Subj: Sit and Wait
Date: 8/23/98
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@mail.com

Don't let the address fool you. Mulder's out of commission for sending e-mails and going to stay that way for a while.

I tried to warn him when I wrote to him a few days ago, but then he invited you to the party and you aren't part of my plan, Walter. Not at all.

I've got your agent. That's right. Picked him up this morning, no problem at all. You just sit tight and keep your mouth shut, and I'll bring him back when I'm done with him, none the worse for wear.

Set the Bureau dogs on me, call in the cops, any of those procedural things, and things will go very badly for Mulder.

Just a friendly warning, not that you deserve a fucking thing from me, but then maybe I'm a better person than you give me credit for, right?

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
To: FoxxxW@mail.com
From: WSSkinner@fbi.gov

Krycek, what the hell do you want?

WS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
Date: 8/23/98
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@mail.com

>Krycek, what the hell do you want?

You're not paying attention. I *have* what I want, Walter. Picked him up this morning, in fact.

You're very calm. I approve. Don't do anything stupid and this will end right for all of us, okay?

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
To: FoxxxW@mail.com
From: WSSkinner@fbi.gov

Krycek,

I'm willing to remain low-key about this, but I want him returned to his apartment and immediately. Otherwise, I'm going to have to involve his partner. You don't think she won't notice he's gone, Krycek? And she bears you a grudge anyway.

Don't be stupid.

And if that's not enough for you, there isn't going to be enough distance between us to keep me from killing you if he has so much as a bruise.

WS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
Date: 8/23/98
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@mail.com

Walter -

*You're* willing? Jesus, you do have balls, don't you? I don't give a shit what you tell Scully. Tell her the truth, if you have to, but the two of you had better keep your mouths shut. That's all I'm saying.

If your agent gets bruised, it won't be my fault. Hurting him isn't actually part of the plan. I could have done that to him without moving him from his couch.

On the other hand, if you, Scully, or anyone else starts scouring the eastern seaboard for him, then all bets are off. You're not throwing this party, Walter. I am. I make the rules. Rule number one is that you sit where you are until I'm damned good and ready for you to do something else, right?

Jesus, you know, I'm fucking sorry I told you. I wouldn't have, except that I know he would want me to if he was able to say so. Stop being such a jackass, Walter.

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
To: FoxxxW@mail.com
From: WSSkinner@fbi.gov

What do you mean, if he was able to? What have you done to him? Look, Krycek, be smart, be sane, you know that we're going to find you. Just give him up.

WS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
Date: 8/23/98
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@mail.com

Don't be an asshole, Walter. I gave him his fucking medication, okay? He's sleeping, that's all.

Not that I wouldn't love to know how he managed to get a broken ankle and a scorpion bite, not to mention what looks like a wicked sunburn on what my information tells me was a routine investigation in the middle of Albuquerque, but I won't ask. Put the guy within a hundred miles of a desert and it's inevitable that he's going to find himself in the middle of the it at some point. It complicates my plans, but not much.

I am smart. And sane. Did it ever occur to you that there are people who expect you to find him? And who will be right behind you?

I don't know what he sees in you, you know? You just don't strike me as all that smart.

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
To: FoxxxW@mail.com
From: WSSkinner@fbi.gov

If you're protecting him, I need you to make me believe you. If he's in danger from us searching, I need some proof of that.

Christ, Krycek, fucking tell me something I can trust and believe in. Which means backed up by something more than your word.

And I'm not impressed by your insinuations. No one is going to believe that if that's your story.

WS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
Date: 8/23/98
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@mail.com

All you need to know is that I'm not going to hurt him. Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I intend to make sure he's very happy, indeed.

Then I'll send him home. No bruises. No damage. All I want is a few days to talk with him. And he's not going to thank you for publicizing it. That's another promise. And it will be public. Very public, if you don't keep out of it.

You'd be surprised by who might believe what they're going to hear.

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subj: Re: Sit and Wait
To: WSSkinner@fbi.gov
From: FoxxxW@aol.co

> I'm not impressed with blackmail, Krycek. And if you lay one hand on him, I'll kill you myself.

Easy for you to say, when you think it's someone else's name and face being spread across the front page, right? Maybe you're right. Okay, let's up the ante. You want to be part of the game, you're in.

You stay the fuck away from us right now, or your name and face WILL be spread across the front of tomorrow's newspapers. With a story guaranteed to drop the bottom out of your career, and whatever passes for a personal life with you these days, okay?

Don't push me, Walter. I don't share Mulder's attachment to you, and newspapers are all computerized these days, you know. I push a few buttons and you'll be facing charges you don't even want to think about.

A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Alex chuckled as he sent the last message and switched off the computer. Maybe it wasn't smart to bait Skinner right now, but he couldn't resist. Besides, he needed to stay in touch with the older man, in case Skinner let any clues about the search for Mulder slip into the conversation.

So far, so good. From everything Skinner had said, the search team so far consisted of Skinner himself, Scully, and those three weirdoes that Mulder had been stringing along for the past few years. Nothing Alex wasn't prepared to deal with.

He leaned back in discouragement. Being locked up here with Mulder in his current condition was far down on the list of Alex's preferred activities. Since he couldn't take his boredom and frustration out on the unconscious Mulder, Skinner was an acceptable substitute.

Besides, Alex blamed Skinner for most of Mulder's stubbornness over the past few days. The bait Alex had offered--information and a warning of imminent danger--should have been more than enough to tempt Mulder, even in his present condition.

Alex shook his head. Either Mulder was wising up--too little, too late--or Skinner was to blame. In which case, the A.D. would have to be added to the short list of people who had, in the opinion of Alex's superiors, an unhealthy degree of influence over the agent.

Alex shot a look at his companion. The tall body was sprawled across the white sheets, one leg propped up on a stack of pillows to keep the injured ankle elevated. His breath rasped unevenly, reflecting the potent drugs in his system.

Alex had managed to get Mulder safely under cover in this condemned building before the gas he'd administered had worn off. While Mulder was still groggy, Alex had forced more drugs on him. One was a blood thinner, designed to combat the threat of an unexpected embolism from the serious damage to his ankle. The other two pills had been Mulder's scheduled painkillers.

Mulder had tried to refuse all three but Alex had ignored the muttered complaints and curses and forced the pills down Mulder's throat.

Lunch. The small kitchen alcove revealed cabinets loaded with a variety of cans and bottles. Alex chose a large can of stew with a reasonably appetizing picture.

He leaned against the counter next to the stove and brooded toward the partition that separated him from Mulder's bed. Chief cook, bottle washer, and nursemaid. Somehow, this wasn't quite how he'd pictured this scene.

Alex's persistent fantasies about his former partner had centered featured someone more alert and responsive. And someone a hell of a lot more cooperative than Mulder was going to be when he woke up.

From the other room, something clattered to the floor, followed by a muffled curse. Alex rounded the partition in an instant to find Mulder halfway to the floor, one hang clinging to the bedside table. The crutch he'd been reaching for had rolled a few feet away from the bed.

Should have left those damned things on the other side of the room. Alex slid one arm under Mulder and eased the older man back onto the bed. "Could you take it easy? I'm not really equipped to deal with a concussion, here."

"Fuck you," Mulder croaked.

Alex shoved a couple of pillows behind Mulder's shoulders and poured a glass of water. "Drink."

Mulder jerked his head away and tried to knock the glass out of Alex's hand. "No way. Not again."

"It's water, Mulder." Alex tried to be patient. "Just water."

"Prove it." Mulder's gaze was groggy but he still managed to pack a lot of hate into it. "Drown yourself in it."

Alex grabbed Mulder's chin and made him watch Alex take a drink. He pressed the glass against Mulder's lips again. "Water, asshole. Drink it."

Mulder reached up and his fingers closed around the glass. Alex let him hold it, watching him empty it slowly.

"Want some more?" He ignored the glare and tipped the pitcher over the glass again. Mulder took a couple more swallows, then set the glass shakily on the small table. Alex made no move to help him. The more Mulder was able and willing to do for himself, the less helpless he'd feel. And, the more cooperative he'd be.

"What the hell is going on and where am I?" Mulder was coming around fast. "Where's my gun?"

It's going to be a long day. "It's opening day at Dodger Stadium and we came out early so you could get a good seat, what the fuck do you think?" Alex snarled. He slammed the pitcher down, rocking the small table. "You've been kidnapped. Which I would think would have been obvious, even to you."

Alex shook his head, and turned to gather up the crutches. He carried them across the room and dumped them in the corner. "Jesus, Mulder, is it the drugs or what? You used to be a lot faster on the uptake than this."

"Why?"

The simple question wasn't quite what Alex had expected. The burning anger drained out of him slowly. For a guy who had been drugged and hauled for a couple of hundred miles in the back of a van, then drugged again, Mulder wasn't doing that badly.

He kicked the desk chair over a few feet from the bed and sat down, leaning his arm against the back and looking over it at Mulder. "You look like shit."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." Mulder shifted uneasily against the mattress.

"Want to sit up for a while?"

Mulder's eyes scanned his prison. "Is there another room?"

"Nope," Alex said cheerfully, standing up. "And just the one chair." He lifted Mulder's leg, pulling the pillows out from under it carefully. "Shift yourself up against the headboard," he ordered. Mulder did so without comment. Alex rearranged the pillows, keeping the injured ankle elevated.

"Behave yourself and I'll give you those back," he nodded toward the crutches. "You need to move around."

"Somehow, this doesn't look like Johns-Hopkins and you don't look like any nurse I've ever met." Mulder's sarcasm was carefully controlled. "Where the fuck am I and why am I here?"

"First things first. You hungry?" Alex headed toward the kitchen alcove and started spooning stew into bowls. He set each bowl on a plate, added a couple of pieces of bread and a spoon, and took them back to the bed.

"Now it's a restaurant?"

"Think of it as protective custody," Alex suggested. Mulder made no move to take the food, so he set one plate on the table and settled back into his chair. He ignored the fact that Mulder didn't pick up his own food until he'd watched Alex eat several spoonsful.

"Define what you consider protective custody," Mulder said. "Maybe we can come to some agreement, here."

"I'm not one of your fucking psychos you need to profile, Mulder, so don't start that shit with me, okay?" Alex took a couple of bites of the lousy stew, watching his companion.

"I see." Mulder stared at him, chewing doubtfully on a piece of tough meat. "I go to sleep in my own bed and wake up god knows how far away in a strange place with a world-class traitor and murderer standing over me and I'm supposed to feel all safe and comfy?"

"Not that I don't appreciate the 'world-class' thing, but most of that isn't true." Alex dumped some salt on his stew. This stuff was really lousy. There had to be something else in that miserable kitchen. "You were on the couch, not in your own bed. And I wasn't standing over you when you tried to fall out of bed here, I was in the kitchen, cooking you up this delicious lunch." Alex set the bowl aside and ate the bread, which he figured had less of a chance of proving to be fatal. "I even gave you a few pillows and a drink of water. And I got you a tv." Alex nodded toward the foot of the bed. "All the comforts of home."

"Try to imagine how touched I am," Mulder said politely. He abandoned his own stew and started tearing apart his rolls. "Which brings us back to the beginning, right? Why?"

"You'd better eat that bread," Alex advised. "God knows how long it will be before I find something edible around here."

"Why am I here? Why are you here? What the fuck is going on?" Mulder enunciated the words carefully.

"I tried to talk to you about it," Alex pointed out. "I really did. But you chose to be an asshole, instead." He threw the bread into his bowl and pushed the plate away impatiently. "I thought we had an understanding, Mulder. I was going to bring you information, you were going to listen to me, right? What the fuck happened?

"An understanding." Mulder nodded carefully, looking interested. If he didn't quit doing that psycho-babble shit, Alex was going to shoot him, orders or not. "When did this take place? Oh. I forgot. Must have been the night you broke into my apartment and attacked me at gunpoint, right?"

"You're a real shit, Mulder, you know that?"

"I'm done with the dinner and polite conversation part of this encounter, Krycek. Now I want to know that the fuck you think you're doing. How long have I been here? How long do you think you're going to be able to keep me here? Why? And, don't tell me this has anything to do with those fucking e-mails you sent me."

Alex considered it. There wasn't any reason he couldn't tell Mulder now what he'd wanted to tell him the day before. Nothing except the fact that he was damned tired of being sworn at and called names when he was risking his own life to protect Mulder.

"You know? Howard Stern could teach you a few things about good manners." Alex grabbed his dishes and Mulder's and took them to the kitchen alcove, dumping them into the sink. He went back to the sleeping area and booted up the computer.

"What the hell is going on? If this is a kidnapping, then you must want something, right? Have you contacted Skinner?"

Skinner. Not Scully. Not the Bureau. Skinner. "Shut up, Mulder. Go to sleep. Lay there and die, I don't give a shit. Just leave me the hell alone." He could hear the bedsprings squeaking. Alex didn't turn around. "You get off of that bed and I swear to god I'll shoot you."

Alex checked Mulder's e-mail account. No response from Skinner yet. Too bad. He would have enjoyed pulling the A.D.'s chain a few times to relieve some of his anger and frustration.

"What are you doing with my computer?" Jesus. He might have to gag Mulder to keep him quiet for five minutes.

"I'm sending your boyfriend a message to tell him we're in here fucking like rabbits and that you're enjoying every minute of it. Shut up."

"I want to know what the hell's going on."

"SHIT!" Alex slammed the computer closed and turned around to glare at Mulder. "You know, you're a lot better company when you're unconscious."

"You'd be better company dead," Mulder snarled. "Don't pull this attitude on me, Krycek. You're the one who kidnapped me, remember? I'm the one who's entitled to be pissed here."

"Which would carry more conviction if you had any fucking idea what's going on. Which you would," Alex stressed, "if you'd been just a little more cooperative recently, you know? Take a look around you, Mulder. This place is a hole, you notice that? And I'm here because you're an asshole, and that's why I'm pissed, okay? So shut up and leave me alone for a while or I'm going to strangle you and dump your body in the ocean."

"If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it by now."

"Don't be too sure of that. You get closer every minute."

The mail flag on the computer screen popped up, distracting Alex from the argument. He checked. Skinner. The message wasn't quite what he'd hoped for, but it had possibilities.

"God damnit, Krycek!" The yell caught his attention an hour or more later. Mulder's partner had gotten in on the act and Alex had been amusing himself by alternately soothing and enraging her. He hadn't heard from Skinner in a while, but he could fix that.

The e-mail game had also allowed Alex to ignore Mulder's increasingly loud complaints.

"What is it? Christ, you're more trouble than a puppy."

Mulder's jaw tightened. "I need my crutches."

"Why?" Alex looked at Mulder's face. Damn. If you had to go to the can, why didn't you just say so?"

"I did. Several times."

Alex retrieved the crutches and waited while Mulder levered himself to a sitting position. He ignored the furious jerk of the other man's shoulder when he stopped Mulder from standing up.

"Better do this, first." Alex shook a painkiller out of the bottle and handed it to Mulder.

"I don't need it."

"Don't tell useless lies. You're not good at them." Alex stood over him until Mulder got the message and shoved the pill into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of water.

Alex moved aside, staying close enough to steady the wobbly man as Mulder made his way to the small bathroom. He waited, a safe distance away, until the door opened.

"Why don't you walk around for a few minutes? Before the pill kicks in."

"I'm not a sideshow. Get your kicks somewhere else." Mulder wavered, then caught his balance.

"You need to keep your circulation moving. And you need the practice." Alex didn't feel any inclination to laugh. The effort of typing for an hour with one hand had tired out his right arm. His left, of course, wasn't ever going to get tired again. He was the last person to be making fun of someone with a disability, however temporary. Even Mulder.

"What were you doing on my computer?" Mulder navigated his was carefully around the small desk in the middle of the room.

"I met this cute redhead on-line and we were exchanging recipes." He watched Mulder's frown with a hidden smile.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I hadn't killed you. Yet. Keep moving."

The effort of walking and talking at the same time seemed to be too much for Mulder, he didn't try any more conversation. Alex straightened out the bed while Mulder moved around the room, keeping one eye on his reluctant guest. After about ten minutes, he called a halt. "Enough. You're not training for a marathon."

The effort had been enough to wear Mulder out and he dragged himself back to the bed. Alex caught his weight on one arm, shoving the crutches to the floor. He eased Mulder back against the pillows stacked against the headboard, then lifted the injured leg and propped it up again.

"You probably need another nap after that." He turned on the television and flipped through the channels until he found a movie coming on. Bela Lugosi. Perfect. "Sorry the funding didn't run to a remote control."

"I don't need to be entertained. Or pacified. Or whatever the fuck you're doing."

"Shut up and watch the movie." Alex went back to the kitchen, searching the cabinets and refrigerator for something more edible than the lunch he'd served. He was willing to make allowances for Mulder's condition, but he was really getting tired of being cooped up with such an asshole. The thought that his confinement might last days longer was too fucking depressing to contemplate.

A jar of sauce and a package of spaghetti seemed to offer the most promise. There wasn't any way to make garlic bread, which was one more thing to be pissed at the world about, but at least they'd get a solid meal.

He moved around the alcove quietly, sitting out pans and plates, getting things ready for later. If Mulder was up to it, he was going to make the other man move around again before dinner and he didn't care for the idea of Mulder standing in the doorway making smart-ass remarks about the problems Alex encountered while he tried to cook spaghetti. It was amazing the number of things that were all-but impossible without two arms.

He checked the bedroom area and was pleased to see Mulder sound asleep. One of Scully's demands had been that he check Mulder's temperature. What he was looking for, Alex wasn't sure, but he should probably do as she recommended.

He slid into his jacket and let himself out of the room. Two locks snapped quietly into place behind him and Alex slid the deadbolt key into place and turned it as well. The building didn't have an alarm system, that would have been hard to explain in an area like this, but it was liberally sprinkled with booby-traps. Mulder was about as safe as Alex could make him.

Twenty minutes later, he let himself back into the guarded room. Mulder was still asleep, he didn't seem to have moved. Alex left the garlic in the kitchen, then took the thermometer into the bathroom. When Mulder woke up, he'd have to be convinced to let Alex change his bandages and take his temperature. If Alex remembered the instructions on the bottle, it would be time for another of the blood-thinning pills as well.

He caught a glimpse of his face in the bathroom mirror and stared at himself for a minute. You don't look like Florence Fucking Nightingale. He shook his head. Whatever it takes. He made all of the preparations. If Mulder was cooperative, it would be easier, and neater, to change the dressings in the bathroom.

Alex sat back down at the computer and booted it up. First, he sent a message to Skinner, demanding that the older man keep talking with him. As long as the older man was answering his e-mail, Alex could be reasonably sure that he wasn't about to break down the door and come flying in to rescue his most troublesome agent. The same thing went for Scully. If the two of them were at their computers, they weren't in meetings arranging an all-out Bureau manhunt. They also weren't scouring the neighborhood around Mulder's apartment building for anyone who had seen a one-armed man rolling an wheelchair carrying a man with his ankle in a cast into a handicapped-accessible van at 4:15 that morning.

He sat there for a while, waiting for Skinner to give him an opening which never came. His answers to Scully got shorter and shorter. He knew Mulder would kill him if Alex dragged her into Mulder's carefully guarded lust for Skinner, so he stuck with his original theme that he was protecting Mulder from danger. With Skinner, Alex felt no such compunction. Regardless of what Mulder might think, Alex intended to have some fun with the starched-to-the-ears Assistant Director. Who knew? It might even start Stonewall Skinner thinking in the direction Mulder was interested in.

Ending credits rolled up on the movie screen as Alex logged off the computer. Skinner had been maddeningly distant and any amusement value Scully might have possessed had disappeared five seconds after she had started sending list after list of potentially fatal complications her partner might face.

He moved over to the bed and touched Mulder's shoulder. "Wake up."

Mulder frowned in his sleep, rubbing his head with one hand. The marks that pain had etched between his eyes had smoothed out as the medication had taken hold. He hadn't told Scully, but Alex had been given a different bottle of pills and instructed to start Mulder on the lighter painkillers the next day. His superiors were as concerned as Mulder's partner about the possibility of addiction.

"Mulder. You need to wake up."

"Why?" His voice was soft and slurred. "You gonna lemme go home?"

"Not quite yet, buddy. But soon." Alex touched Mulder's hair lightly, then stepped back. "Wake yourself up. You need to walk around some more."

"Thrills never cease 'round here, do they?" Mulder yawned and stretched. "Where we goin'?"

Alex's lips twitched but he kept his voice serious. "How about the bathroom again."

Mulder seemed to be considering that. "Dunno. ...'s'too mush trouble."

"You can rest when we get there. I'll give you a few minutes to finish waking up."

"...'n I have some coffee?"

"Not at this time of the night." Something in Alex warmed as he looked at the sleepy, unguarded face. "We'll have dinner pretty soon."

Mulder made a face. "Na'h hungry."

"It will be better than the lunch, I promise." Alex waited a moment. "Open your eyes."

Mulder did so, reluctantly. "I'm awake."

Alex poured a fresh glass of water. Why don't you sit up on the edge of the bed and drink this?"

"Wha's in it?"

"It's water, Mulder. We did that one already, okay?"

"Yeah." Mulder sighed, then pushed himself up and braced his leg as he lowered his injured ankle to the floor. Alex handed him the water and Mulder drank it slowly, looking more alert every second.

"Ready?"

Mulder nodded and took the crutches Alex was holding. He let Mulder go to the bathroom alone, there wasn't much in there he could hurt himself with and he didn't seem to be that depressed, in spite of Scully's warnings about suicide attempts. When the door opened, Alex was standing just outside of it.

"Wha's all that stuff on the counter?" Mulder looked stubborn.

"Medicine." Alex urged the older man back into the small bathroom and pushed on his shoulders until Mulder reluctantly sat down.

"You're going to change the dressings?" Mulder's attitude was returning fast.

"Yeah. Scully says your arm will rot and drop off if I don't. And we don't want that to happen, do we?" Alex glared at Mulder.

The other man had the grace to look uncomfortable and embarrassed. And, as hoped, he didn't give Alex any trouble through the procedure of changing the dressing and having his temperature taken. He even let Alex pull up his tee-shirt and check a couple of particularly bad burn spots on his back, accepting without comment the soothing cream that Alex smoothed onto them.

Alex checked the thermometer. Normal. "How do you feel?"

"Just peachy." Mulder shook his head. "Why do you keep asking me that? How the fuck do you expect me to feel?"

"I don't give a shit about your attitude problems. We can talk about them later." Alex poured alcohol over the thermometer and put it back in the case. "I'm talking about your arm. And your leg."

"They're fine." Mulder shook his head again. "Thanks, if that was what you were looking for."

"It wasn't." Alex moved out of the bathroom. "You can walk around for a while, or sit back down on the bed, whichever you want.

He sat in the desk chair and watched Mulder take a couple of trips around the room. The older man already looked steadier on his feet, but he was soon ready to give up.

"Why don't you find something on the television before you lay down?" Alex suggested.

Mulder looked surprised and reluctant, but after a minute he shrugged and made his way over to the small television. Obviously, it hadn't taken him long to realize that he could either watch television, or lay on the bed hour after hour staring at the dirty ceiling.

Alex helped Mulder lie back down, then moved the crutches out of reach. "I'm going to fix dinner."

"I'm really not hungry." Mulder's gaze was fastened on the tv.

"You have to eat. I'd rather you did it willingly since I've never tried to force-feed anyone spaghetti before.

"Spaghetti?" Mulder looked wary.

"It's from a jar," Alex admitted. "But I've had this kind before. It doesn't suck."

Mulder shrugged. "Whatever." His eyes turned back to the television.

"Mulder." Alex moved over next to the bed. "I think we need to talk."

"Nothing to say, is there?" Mulder didn't look at him.

"Yeah, well, maybe you'll feel like less of an asshole after dinner." Alex knew his own temper was fraying and that a decent meal would make a big difference. Just like a good night's sleep, which he hadn't been able to enjoy last night.

It took him longer than he'd expected to get everything ready, but the food smelled good and by the time he took a loaded plate into Mulder, the other man was actually watching the door to the alcove with interest. Alex brought his own plate into the bedroom area and sat it on the desk table, then sat staring at it. Shit. He hadn't tried spaghetti before. Suddenly he wasn't sure he could manage it.

The counter in the kitchen would do. It was out of Mulder's line of vision and high enough to simplify most of the problems.

"Don't you dare." Mulder's quiet voice stopped him as Alex started to stand up, plate in hand.

"What?" He was surprised to see real anger on Mulder's face. "What the fuck is wrong, now? "

Mulder ignored the question. "You don't have to go hide." The anger faded from his gaze. "I'm not going to make fun of you, you know." He tore off a piece of bread and tried to smile. "After all, you're the guy with the gun, right?"

"Some things are just a little complicated." Alex turned away, not willing to let Mulder see the look on his face. "Just takes some practice."

"Practice right there." It had the sound of an order. Mulder tried another smile. "Maybe I can give you some pointers."

"What would you know about it?" Alex dropped the plate back onto the desk and concentrated on not hiding the stiff, gloved thing at the end of his arm behind his back. "Not too damned much."

"I don't know." Mulder sounded casual. "Maybe not. But, on the other hand, do you know how to take a piss standing one leg?"

Alex tried to picture it. An involuntary laugh as he considered the questions of balance and aim. "Jeez...how do you do it?"

For a moment, Mulder's face reflected the same amusement. "Takes practice, like anything else."

Alex sat down and contemplated the plate full of spaghetti with a quiet sigh.

"Use both forks." Mulder was still watching him. "It will take you a couple of minutes to get the hang of it, but it will be easier."

"Not that I don't appreciate the advice, Mulder, but I can handle this." Alex wondered how much of the rich spaghetti sauce was going to wind up on the front of his shirt before the meal was over. He ate a piece of garlic bread, working out the problem in his head. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed him that Mulder was chewing absently, his eyes glued to the tv screen.

Alex sighed and picked up both forks.

Twenty minutes later he sat back and eyed the remains of his second plate of spaghetti with satisfaction. Mulder was still eating. Alex watched him for a minute, then realized that the other man was having his own problems, trying to balance the place on his lap and feed himself. Have to find something to use as a table.

By the time he was almost done clearing up the mess in the kitchen, Mulder was done. Alex gave him an unopened bottle of water as he took the empty plate. "You're not drinking enough liquids."

Mulder rolled his eyes, but he took the water. "Can I have the crutches?"

Alex took the plate to the kitchen, then retrieved the crutches and waited while Mulder pulled himself back to his feet. "I'll be in the kitchen. Yell if you need anything."

"I'll be okay." Mulder headed toward the bathroom again and Alex went back to finish cleaning the kitchen. A few minutes later, the silence from the bedroom area worried him. He stepped around the partition and looked around the room. Mulder was nowhere in sight.

Alex walked over and leaned against the door jamb, watching Mulder struggle with the locks on the heavy hallway door. "Thought I told you to yell if you needed anything. Like the key to the door."

Mulder jerked and stiffened. He turned to face Alex, moving awkwardly in the small space. "What did you expect me to do?"

"Just what you did." Alex smiled. "You're nothing if not predictable, Mulder." He moved away from the wall and nodded toward the larger room. "Go on."

Mulder gave a last glance toward the door to freedom, then moved past Alex and toward the bed.

"Don't forget to go to the bathroom." Alex met Mulder's angry glare calmly. "You're going to be cuffed from now on, so you'd better take care of business now."

"Cuffed." Mulder spat the word. "I suppose that's about as much as I could expect."

"Yeah, well, when you're writing your memoirs, be sure and include the part where I didn't tie you up as long as you behaved yourself." Alex didn't take the insult personally. Mulder had to have known that escape wouldn't be that easy. But he'd had to try, and they both knew it.

When Mulder was settled back onto the bed, Alex removed the crutches and turned up the sound on the television. In spite of his threat, he didn't bother with the handcuffs. Mulder wasn't going anywhere and they both knew it. He could just sit there and stare at whatever the hell came on this channel until he was done sulking.

Alex booted up the computer, ignoring Mulder's mumbled curse. He exchanged e-mails with both Skinner and Scully for a while, but the game that had been so amusing earlier that day failed to hold his interest. Skinner's complete lack of personal interest in Mulder was obvious, as was the fact that Scully was torn between worry about her partner, and the desire to reach through the computer and strangle Alex with both hands.

He glanced at Mulder. "Skinners' threatening me with the full weight of The Law and Scully wants me to take your temperature and tickle your toes."

Mulder looked irritated. "Can't you just leave them the hell alone?"

"What? And have them thinking that I've stashed your lifeless body somewhere and I'm headed out of the country?" Alex shook his head. "Anything you want me to tell them?"

"Having a shitty time, wish Krycek was dead." Mulder took a drink of water and stared at the tv.

Alex turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen. One of the cabinets held an unopened bottle of tequila. Cuervo Gold. At least they'd sprung for the good stuff, although he would have preferred vodka. Another cabinet yielded a small juice glass. But, did they buy us any orange juice? No. Typical bureaucratic fuck-up.

He took both back to the living room and settled back into the hard desk chair, propping his feet up on the rickety desk. He wished to hell whoever had furnished the room had had the imagination to include somewhere comfortable to sit. Every possible arrangement had been made for Mulder's safety, but no one had stopped to think about the needs of the man who would be guarding him. Alex wondered if that was a reflection of his standing with his superiors, or just an oversight. He decided not to examine the question too closely.

He broke the seal on the bottle and poured some of the pale liquor into the glass. Mulder was watching another monster movie, this one in full color. Alex tossed about half the liquor in the glass down his throat and held his breath, waiting for the burn to ease off.

"I thought you were guarding me. Getting drunk your idea of the best way to handle that job?"

"Fuck you, Mulder." He didn't look at the other man. A few shots of tequila wouldn't make that much difference. With a little luck, they'd just blur the edges and get him through the evening.

Mulder's disapproval reached across the room like a chill wind. Alex poured the rest of the shot down his throat, combating his companion's icy silence with the heat of the tequila.

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"Last week I wanted to talk. Yesterday I wanted to talk. Today, I'm not feeling conversational." Alex poured more tequila into the glass.

"If you had something to say, why didn't you just say it? Why were you fucking around with all of those stupid messages?"

"Why not?" Alex took a sip and watched a chubby blonde guy on-screen get torn into about thirty-eight distinct pieces by something green and gray, with a lot of tentacles. "Besides, if I'd skipped the attitude and just sent you a polite note, would you really have believed it was me? Would you have listened?"

He could hear Mulder shifting around on the bed. "Maybe not."

"Maybe not." Alex took another sip. It didn't burn as much now, his mouth and throat were already slightly numb.

"I'm here now." Mulder's voice was patient. "I'm willing to listen."

"You haven't got a hell of a lot of choice." Now some dark-haired girl was running from the same monster, or its twin brother. Alex studied her face. Intelligent. She was the one who was going to survive. You could always tell after about five minutes of these things which of the kids would get dismembered or eaten or absorbed or whatever, and which ones had the brains to get away.

"So, let's make a virtue out of necessity, right?" Mulder's voice was tense. "You wanted to talk. I'm ready to listen."

"Wait for a commercial." Alex took another drink. He wasn't crazy about tequila, but this was pretty good stuff. The heat was reaching down into his feet. Or, up, since his feet were propped on the desk at the level of his head. A few more drinks, and that was going to be pretty funny.

"Damn it, Krycek!" A few more drinks and maybe that note in Mulder's voice would sound funny, too, but Alex doubted it. He rolled a mouthful of the liquor across his tongue and wished for limes and salt.

"Krycek!" Mulder sighed loudly.

On-screen a cat was getting it. Alex winced. He liked cats. He hated movie makers who abused defenseless animals. Why couldn't they stick with letting their monsters tear apart horny teenagers? God knows there were too many of them in the world.

"Krycek, are you listening?"

"No. Take a pill." Alex sipped tequila. "Take two pills. Shut up."

A few blessed minutes silence. Alex refilled his glass. He could hear Mulder fumbling with something on the table. When he looked, the agent had the bottle of painkillers in his hand. Alex slammed the glass to the table and lurched out of his chair.

Mulder stared open-mouthed as Alex dashed across the room and grabbed the bottle from his hand. "What the . . . ."

Alex glared at him and checked his watch. "Not for another hour. Scully said you're taking too many of these."

"You could have just said so."

"She said don't trust you." Alex carried the bottle back to the desk. He dropped into his chair and picked his glass up again, trying to find the only position where the hard chair didn't feel like a torture device More tequila. He needed more tequila.

"I want to talk, Alex." Mulder's soft words caught his attention.

He frowned at the other man. "About what?"

Mulder's eyes closed and his lips moved silently. Looks pissed. Alex took a drink. He's always pissed. He shifted his chair until he was facing the other man.

"Okay." He felt more cooperative all of a sudden. "Let's talk."

"Good." Mulder's eyes flickered to the glass in his hand, then away. "Where do you want to start?"

"Let's have another drink." Alex was starting to feel pretty good. "Sorry about the water, but that's probably all you should have." He thought for a minute. "There isn't any orange juice, but you can have decaf coffee."

"No. I'm fine."

Alex nodded. "Just as well. It's instant." He savored the tequila. "You think of anything, you let me know."

"Right," Mulder said quietly. "Talk to me."

Alex wriggled down until he could rest his head against the back of the chair. "Sure. Last week, or yesterday?"

"Did last week have anything to do with yesterday?"

"Not much," Alex admitted. "I heard some rumors that something was about to happen. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up." He grinned. And pull your chain a little at the same time, of course."

"Of course. And, yesterday?"

"More rumors. A few facts. I got some new orders." Alex punctuated each statement with a sip of tequila.

"Slow down." Mulder sounded annoyed but Alex caught a glimpse of something uneasy in the other man's eyes.

"Talking? Or, drinking?"

"Both." Mulder glanced toward the television impatiently.

It is kinda' loud. Alex grabbed his bottle and went over to turn down the sound. The monsters had disappeared. Now Cary Grant was chasing some blonde in a tight dress.

"That better?" Alex stretched luxuriously. Damn. His back hurt already.

"I guess so. You going to add some details to that story?"

"Why not?" Alex climbed onto the bed and stopped, kneeling over Mulder's thighs. "Don't suppose you want to fool around, as long as we have some time on our hands?"

Mulder's face was expressionless. "Don't suppose so, no."

"Didn't think so." Alex looked around. He'd forgotten the glass, but that was okay. He still had the bottle. "Why not?"

"Why not?"

"Yeah." Alex was annoyed. "Whythefucknot? I'm doing you a favor, aren't I? Not the first one, either."

"You're asking me why I'm not trading sexual favors for information?"

"That's not what I said!" Alex thought. "Well, maybe it was." He crawled off of Mulder, taking care not to bump the damaged ankle. "I don't suppose there's any objection to me being comfortable, though?"

"As long as that's the only thing you feel, no, no objection."

"I'm feeling a lot of things, but they're mostly none of your fucking business." Alex wished he hadn't forgotten the glass. He hated drinking out of the bottle. It was too hard to tell how much you were swallowing.

"You want to get back to the point before you get so drunk you can't talk at all?"

"You haven't seen me drunk, Mulder. A little tequila isn't going to do the job, don't worry."

"Rumors and orders," Mulder reminded him.

"Yeah." Alex sat at the foot of the bed, where he could watch the other man while they talked. He couldn't see the tv from here, but that was no big loss. He wasn't a big Cary Grant fan. "Some kind of shake-up in the power structure. The wrong guys were about to wind up on top." He took a careful swallow. "But it's temporary. Or, so they tell me. In a couple of days, the status quo comes back. Somehow." He shrugged. "They didn't tell me. Anyhow, I'm supposed to keep you on ice for the time being. Because the guys giving the orders for the next couple of days aren't members of your fan club, you know?"

He took another drink. "How's that for a drunk? Concise enough for you?"

"A few more details wouldn't be bad."

"I'll bet." Alex laughed. He checked his watch. "Time for your bedtime snack, buddy. Why don't you try it with one pill tonight? If you need another one, I promise I'll give it to you later."

"I'm not done talking to you."

"I know," Alex said patiently. "But I also know those damned things take almost an hour to kick in."

Mulder looked uncertain. "Okay. But we keep talking."

"Agreed." Alex put his bottle on the floor and went back to the desk. He shook one painkiller out, leaving the bottle on the desk. He brought the pill back to Mulder. "You should sit up. Hits your stomach faster that way."

"Yeah, yeah." Mulder sounded more resigned than irritated. Alex helped him lower the injured ankle to the floor and watched as the older man swallowed the pill.

Mulder rubbed his head. "Can I have the crutches?

"Sure." Alex retrieved the crutches from the far corner. "You need some help?"

"No. I'm fine." Mulder pulled himself to his feet. "Thanks."

"No problem."

The bathroom door closed behind Mulder. Alex decided to give the e-mail one last look. He booted up the machine and found a message from Skinner waiting. Big surprise. He read the note and laughed softly. It looked like his needling was finally getting under the big guy's defenses. One ear tuned for the sound of Mulder, he typed a quick, sloppy response and sent it. He leaned back in the chair and waited, grinning to himself.

Thirty seconds later, the mail tone chimed again. He must have been sitting on top of the thing. Alex typed another quick response, adding a few typos for effect. After a moment's thought, he added a final note to say he was going off-line for the night. He sent the last message and closed down the computer quickly, trying to wipe the smile off his face.

He helped Mulder back onto the bed, not forgetting to leave the crutches well out of reach. Mulder watched the precaution without comment. Alex slid back onto the bed, hesitating to smile down at Mulder and watch the faint expression of alarm in the other man's eyes before he settled on the other side of the bed.

After a moment's consideration, he rearranged the pillows under Mulder's leg, leaving room to prop himself up on the unused half of them.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"In case you didn't notice, buddy, you not only got the only comfortable seat in the house, you're using all of the pillows." Alex rolled over and grabbed his bottle, then settled back onto the pillows carefully. "Unless you'd prefer me to cuddle up at the head of the bed next to you, of course."

"You can just take a couple of the pillows," Mulder said instantly.

"No way." Krycek checked the level in the tequila bottle. "Scully would kill me. Relax, Mulder, I'm not going to start gnawing on the cast or anything."

Mulder didn't look happy, but he shrugged. "Whatever. Details, Alex. I need details."

"Don't have many, buddy." Alex took a sip. He couldn't even feel the alcohol burn any more. He'd probably had about enough. "I get money. I get orders." That wasn't entirely true, but it was close a lot of the time.

"Bullshit."

Alex chuckled. "I have some speculations, if you're interested."

"I'm interested."

"I thought you might be." Alex watched the light flicker across Mulder's face. He thought about reaching over and turning off the television, but the quiet background noise was soothing. "First, we have to come to an understanding."

"Now what?" Mulder looked resigned.

"Trust." Alex watched a shadow darken Mulder's eyes. "I'm not saying you have to give up hating me. But I'm not going to put up with this bullshit from you every time I want to talk to you, either."

"What do you expect? Because if you think I'm going to let you lead me around by the nose just because you say you're saving my life one time . . . ."

"I don't expect very fucking much, Mulder. Just a fair shake. Most of the shit you think you have on me is just supposition and speculation." Alex was impressed that he'd been able to get that out without stuttering. "All I'm asking is the benefit of the doubt. I have my own plans and I'm not pretending otherwise, okay? But we do have common interests."

"Name two." Mulder grabbed the water bottle and took a drink. Alex had the feeling he was wishing it were the tequila. He checked his watch. Probably another thirty minutes before the pill kicked in.

"How about the future of the planet and the downfall of some of those bastards, for starters?"

Mulder didn't look impressed. "Okay. A good opening move. What else?"

"You said name two. I did."

"The benefit of the doubt." Mulder rested his head against the headboard and stared at Alex through narrowed eyes. "I'll try. That's the best I can do."

"I can live with that." Alex took another sip of tequila. He'd really have to stop soon. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

"The names of the men involved, their addresses, and their complete agenda."

Alex was surprised into a laugh. "Well, it's good to think big."

"What can you tell me?"

"Not all of that, that's for sure. I know bits and pieces, Mulder. Most of which you know, too. Names? Addresses? They don't exactly have me on their Christmas card lists, you know?

"How about their overall plan?"

"I gave you that last time. As much as I know of it." Alex shrugged, careful not to jostle Mulder's ankle. "Haven't learned anything new since then."

"What do you know?" Mulder tightened his lips. "Anything?"

"I know that there's a split in the group in power," Alex countered. "And that some of them want you dead and some of them don't. The ones who are in charge most of the time don't, okay? They're not exactly on your side, don't get me wrong, but for some reason a live Special Agent Fox Mulder fits their plans better than a dead one. And they obviously think your job is important, or they wouldn't have missed any of the five hundred opportunities you've given them to get your ass booted out of the Bureau, right?"

"But what does that tell me?" Mulder looked frustrated, and Alex didn't blame him. He wondered if Mulder would ever put the pieces together and realize how much time he'd spent walking down a road carefully paved with just enough facts and vague possibilities to keep him moving in the right direction.

Alex hoped the medication would hit pretty soon. He knew some other things, but not many he wanted to share with Mulder right now. His life hinged on keeping some of them quiet. Others were bargaining chips too valuable to trade for a little good will.

"I can't put the pieces together for you, Mulder. I didn't say I could. Something's about to happen, I know that. This group, the one that's trying to grab power now, they made their move for a reason. Something crucial is about to happen, or not happen, and they wanted to be the ones making the decision."

"Was killing me part of what is or isn't going to happen, or was it just an afterthought?"

"It was part of it, somehow. They wanted you out of the way because they think you'll interfere."

"Tell me something I can use, Krycek."

"Something you can use." Alex sighed. "It's all useful, Mulder, right? Every little bit is a little bit more than you had, right? There's something big about to happen. That's what I got. Take it or leave it."

Mulder stared at the ceiling. Alex could see his brain working. Sifting, sorting, pulling out suspicions and possibilities. Some day, they're going to fuck up, he decided. They're going to give him one fact too many, and the entire thing will fall into place for him. Alex took a last swallow of the tequila, then re-capped the bottle and put it on the floor. And I'm going to be on the winning side. One way, or another.

Alex glanced at the foot resting on the pillows next to his head. He slid one finger inside the end of the cast, stroking the bottom of Mulder's toes.

"Hey!" Mulder's foot jerked and he pushed himself upright, reaching for Alex's hand. "What the hell . . . ."

"Scully said to," Alex said virtuously. "Check his toes, she said. Check the circulation."

Mulder's glare burned almost as badly as the tequila. "My fucking circulation is just fine. Keep your hands to yourself."

"Scully said to," Alex repeated. "We have to take your temperature and change the dressings again, too.

"Leave me alone." Mulder looked tired. "I'm sick of that shit."

Alex eyed the other man thoughtfully. "Maybe I know something else you can use. Maybe I don't. But you're not going to find out unless you cooperate."

"That's blackmail."

"Justifiable." Alex pushed himself upright reluctantly. "It's self-defense."

"Meaning?"

"I don't forget your partner has a gun, even if you do. She's just hoping I'll give her a reason to shoot me." He crawled over Mulder, avoiding the injured ankle, and half-staggered over to where the crutches leaned against a nearby wall. "I don't want to die, and I'm sure as hell not doing it because you're too fucking stubborn to put on a new band-aid. "Now stand up and quit giving me shit about this."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were more afraid of Scully than you are of me." Mulder dragged himself to his feet.

"You don't know any better." Alex led the way to the small bathroom and let Mulder wait while he gathered fresh gauze and ran a basin of water. To keep Mulder quiet, Alex shoved the thermometer in his mouth before he did anything else.

It took both of them to remove the old bandages on Mulder's arm this time, neither of them were very steady. The painkiller was starting to flood Mulder's system, making him uncooperative and difficult to talk to. The tequila Alex was already regretting made it hard for him to concentrate as well. Jesus. What a pair. Alex narrowed his eyes and steadied his hand as he cut away at the old bandages.

Finally, the job was done. Halfway back to the bed, Mulder wavered and started to fall. Alex jumped forward and caught him, his good arm around Mulder's waist. "Hey. You okay?"

"S'jus the meds." Mulder looked dazed. "S'hard to focus."

"We'd better get you off your feet." Alex took the crutch out of Mulder's left hand and pulled the other man's arm around his neck. "I'll get the stick. Lean on me." Alex hoped like hell he didn't trip and take both of them to the floor. He couldn't remember how much tequila he'd managed to swallow, but the longer he tried to remain upright, the clearer it was that he'd had too much.

"Get y'r hands'off me," Mulder tried to push him away.

"I'm not groping you, I'm helping you, asshole." Alex urged Mulder toward the bed. "Although I don't suppose you can tell the difference. Christ, that must be some good shit they have you on."

"Damned straight." Mulder leaned on the crutch and hobbled forward a step. "Helping. " It was clear what he thought of the idea.

"Yeah, whatever," Alex muttered. "Keep moving," he ordered.

"I am." Mulder figured out how to shift his balance, leaning against Alex to move the crutch forward, then letting the stick hold his weight as he stepped with his uninjured leg.

It must have taken them five minutes to make the last ten or fifteen feet to the bed and then to get Mulder back into position with his ankle comfortably elevated.

Alex picked up the small water pitcher and drained it, then helped himself to the last half of Mulder's bottle of water. The water would help fight the hangover he could already imagine.

"Tha's mine." Mulder looked pissed. "I was drinking that."

Alex rubbed his head and sighed. "You know, with a little effort, you could be a real shithead." In the kitchen, he grabbed two more bottles of water and took them back to the bed.

Mulder took one, inspected the seal, then opened it and took a drink. "Get y'r own."

"I did." Alex crawled over Mulder again, ignoring the muttered protests. "Would this be a good time to remind you that you're a prisoner here? The manual says don't argue with a terrorist."

"You. You're not a terroris'." Mulder stared at the ceiling. "Jus' a pawn. They're playin' you like they are me, ya' know."

"You think so?" Alex moved Mulder's ankle over, more carefully than the asshole deserved, then reclaimed his place against the pillows.

"Yeah." Mulder nodded sagely. "So do you." He lifted the bottle to his mouth, almost spilling it across the sheets.

Alex braced his own water bottle against his side and twisted the cap. If he could stay awake long enough to get most of this down, he'd be a lot happier in the morning.

"Talk to me," Mulder demanded. "Y'said you wanted to talk, right?"

Alex slid his hand under Mulder's leg and stroked the back of his knee, letting his hand slide up the back of the thigh. He ignored the outraged yelp from the head of the bed. The skin was warm and a light dusting of hair prickled against his fingertips.

It was an amazing sensation. Alex didn't think he'd paid enough attention to what it felt like to touch someone else, how different someone else's body felt against your hands. Not until he only had one hand left to explore with. Sometimes, he though the nerves he had left were twice as sensitive as they had been.

"Damnit, Krycek!" Mulder was sitting up, grabbing at Alex's wrist.

Alex pulled his hand away. "Something wrong?" He watched Mulder's face. "You try to get out of this bed and I will cuff you, Mulder."

"I'm not sleeping here with you."

"Yes, you are." Alex took another long swallow of water.

"Get off this bed."

"No." He watched anger war in Mulder's face with the deadening effect of the painkiller.

"You asshole." Mulder collapsed against the pillows.

"If you look around," Alex offered, "you might notice that this is the only bed."

"Sleep on th' fucking floor."

"No."

Mulder glared at him, then his expression melted into confusion. "What th' hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?"

"Not a thing." Alex took another drink and moved the bottle to the floor. Enough was enough. Another swallow and he'd be drowning. "I just thought it might be fun to feel you up."

Mulder's face wavered between disbelief and anger. "Well, it wasn't."

"Was for me." Alex watched the expressive face while Mulder's drug-fogged brain wrestled with that one. "We don't have to, you know."

"And we aren't going to."

"Sure." Alex wrestled with the bedclothes and managed to untangle one half of a sheet. He draped it carefully across Mulder's legs, covering the other man from ankle to waist. "There. All safe."

Mulder's eyes drifted shut, then popped open again. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"Yeah, yeah." Alex pulled the blanket over his own legs. "Go to sleep." He was getting really tired of Mulder. He rested his arm over the top of Mulder's calf.

"Get your fuckin' han's off of me, Krycek."

"Your choice." Alex yawned. "I need to know where you are. Either you sleep with the cuffs on, or like this."

"No." Mulder was struggling against the influence of the medication.

"Shut up."

"You . . ." Mulder's complaint was swallowed up in a huge yawn. "I'm watchin' you."

"You do that." Alex wondered if he should turn off the light. No windows. He decided it would be easier to sleep with it on.

"Yeah. You jus' watch it." The other man's voice was fading into a murmur.

"I will." Alex patted Mulder's knee through the sheet. "You get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"Okay." The answer was barely audible. Through half-closed eyes, Alex watched Mulder's face smooth into sleep. At the very least, he'd have to face Mulder's contempt tomorrow, not a pleasant thought.

He cursed the alcohol that had muddied his thinking. Mulder had obviously been ready to keep throwing questions at him all night long and Alex hadn't been prepared to deal with them with the tequila muddling his brain. Mulder's bare leg, inches from his fingers had been the only distraction he could think of on the spur of the moment.

I wonder which of us got the most distracted. Alex could still feel the texture of Mulder's skin against his fingers. He pushed the thought aside. A few hours sleep would do him more good than useless regrets. He'd figure out how to deal with Mulder tomorrow.

In the end, the problem took care of itself. Both men slept unusually late. Mulder finally woke Alex with a demand for his crutches. Head hurting, mouth full of cotton, Alex snarled at Mulder's complaints and let the other man wait while he used the bathroom himself and splashed water on his face. Then he gave Mulder back his crutches and let the other man take himself into the bathroom..

First things first. He fired up the computer and checked the e-mail. Nothing. Skinner's probably having triplets by now. Alex sent a quick, rude note, assuring the A.D. that Mulder was doing fine, then shut down the machine.

Food. It might, or might not be a good idea. Experience told him that eating would help his condition, but his stomach insisted that anything solid would be promptly returned. Alex searched the kitchen for something simple and inoffensive for breakfast. As he struggled with the simple task of tearing open the plastic cap on a gallon of milk, he realized that Mulder was standing in the doorway of the kitchen alcove.

"Got a problem?"

"No." Mulder watched him for a moment. "Is there any coffee that isn't instant?"

"Sure." Alex nodded toward the coffee pot on the other counter. "Coffee's in the fridge."

Mulder seemed much steadier today, much more certain of his balance. Alex figured it was probably the reduction in the number of painkillers he'd had in the last twelve hours..

Once the coffee was done, Alex loaded cereal bowls and buttered toast onto plates and nodded for Mulder to lead the way back into the other room. As soon as the other man was settled onto the bed, Alex handed him one of the plates. He left his own breakfast on the desk and got each of them a cup of coffee. The entire process of fixing and eating breakfast took place in complete silence.

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed while Alex took the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

"You want some more coffee?" Alex set his own cup on the desk and waited.

"No." Mulder rubbed his head. "What I want is a shower."

"Sure." Alex headed toward the bathroom, then stopped. "Listen, this is going to take a couple of minutes. Why don't you put your foot back up while you wait?"

Mulder nodded shortly and swung his legs back up on the bed.

"You need a pill?"

Mulder shook his head. "No." He shrugged. "Don't want to fall asleep in the shower."

"You have a point." Alex headed toward the bathroom, unfolded the rubber-footed stool that had been provided for this necessity, and made all of the other arrangements. When he went back to the bedroom, Mulder was still laying on the bed, staring quietly at the ceiling.

"All yours."

Alex followed Mulder to the bathroom, then made the other man wait while he wrapped the cast and the bandages on the arm in heavy plastic, taping them down with a generous supply of surgical tape.

"You, uh, need any help?" Getting undressed, he meant. Alex wasn't surprised when Mulder shook his head. "Just a sec."

Alex rummaged around in the bedroom area and brought back a handful of clothes. He dropped them on the counter with a shrug. "Grabbed a few things for you the other morning."

"Thoughtful." Mulder didn't sound pissed as much as just discouraged.

Alex couldn't really blame him. "I'm going to leave the door open a few inches. Yell out if you need anything."

"I will." Mulder moved into the shower and sat down on the plastic stool carefully.

"I mean it," Alex insisted. "I'm not going to mess with you Mulder, I swear. Just be careful, okay?"

"I know you won't. I'll be careful."

Alex gave up and left the bathroom, pulling the door most of the way shut behind him. While Mulder was taking a shower, he finished cleaning the kitchen, then booted up the computer again. As expected, another message from Skinner. Alex sent back his usual rude response, but his heart wasn't in it.

Coffee, and a carefully chosen meal had eliminated most of his hangover, which hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it to be. Right now, his biggest problem was serious boredom. After he took his own shower, the biggest excitement the day promised was the adventure of fixing lunch. After that, he'd be able to look forward with anticipation to the thrills of cooking dinner. Being a kidnapper really sucks.

The cell-phone he'd kept carefully hidden from Mulder began to chirp. Only one person had the number, and there were two reasons he might be calling. Alex unlocked the desk drawer and flipped open the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Success. "

A dial tone hummed in his ear.

Well, well, well. Alex dropped the phone back into the drawer and stared at the blank surface of the computer. His exile, and Mulder's temporary incarceration, were at an end. Now what?

If he told Mulder, the agent would immediately demand to be taken home. He'd fight to get his hands on the cell-phone or the computer, and start calling out the dogs.

No way. Now it was time for Alex to put his own plans for his personal well-being into place.

He waited for Mulder to come out of the bathroom, and get arranged on the bed. Then Alex dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of the other man's face. "Left arm. Against the headboard."

"What the fuck . . . ." Mulder looked startled, then almost betrayed. "I thought we were past all of that."

"I'm going to take a shower myself. I don't want you getting into trouble while I'm distracted, okay?" Alex refused to let the look in Mulder's eyes soften him. "Hand up."

Mulder's face turned to stone. He shoved his arm over his head and Alex fastened his wrist against the iron headboard.

"I don't be long. Just sit still."

Alex showered and took care of his own needs, trying not to remember the way Mulder's eyes had gone cold at the sight of the cuffs. It was time for both of them to remember who they were. He made his plans as he dressed.

Back in the bedroom, he shook a painkiller out of the bottle and held it out. "Take it."

"I don't need it."

"The easy way or the hard way, it's up to you." Alex waited until Mulder took the pill, then handed the other man the bottle of water and made sure he swallowed the medication. He had about thirty or forty minutes to finish what he needed to do.

Mulder didn't say a word as Alex packed up the computer and a handful of other things. Alex slipped out the front door and moved through the booby-traps carefully, loading the stuff into the van. It took three trips before he had everything he wanted from the condemned apartment.

It took him a while to gather up each load and by the time he was done, Mulder's eyes were going hazy.

Big finale. Alex grabbed the lightweight wheelchair from the hallway and shoved it into the apartment. Even through the drugs, Mulder managed to look surprised.

"Goin' onna trip?" He was obviously trying for hostility, but his imperfect control over his tongue made the words a sulky blur.

"That's right." Alex bundled him into the wheelchair and headed toward the door. "Going to the circus. You like circuses, don't you, Mulder?"

"Fuck you, Krychuk."

Alex maneuvered the chair into the well-oiled freight elevator, then unhooked a couple of hidden tripwires before he pressed the Down button. "Whatever you say, buddy."

He got Mulder into the van and the chair locked into place. Remembering Scully's instructions, Alex stopped to raise the leg rest under the injured ankle. He couldn't get it as high as she'd wanted, but it was the best he could do.

"I hate you, Alex." Mulder's one contribution to the conversation was offered in a dreamy, thoughtful tone. The rest of the two-hour drive back into the city and to the agent's apartment was enlivened only by Alex's curses as he maneuvered the van through mid-day traffic.

He scanned the area as he parked the van in the lot next to Mulder's building. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the unmarked vehicle. Alex loosened his gun in its holster and set about the job of getting Mulder's wheelchair onto the van's ramp and then onto the asphalt.

He waited, hiding behind the vehicle's protection while a woman left the building, got into her car, and drove out of the parking lot. She didn't seem to notice them.

Alex was sweating. This was the dangerous part. His orders had been just to drop the agent at the door and leave. Fast.

He slipped on a second glove, ignoring his instructions. Getting the wheelchair into the building was simple enough, even when he had to convince Mulder to balance the crutches on his lap. There was no one in the hallway, the elevator, or the corridor leading to Mulder's apartment.

As usual, picking the lock to the agent's apartment took almost thirty seconds. Alex got himself, Mulder, and the wheelchair inside and the door closed just in time. As the latch clicked behind them, he heard a door open down the hallway and voices.

Alex pulled his gun and waited. The voices grew louder, then faded as whoever it was passed the door and went on. Alex heard the elevator bell. False alarm? There was no way to be sure. Not without opening the door, anyhow.

That could wait. He got Mulder onto the couch with his leg propped up. The bottle of pills, prints rubbed off, he left on the desk. There was a stale pitcher of water on the small coffee table. Alex took a minute to refill it, with a wry smile at his own stupidity. The computer was last. He opened it and wiped every surface, then left it on the coffee table next to the water. He even plugged in the modem and booted it up. The television remote control was in its usual place on the back of the couch. Guess that's it.

Alex checked the room one last time. None of his precautions would fool the experts, but they might slow them down.

He checked the peephole in the hall door. The corridor looked empty. Alex eased open the door and risked a look outside, scanning the deserted area quickly.

"Krycek!"

Mulder's voice, surprisingly loud, startled him. It was the first sound the agent had made since his rude remark in the van an hour ago. Alex glanced back. "Yeah?"

"You're a real fuckhead, you know that?"

"I know, buddy. You just hang onto that thought. And answer me nicely when I write to you, or you'll hurt my feelings."

"Try not to get your asshole self killed before I'm strong enough to do it myself, right?" Mulder closed his eyes and nuzzled his head into the back of the couch.

Alex went back into the room and put the telephone on the coffee table. "Call him. He's going to be crazy."

"Quit reading my fucking mail, too."

Alex looked down at the muddled face. He reached out and traced Mulder's lower lip with one slow finger. "Anything you say, buddy."

He headed back across the room. "Dial the phone, Mulder."

Alex checked the hallway again, and ventured out. Five seconds later he twisted his wrist and the deadbolt to Mulder's apartment slid into place. He's as safe as he ever was. That thought gave Alex a slight twinge. Fuck it. He'll call Walter and there will be agents all over this place in fifteen minutes. He's their problem now.

Alex slipped down the stairway quietly and headed out the back of the building. Fifteen minutes later, he abandoned the van in a shopping center parking lot and stepped onto a bus.

They'd both survived this time. Their common enemies, and each other. Alex wondered how much longer his luck was going to hold.

****

The end