him up. Even the experience was dwarfed by the intense drive he saw in Mulder. The same kind of fire that had gotten him out of a Russian prison camp so very long ago, and had kept him alive this long when the world's most powerful men were trying to kill him. he thought to himself, a wry tint to his words. "How are you going to find him?" he said, throwing the words out as a challenge to Pavlov. "Call the mothership?" "As I said before, Mr. Krycek, our race is gifted far beyond the limits of your kind." A soldier's gasp and a sickening sound of something Peeling away accompanied his words as the man shell fell away to reveal an undisguised alien. The creature was lithe and muscular, with huge black eyes that darted back and forth like lizards. A flick of his wrist revealed wicked black claws that shredded the sunlight into thin ribbons. Out of the corner of his eye, Krycek saw the young faced soldier race to the nearest bush, his breakfast and probably dinner from last night making an impromptu appearance on the lawn. It was all he could do not to gag himself, to look away at the pure evil and primal cunning that radiated from the beast. The other soldiers were holding their ground admirably, hands gripping and re-gripping their guns uneasily as the alien Pavlov leaned back on his haunches, head lifted to the sky as he sniffed the air. The creature almost seemed to fall into a trance as it wandered around the yard, stopping when it seemed to pick up something from the west. It shook its head, sniffing the air again, and then before Krycek could blink regained it's human form. The ever-smiling Pavlov turned to his men and waved toward the cars. "He went in a south western direction, heading in a straight line from here for about thirty miles. There the trail hits a river, but we can assume he's going to Soledad. We'll come in from the opposite direction and lay an ambush scenario. Any questions?" No one so much as breathed. They were all too busy trying to hold their jaws off the ground, and to remain on the right side of sanity after what they had seen only seconds before. Finally they recovered life enough to pile silently into the cars. Pavlov met Krycek's eyes one last time, and though his "new" face lacked the scar tissue, the memory remained in the eyes. They were his true eyes, only smaller and more compacted to fit the smaller head. The same evil and cunning swam inside their murky depths. his voice hissed the final ultimatum even though he did not speak, breathing his thoughts as it were into Krycek's mind as he and his henchman drove off in a cloud of dust. "And he'll be ready for you." Krycek answered aloud, feeling the need to speak if only to reassure himself that this was reality and not an episode of the Twilight Zone. As cocky as the alien was, there was one thing that would drain the smile off his face. Krycek had seen the stiletto tucked away in a pocket of Mulder's pack. He also knew something Pavlov didn't. He was positive the creature didn't know because he had removed it from Mulder's history file himself. Mulder hadn't just led the resistance. He had taken an active part in the fighting. And his area of expertise had been summed up in one word. Assassin. The title had been granted him freely after only one event. The very messy, very public scandal in which three of the members of the High Command had been reduced to green stains on the plush carpet of the White House they were visiting. No, Pavlov didn't know what he was walking into. But then again, neither did Mulder, which made it even. Krycek shook his head as he remembered the creature underneath Pavlov's human skin. The black, glistening claws, the silver fangs, the coiled muscles. The unearthly mix of cunning and intelligence. On second thought, it wasn't even at all. And he was afraid Mulder was on the losing side. to be continued..... - - - - - - - - - - - - -