Date sent: Mon, 22 Dec 1997 11:34:03 -0500 (EST) From: Jessica Zyvarek Taylor Subject: Lost Lost Jessica Zyvarek Taylor Part 1 She looked down at the skirt she was wearing and cringed. She couldn't believe she'd left the house looking like this. Of course, had she at least been with another person she would have felt better, but she wasn't with anyone else. The truth was, she didn't really have anyone to ask. She only rarely kept up contact with her friends from college, most of whom were married now, and the one she'd actually spoken with had been busy. She always had Mulder, but she wasn't about to ask Mulder to go out with her to pick up guys. She wasn't sure that he would have gone with her, had she asked him out without the 'to pick up guys' clause. All day, he'd been acting like he had plans. Well, he'd been in a good mood, which in his book equated to his having plans. She hopped off the stool she'd been perched on to straighten her skirt out and tug on the hem a little, hoping that it might actually grow. But as her feet touched the floor, she felt her whole body start to sway. Luckily, there was someone standing beside her that steadied her and waited until she'd safely made it back on top of her stool. She smiled thankfully at him before he walked away with his giggling girlfriend. She ducked her head and looked around, praying that no one had noticed. She hadn't been aware that she'd drank so much, but when she thought back and tried to count, she realized that the last few hours had grown progressively fuzzier. She looked back in front of her and noticed that bartender staring at her with his hand outstretched. She felt her face grow hot as she handed over her keys. Now she'd be trapped here until she sobered up. Or got drunk enough to call someone to take her home. She picked up the glass of wine in front of her and drank the last few sips without pausing. Giving in to the fact that the night had gone belly up in her face and that she did not want to remember the look on Mulder's face when he had to drag her sorry ass home, she put the empty glass on the counter and nodded at the bartender. Three drinks later, she forgot why she had decided to drink herself stupid and stopped for a few minutes. The guy she'd fallen on earlier returned, this time girlfriendless. She let him sit down and make some jokes which she normally wouldn't have thought funny and found herself laughing so hard that she couldn't sit up straight. In fact, she was laughing so hard she slipped off the other side of the stool. And this time, she was too drunk to even have a chance to right herself. The guy she'd fallen on this time, actually lifted her back onto the stool before asking her if she was all right. She wasn't even embarrassed this time and just nodded, hoping that he was still looking. Her hilarious new friend seemed mighty pleased with his ability to crack her up. And he decided that she was too drunk to know what was going on, which made his plan much easier. He stood up, and pulled her up as well. She wasn't doing too well with this whole standing thing and she wasn't sure that the dance floor was where she belonged. What she didn't know was that the dance floor wasn't exactly what this guy had in mind. He had her out the back door before she realized it. And it still hadn't occurred to her to worry until his hand clamped something over her mouth and her world went black. ##### Sighing, he hung up the phone. She either wasn't home or she wasn't answering. But regardless of what she was doing, he wasn't getting her on the phone. So he flipped on the TV and sat on his couch feeling sorry for himself. He spent the rest of the weekend feeling sorry for himself, and incorrectly assuming that he'd somehow pissed Scully off since she wasn't returning his phone calls. So he didn't even notice that she was missing until Monday morning when she didn't show up for work. ##### A glass of ice cold water aimed directly at her face woke her right up. And her pounding head begged her to shut off the music. Not understanding why she'd left the music on so loud, how she'd gotten home, or who was throwing water at her, she reached for the radio. Rather, she tried to reach for the radio. Her hands ignored her commands. And when she looked up to see why they were ignoring her, she realized that it was because of the handcuffs. The handcuffs connected to the bed. Had she not been handcuffed to it, she would have jumped straight up. As drunk as she had been, she couldn't figure out how the hell she'd gotten in this position. Suddenly, the loud music stopped, almost relieving her headache. She looked at the man kneeling by the side of the bed, looking hopelessly smug. Just as her mind was beginning to process the fact that she knew this man, he spoke. "You don't look so tough now, Scully." The way he said her name made her squirm. But she still couldn't place exactly who it was. She looked down, realized thankfully that she was still dressed, but noted miserably that it was still in the outfit she couldn't believe she'd left the house in. And after lying in bed for who knew how many hours, the skirt had twisted itself around her and was quite definitely way too short for her liking. As if reading her mind, the guy reached out and placed his hand on her knee, sliding it ever so slowly upward. He laughed when she started to squirm and then pulled his hand away. She searched his face, knowing she knew him, but not being able to place him. "You don't recognize me, do you?" He laughed again and sauntered out of the room. His laughter echoed back into the room, making her want to throw up, but then she realized that it might not just be his laughter that made her feel that way. ##### Mulder waited as long as he felt was necessary for her to come strolling in late, saying she'd overslept or her car had broken down and she just hadn't thought to call. Then he got in the car and sped to her house,praying that she was sick or something and had decided to sleep in. But he knew, almost too quickly, that her car wasn't there. And when he opened the door and looked around, he knew she wasn't there either. Nothing, except the lights having been left on, was notably wrong, but still the apartment didn't feel right. He had the same feeling that he'd had in her old apartment that night Duane Barry had taken her. He couldn't describe the feeling other than to say that it just struck him that she was missing. Somehow, he could always feel her with him and know that she as ok. But this felt different. He felt alone. He didn't take more than three steps in the door before he sat down on her chair and wanted to cry. He should have realized that she was gone sooner. He should have known that no matter how mad she was, she would have returned his calls. A few minutes into feeling sorry for himself later, he got up, determined to find her. He saw the blinking light on the answering machine. Blinking one time more than he'd called her. He pressed the play button and hoped that the other call would give him a clue to where she'd gone. Or where she was now. He walked around the room, while listening to his own impatient voice apologize for whatever he'd done to upset her and ask for her to please call him back. He listened to a woman's voice say she was sorry she'd missed her, but she hoped to catch up to Dana later in week, and leave her work number. Mulder quickly wrote it down and dialed the number as he listened to the call he'd made earlier that morning, the one where he practically begged her to call just so that he'd know she was all right. As the phone continued to ring, he prayed that this was a direct dial number because he hadn't even gotten the woman's name. He listened to the voice mail message and decided that it as a private line. He explained, roughly, who he was and that it was very important that she get back to him. Then he proceeded to walk through the apartment, hoping to find something that might tell him where she'd gone. ##### Scully had wiggled her wrists raw trying to get out of the handcuffs before she gave up. Giving up, she had to fight the urge to cry. She was sick, thirsty, and being held prisoner by someone she couldn't recognize. Then he walked into the room, without what she quickly discovered had been a wig and a fake mustache. And she found herself suddenly recognizing the man with the demented smile. She couldn't even hide the terror, or the tears, that filled her as she realized that Mulder probably wouldn't find her this time. She had this sickening feeling the that he'd done this not only because he wanted to kill her, but because he knew how much Mulder cared about her. Because he'd been with Mulder, had watched Mulder go crazy, when she'd been kidnapped before. ##### He took a quick look around her bedroom, and was turning to leave when he saw a piece of paper sitting on one of her pillows. He picked it up, thinking it was something she'd left there to remind herself of something. But when her cross slid into his hand, he knew this was on purpose. He read the note, and found himself suddenly very afraid that he'd never see her again. He stared at the words on the page and watched them blur from his tears falling on the paper. The note simply read 'For you to remember her by.-Alex.' He let the paper fall from his hand as he slid to the floor. He cradled the cross in his hands like it was Scully herself. He knew this time, more than ever before, that there was a very real chance that he'd never get her back. Part 2 It took him a few minutes to gather his strength to get up off the floor and try to think. All he wanted to do was sit on the floor and whimper until she came back to make him feel better. But he knew that wasn't going to happen if he didn't get up and do something about it. He used the edge of his shirt to blot the tear stains dry on the paper. Then he picked up Scully's phone and dialed Skinner's office. He wasn't going to waste time talking to his secretary, or anyone else in the bureau. He needed to get people out on the street looking for Scully and he wanted good people. He could hear the concern in Skinner's voice when he told him what had happened. Less than five minutes later, Mulder was standing in the middle of what had been an impeccably clean room, surrounded by agents basically taking the place apart. He was still waiting to hear back from Scully's friend, but he knew that even if she had known where Scully was Friday night, she sure as hell didn't know where she was now. He knew he had to call Margaret Scully, but he was putting that phone call off until later. He couldn't wait too long or else someone else from the bureau would do it. And that was a call he wanted to make himself. Well, wanted wasn't exactly the word he was looking for, but words were generally failing him at that moment. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped down into a chair and didn't look up as people continued to mill around him. He ignored the person who sat down on the couch across from him. He silently wished that the person would go away, since he wasn't exactly in the best mood to talk right then. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands over his eyes. He wanted nothing more then to be dead. He'd let them get to her again and he'd given them a two day head start. If only he'd gone over Friday night to see where she was. If only he'd checked Saturday morning. What had possessed him to think that she would just stop talking to him for no reason? He felt the tears rise up again and cursed himself for not being able to hide it in front of these agents. These agents were his only hope of finding her. He didn't have too much faith in himself to do the job. He pulled his hands away from his face, giving up on his attempt to hide the tears. There was no point. Everyone in the room knew he was crying anyway. He was about to yell at whoever was sitting on the couch for doing nothing when he realized that it was Skinner. He didn't even wipe at the tears. He knew there was absolutely no point in hiding this from Skinner. Skinner knew him as well as Scully did. Or he seemed to. And he knew how much this was shaking Mulder up. Mulder looked at him for a moment, at a loss for words. What could he say? He hadn't noticed that she was missing all weekend? What the hell was wrong with him? Skinner cleared his throat. "You said there was a note?" Mulder handed over the note and watched as Skinner read it. Skinner looked confused for a moment, and then noticed the cross hanging around Mulder's neck. He knew this was probably killing Mulder. "Alex?" He couldn't think of anything they'd been doing recently with anyone named Alex. Embarrassed, Mulder covered the cross with his hand. He grimaced at Skinner before he answered. "Krycek." ##### She had thought that if she at least knew who it was that was holding her prisoner, then she'd feel better. But this was different. This wasn't just some psycho out to get them because they were investigating something. Krycek wasn't doing this to get famous. He probably wasn't doing this to get money or anything normal kidnappers were after. Krycek was after revenge and the thought of what he might do to get it made cold shivers run down her spine. Once she'd recognized him, he'd pretty much stayed away from her. It wasn't her own safety that she was worried about. She knew that there was a very good chance that he was just going to kill her in the end, but she was positive that this was more an attempt to torture Mulder than to hurt her. The only thing she had going for her was that Krycek would have to keep her alive to keep Mulder where he wanted him. Krycek wouldn't be able to get anything out of Mulder if Mulder thought that Scully was dead. But once Krycek had Mulder convinced there was no compelling reason to keep her alive. And she knew it. And she wasn't in a position to do anything to help herself. She counted herself lucky for the fact that Krycek didn't seem to want to do anything other than keep her from Mulder. And right now, all she wanted was to be with Mulder. But she'd settle for being anywhere except for where she was. She wasn't really big on being handcuffed to beds in general, but she really despised it when she was handcuffed to a raving lunatic's bed and when that raving lunatic wasn't exactly a raving lunatic, but more of a really really pissed off postal worker type of guy. In theposition she was in, she couldn't really tell what time of day it was or even what day it was. There were no windows as far as she could tell and the lights were always on. She could here the muffled sounds of talking in the next room and she was relatively sure that it was just the TV as opposed to real live people talking. She didn't bother screaming, first off because it wasn't really her speed and secondly because she knew that it wasn't going to get her anywhere. Even if she was someplace where people could hear her, she knew that Krycek would have her out of there before anyone would have time to respond. She was helpless in the state she was in and all she could was wait. Wait for Mulder to come and rescue her. And it wasn't a feeling that she cared for at all. ##### He had been expecting a phone call. And he was expecting the threat. But he had let his guard down after three days of waiting and finally fallen asleep. And interspersed with the terrible nightmares with both Scully and Samantha begging for his help and his being unable to reach them, the noise of a telephone plagued him for most of the night. But since he hadn't slept in so long and because he'd drunk a little too much in his effort to be able to sleep to make sense of things, he thought it was just a piece of the dream. He didn't think that it was real. He let the phone ring for quite a while before he eventually woke up. And by the time he did, the ringing had stopped. ##### She jerked awake at the sound of things falling. It was coming from the other room, so she couldn't really tell, but it seemed to her that someone was throwing things. She waited, hoping that she could figure out why he was so mad, praying that it wasn't her. She didn't have to wait long before Krycek came storming into the room, looking more upset than she'd ever seen him. Not that she'd ever really seen him upset. Luckily, she hadn't had that much first hand contact with him. Her phone came flying past her, inches away from her face. And Krycek started ranting before she even had a chance to flinch. "Why the hell isn't he answering the phone?" From its resting place next to her head, she could hear the persistent ringing on the other end. Why wasn't he answering the phone? Was he all right? Was he hurt, unable to answer the phone? Didn't he want to find out if she was ok? Krycek leaned over her, aiming to grab the phone. Scully tried as hard as she could to move away from him. But her present position was stopping her from getting far, so her movements just served to upset him more. He glared at her, his face barely three inches from hers. "Scared?" Upset that she'd already shown it, and determined not to slip again, she glared back. His smug expression was really beginning to bother her. She wished she had her gun on her right then to wipe that irritating expression right off his face, once and for all. The longer he waited for a response, the more she wanted to spit in his face. But she wasn't really in a position where that would be wise. Maybe after Mulder came and got her out of this mess. Krycek had been trying to get her to flinch again. Or maybe cry, if he was lucky. He hated her. And he wanted to make her miserable. If only to make Mulder even more miserable. The determined set of her jaw was serving only to irritate him. He grabbed the phone and then slammed it into her cheek as hard as he could. Pleased to see tears spring to her eyes, he smiled. "Well, you should be." She hadn't been expecting the strike. She knew she should have been, but she wasn't. And it hurt. Her initial reaction to the pain was to cry. But seeing his smile, she refused to give him the satisfaction. She forced her voice to sound sure, even though it was about the last thing she actually felt. "Mulder's going to kick your ass when he finds you." Krycek stepped back from the bed, shaking his head in a condescending manner. "Mulder couldn't kick his own ass." He started laughing as he walked away, but stopped abruptly before he reached to doorway. "And he isn't going to find you." Watching her face, disappointed that he wasn't getting anymore of a reaction, he continued. "And if he does, he'll be too late to save you." Part 3 She waited until he'd left the room before letting a single tear roll down her face. He was right, of course, Mulder wasn't real big on defending himself, or anyone else. But the fact that Krycek was laughing at both of them and so sure of the fact that Mulder wouldn't find her until after Krycek was done hurt. And when added to the taste of blood in her mouth and what she was sure was a gigantic bruise on her cheek, it was all a little to much for her to take right then. Ten minutes after he'd given in and woken up, he was still staring at the phone. He couldn't decide whether or not to fervently believe that the phone had actually been ringing. He decided that it probably hadn't been, but he was awake now and he might as well wait for it to start. He channel-surfed for a little while, then he got up and dug through his medicine chest. Four aspirin later, he was thoroughly convinced that his headache might go away. Eventually. Just when he thought he was going to drift off to sleep again, the phone rang. Grumbling, half to himself and half to the caller, he picked up the phone and put it to his ear. "Mulder." The caller didn't say anything. Mulder knew the person was still there because of the noise from the TV in the background. "Who is this?" He felt rather stupid asking because he knew exactly who this was. "Didn't you get my note?" Krycek was laughing into the phone. For once, his plan was working. Verbal clarification was all he needed. "You son of a bitch! I swear, if you hurt her-" Krycek's laughter cut him off. "Let's get one thing straight here, Fox. *I* make the rules." Mulder was about to rant at him some more, when he realized the full extent of what Krycek's laughter might mean. He suddenly realized that Scully might already be dead. It was not a thought that he wanted to entertain. He knew that the minute he acknowledged that Krycek held all the cards, both he and Scully were in trouble. He didn't know why Krycek was coming after Scully. Well, Krycek had no better motivation than pure hate, but it seemed odd to Mulder that Krycek would suddenly act on his hate. A whimper from the other end of the phone caught his attention. He had no reason to be sure, other than the feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he was certain that it was Scully. He didn't think Krycek had anymore people lock up, and he was relatively certain that Krycek wasn't a cat lover, a cat being the only other thing that could produce the type of whine he'd just heard. If she was whimpering, she was in pain. But she was also alive. "I want to talk to her." He knew there was nothing useful he could tell her, but he just wanted to hear her voice. And hearing her whimper wouldn't work the same way to calm him down. "Didn't we just go over this? " Krycek's words were punctuated by another sound, more heart-breaking than the first. This one sounded like it would have been a scream, had there not been a gag across her mouth. There was no gag, of course, but Krycek had simply sat down on the bed next to Scully and clamped his hand over her mouth. The combination of his sitting a little too close to her and his hand painfully clamping across where a nasty looking bruise had formed was all it took to produce the desired attempt at a scream. Krycek wanted Mulder to think he was hurting her. Then he might be more willing to negotiate. And he figured that since he was going to try and negotiate, he'd go ahead and ask for something absolutely ridiculous to start with. Krycek heard the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone when Scully tried to scream. He kept waiting for the outburst, when Mulder would lose it, so Krycek could pretend to get upset in return. But, damn it, Mulder must be used to people taking his prized Scully away. Mulder was pissed and practically hyperventilating into the phone, but he hadn't let loose with the expletives that Krycek had been expecting. Disappointed, but not daunted, Krycek tightened his grip on Scully's face, reveling in the fact that the pressure he was putting on the fresh bruise was causing her to gasp in pain. If he could time it right, he could have her in tears when he gave into Mulder's still unspoken demand to talk to her. Krycek was sure that would push him over the line. But, no matter how hard he squeezed her face, Scully refused to cry. And Mulder was irritatingly silent. Too annoyed to sit still, he pushed himself up off the bed, using Scully's face as leverage. She winced, but he'd already turned his back on her. Krycek took a deep breath. Mulder and Scully had been through this before. And now neither of them was willing to cooperate. "Ok, Mulder, I've grown tired of this. Good night." He had no intention of hanging up, he just wanted to scare Mulder into talking. This time, Mulder didn't let him down. "Let me talk to her." He waited, received no response, and panicked at the thought that he'd hang up and kill Scully. "If you don't let me talk to her, I have no proof she's still alive." He paused for another moment, hoping that Krycek's silence meant he was considering the request. Scully had watched Krycek's face as he weighed his options. She knew he was talking to Mulder. She knew Mulder must have asked to talk to her. And even though she knew that there was really no point in talking to him, since there was nothing either of them could accomplish through phone contact, she desperately wanted to hear his voice. She knew her aborted scream had been loud enough for Mulder to hear. She knew the thoughts that were running through his mind while he was trying to figure out what would make her scream. She wanted to somehow let him know that even though she wasn't exactly happy, and apart from the fact that he hadn't given her anything to eat or drink since she'd been there, Krycek wasn't really hurting her. She knew that didn't mean anything in the long run. She knew that the master plan was still to kill her. But she didn't want Mulder to run off and participate in some insane vengeful behavior that would likely only backfire in his face. She was fine for the time being. Mulder needed to know that. And she needed to hear his voice. To know that he was coming for her. To know that he wasn't going to let Krycek kill her. Hearing his voice was all she needed to continue the facade of not being afraid. Hearing his voice, hearing the strength of his conviction to find her, would give her the strength not to cry, not to give up. She closed her eyes tightly, afraid that any moment Krycek would walk out of the room, taking away her chance to talk to Mulder. Afraid that once he did, the tears wouldn't stop. She wasn't expecting the phone to be shoved into her face at that exact moment. Her eyes flew open and momentarily, her brain froze. She couldn't think of what it was she'd wanted to tell him. She couldn't think of anything. "Mulder-" She was surprised at how weak her voice had gotten in the last few hours. She knew it was a combination of not eating and being scared and not having spoken much recently, but it unnerved her. And if the sound of her own voice scared her, she knew what it had to be doing to Mulder. "Dana-" His words were lost in a jumble of syllables that she couldn't quite understand as Krycek pulled the phone away from her. In the brief contact, she'd still managed to hear the terror in his voice. She wanted desperately to be able to go to him and put her arms around him. He sounded like he needed someone to tell him everything was going to work out. And even as she thought it, Krycek's growling voice interrupted her thoughts and she remembered that things might not work out. "So, now you know she's alive." He allowed the dramatic pause to stretch out longer than it needed to. "Now all you can do is hope she's still that way when I call you again, if I call you again." He had no need to make demands yet. He had to make everyone realize that he wasn't a bank robber who wanted a helicopter and immunity. He already had immunity. There wasn't a person in the country that he couldn't destroy. He had power, albeit, not as much as he'd once had, but there were still people out there that feared him. He was going to use that and drag all of this out much longer than anyone could imagine. Hell, there wasn't even anything he really wanted, except to exact revenge on Mulder. He was bored. He wanted something to occupy his time. And this was just the sort of thing that would do nicely. ##### Mulder held the phone to his ear long after the line had gone dead. He knew he should call Skinner, or the other agents working the case, and mention that he'd been contacted. But he didn't. He gently set the phone back down in the cradle. Krycek was a deranged lunatic. Well, he was probably deranged, but he wasn't a lunatic. He was fully in control. He wasn't calling out of fear. He'd waited long enough to prove that. He wasn't asking for anything. Mulder knew that he could probably get anything he wanted without resorting to theatrics like holding a hostage. Krycek hadn't been hysterical. He'd been calm. And the calm had confirmed Mulder's worst fear. This was just for revenge. But Krycek wasn't just going to kill her and run off. Krycek wanted to play games. He wanted to string Mulder along, proving that he was a formidable adversary. Then, just when Mulder would seriously start to hope that he might get Scully back alive, he'd kill her. And then Mulder would have the rest of his life to blame himself. He knew that calling in and reporting the call was the best thing to do. But he was afraid that someone would trace the call, and then, assuming Krycek was dumb enough to use a regular phone, attempt to confront him. The only thing Mulder had going for him was Krycek's relaxed attitude toward the whole thing. He wasn't ranting about the clock ticking, at least not yet, and Mulder was then afforded the freedom of time. He'd had made his decision not to call. And he seriously hoped that it was the right decision. He hoped that by pretending not to be all that concerned with Krycek's threat maybe Krycek would give in. He knew it was a long shot, but it was the only one he had. He hoped that Scully would forgive him. And then he started to hope that Scully would be alive to forgive him. ##### After he'd hung up, he settled down on the couch to go to sleep. He'd gotten his message across. He was just playing games. Malicious games, but games nonetheless. He hadn't come up with exactly how he was going to do it. But he would. He had to come up with something really awful. And something with his signature on it. He wasn't about to be confused with your average run of the mill psycho. He wanted to be feared. Then maybe, just maybe, by doing their work for them, he could get his job back. And stop running for his life. Then it hit him. The perfect way to get back at Mulder. So he'd spent his life looking for his sister, right? He spent his life convinced that she wasn't dead. Maybe the best way to get to him was not to kill Scully. Maybe he could just take her away too. But Krycek wasn't going to lose her like Barry had. Krycek was just going to keep her with him. He didn't really like her all that much, and it would be a pain moving her around without getting caught, but it would be worth it. A smile crossed his face while he worked out the details. It was perfect. And he could rest assured that no one other than Mulder would come looking for him. The people he'd worked for had wanted to split them up. And he knew that they would agree to let him go as long as he never gave Scully back. It was perfect. In more ways than one. He'd exact his revenge. And he'd be protected all the time. Part 4 Somehow, after the first few days of knowing nothing, he got used to her being gone. He didn't reach for the phone and then remember that he couldn't call her. He didn't stop to wait for her to catch up as he was leaving the office. He didn't feel like he had to justify any of his actions to anyone. It wasn't a feeling he liked. But it was a feeling he got used to. He recognized it from the other time she'd been gone and knowing what was coming made it slightly easier to take. At least once a night, he'd find himself staring at the phone, expecting it to ring. He was sure that Scully had her cellular with her. He could always call. Most likely not get anyone, but he could still try. But then he would remember that his impatience might cost her life. Krycek was playing a game with him. The longer he held out, didn't go crazy, ranting and raving and threatening, the longer Scully would live. And that was the only thing that stopped him. Eventually, he stopped expecting. He wasn't waiting for anything at all. He knew that should he start to expect something, then something else would happen and he'd be let down. He never mentioned the call he got. Once when Skinner was grilling him, he had a suspicious feeling that Skinner *knew* about the call, and he almost talked. But he knew that having not said anything previously would get him in trouble so there was no way he could talk. Period. He had to claim to know nothing. He had to pretend that he hadn't heard from Scully since before she'd disappeared. And slowly, people stopped asking. People had expected Mulder to announce it to the world as soon as he heard anything. So when he didn't, no one thought anything of it. Once again, he found himself digging through the drawers of his filing cabinet to find the X-File he'd hated the most. The one with Scully's name on it. And while he couldn't label her latest disappearance an X-File, it didn't stop him from opening it up and looking at it. It had seemed like such a long time ago. It had almost faded to the point where it almost seemed like a dream. Almost. But now, looking at dog-eared photograph of Scully's face that he'd stared at every night for those three months, he could remember even the smallest detail. He could remember the panic when he'd heard her voice on the answering machine, he remembered the despair the day after she'd vanished when he couldn't offer Skinner any help in finding her. He remembered the words he swore he'd tell her if he ever saw her again, alive or otherwise. The very same words that he'd promptly forgotten he'd ever had any intention of mentioning as soon as she came back. He felt tears building up in his eyes, tears of defeat that he didn't want to shed. He glanced over at Scully's desk. He hadn't touched it since the day she'd been kidnapped. And now that he was sitting there in the dark office, the only light streaming in was from the fluorescent lights in the hallway, he could see her face as if it was happening in front of him. He closed his eyes and replayed the scene, the last conversation he'd had with her. They'd spent well over an hour at lunch discussing, and arguing, the scientific inaccuracies of their last case. The conversation had continued through the walk back to the building, the trip down the stairs and back into the office where the discussion had started. Scully had continued to shake her head, refusing to believe what he was saying, even though he had been sure she was moments away from admitting defeat. He'd brought up one final point, and thought that she'd give in. But instead, she'd just smiled at him, one of those brilliant smiles that he was sure could power a third world country. He'd never seen her smile like that, but he'd seen pictures of her. He'd been so amazed that she'd finally aimed one in his direction that his jaw dropped open and he completely forgot what he'd been saying. He'd known he'd looked stupid. But seeing the perplexed look on her face at his apparent inability to process thoughts, followed by the blush on her face when she'd realized what had caused the bewildered look, had made it worth it. He watched her sit down at her desk and try to hide her face from him. Then he'd walked around to the side she was sitting on and leaned on the desk, blocking her view of the monitor. She'd kept her head ducked down, he guessed she was waiting for the blush to subside, while he just stood there and stared. Eventually, she gave up trying to hide her embarrassment. She looked up and stared him in the eye, trying to make him move by the sheer power of her mind. Once he'd gotten her to look at him, he'd simply winked at her and then walked away. And when he'd come back from getting coffee, her face was still bright red. A shrill ring jarred him back to reality. His new reality. Without Dana. He felt the smile practically melt off his face. It wasn't Krycek. It was Skinner. And somehow, he knew about the phone call. He was in trouble. Lots of trouble. ##### Being tied to a bed and not having anything else to do Scully slept most of the time. She slept whenever she possibly could. The rest of the time, she sat there feeling generally miserable wishing that Krycek would die. But then she'd be left there, handcuffed to a bed to die. He occasionally shoved food in her face that she would refuse to eat until he literally shoved it in her mouth. And he would uncuff her long enough to use the bathroom, but other than that, he didn't let her go anywhere. And as unsure of time passing as she was, she knew that it had been too long for Mulder to not have come to find her. She knew he had no idea where to look. She had no idea where she was. She could be in the apartment next to her own, or she could be halfway across the country. Or all the way across the country. It all depended on how long she was out, but between the alcohol and whatever he'd drugged her with, she couldn't really form a good guess. And Krycek's patterns were erratic enough to give her no indication of how long she'd been there. Since the incident with the phone, Krycek hadn't said a word to her. He'd spent most of the time in another room, but he'd wonder in every once in a while and stare at her. It was beginning to drive her crazy. She'd be sound asleep and still feel him looking at her. He never touched her, except accidentally when he was trying to take off the cuffs. She had been terrified of him at first. She'd seen his anger and hate when he was talking to Mulder. But since then, he'd been remarkably placid. And one day, she found the nerve to ask him why he was keeping her handcuffed to a bed. Why he hated her and Mulder so much that he just wanted to torture them. She'd watched his eyes turned cold and she was afraid that she'd said the wrong thing and that he was going to kill her right then. But he'd simply walked out of the room, returning in a few moments with a key to uncuff her. He sat down on the edge of her bed, carefully making sure he didn't touch her. He waited until she sat up. And then he began to talk. He told her about his childhood, about his parents, about how his mother had decided to commit suicide, but tried to kill him and his brother first. He told her about how she'd shot him in the leg, but his brother hadn't been so lucky. He told her about how he'd sat there for hours bleeding, watching his mother and brother die, before his father got home from work. He told her how he'd joined the FBI to finally figure out what his father had really done and why it had resulted in the death of his mother and brother and almost his own. But instead of getting any answers, he only found more questions. And then the very same people who'd owned his father had approached him. And where Mulder had endured the same pressure and resisted, Krycek had given in. And he hated Mulder for having the strength to withstand it. And as much as he'd hated Mulder, and her, for being stronger than he was, he knew that they always did what was right. He knew that they were the good guys. They didn't just leave people for dead, no matter how much they wanted to because it wasn't right. And then he told how he'd been locked in that silo that they'd walked away from. They'd left him to die. And now he was getting even. Seeing that, on some remote level, Krycek actually respected them, Scully knew that there might be a way out. But she knew that even if he respected them, he was still trying to kill Mulder by keeping her hostage. He hadn't continued the story long enough for her to know that those very same men were after him now that he had attempted to refuse them. She didn't know that his kidnapping her was a desperate last ditch effort to stay alive. But regardless of what she didn't know, she felt herself start to sympathize with him. Krycek hadn't really chosen the path he was on. Mulder had had the strength to resist those men because he'd had something to live for- his sister. Krycek's mother and brother were dead, and although she couldn't be sure, his father most likely was as well. So he had nothing to resist for. Nothing to lose by joining them, and his life to lose by resisting. And although he seemed to have nothing to live for, he didn't have anything to die for either. And he wasn't really hurting her. Not anymore. Yes, he'd been rough with her, hit her, when Mulder had been on the phone. But he'd been trying to scare her only so that Mulder would be scared. Since then she'd seen him avoid touching her. Somehow, even though he was holding her prisoner, he wasn't really *hurting* her. He knew Mulder loved her. But she didn't think he knew how much she loved Mulder. So she could believe that keeping her away from Mulder wasn't, at least in his mind, hurting her. He wasn't trying to torment her, it was Mulder he was after. And although normally the thought that anyone was tormenting Mulder would have driven her dangerously close to homicide, this was different. She knew Mulder was hurting, the same way she was hurting, but at some point, she stopped thinking about it. She could see the misery Krycek had endured throughout his life and she didn't want him to hurt anymore. She'd never once entertained the idea of caring about Krycek. Not once. Until it happened. She felt herself reach out to the man who had been sitting silently on the edge of the bed, lost in his own horrifyingly miserable thoughts. She was nervous and her shaking hands betrayed that fact. But as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and began telling him that it was ok, she realized that he was shaking more than her. The part of her mind that had been whispering Mulder's name in her ear the whole time, the part that had felt the sympathy rising up, was screaming at her to stop this insanity. But the longer she held on to him, the quieter the voice got. And by the time he'd reached out and held her, the voice had been reduced to almost silent whimpering. She knew it was wrong to feel sorry for him, to care about him, but she couldn't stop it. It was how she felt. It was real. And while she was holding him, she realized that the door out of the apartment was open. She could see out into the hallway. And she knew that if she made a break for it right then, she could get out before Krycek had even had the chance to realize it. But instead of doing anything, she closed her eyes and continued gently talking to him, rocking slightly the entire time. He wasn't just holding her prisoner anymore. He had kidnapped her mind. Part 5 With every day that passed, Mulder wished more and more that he'd told someone about the phone call when it would have made a difference. He knew that every time the phone didn't ring, there was a greater chance that she was already dead. Once Skinner had found out about the phone call, he felt even worse. Skinner had done his usual rant on Mulder's inappropriate and possibly life-costing behavior and he had succeeded in making him feel even more guilty. In truth, even knowing who had her and that Krycek had called didn't do anything to help them find her. And once the investigating agents discovered that it was most likely a personal vendetta against Mulder, they didn't seem to be very enthralled with the case. But Mulder knew that Krycek had no reason to keep her alive if the goal wasn't to torture him. And this really was a perfect way to torture him. He didn't know if she was alive or dead. And not knowing was driving him crazy. The only thought that kept him going was that he was sure, somehow, that he'd just know if she died. Their lives had become so hopelessly intertwined that he could feel her within him. Even though there were those times that he didn't have the faintest clue what she was thinking, he could always tell if she was mad, or in agreement with him. Or if she was scared. He always knew when she was really scared. It usually presented itself as a nagging knowledge that things just weren't ok. But when she was really scared, he could feel the fear, as pure as he could feel his own fear for her. He could tell the difference between his fear and hers because of one simple change. Along with his fear, he always felt this pathetic helplessness and inadequacy because he knew she was hurting and he wasn't stopping it. But with hers, it was just *different.* He knew she trusted him totally. She absolutely believed that he would get to her in time. She was terrified only for the intervening time. The worst thing he was feeling about the current situation was her lack of fear. He could convince himself that she was alive simply because he could not go on without her, but he couldn't make himself feel that stabbing fear that wasn't his own, worsened by not knowing why she was so scared, but soothed by the trust she placed in him. He couldn't trust himself nearly as much as she did. He'd stopped feeling her fear. And when he'd stopped feeling it, he'd stopped feeling the trust as well. It seemed strange to him, to no longer have feelings that weren't even his own, and he tried to recreate them. But it didn't work. They weren't her feelings. He knew they weren't. And it just didn't feel the same. He could remember that Saturday morning, when the first touch of the nagging fear almost convinced him to call and check on her. He'd felt it, growing as his own fear grew, in the time between his realizing that she was gone and the phone call. He'd felt it strongly when Krycek had called him, seeming to almost echo when he heard her frightened voice on the other and of the phone. And he'd continued to feel it, not quite as strongly, after he'd heard from Krycek. But in the last few days, he'd felt nothing. He didn't exactly miss it, since knowing how scared she was wasn't in the least bit comforting, but when he knew she was scared, he knew she was feeling something. He wasn't sure if he was feeling nothing because she wasn't scared anymore or if she just wasn't thinking. Both alternatives scared the hell out of him. If she just wasn't thinking, she could be unconscious or dead or have been tortured to the point where she didn't know that she should be scared. But if she wasn't scared anymore, Mulder was sure that the situation was much worse. That meant she was sympathizing with her captor. And that was just worse. All Krycek had ever done was cause both of them misery. What was there in his life that she could possibly feel sympathy for? Mulder could only imagine how scared and helpless she must have been to actually identify with the man who was responsible for her sister's death. Maybe Krycek hadn't ordered it, but he had pulled the trigger. He had been hiding in her apartment, waiting to kill Scully, of his own accord. And Mulder was scared of what could happen once Scully had been convinced that Krycek wasn't all that bad. She'd already been through too much to have her sanity tested by Krycek. If it was left up to Krycek, driving her out of her mind might be the most appropriate punishment for both of them. Luckily, Mulder was able to focus more on one hopeful thought. Krycek hated Mulder, everyone knew that. Why, exactly, Mulder didn't know or care. But as far as he could tell, Krycek had no personal feelings towards Scully. Scully hadn't done anything thing specifically to aggravate him, at least not before he'd killed her sister. If Krycek only wanted to torment Mulder, maybe he wouldn't hurt Scully anymore than he already had. Maybe he would only hurt her if Mulder didn't behave and do what he was told. And while he knew that all the logical reasons in the world not to hurt Scully wouldn't make any difference to the little rat, it was still something to hold onto. And that was how Mulder managed to rationalize not reporting the phone call. A bunch of egotistical chauvinistic male agents threatening Krycek wouldn't do a hell of a lot of good. In fact, it could well put her in even more danger. And it was that argument that convinced Skinner to back down. Even though it had worked on Skinner, Mulder at times had quite a lot of difficulty accepting it himself. He repeated it to himself several times a day. More frequently when he woke up in the middle of the night, with his heart beating too quickly and his mind filled with threatening and terrifying images. And every time he even came close to believing that she might come through everything and be ok, he heard a little voice whispering that he should have mentioned the phone call earlier, when it might have made a difference. But once he replaced the fear he was feeling with the guilt he was used to, he knew how to handle it. Guilt was just so much more familiar to him. But the night eventually came where nothing was helping. His nightmare had faded away, but he was still breathing a little too quickly and his heart wasn't slowing down. He'd tried to blame himself, but that wasn't working. He hated knowing she was scared. But knowing she was scared was better than thinking she was dead. When he tried to feel something from her, anything at all, he felt nothing. And he had tried every trick in the book to create those feelings. Not knowing was definitely not better. It was hell. He tried getting up and getting water. He tried watching TV. He tried thinking about her. He tried not thinking about her. Nothing helped. Frustrated, he switched off the TV and got dressed. He had to get out of his apartment. He could feel his connection to her slipping away and he was too scared to imagine what would happen if he lost the few remaining threads to that connection. He needed to be somewhere he could feel close to her. He couldn't remember driving to her apartment. He couldn't remember getting out of his car. But slowly, he became aware that he was sitting on her couch in the dark, holding onto the quilt he always used when he fell asleep there. It smelled like her. The room smelled like her. But that wasn't enough. Not even being in her apartment, surrounded by all her things made him feel close enough to her. Close, but not enough. Not nearly enough. He questioned that he'd feel close enough to her if he was holding her in his arms. He stood up and wandered back to her bedroom. It was the only room in her apartment that wasn't impeccably decorated. This was as close to her as he could get. Delicate figurines, about half of which were broken or missing chips of paint, were lined up across her bureau. He guessed she'd had most of them since she was a child. Behind those, he could see her perfume bottles. It struck him odd that there was more than one kind there. Because there was just one scent that he associated with her. He never even realized that it wasn't always the same. He picked up the bottles, holding each one to his nose for a moment before trying the next. And even though in his mind, she always smelled that same *Scully* smell, he recognized each scent as he tried them. He recognized the one that she'd been wearing the last time he saw her. Of course it had never occurred to him that that day was any different that all the others, other than that brilliant smile she'd offered him, but now that she wasn't there, every detail stood out in his mind. He'd been arguing with her. Not a malicious argument, but an argument nonetheless. He was about to promise that he'd never argue with her again when it struck him how ridiculous a statement that would be. Arguing was the cornerstone of their relationship. Followed immediately by trust. But they'd argued before they'd trusted. And he didn't want to not argue with her. He never wanted to fight with her again, but he loved the arguing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, realizing how stupid he looked, holding a ratty looking quilt in one hand and a bottle of perfume in the other, but there was no one there to care. He held the perfume to his nose one more time before setting it back down. He turned around slowly, surveying the room. He'd only ever been in here once, and he'd been too sick to notice anything. The pieces of furniture weren't all matched, but somehow, by being different, it made the room all the more comfortable. There was a small pile of clothes tossed on the chair in the corner, stuff that looked clean and unwrinkled. It looked like she'd been looking for just the right thing to wear. He scanned his memory for her mentioning anything about going out that night, but he couldn't remember anything. Maybe she'd been looking for something to wear out with the same friend who'd left the message on her machine. He continued to look around, not so much looking as absorbing. This was the real Dana. The spotlessly clean and perfectly matched apartment wasn't her. That was the person she told everyone she was. But this was really her. Not perfect. But somehow better. More comfortable. He saw a book lying open on the floor next to the bed. He knew it was there for when she had nightmares. He knew she didn't have enough time on her hands to read regularly anymore. He'd come here to feel close to her. And it had worked, initially. But now, all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of loss. He sighed as he sat down on the edge of her bed. He just barely remembered the other time he'd been there. When she'd gently put her arms around him and made him go to sleep. He knew he'd been sick, and had only made it as far as he had for the promise that she'd take care of him when he got there. And she had. He'd closed his eyes for once in his life assured that there would be no bad dreams. And when he'd woken up in the morning, he'd stared at the other side of the bed, before he'd noticed his gun was missing, before he claimed to not trust her, and wondered if the pillow and covers had been rumpled on the other side of the bed because she'd slept beside him. He closed his eyes, wishing desperately that she had, and praying fervently that some day she'd do it again. When his eyes opened again, he saw something he hadn't noticed at first. Sitting between the phone and the clock was another one of the small figurines from her bureau. But this one had managed to get the special spot next to her bed. He laid the quilt down and gently reached out for the figure. He couldn't help but smile at it. It was in much better condition than the other ones, and he wasn't sure if that was because she took better care of it or if it was just newer than the others. But that wasn't what really mattered to him. He'd willed himself not to cry, knowing that it wouldn't help, and hoping that he wouldn't need to cry. If she was coming back, there was no need to cry. And he needed to believe that she was coming back. He needed to believe that she would always be there for him, like she hopelessly believed about him. Mulder pushed back the covers and slid under the sheets. There was no chance of getting any closer to her right then. So he turned off the light and closed his eyes, still clenching the tiny fox in his hand as he drifted off to sleep. Part 6 After a few minutes, Krycek had regained some of his composure. He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving a confused Scully behind him. She heard the front door slam, followed by a click as the deadbolt was thrown. She didn't understand what had just happened. But she knew she didn't like it. She stood up slowly, afraid that if she moved too quickly the world would come crashing down around her. She'd just given up what might have been her only chance to escape. In favor of giving Krycek a pat on the back. What the hell was wrong with her? She tried not to think about what Mulder would do if he found out. If she couldn't explain this behavior to herself, she didn't stand a chance of explaining it to Mulder. Although from the looks of it, she might never have the opportunity to explain it to him. She walked the two steps to the door and pressed her ear against it. She couldn't hear any noise, but that didn't mean anything. He could have slammed the door and be sitting out there. Or he could have left. He hadn't seemed particularly angry, until he'd slammed the door, of course, but again, that information wasn't going to do her a whole lot of good. She wasn't sure what her aim was anymore. She'd had the chance to escape and hadn't taken it. So was she now going to try and escape since she'd have to work for it? And if she opened the door and found him sitting on the couch, what was she going to do? Ignoring her own questions, she reached for the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand. He'd left the door unlocked. He trusted her not to leave while he was gone. Or at least, not to be waiting inside the door, ready to run when he came back. But it spoke volumes to her that he trusted her at all. How could she leave when he trusted her not to? Krycek had trusted her enough to tell her the truth about his life. And now he was trusting her to stay there. She couldn't take advantage of the trust he'd placed in her. Trust had come to mean a good deal to her. It had always meant so much to her when her parents had trusted her enough not to check up on her that she felt incredibly guilty for doing something wrong, whether they ever found out or not. She couldn't betray Krycek's trust. She heard the little voice in her head start to chant Mulder's name again, trying to get her heart to behave and stop caring about what happened to Krycek. But even as she obeyed the command to look around and assess her situation, she still wasn't sure that she'd leave given the chance. She slowly pulled open the door, knowing that Krycek was very unstable and liable to get mad at her for no reason, let alone her walking out to his living room and trying to run away. She couldn't see him anywhere. Nervously, she tugged on the hem of her skirt, which was still too damn short for her liking. And having been wearing it for who knew how long, the wrinkled look of it left something to be desired. But tugging on the hem gave her something to do with her hands as she began to wander around the room. She found herself hoping that this wasn't where Krycek lived when he wasn't holding an FBI agent prisoner. There was practically no furniture, except for an unpainted wooden crate turned on its side to hold the TV and a ratty looking couch that she was pretty sure had once been in someone's garbage. A ripped and dirty wool blanket was tacked over the windows, effectively blocking out all the light except for the light provided by a broken lamp which was leaned dangerously against the couch. She could see a pile of what she assumed to be clothing tossed next to the couch, along with a few empty soda cans and moldy remnants of a plate of food. Several days worth of old newspaper was stacked up next to the lamp. Scully could just envision how quickly the whole place could go up in flames, but she wasn't convinced that making sure his apartment would pass fire inspections was her highest priority. Disheartened by what she saw in the living room, she moved to the area that served as a kitchen. The only thing she could find there was a phone. She picked it up, almost happy to find the lack of a dial tone. She wouldn't have to explain not calling for help to anyone as long as the phone didn't work. She leaned against the counter and gazed around the place. The poor thing didn't have a stove or a sink or a place to put his clothes. No wonder he hated them so much. If she were him, she'd hate everybody too. She walked back over to the couch and sat down. She hadn't tried the door. She was afraid to. She knew that the lock was on, but she was afraid that it wouldn't pose any difficulty to break out. And as much as she knew that she was being held here to torture the best friend she'd ever had, she didn't particularly want to break out. She didn't want Mulder to go off on some chivalrous mission to avenge her kidnapping and kill Krycek. And that scared her. She was being held prisoner. She'd been drugged and handcuffed to the bed and taken away from her life and she was pitying the man who did it. She recognized that it was some sort of psychological problem she was having, sympathizing with the criminal and thinking he deserved better than what he'd gotten, but she didn't feel that it was wrong. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't feel it. She wasn't sure she wanted to. Scully understood enough to know that it was probably all a part of the syndrome she was suffering from, but recognition of the problem wasn't the same as fixing the problem. She could just see the weeks, possibly months, of therapy she'd have to undergo before she was allowed to work again. But work was the last thing she cared about at that moment. What she cared about right then was Alex Krycek. Every once in a while, she would feel a little twinge of emotion when she thought about Mulder, but it was nowhere near the depth of emotion she was used to feeling when she thought of him. She heard footsteps approaching and her heart almost stopped. She listened as the steps approached, and then continued past her door. Remaining perfectly still for a few minutes, she counted herself lucky that she had even remembered to be scared. At least she hadn't become completely nonsensical. She could still recognize that she was in a bad position. And that even if she cared about him, he probably didn't care about her. Curiosity finally got the best of her and she decided to try the door. She was greeted with a double cylinder deadbolt. He trusted her to not burn down his apartment, but he didn't trust her to stay there. Not that she'd honestly expected any different. The thing that perplexed her was the presence of the keys hanging out of the deadbolt. She stared at them for a minute, assuming that her mind had taken that fateful leap over the edge. Gingerly, she reached out her hand and tried them. They turned. She heard the click as the lock slid back. She could see her hand shake as she reached for the knob. Maybe she'd run for it. Maybe she'd just look out. But as her hand wrapped around the knob, she heard Krycek's voice in the hall. And good sense took over for a little while. She re-locked the door, and stuck the keys into the waistband of her skirt, wincing as the metal cut into her skin. Then she went back into her room and shut the door. If he noticed the keys were missing, he'd have no trouble finding them. If he didn't, she'd assume it was a sign from God that they were available for her use. It spared her from having to make the decision herself. She heard him entering the apartment, mumbling to himself as he shuffled around and made nondescript noises that she assumed to be him taking off his jacket and putting things down. When the noise of the TV drowned out the rest of his movements, she sank back down onto the creaking bed and tried to calm herself down. She hadn't realized that her heart had been beating so quickly, or that she'd been breathing so fast. As she calmed down, the fear that he'd discover that she'd been out of the room slowly abated. As much as she told herself that he trusted her, she was still scared of him. A little. With nothing else to do for the time being, she laid down and tried to get comfortable. But there was a set of keys painfully jabbing her in the stomach. She wanted to take them out and hide them under the bed or the pillow or something, but she wasn't sure when the next opportunity would come. She knew it was probably better if she kept the keys on her. That way, should the opportunity arise again, she'd be ready. Of course, she knew that there was a chance she wouldn't use the keys, given another chance, but she figured it was best that she have them in case she decided to use them. Besides, it was always better to have them and not want them than it was to not have them and desperately want them. As she lay staring at nothing, she felt despair creeping up on her. Actual despair. She knew that something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. Not just because of her current situation, but because of the way she was feeling. She had the keys to the front door. The door to her room wasn't locked. And she was laying there like an idiot. Her mind drifted back to earlier that day, to when she'd had an open door and no excuse. She'd let the chance slip past her, instead choosing to sit in her prison and think about the choice she'd made. And try to understand it. She felt tears well up at the thought that she could be in her own apartment, with Mulder falling all over himself just to make her comfortable. Falling all over himself just because she was home safe. But the tears didn't fall. She'd be with Mulder again. She knew now that Krycek wasn't out to hurt her. And as guilty as she felt knowing that Krycek was doing this to hurt Mulder, it wasn't enough. She was more upset that Krycek had been forced onto his current path than she was over Mulder being scared for her. Krycek had suffered more and he didn't have someone following him around and covering for him and taking care of him when he needed it. And she knew Mulder could find someone else to do it for him. Krycek didn't stand a chance of finding anyone else. She blinked hard, trying to physically push back the tears and luckily only one succeeded in escaping down her cheek. She turned over to her other side and tried rearranging the keys. Of course, the one time she needed an extra inch in her waistband in her life, she was wearing the only item of clothing she owned that fit her like a glove. She gave the ring one final turn, silently acknowledging that it wasn't going to get any better and tugged her shirt down over the keys. She stared at the empty wall and tried to think of nothing as the light from the other room faded and darkness settled down around her. She wasn't sure of how much time had passed, but she became aware of a hand on her shoulder. It was accompanied with a gentle shaking, and an incessant whispering of her name. She opened her eyes, praying that her almost-nightmare was over and it was Mulder waking her. But it was Krycek's face that greeted her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, fear once again settling over her that he'd found out she'd taken his keys. But as soon as he realized she was awake, she saw an almost apologetic look cross his face. "Um, have you seen my keys?" He paused for a moment, as if realizing what a ridiculous thing he was asking of her. "I mean, did I leave them in here?" She couldn't help but acknowledge how very attractive he could be. Especially looking as sheepish and embarrassed as he did at that moment. She was so struck by the innocence in his question that she almost told him the truth. Almost. But sleep was still clouding her ability to feel guilty over lying to him so she simply turned away. She could already feel the guilt welling up. He'd trusted her enough to leave her door unlocked. He'd trusted her enough to leave the keys there. And even though she knew it was probably just an oversight on his behalf, she hated herself for taking advantage of the trust that he'd placed in her. Fortunately, by the time she was ready to hand over the keys, he'd already left the room. She could hear him restlessly moving things around, presumably trying to locate his confiscated keys. As the sleepiness wore off, she listened to his search intensify. She bit down on her lip and promised herself a million times in rapid succession that she wouldn't turn over the keys. Even so, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed and stood up. Krycek had left the door open after he'd woken her. She said nothing, opting to lean on the door frame and watch him. He'd resorted to pulling out the couch cushions and shaking out each of the newspapers in the stack. She heard him mumble curses at himself as he stood up and checked his jacket pockets for what she was sure was not the first time. The keys seemed to suddenly cut into her a little deeper. Krycek pulled open the door and checked the other side of the deadbolt. She watched him angrily slam the door shut again, then take off his jacket and throw it on the floor. He slammed his fist down on the crate that held the TV, causing the walls of the apartment to shake before letting loose with another string of expletives half aimed at himself and half aimed at the missing keys. Between his volatile actions and her own guilt, she couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her lips. Krycek turned to face her, realizing for the first time that she was watching him. His anger was evident when she met his eyes. She ducked her head down and waited. But he spoke words she hadn't expected. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you. I-" She looked up, not knowing what to think, and was shocked to see how sorry he actually looked. She was too surprised to move. He walked over to her and continued. "You should get some rest. I won't make anymore noise." He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. She didn't know what to do. She desperately wanted to hand over the keys. But for the life of her, she couldn't move. Or think. Or speak. She remained still, her mouth hanging slightly open. Eventually he used both hands to turn her around and prod her towards the bed. She laid down of her own accord and let him pull the blanket up around her shoulders. She stared up at him, wanting to say something, but not sure of what it was that she wanted to say. He looked at her for a moment and opened his mouth as if to say something. But then he closed it again and walked out of the room. When she heard him lock the door, the tears began to fall as she realized that she no longer had any idea of what was right anymore. She spent the majority of the night crying silently. And when she woke up in the morning, she found the handcuffs once again securely fastened around her wrists. Part 7 She tugged slightly on the cuffs, only to discover that they were actually fastened. Tightly. She couldn't tell how long she'd been sleeping or if Krycek was still there. She could hear voices from the television, but it was turned down way too low for her to understand what they were saying. She wasn't sure whether or not to wish Krycek was there. And she felt vaguely bothered by the fact that Krycek had come back into her room and handcuffed her. She still knew enough to not like him being in there while she was asleep. She didn't have a chance to form another thought before the door opened. Krycek stood in the doorway for a moment, seeming to be almost upset that she was already awake. She caught his eyes for a moment, but she looked away quickly. She didn't know what he was thinking and she was no longer sure that she wanted to. He didn't stop for long. He quickly moved over to her and unlocked her wrists. She rubbed her hands together, trying to restore circulation to her hands. Krycek grabbed her arm and tugged her up to a standing position. Then he prodded her into the living room. She still was slightly disoriented from being asleep and stumbled forward. She felt Krycek's hands close around her shoulders and right her. And she couldn't help but notice that his hands remained there for a moment too long. She felt his hands drop. She stayed where she was in the middle of the room. She could hear him shuffling around behind her, but she didn't dare look. And then a pile of things were thrust into her hands. "Put them on." Krycek crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. Scully unrolled the bundle, finding a men's trenchcoat, a baseball cap and sunglasses. She wasn't about to argue, but she couldn't stop herself from looking at him with a confused face. But he'd already redirected his attention. She stared as he put on his own coat, along with his own hat. He noticed her staring, and met her eyes with a frightening lack of emotion. "Put them on or I'll put them on you." Had there been a wall behind her, she would have shrunk back against it. Instead, she fumbled with the clothing, eventually dropping the hat on the floor in her efforts to put the coat on. He bent down quickly, retrieving the hat and throwing it at her, before stepping closer to tie the belt of the coat around her waist. Afraid of angering him any farther, she pulled the hat on and waited. Once again, he grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. She didn't argue, just allowed him to escort her into the hallway. When they reached the elevator, he pulled his jacket back, revealing her gun. His grip on her arm loosened slightly, but not much. "Do not fight me, argue with me, or try to call attention to yourself. Understand?" He waited for her nod of comprehension before he continued. "I will kill you. Don't make me." As if on cue, the elevator doors opened. Krycek's hand let go of her arm and slid down to close around her hand. Then he pulled her forward and out of the building. ###### Mulder's day started out the same as the rest of his days whenever Scully wasn't there. The first thing he did was stare accusingly at the phone. He could never be sure that he hadn't just slept through the all-important call. Then he would pick up the receiver to check that it was working. And just the same as every other day, he heard the dial tone. So he pulled a pillow over his face and proceeded to blame himself for a few minutes. After that he could get up and try to function. As soon as he removed the pillow, though, he realized something was different. It took him quite a while to figure out what it was. He pressed his face into the blanket and inhaled. Scully. That was the only way he could describe the smell. And when he finally climbed out of her bed, he could still smell *her* on his clothes. He was tempted to go right to work, without changing, because maybe if he could smell her, it would seen like she was there. But he knew people wouldn't react to him well if he went to work smelling like perfume, especially on top of the exceedingly wrinkled suit he was wearing. Skinner probably wouldn't appreciate it much either, considering the fact that he might actually recognize Scully's perfume. And Mulder was not up to explaining that he'd been reduced to sleeping in her bed because he missed her so much. So he reluctantly left the apartment and headed home to change. Along the way, he made a mental note not to wash those clothes until Scully was back. Even if it meant never washing those clothes again. On his way back out the door, he noticed the light on his answering machine blinking. He'd never been so excited over the prospect of a message in his life. Maybe she'd been found and she was safe. Or maybe she'd been injured and was in the hospital, but she was alive and patiently waiting for him to come get her. But as soon as it crossed her mind that she might be dead and that the message might be someone reporting that very fact, he began to lose interest. He never wanted to know if that was the message. But he couldn't *not* listen to it. What if she was waiting for him to get her? What if she was hurt and she needed him? He hit the button before he had the chance to rethink it. And he was greeted with the sound of a click. Followed by the operator's hollow voice instructing him to hang up and try his call again later. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He knew it had been Krycek. He just knew it. And he hadn't been there to get it. And Krycek had probably gotten very angry, venting that anger on Scully. All because Mulder had tried to make some psychic connection with her. If he'd gotten the phone call, he wouldn't have needed the connection. He would have been able to actually speak to her. He would have heard it from her that she was ok, rather than having to assume she was ok simply because he was convinced he'd *know* if she wasn't. Ok, so he was an idiot. That was nothing new. And being an idiot, he decided to do something stupid, something he'd been thinking of doing the whole time. He picked up the phone and dialed her cellular number. Then he waited. ###### The ringing phone startled both of them. Krycek was so surprised that he let go of Scully's arm. But she was too busy tripping over the hem of her coat to run. Krycek recovered and took hold of her arm again. Then he fished the phone out of his jacket. He looked at the ringing phone, glanced accusingly at her, and then he answered it. Even though he was distracted, she stayed where she was. His angry glare was enough to effectively glue her to the spot. She had a good idea of who was calling and judging by the way Krycek tightened his grip on her arm enough to bruise, she was right. She'd never seen anyone get so angry so quickly in her life. He began walking away, dragging her down an alley off the main street they'd been on. His anger made him move even faster than he had been moving before. And with his hand still painfully attached to her arm, she was forced to keep up. She stumbled a few times, continually stepping on the hem of the coat. Eventually, she tipped forward too far to catch herself. And once again, she found herself in Krycek's arms. This time he didn't let her go. He kept one hand clamped around her until he'd reached the far end of the alley, about as far away from the people on the street as he could get. Then his hand moved to clamp over her mouth, stopping the strangely absent urge to speak and let Mulder hear her. She felt guilty for it, but there was nothing she could do anyway. She couldn't recognize where they were, and she hadn't caught any street signs. She'd be no use to him at all. And she honestly didn't have anything to say to him anyhow. She heard Krycek's voice hissing something vaguely threatening at her best friend in the world but she wasn't interested in what it was. Every nerve in her body was standing on end as she realized that his hand was no longer *clamped* over her mouth. She could feel his fingers just barely brushing the skin of her cheek. But it was more of a caress than a threat. And somehow, that made it all the more threatening. She felt his hand retreat back to her shoulder while his other hand pressed the phone to her ear. And she could think of nothing besides how close he was standing to her. She heard Mulder's terrified voice calling to her, but she didn't answer. She couldn't answer. She felt Krycek's thumb running lightly across the back of her neck. Then it ran back. And forth. And back again. She wasn't supposed to ignore it. She knew it. Her mind refused to function. This was just too much for her. Mulder's impatient voice was alternately screaming for her and cursing Krycek in one ear while Krycek was leaning forward and gently nuzzling the other. She couldn't make sense of it. Tears formed in her eyes. there was something terribly wrong with her. She could talk to Mulder. Right then. Or she could make a run for it. And if she remembered to pull up the hem of her coat, she might actually get away from him. She knew she actually stood a chance to grab the phone and then run. Then she could go home. When her shoulders began to shake, he moved the phone away from her ear. And regardless of the open phone connection, regardless of the fact that he wanted Mulder to think he was hurting Scully, he gently turned her toward him. He suddenly hated seeing her upset. He'd never felt that way before. And he didn't understand why he was caressing her cheek or her neck or why he was wrapping his arms around her. And he didn't understand why he was leaving the phone open and letting Mulder listen to him comforting her. And he knew he would never understand why he chose that moment to tilt her face towards his and kiss her. Or why she kissed him back. Part 8 He didn't know what he was hearing. But he knew he didn't like it. He'd thought that Krycek was going to let him talk to Scully but then nothing had happened. And he'd heard breathing. If it had been her, she would have said something. He was sure of it. But then he heard muffled sobs. And he knew the phone was no longer near anyone's face. And he heard the soothing voice Krycek was using. And he just knew Scully had found comfort in his arms. The reassuring words stopped, and Mulder wasn't sure he *wanted* to know what was happening. A sickening feeling took up residence in his stomach and he silently laid the phone back down in its cradle. Whatever was going on, he had no place in it. He could only hope that Scully knew what she was doing. Even though he desperately wanted to believe that she was faking this, in the hopes of earning her freedom somehow, he couldn't convince himself. Ignoring the tears forming in his eyes, he stormed through his apartment, stopping only when he found the suit from the night before. He grabbed the clothes and tossed them in the washer, along with almost half a box of laundry detergent. Then he sunk down to the floor in front of the machine, listening to its mechanical hum as it removed any traces of her. She'd left him, betrayed him, abandoned him. Exactly what he'd always been afraid of. Exactly what she'd sworn she'd never do. He waited there, with his head resting in his hands. He kept waiting for the anger to subside. But it didn't. He listened as the machine's cycle finished and silence filled the apartment. He stood up hastily and practically ran to the car. He didn't want to change his mind. He wanted to do it before he got the chance to rethink it. It had to be done before the anger wore off. He knew he'd made the drive to her apartment in record time, but that wasn't of any interest to him right then. Once inside, he slammed her front door so hard the lamp on the table next to it shook. And once it had balanced itself, he carelessly reached out and pushed it. He watched it topple to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces, and knew she'd never be able to fix it. With that destroyed, he looked around. Even though everything was the exact same as it had been those few hours earlier, it all looked different. He'd seen it that morning through eyes that desperately loved and cherished the woman to whom it all belonged. But there was no love now. She'd left him. She'd betrayed him. He swept his arm along her mantle with tears running down his face, relishing the crash as things broke. He didn't feel it as pieces of glass from her picture frames bounced up and imbedded themselves in his hands. He slammed his fists into the empty mantle and wanted to scream. He hadn't wanted to trust her. He hadn't. He would have been fine on his own. Or he would have gotten himself killed years earlier. But he hadn't needed her. He didn't need her. And one day, he might be able to convince himself of that. Maybe. He turned around, his violent outburst having spent most of his immediate anger, and surveyed the damage. It was a good thing he wasn't ever planning on speaking to her again because she'd never speak to him. He felt a twinge of guilt, looking down at the things he'd ruined, but remembered what she'd done to him and decided a broken heart was worse. He left the living room, walking down the hall into the bedroom he'd spent the previous night in. He didn't feel comfortable here anymore. This was no longer a sanctuary to him. He pondered laying down on the bed and shooting himself, but he was truly afraid that she might not actually care other than about her ruined blankets. Meandering over to the dresser, he picked up one of the bottles of perfume. He lifted it to his nose again, as he had the night before, but this time, the previously welcome scent filled him with pain. Heartbreaking pain. More tears spilled down his cheeks. He wanted to hate her. But he knew, should she choose that moment to walk in and say she was sorry, he'd forgive her. Because he loved her. His broken heart still belonged to her. The mantra that had provided him with the energy to drive to her apartment returned, chanting relentlessly in his head. She left you. She left you. She left you. His own mind was taunting him, tormenting him. He threw the bottle of perfume against the wall as hard as he could. And the shattering glass stopped the teasing voice for a few seconds. But only a few. ###### As shocked as she was when he kissed her, she still responded. She didn't know why. She didn't like this man. It was more of an intense biting knowledge that she shouldn't like this man. But he was kissing her. And she had to admit that she was liking it. And for the first time since he taken her, an inkling of good sense occurred to her. She stiffened and tried to pull away. She wasn't entirely sure how her arms had gotten wrapped around his neck, but they had. She pulled them back, placing them on his chest to push him away. And his hands, the hands that had been holding her so gently, moved to crush her upper arms. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were once again cold. He pushed her back, as if she'd been the one to initiate it, slamming her into the wall. Then he let go of her arms and walked away. He only made it to the end of the alley before he returned. When he started mumbling to himself, angrily kicking innocent pieces of trash, she averted her glance. She saw the phone laying on the ground where he'd dropped it. And she saw the green 'on' light. And she knew Mulder had heard. As Krycek continued to pace the length of the alley, she wrapped her arms around herself. Her brain was screaming at her. Why why why why why? She blinked, trying to ward off the tears. She didn't want to cry again. God only knew that Krycek would do this time. Taking a chance that he was too distracted to notice, she crouched down to the ground, reaching for the phone. Maybe he was still there. Maybe she could get him to come find her. Maybe he could make everything all right. Just as her hand closed around it, Krycek's shadow loomed over her. She looked up, hoping he'd let her pick it up. She couldn't really tell what he was thinking, other than the obvious fact that he was very very very angry. And he was apparently angry at her. She almost pointed out that he had no right to be angry at her since it was his own damned fault he kissed her, but she didn't. Best not to say anything to him when he was angry. He was liable to get even more upset, if that was possible. She remained where she was, practically kneeling on the ground, with the phone almost in her grasp, staring at him. He wasn't saying anything. He wasn't moving. He was just staring. And every few seconds, one of the veins running across his temple would stand out, giving a fairly good impression that it was about to explode. After a few more seconds, she realized that the vein swelling coincided exactly with his fists clenching. His gaze was starting to irritate her. She'd rather he was screaming and throwing things. Then she'd have some idea of exactly what he was so mad at. As it stood, it could have been any number of things. She looked down and closed her hand around the phone. Still afraid to move too quickly, she inched the phone closer, but didn't stand up. She heard the dial tone and knew that Mulder had hung up. But she didn't know when. And suddenly, she really wanted to. She pressed the power button, silencing the tone. Then a hand closed around her arm and pulled her up. She winced when he grabbed her. She knew there were bruises. He'd been pushing and pulling and grabbing her in the exact same spot on her arm and it hurt. With the phone still in her hand, she dared to look at his face. His eyes were closed. And the vein wasn't popping out as frequently. She could see that he was taking deep breaths, and it looked to her that he was doing his very best to maintain, or at least regain, control of himself. Her hand tightened around the phone. She assumed he wasn't looking and stuffed it in her pocket. Maybe she would use it later if the opportunity arose. Either that or she'd use the keys which were still tucked in the waistband of her skirt. He hadn't found out about them yet. Maybe he'd forget about the phone too. But before she could even take her hand back out of the pocket, he shoved her back against the wall. This time, he didn't walk away. Once again he kissed her. She raised her hands pointlessly to push against him. He wasn't being gentle anymore. Probably because she wasn't kissing him back. He was hurting her. And the more she pushed him away, the more force he used to hold her against the wall. Feeling weak and helpless wasn't something she was used to. And it wasn't something she liked. But she knew she didn't stand a chance of fighting him and winning, especially since she wasn't willing to hurt him for a chance to get away. She'd been trained to defend herself. And she was relatively good at it. But it always involved injuring the attacker. And she couldn't do it. So she stopped. And the minute she stopped pushing him, he pulled away. She could still see the anger in his eyes, but it had been joined with confusion, and possibly something resembling concern. He started to say something to her, and his voice came out in a strained whisper. He gave up and resorted to staring at her. She felt her chin start to tremble. She didn't want to cry. But she couldn't help it. She was terrified. And completely at his mercy. He moved one hand from where it had been resting next to her and cupped her cheek with it. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall. There wasn't anything she could do to stop them. And then she felt him wiping away the tears, as gently as Mulder would have done. When she opened her eyes, the anger was gone, replaced by a look that was filled with an emotion she couldn't interpret. He looked at her for a long moment, and then leaned his head closer. She could feel his face pressed next to hers and his breath on her ear. His arms moved to encircle her again. And then she heard his almost silent whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you, Dana." One of his hands found its way into her hair and pressed her cheek against his. "I promise you." And once again, she hugged him to her. Part 9 Later that night, Mulder sat on his couch thinking. Papers were piled up all over the place, mostly resting on top of open books. The few books that were closed had tiny bits of paper sticking out to mark pages. He checked his watch for the sixth time in two minutes. It was still a little after three in the morning. His eyes were half closed from exhaustion and reading in the dimly lit room. His head pounded, complaining about the hundreds of pages of tiny type he'd read. His fingers were covered with paper cuts, some of which continued to bleed. His legs were cramped from the odd positions he'd spent the majority of the day in, trying to read and balance four books simultaneously. But his mind was at ease. It was about the only part of him that wasn't complaining. He pushed the final book off his lap and stretched out. His eyes drifted closed and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. She hadn't left him. She wasn't gone. He could get her back. And all he had to do was talk to her. He kicked a few more books off the couch and tried to relax. All the reading he'd done had actually paid off. As had his freshman year research paper on the Stockholm Syndrome. The idea had come to him while he was sitting in his office that morning, hating himself, hating her, hating Krycek, God and anyone else he could think of. And the longer he thought about it, the more sense it made. It was a defense mechanism. One that no one was immune to. One that was very cruel to the victim. It made the victim not only identify with and support the captor, but also made them extremely fearful of the police and outside authority. Since the victim depended on the captor for everything, they were reduced to a child-like state. Their captor made all the rules. Their entire sense of right and wrong was overturned. And the victim would grow as attached to their captor as a child is to their parents. Quite a few of the cases documented had reports of the victim actually marrying their captor following their release from prison. It was a sick and twisted power game Krycek was playing with her. And Mulder was sure that he would be able to get through to Scully if he was only able to talk to her. But he had to be very careful. As an FBI agent, he knew he would appear to be an authority figure to her. As her partner, he knew he probably always appeared to her like that. As someone who hated Krycek, he would appear to be an even bigger threat. And he didn't want that. He wasn't a threat to her. At least, he didn't want to be. The only redeeming quality about Stockholm Syndrome was the third factor. In order for it to truly be the case, the captor had to come to care about the victim. And should Krycek begin to care about Scully it would make it that much harder for him to hurt her. And then he stood a chance of getting her back. He looked at the phone, hoping that it would ring on its own, but he knew better. He accepted that he would probably have to be the one to initiate any further contact. As long as Scully was safe, it was ok with him. He closed his eyes and began preparing an excuse as to why he'd wrecked her house. She wasn't going to be exactly pleased with him. He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, thinking of all the ways he could possibly make it up to her. ###### Krycek pulled away from her abruptly. This had gone beyond sympathy and gotten ridiculous. He didn't understand why either of them were acting the way they were or how to stop it. He was in charge. She was his prisoner. His insurance policy. And he could ignore the fact that she was pretty. He could ignore the way the accepting look on her face made him want to tell her everything. He could. He could. He could. He would. Scully said nothing as he pulled away. She watched him take the handcuffs out of his pocket and fasten them around her wrists. She didn't resist. It was probably easier for both of them anyway. There was no way she'd be able to hug him like this. And as good as it may have felt, she knew it wasn't right. She knew she'd been wrong to let Mulder worry about her. And he had been worried. She'd heard it in his voice. She'd let Krycek threaten him. And she'd said nothing to assuage his fears. There was one thought that might help her stay sane. Allowing herself to listen to Krycek had opened her up to his warped views. She had to forget them. She had to remember that Mulder was right. Krycek was wrong. Krycek didn't care about her. Krycek didn't care about anyone other than himself. Mulder cared about her. Mulder loved her. She needed to remember that. No matter how helpless Krycek seemed, he wasn't. He certainly hadn't needed any help in taking her prisoner. He didn't need her help. And he didn't deserve her cooperation. And even as she repeated this to herself, she remained silent, allowing Krycek led her back to the street. She hated the feeling of dependency she had. But a mental chant of the difference between right and wrong wasn't going to keep her alive. She could continue to behave the way he had come to expect of her. Then he wouldn't hurt her. But thinking back to how honestly caring he'd sounded when he said he wouldn't hurt her, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold out forever. She had to contact Mulder. The phone in her pocket, the phone she hoped Krycek would assume they'd left on the ground in the alley, was her only chance. But she still wasn't sure what good calling him would do. Not much, at least until she could figure out where they were. She didn't hear anything he said as they continued their journey to wherever it was that they were going. She would hear him begin to speak and then she'd close her eyes and think of Mulder, or of her mother, she tried listing the names of all of her cousins. Anything that would protect her from falling victim to anymore of his abuse. And with every step she took, she felt the phone tap her leg. Her only link to Mulder. And to her life. After their foray down the alley, he was slightly more considerate of the fact that the trenchcoat was way too long for her. He wasn't walking quite as quickly anymore. But since he'd handcuffed her, it was just as difficult to keep up. She trudged along with him, wincing as blisters began to form on her feet. The heels she had worn out to go to a bar did not lend themselves well to going on a walk. It had gotten darker, making it that much harder for her to reasonably figure out where they were. She could only tell that they had moved into a slightly better neighborhood. Nonetheless, had she not been connected to a frightening looking man, she would not want to be there. Somewhere along the way, they'd crossed onto a block that housed high-rises. But as she twisted around to look for a building she recognized, or even an address, Krycek pulled her in the door of one of the buildings. She caught a glimpse of the front of the building as he pulled her inside. And then he suddenly seemed aware of the fact that she was looking and stepped in font of her. All she'd caught was the number 17. It could have been part of the address, the whole address, or the street name. She couldn't tell which. She tried not to see the disappointed look on his face as he continued to drag her forward. Giving up on the address, she scanned the lobby. It appeared to be a regular, albeit up-scale, apartment building. Complete with doormen in uniform. And security cameras. She paused for a moment, causing Krycek to look at her with a frown that warned strongly against making a scene. But the frown seemed completely out of place next to the obvious concern in his eyes. She did her best to smile nervously at him. "Can I take off the hat?" Upon seeing his frown of warning turn into one of confusion, she shrugged, "I feel like people are staring at me because I look stupid. You wouldn't want people to remember seeing us, would you?" She said it in the absolute least condescending voice she could muster, but it still sounded threatening. She waited as he looked around the lobby, seemingly considering her words. Then he reached up to remove the hat, handing it to her before reaching back up to comb his fingers through her hair. She told herself that it was only because her hair hadn't been brushed in the whole time he'd had her. He didn't hesitate before grabbing her hands, as roughly as he could without raising suspicion, and began walking towards the elevators. Knowing this might be her only chance, she turned away from him for a second and stared straight into one of the security cameras. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Just maybe. The number 17 and a security camera and his keys and a cell phone. Maybe everything was falling into place and she could escape. She had some hope. If she decided to go for it. Still, guilt crept in once they'd entered the elevator. He walked in front of her, unlocking the cuffs and checked her wrists for red marks. She pulled her arms back slightly, giving in to her gut reaction where Alex Krycek was concerned. He caught hold of her left hand and ran his thumb across the welt there. He'd tightened the cuff around her watch, coming close to breaking the skin. In all honesty, until he'd seen it, she hadn't noticed it. He gently lifted her wrist up and pressed his lips onto the mark. Then he looked at her, guilt plastered across his eternally angry face. "I'm sorry. You should have told me it was hurting." She said nothing, allowing him to continue holding her hand. Her eyes had widened, half from shock, and half from terror at the way her heart was racing at his touch. He ignored her reaction to him and lowered her hand back down to her side. But he didn't let go. When the elevator stopped, he led her out and down the hall. She silently followed him, not having much of a choice since he was holding her hand securely in his. She stared, open-mouthed, as he stopped at a door and dug through his pockets for his keys. Luckily for her, he seemed to have located a spare set. Otherwise, he might have discovered her little secret. He let go of her hand in order to search his other pockets. Too tired and confused to make a run for it, she leaned against the wall and sighed. He was as bad as Mulder with the damned keys. She was almost ready to hand over the set she'd confiscated to spare herself the misery of having to watch a grown man scrambling around like an idiot for his keys. Finally, several minutes after a ridiculous smile had appeared on her face, he reached back in the first pocket he'd tried and produced the keys. Amazing as it was, a blush crept into his cheeks as he finally pushed open the door and walked inside. Part 10 He ushered her into the apartment, carefully checking the hall to see if anyone had noticed them. She used the time to look around as best she could from where she was standing. This was most likely where he really lived. It was a nice apartment, probably funded by a series of horrible things he'd done to hurt her and Mulder. This place ran circles around the other apartment he'd kept her in. She couldn't afford to live in an apartment as nice as this one and she couldn't afford the expensive furniture either. She should be angry at it. She should be angry that he could have such nice things while he'd done nothing to deserve them. But she wasn't. She watched as he took off his jacket and hung it in the closet. Then he moved to help her. She couldn't remember taking off a coat so fast in her life. But she'd grown wary of his touches. She couldn't reasonably stop him, not without getting her own gun shoved in her face. And she couldn't resist him once he touched her. So she would just have to avoid letting him touch her. As long as he wasn't looking in her eyes or touching her, she could remember that he was not her friend. Almost. He looked slightly upset at the way she leaned away from him, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he pointed down the hallway. "There's a bedroom and a bathroom down there. You can take a shower if you'd like, there are some clothes for you to change into on the bed." She took a step down the hallway, thankful to finally be getting out of the evil skirt that she'd come to blame the whole event on. He took hold of her arm, trying to be as intimidating as he could after showing her so much affection. "This door will be locked and it's a long way down. Don't try anything." He let her go and closed the door to the hallway behind her, plunging her into darkness. She ran her hand along the wall, finally locating the light switch. And as she turned it on, she heard him throw the lock on the door. She stood there, dumbfounded for a moment. She'd been promoted to a suite now. But she was still his captive. She knew the door was locked, so she didn't bother trying it. She decided to explore. It would give her something to do for a few minutes anyway. And just as she peered in the doorway of the bedroom, she heard him unlock and open the door. "If you run across a set of keys anywhere, let me know." His voice was followed by the sound of the door closing and the lock being turned again. She sighed and pulled the set of keys out from her waistband. She turned them over in her hand for a moment. Her whisper was so soft he probably wouldn't have heard it had he been standing next to her. "Found them." Then she went into the bathroom and started the shower. She stayed in the shower longer than she needed to. He'd been so kind as to provide shampoo and conditioner and soap. And when she finally stepped out of the shower she wrapped herself in the softest towel she'd ever felt. The thought that he'd been so prepared to hold her for an indeterminate period of time unnerved her. But she knew he could have left her handcuffed to the bed in the other apartment, or not even given her a bed, and she was pleased that at the very least he was going to let her be comfortable. And as she stood in the steamy bathroom, toweling her hair dry, she realized that he'd taken the coat with the cell phone away from her. And had her safely locked away from it. She felt her face crumble and tears form. He was brighter than he looked. And she'd completely forgotten about the phone for those five minutes. Now her chance was gone. She left the bathroom in a daze, having enough sense to scoop up her clothes, and the keys, and take them with her. She stumbled into the bedroom, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry hysterically for days. She hadn't been sure that she would use the phone, but she'd desperately needed it. It had become a security blanket for her. And it was gone. She found a sweatshirt and sweatpants laying on the bed. And a pair of sneakers. She got dressed quickly, discovering that the sweatshirt came down to her knees and that she had to loop the drawstring of the pants around her waist twice to keep them up. But the shoes were the right size. He'd gotten her a sweatsuit in men's extra large, but found shoes in her size. It was exactly the type of thing Mulder would do. The tears stopped. She looked at the bed, and tried to determine what he expected her to do. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. Apparently, he expected her to spend more time sleeping. But she wasn't tired. She was upset. So she sat down on the bed and hugged her knees to her chest. Maybe she could say that she was cold and ask for the coat. But looking at the thick down comforter that covered the bed, that didn't really seem feasible. Maybe she could pretend to be sick and get him to take her to the hospital. She smiled to herself when she imagined him taking her to a hospital and giving them her name. He could identify himself as her kidnapper and go with the police willingly. But she didn't want him to get arrested. She just didn't want him to hurt her. Or Mulder. She knew how badly the police would treat him when they found out he'd kidnapped a federal agent. Police didn't take too well to that kind of thing. Refusing to give up, she got up and tried the window. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said it was a long way down. They were at least twenty stories up. Sighing in disappointment, she walked to the bathroom. Maybe there was something there. She looked through the medicine cabinet and found half a bottle of aspirin and a mostly empty bottle of sleeping pills. She smirked at her reflection in the mirror. She could kill herself if she got desperate. She set the bottles back on the shelf and went back to the bedroom to lay down. She wasn't that desperate. ###### The first thing Mulder did when he woke up was check his watch. He'd barely slept two hours. But he was too excited over the prospect of getting Scully back to sleep anymore. He stood, glancing at his shirt for a moment to gauge how wrinkled it was, and upon determining that the answer was too wrinkled, he pulled his coat on. At five in the morning there weren't too many people out. And he hoped Scully's neighbors weren't among the few that were. He'd reached one conclusion while he was thinking over his earlier actions. He had to get there before she saw the mess and clean up. He knew he'd have to replace the lamp. And everything on the mantle. And he knew she'd know. Maybe she wouldn't ask. He could always hope. But as he stared around her living room at the mess he'd created, he decided he might have a better chance praying. He went through the motions of cleaning up- sweeping up the glass, moving a new lamp onto the table by the door, and salvaging what he could from the mess he'd made of her mantle. He knew it would be absolutely impossible to explain the fury that had caused him to wreck everything, but he hoped that she would at least let it drop since he'd cleaned up. Maybe after she was back and they were settled back into their lives once again he could tell her how upsetting that phone call had been. Maybe late some night when they were out of town and had run out of things to talk about. Maybe when he knew she was safe and that no one was messing with her head. Maybe it wouldn't be such a long time away. He walked down the hall and peered into her bedroom. And the scent of perfume was so strong he immediately regretted the decision to go in there. He wasn't sure what the best course of action would be regarding it. There was a fairly distinct brown stain on the wall over her bed and it didn't blend all that well with the pale paint on the wall. And it smelled. He loved the scent when he could just barely detect it as she walked past him or rode next to him in the car. But the whole bottle at once was enough to kill him. He held his breath and opened the windows as far as he could. Maybe he could air it out. He wasn't really looking forward to having to paint and he knew trying to scrub the stain off would just make the smell worse. He decided to stick with the fresh air approach for a while and went back to the living room to sit down, grumbling to himself about getting a grip on his temper. ###### She couldn't tell how long she'd been sleeping, or if she'd even really slept. She could easily have just been sitting on the bed so long she'd slipped into a coma. And she was bored. Very very very bored. There was nothing to do. Nothing to watch. Nothing to fold, move, push or pull. Nothing to think about that she could stand to think about and she'd had already gotten fairly adept at reciting the alphabet backwards. She sighed and stared accusingly at the ceiling and upon getting no response, she stomped over to the window. She looked down at her feet and realized with some regret that stomping in Keds on a carpeted floor made absolutely no sound. She looked at the building across the street and wished that one person could have left their curtains open. Then she would have had something to look at. But no one had and it was too dark to see much other than that building. She was getting desperate for something to do. The only thing available was the shower. She opted to drag her feet rather than stomp uselessly to the bathroom, remembering to grab the keys in case Krycek decided to pay her a visit. The thought of him sneaking in while she was in the shower made her skin crawl. But she saw that the bathroom door had a working lock on it and she felt a little better. She started the shower and was about to climb in when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Rather, she caught the reflection of the bruises on her arm. She could recognize the handprint and it bothered her. At some point during her time in captivity she'd come to trust him. She shivered involuntarily at the thought that she trusted him. She always connected trust with Mulder. She knew Mulder only trusted her. And while she was a little less dramatic about it, she pretty much felt the same way. Regardless of whether Mulder was the only one deserving of her trust or not, here she was, in her prison, actually trusting the man who'd left ugly marks on her skin. She was listening to and almost assisting this person who had hurt her. And she'd been mad because Mulder hadn't gotten her a desk. She shook her head at herself in the mirror and made a mental note to reevaluate her priorities at some point. Then she got in the shower and scrubbed at the bruises until she new ones formed from the force. Part 11 She'd spent what seemed like an abominably long time in the shower. Her arm was raw and sore from the futile attempt to scrub away her bruises. She stepped out of the shower, shaking her head at her own stupid actions. All she'd succeeded in doing was making her arm hurt more. But the welt on her wrist had faded considerably and Krycek wouldn't be able to see the fresh bruises when she was wearing the sweatshirt. That could save her from anymore potentially harrowing encounters with him. Maybe. She had the sinking feeling that he was now looking for any reason to touch her. She couldn't tell if he was doing it to unnerve her or because he really wanted to. She wasn't sure she liked that he might just want to touch her. But she wasn't in the best position to tell him to stop. In fact, she was sure he'd faint if she actually said something to him. She'd barely said anything the whole time she'd been with him. She hadn't said anything in so long that she wasn't sure she remembered how to talk. She'd gotten dressed and slipped back under the covers when she heard a knock on the door. She held her breath and tucked the keys between the mattress and box spring. She wanted to scream at him to go away. She decided that, first of all, he'd probably ignore her and, secondly, that her vigil of silence would hopefully make a greater impression on him. A few seconds later, she heard the key turn in the lock and sounds of someone walking down the hall. Krycek's face peered around the door hesitantly. She didn't bother trying to pretend she was asleep. He'd just heard the shower running. Seeing that she was awake, he continued walking, eventually sitting on the opposite side of the bed from her. She stared, silently taking in the objects he was carrying. There was a can of soda in one hand and a plate with something she couldn't identify in the dark in the other. She turned away to stare at the wall in the other direction. She didn't want to need him. But as soon as she recognized food, she realized how hungry she was. He didn't say anything at first. He just watched her, holding food for her, but not exactly offering it. He was waiting for her to reach for it. She had to be hungry. But she was too proud and too stubborn to reach for it from him. "Dana, it's been almost 48 hours since you've eaten. You're going to get sick if you keep this up." He kept his voice low, almost a whisper, and entirely too familiar for her liking. And she didn't appreciate his calling her by her first name either. And as much as she knew she should ignore it, she heard how concerned he sounded. Sincerely concerned. She closed her eyes and said nothing. But with her eyes closed, facing away from him, she didn't see it coming. She jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder. He lightly massaged it while she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to disappear. After another minute, his hand slid onto her neck and continued its caress. And the moment he touched her bare skin she began to shiver. She was completely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to her and she could put up a fight but she knew there'd be no one who'd even hear her if she screamed. She'd never felt so helpless in her life. And for the first time in a long time, she was scared. He felt her begin to shake and understood how frightened she was. And as ridiculous as it seemed, he didn't want her to be scared of him. But she was. She was terrified. So he set the plate and the soda on the floor next to the bed and stood up to leave. "Eat something, Scully." Then he turned and walked out. And she suddenly heard the muffled sound of a ringing telephone. ###### Mulder bolted upright from the position he'd slumped into when he fell asleep. He'd felt it. She was scared. And there was nothing he could do about it. The feeling subsided, along with the last remnants of the nightmare he'd been having. He thought for a moment that it had simply been his own fear, but he knew it wasn't. He desperately wished he had a telepathic link that was slightly more effective than just knowing she was scared. But he didn't. The one thing he did have was a phone. He picked it up and dialed, hoping that he wasn't to late to save her from whatever was causing her to be so afraid. The phone rang half a dozen times before Krycek's annoyed voice finally answered. "Yeah, what?" Mulder didn't know what he'd been hoping for, but an annoyed Krycek was definitely not it. "I want to talk to Scully." Simple demands. If he made simple demands, he might actually get somewhere. He ignored the voice in his head that mentioned 'let her go' was a simple command as well. He couldn't expect too much. Krycek wasn't happy. He'd thought she wasn't so afraid of him anymore. Earlier that afternoon she hadn't seemed so damned afraid. And now she was shaking and refusing food. The situation had taken a turn for the worse. And Mulder had to choose thatmoment to call and insist on chatting. "She's asleep, Mulder, and I'm not waking her up." He'd moved the phone away from his ear and was about to disconnect it when he heard Mulder's reply. "The hell she is. I want to talk to her." The fact that Krycek was refusing to put her on the phone was scaring him even more. He was getting desperate. He needed to know she wasn't hurt. And he was still afraid that Krycek was going to kill her. Krycek looked at the phone as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. Then he put it back to his ear. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. "How the hell would you know whether she's asleep or not?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "She's scared and I want to talk to her. NOW." He didn't like the tone of Krycek's voice and he was beginning to think he'd hurt her. ###### "What the- I- She's asleep. And you're not talking to her." Ignoring the incredulous tone in his own voice, he disconnected the phone, quickly turning it off before it got a chance to ring again. How exactly had Mulder known that? If it had been a shot in the dark, it had been the best one Krycek had ever witnessed. He couldn't possibly have just *known* that she was scared. He took one last look at the phone and then went back into the bedroom. He switched on the light in the hallway and leaned in the doorway of the bedroom. She was still laying there, in the same position as when he'd left, with her eyes closed and tears running down her cheeks. His jaw dropped open. Mulder had known. There was no way he could explain it, and he'd never admit to believing it, but Mulder had known. He shook his head while he walked back to the living room. He'd gotten in over his head this time. He'd begun to care about the woman he'd kidnapped, who was scared to death of him and now she was laying in his bed while he tried, and failed, to get comfortable on the couch. Something had to give. And the phone was the first thing. His plan was to keep her around as long as he possibly could to keep himself alive. And he wasn't going to deal with Mulder calling up whenever he damn well pleased. He just wasn't. He gave up on the couch and focused his energy on destroying the phone. And not quite twenty feet away, on the other side of the wall, an idea began to form in Scully's head. Part 12 Once he'd left her room the second time, she felt fairly certain that he wasn't coming back. At least not until the following morning. She had an idea. But she wasn't sure it would work. And if she tried and failed, she'd be in trouble. She would have to be completely certain that it would work before she'd try it. She had to convince Krycek it was real. She knew convincing him would take some work and she would have to make a dangerous assumption. If she was wrong, and he honestly didn't care about her, then she had no doubt he would kill her. She'd have to be sure before she tried anything. And with Krycek, she might never be sure. The internal debate over her plan continued for quite a while until her grumbling stomach reminded her of the food Krycek had left. As much as she didn't want to take it from him, she did have to eat to live. And if she kept refusing, he'd probably go back to force-feeding her. She wanted that even less than she wanted to take what he offered. She picked up the plate and sniffed. She couldn't see much and she had no idea what was on the plate. And whatever it was, it didn't smell like anything. She didn't really think he was trying to poison her, but she didn't know. She reached for the soda instead. It hadn't been opened yet and she was quite certain that the Pepsi company had nothing against her. It was safe to drink. She took a sip and turned her attention back to the plate. Unless it was going to start talking, staring at it wasn't going to help. And she was feeling too lazy to get up and go into the hallway where there was a light. The second she touched it, she recognized pizza. She felt stupid for not realizing it sooner, but then pizza normally had a distinctive odor. She sniffed again. This quite definitely smelled like nothing at all. Which meant on of two things. The pizza was either a week old and had been rotting in the fridge, or it was by Fisher Price. She didn't particularly feel like eating either, but she was hungry. Mulder lived on old pizza and it hadn't hurt him any. She decided she'd live through it and took a bite. Starving to death was not part of her plan. Once she finished eating, she put the plate and soda can back on the floor. Then she curled up under the covers and tried to sleep. ###### Mulder tried calling back. He tried calling back about a hundred times before he gave up. Krycek must have turned the phone off. And that meant he'd have no more contact with her. He could keep trying, but he knew that the phone would probably remain off for a good long time. Giving in to the fact that there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help her, he paced around her apartment. He eventually paced all the back into her bedroom, only to discover that airing out the perfume had been about as effective as the phone call, but possibly less. He had ruled out repainting and he was left with scrubbing. Probably just as well, it would give him something to do with his anger. He dug around under her kitchen sink until he came up with a bucket and a couple of rags. He wasn't sure that lemon scented Lysol was going to mask the perfume, but it might help. Unfortunately, he never once considered the possibility that it would just make it worse. About two minutes into scrubbing the wall, he became deathly afraid that he'd managed to form some toxic gas and left the room, closing the door behind him. Maybe he could call Krycek and have him warn Scully not to go into her bedroom ever again. He picked his coat up off the couch and left, knowing that when Scully got back she would know exactly what to do with it. Then he headed home. ###### For the first time since she'd been kidnapped, Scully woke up to the sun streaming in the window. She'd left the curtains open the night before and she was going to pay the price of a whole day of being bored. She wondered if it was possible to bore someone to death. But bored or not, she had eaten and slept in a comfortable bed and she felt better. She had a plan. She would get back to Mulder and her life and everything would go back to normal. And she wouldn't have to hurt Krycek. She hadn't realized that was one of her goals, but she was relieved to know he would be ok. She knew Mulder would want to hunt him down and kill him, but she wouldn't let him. She was going to let him get away. But she was hoping that somehow he'd come to some sort of understanding with her through this and he'd just go away. Especially if she made the effort to keep him safe. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and was about to stand up when she noticed that the can and the plate were gone. He'd come in and taken them. And probably stood there and stared at her and had she been awake at the time her skin would have crawled. But she hadn't been. So her skin chose that moment to crawl. She *really* didn't like him being there while she was asleep. But for some odd reason, it didn't bother as much as it had before. Reminding herself of her plan and that this would all be over soon, she grabbed the keys out from their hiding place and walked down the hallway. The knock caught him completely off guard. She'd been ignoring him as best she could and he'd actually been surprised that she'd eaten. And now she was knocking on the door. Maybe she was going to relax a little and stop making him feel so guilty. He opened the door and looked at her, half prepared for her to make an escape attempt. But she was standing there, barefoot, with her hair rumpled from sleeping, wearing a sweatsuit that probably could have fit five of her at once. She actually looked nervous. It had to be the most endearing thing he'd ever seen and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. She held out her hand to him and he saw what she was holding. His keys. He was as close to happy as he'd ever been. Now he could go back and get his car and get something for her to eat other than stale pizza. He took the keys, not quite accidentally touching her hand in the process. She looked down, but she didn't pull her hand back. Maybe he really was getting somewhere with her. "Where were they?" He hated to break the silence since she seemed comfortable with him for once. But he'd looked everywhere for the keys and was pretty sure they'd simply vanished. She looked up, meeting his glance for a brief second, and then looking back down at the floor. He had to fall for this. He just had to. She didn't want to think about how mad he was going to be if he found out. "They were under the bed." Well, they had been. For a few seconds. "And you didn't think to try them in the lock on the door?" He was slightly suspicious of this new Scully. She met his eyes again, this time not blinking until he looked away. "What makes you think I didn't?" She said a silent prayer that none of the keys actually would have opened the lock. It hadn't even occurred to her to try it. She was just hoping he would let down his guard and she could grab the phone. It wouldn't really help her plan, but it might come in handy. He moved away from the door and motioned at the couch. "I'm going out, now that I can use my car." He picked up his jacket and walked to the door. "You can watch TV if you want." Then he walked out, leaving her to listen as he locked the apartment door. She stood where she was for a few minutes. That was not what she'd been expecting. She walked to the closet and started looking for the coat she'd been wearing. Then she noticed it laying on the floor. She knew before she even tried the pockets that it wasn't there. She remembered hearing the phone but she had been hoping that it had been Krycek's and not hers. She threw the coat back down in frustration and looked around. She didn't need the phone. But she did have a chance right then to call Mulder and hear his voice and she knew it would help and the phone was gone. Throwing the coat hadn't been enough to vent her anger, so she walked into the kitchen, looking for a drawer she could slam. That's when she saw the phone, or rather, what was left of it, in a million pieces next to a guilty looking hammer. "God damn it." She didn't care who heard her scream, not even if it was Krycek. She wanted to talk to Mulder. She needed to talk to him. She needed to hear him tell her that everything was going to be ok. Because she was beginning to feel her resolve slipping away. Krycek had looked so happy to see the keys, to see her approach him, that she felt guilty lying. She needed to talk to Mulder to reestablish right and wrong. Krycek was wrong. She was right. But she needed to hear Mulder tell her that. She had begun to doubt herself a long time earlier. She picked up the hammer and was about to hurl it into the wall. But she couldn't. It would leave a mark. Probably more along the lines of a huge hole. Krycek would notice that. He'd let her out to watch TV, not to use the phone. She had to keep him thinking she wasn't trying anything. And finding out she was throwing hammers around wasn't the best way to go about that. She walked back into the living room and threw herself down on the couch. The stereo blared to life, in response to her sitting on the remote. She grabbed it out from under her and gave it a look that would have made Mulder crawl out of the room. She hit the power button and contemplated the remote. It was an average stereo remote, weighing not quite a quarter of a pound. As long as she didn't hit the wall, she could safely throw it without Krycek finding out. She threw it as hard as she could down the hallway and felt a little better. Then she sat back down on the couch with the hammer in her lap and waited for him to return. Part 13 Even with the television on to distract her, it didn't take long for her to get bored. She didn't know when Krycek was planning on coming back. She didn't want to go tearing through the apartment looking for something that wouldn't be of any use to her anyway if he was going to walk in the door and catch her. She had what she needed. And a hammer. She thought of taking it and hiding it somewhere in case she needed it, but she knew she wouldn't. As ridiculous as it was to trust the man who'd kidnapped her, she did and she knew he wasn't going to hurt her. Unless he found out she had a hammer. He'd understandably be none too pleased with that. Taking a chance on getting caught, she got up and began looking for a phone. The man had to have one. But he didn't. At least not one that she could find. Maybe he was brighter than he looked. It would have been awfully stupid to leave her there with a phone that would be traceable. She gave up on the phone and began exploring as best she could. She found another bathroom, but that was it. If this was where he lived, and she was sure it was, then she was sleeping in his bedroom. And that bugged her. She looked back at the couch. Expensive, but far from comfortable. She felt bad that he was sleeping on that while she was sleeping in his bed. But she wasn't about to ask him to join her. She sat back down on it and decided it wasn't that uncomfortable. He'd live. He could always sell it and buy three regular comfortable couches. In case he decided to hold anyone else prisoner. What did bother her, though, was the fact that he'd brought her to his apartment and was attempting to make her feel at home. He'd given her his bedroom and bathroom and he was giving her food and letting her watch TV. And she didn't get the feeling that he was waiting for someone to meet his irrational demands. He was planning on keeping her. A shiver ran down her spine. No wonder he wanted her to cooperate. They'd both go crazy if she didn't. She heard a key in the lock. Looking at the hammer sitting next to her, she knew what it would look like to him. And she knew how very not happy it would make him. She listened as he came in and guessed he was putting something down in the kitchen. She'd only picked up the hammer cause she'd wanted to throw it. Because she'd been rather mad over the phone. But now she knew how guilty she'd looked and she honestly would rather be allowed to roam around than be handcuffed to the bed. She hoped he'd be distracted and walked to the kitchen, holding the hammer behind her back. He was busy unpacking a shopping bag, but he looked up when he heard her approach. And he could tell by the guilty look on her face and the way she was holding her hands behind her that something was wrong. He turned to face her and waited. He had her gun and he was waiting for something to happen. It would have been ridiculous for her to even think of going after him right then. She bit down on her lip and slowly showed him what she was holding. She saw his eyes widen, first in fright that she was going to attack him, then in shock that she hadn't. He reached out carefully, just in case she changed her mind, taking the hammer out of her hand. The he looked back at the counter where he'd left it, where the pieces of the phone were still scattered. She watched his eyes travel from the hammer to the counter back to the hammer, and then finally back to her. She could tell that of the thousand things rolling through his mind right then, he couldn't even pick one to ask her. "Maybe you shouldn't leave things like that lying around. Someone could get hurt." She wasn't convinced that a thinly veiled threat was really going to help the situation any, but she didn't know what else to say. He smirked at her, half embarrassed at his own stupidity and half amazed that she actually gave him back the hammer. "I'll keep that in mind." He went back to unloading the grocery bag, but he kept his eyes trained on her. He tried to think of anything else that he might have left out. She looked down, hating the way that he always managed to stare her down. She began to feel like an idiot for standing there after he had so obviously dismissed her. She laid her hand on the counter and started to turn away. His voice stopped her. "Hungry? I can make you a sandwich if you want." She stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes wide. He was a million times better at completely confusing her than Mulder was. And she didn't even think Krycek was trying. And suddenly the whole thing seemed so completely ridiculous that she couldn't stop herself from laughing. Krycek just watched her, not understanding why his offer to make her a sandwich was so funny. "Did I miss something?" She looked back up at him, tears running down her face from laughing so hard. But she couldn't stop laughing. Stress. It was stress. That was all. Her analytical mind quickly explained away to herself a fairly long list of completely logical reasons for her to be laughing. She waited until she had a fairly decent grip on herself and opened her mouth to speak. The words wouldn't form though. She settled on nodding her head instead. He raised his eyebrows slightly, then went about putting away the things he'd just unpacked from the bag. She stayed there, the laughter having stopped, and waited for nothing in particular. He got out a plate and lunch meat and bread and a knife and started to make himself lunch. "I'll make myself one." He looked at her, the strangest expression she'd ever seen on his face, and she immediately remembered that she was the prisoner here. "I mean, if that's ok." He shrugged and handed her some bread. Then he started to walk away. He'd just reached the hallway when her eyes fell on the knife he'd left laying there. She heard his steps behind her again and saw his arm reach out and take the knife. He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear. "I'm not that stupid." She waited for him to move, but he didn't. She pulled away from him slightly and turned to look at him. She raised one eyebrow and nodded. "Oh, ok. Then you obviously didn't forget this then, did you?" She pressed the hammer into his chest and enjoying the sheepish look on his face. She could see how hard he was fighting the urge to laugh, and sadly losing the battle to keep the smile off his face. "Yeah, well, that's why I need you here to remind me." He winked at her and walked away, carrying the knife, the hammer, and his sandwich. She turned back to the counter and smiled. She had no compelling reason to be flirting with him. But she was. And for some reason that completely and totally escaped her, she was enjoying it. She finished making her sandwich and walked out of the kitchen. An action which left her with a decision to make. She could go back into the bedroom and sit, staring at the wall until she bored herself to sleep or she could go sit next to Krycek on the couch. She grabbed a soda from where he'd left them in the hall and made her decision, shaking the soda as she walked. When he saw her walking towards the couch, he smiled at her. He didn't want her to hate him. And he didn't want her miserable, locked up in a room somewhere. He was planning on this lasting for a while and the sooner she gave up fighting and realized it, the better for both of them. She set her plate down on the coffee table and held up the soda. "Since you're taking everything I could possibly use as a weapon away, you might as well take this too." She figured she'd give him fair warning. He looked at her, not realizing the threat. "I think I can trust you with a soda." She smiled and shrugged. That was the answer she'd been hoping for. "Maybe you shouldn't." Then she pointed the top of the can at him and opened it. He ducked out of the way, but it was too late. He was covered with soda. "You little-" He was trying to threaten her, but he was smiling. It didn't work. She laughed, obviously unconvinced of his threat. She sat down on the soda-free side of the couch and took a bite of her sandwich. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He stared at her for a minute, and then remembered the dripping soda that was ruining both the couch and the carpet. Maybe she was trying to drive him insane. If she kept this up, it wouldn't take long. Date sent: Mon, 22 Dec 1997 11:34:03 -0500 (EST) From: Jessica Zyvarek Taylor Subject: Lost Lost Jessica Zyvarek Taylor Part 14 She did her best to appear calm and collected, eating her sandwich in silence and pretending to be watching TV. While Krycek was scrubbing the soda stain off his couch. He hadn't even thought about the fact that there was more soda on him than on the couch and floor combined. She tried to pay attention to the TV so that she wouldn't keep looking at him. Never once had it occurred to her that Krycek might care about keeping his couch clean. It seemed to be the oddest character trait anyone would think to associate with him. But she was as protective of her couch, so she could understand his haste to clean it. She did not, however, understand why he was letting her sit there while he was cleaning up after her. She didn't get much of a chance to contemplate it because a flying dish towel smacked her in the face. She pulled it off her sandwich and looked at Krycek. Now came the hard part. It was one thing to do something stupid. It was an entirely different story to explain having done that stupid something to the person who'd witnessed the stupid act. Especially when that someone was your kidnapper. She heard him clear his throat and reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze. And when she did, she noticed something she hadn't noticed before. When he tried, or maybe just when he really wanted to, he could completely remove any trace of emotion from his face. Maybe it was all those years of being an assassin. An image of Missy walking in the door of her apartment and being shot by him flashed through her mind. She dropped the sandwich out of her hand and ran out of the room, crawling into her bed, his bed, and rocking herself into a fairly hysterical state. She couldn't block the picture of Missy's empty bed from her mind. She could see Missy looking at her, condemning her for her actions. What was wrong with her? She hated herself at that moment. She hated him too. The guilt was enough to drive her crazy, but she was pretty sure she was already there. He followed her down the hall, completely unaware of her motivation for tearing off like she had. She'd been fine, then she'd taken one look at his face and run away crying. He knew it was his fault, but he didn't know why. And he wanted to. He paused right inside the door for a moment, trying to gauge the best way to approach her. But there was only one way he could think of. He climbed onto the bed with her and pulled her towards him. She struggled a little, but she was too busy hating herself to put up much of a fight. He tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her back. Maybe she'd calm down enough to tell him what was wrong. She hated that he followed her. She hated that he put his arms around her. She hated that even though he was the reason she was so upset, he was the reason she was starting to feel better. She didn't want to like the soothing way he was touching her, or the way his repeated whisper that everything was going to be all right almost convinced her that it was. She eventually calmed enough to push him away, but he wouldn't let her. He held her tightly and she had no choice but to let him. Once the tears had stopped completely, he dared to ask her why she was crying. But his face was buried in her hair and she knew telling him would hurt him. And even though she knew he was a murderer she didn't like hurting him. She didn't want to have to hurt him. He had taken care of her. He could have done worse things than kiss her and hold her and make her feel better. He knew when she didn't respond that he'd done something so terribly wrong and that she'd never ever forgive him. But if there was one thing in the world he wanted right then, it was her forgiveness. He'd never had anything or anybody. And when he'd taken her, he'd experienced feelings he didn't think it was possible for him to feel. He cared about her. He was afraid that he was beginning to love her. She didn't, or at least hadn't, judged him by his actions. She responded to him like he was a regular person, like he was a friend, even though he'd kidnapped her. She'd gone along with him, even though she could have run off at a million different times. He'd given her enough opportunities to escape. And she hadn't. After she'd given him back the keys and the hammer and after everything she'd said, which unless he'd lost his mind entirely had been extremely close to flirting, after everything, he'd thought she was maybe starting to feel something too. She hadn't talked to Mulder when he'd given her the chance and she gave him back her cell phone, and didn't even get mad when he bashed it into a hundred pieces. He leaned back, just far enough to see her face. Her eyes still glistened with tears, but she wasn't crying any longer. "What, Dana. Please tell me what I did." He unwrapped his arms from around her to cradle her face in his hands. He watched her face contort as she tried to keep from crying again. She hated having to do this. He looked so vulnerable, so caring, so loving. "You-my-" She felt the lump rise back to her throat. She was certain hearing this would kill him. She looked back down and stared at a button on his shirt. She didn't want to see his face when she told him. He watched her, trying to avert her eyes, even as he held her face in front of him. She didn't want to hurt him. He knew it. "Dana, it's ok." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, almost shocked when she didn't pull away. She glanced back up at him and shook her head. "I can't." She could deny the words as long as she didn't have to speak them. His hands found their way from her cheeks to her neck and tangled in her hair. He waited, expecting once again for her to pull away, giving her enough time to decide to pull away. When she didn't, he leaned down and kissed her. He was so gentle that she wasn't entirely convinced he was really kissing her. But he was. And all the reasons why she should hate him flew right out of her head. She felt his hands slip out of her hair and come back to rest on her shoulders. She felt him push her away. It seemed so unnatural, that he should be the one to push her away. But he was afraid she was only kissing him out of fear. And he didn't want that. He guided her head back to rest on his shoulder and then slid down on the bed. He wrapped his arms back around her and smiled when her arm tucked around his waist. Maybe she just needed to be held. Maybe he just needed to be held. She was comfortable, even though she shouldn't be, laying in his bed, feeling his arms around her. She could hear his heartbeat and she could feel his breath falling on her forehead. And if she concentrated really hard, she could imagine that it was Mulder she was leaning on. She could imagine how he'd respond if she walked in the office one day and just asked him to hold her. He'd probably have a smug grin on his face the whole time, but he'd hold her. And she wouldn't have to feel guilty about enjoying it. But she'd also have to hurt Krycek. And by her standards, strange as they seemed, he'd already been hurt enough. And just as she drifted off to sleep, her idea, her plan crossed her mind. While right at that moment it was the last thing she wanted to do, she realized that the whole scene would just make it all the more convincing. Part 15 When he got home, his answering machine light was blinking once again. Why didn't anyone ever call while he was home? Then again, he did spend an alarming amount of his time recently at Scully's apartment. He took a deep breath, not even bothering to prepare himself for what the message might be. He'd pissed Krcyek off when Krcyek had already been pissed off. Mulder closed his eyes and silently prayed that he'd punched a hole in the wall rather than in Scully. He pressed the button and was advised by Skinner himself that there was something he needed to see and should come into work immediately. Mulder looked at his watch. But Skinner hadn't left a time. So he had no idea how late he was running. He decided he didn't want to waste the time changing since he'd probably just come right back home after he'd seen whatever Skinner wanted him to see and desperately want to blow his brains out. And wanting to blow your brains out did not require clean or wrinkle-free clothing, thankfully. He didn't bother talking to the secretary when he got there. He walked past her desk and knocked on the door, not even waiting for a reply before walking in. He'd already gotten enough stares from agents, he didn't feel like dealing with the condescending glances of the secretary, who of course, came to work every day in clothes fresh from the dry cleaner. Other than the fact that he barged in without being invited and he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, Mulder believed that he was received well. "I'm glad you finally got around to joining us." Mulder winced and tried to look sorry. He had obviously not gotten there soon enough. Skinner motioned to a TV and VCR that had been brought in and once Mulder looked in the appropriate direction, he continued. "A security guard for an apartment building notice some odd behavior and turned this tape over to the police. Somehow it wound up here." With that, he pressed the power button and they watched a fuzzy image appear on the screen. Two people entering the lobby, a man and a woman. Both were wearing hats and long coats. It looked a lot like the woman was holding one of the man's hands in both of hers. Mulder looked towards Skinner and upon finding that Skinner was staring back at him, directed his attention back to the TV. They'd stopped walking. And then the man reached up to remove the woman's hat. Mulder felt his stomach drop when he saw the man run his fingers through her hair. He knew it was her. And then, right as the man, and Mulder knew it was Krycek, drug her forward, she turned back towards the camera. The look on her face was heartbreaking in its helplessness. Mulder looked at the date on the bottom of the screen. He knew that had been right around when he'd called the first time. Skinner switched off the TV and looked at Mulder. He waived a piece of paper in the air. "Here's the address. You want to go get her or should I-" He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as Mulder grabbed the paper and left the office. He'd never seen anyone move so quickly in his life. He went ahead and called for back up cause he knew Mulder wouldn't even think of it. Mulder didn't feel like waiting for the elevator, so he took the stairs, down all eleven flights, and came close to breaking his neck quite a few times. But he had to get to her. He didn't want to storm in with a whole group of agents because he knew how badly she would react to that. He had to get her out by himself. That way he could convince her. Then someone else could go after Krycek. As long as Scully was safe. He looked at the address again, even though he'd already memorized it. He couldn't believe they were so close. They were in Alexandria, a few miles away from his apartment. She'd been so close. But not close enough. ##### She hadn't counted on it happening so fast, but she had to use the opportunity that had just presented itself. She sat up, watching him sleep for a few minutes, feeling guilty. He looked so relaxed. He was just going to hold her. She felt herself start to cry again. She didn't want to leave. But she had to. This time, though, she knew the only compelling reason was that someday Mulder would find them and when he did, he'd rip Krycek's lungs out. She leaned over him and pressed a kiss onto his lips. She did love him. Somehow, guilt and all, she did love him. Quietly, she pushed herself off the bed and went into the bathroom. She took the sleeping pills out and counted out three. She laid them next to the sink and grabbed the aspirin for good measure. She dumped the rest of the sleeping pills and all the aspirin in the sink, running the water until they dissolved. She looked at the three pills she'd kept out. They wouldn't kill her. But they'd knock her out for a good long time. Long enough for him to fall for it. She hated doing this to him. He'd become attached to her. And now she was going to leave him too. She put the pills in her mouth and swallowed before she had the chance to rethink it. Then she carried the empty bottles back into the bedroom and dropped them on the floor. She wasn't convinced they looked right, so she turned one in the other direction. They still looked fake to her. But that was probably just because they were faked and she knew it. She crawled back into the bed with him, cuddling back into her earlier position and then starting to cry. What if she was making a colossal mistake? Too late to think about it. She closed her eyes and waited for the sleep that she knew was coming. He was disoriented when he first woke up. He wasn't used to being woken up because there was hair tickling his neck. But then he looked down and remembered what had happened and smiled to himself because she'd stayed. She hadn't gotten up and slept on the couch or taken the keys out of his jacket pocket and walked out the door. He shifted her into a slightly more comfortable position and turned his head to the side. That's when he saw the bottles. And noticed how limp and cold her arm was. He jumped up, knowing exactly what the bottles were and cursing himself for having left them out. He couldn't believe she'd do that to him. To herself. She'd hated being with him so much that she was willing to kill herself to get away. Panicking he grab his own cell phone from the other room and called the paramedics. She was still breathing. She was still alive. They could save her if they hurried. After he opened the front door, he carried her out to the living room and sat down with her on the floor. He was shaking her, trying to wake her up, knowing he wouldn't be able to. And by the time the ambulance got there, he was crying hysterically. He was going to lose her. And it was all his fault. He should have just left her alone. He was in a daze, trying to answer the paramedics questions as best he could, but he didn't know anything about her medical history. They made him ride in the front of the ambulance since they were busy working on her in the back. He couldn't stop himself from asking the driver a hundred times 'is she going to be ok?' and looking into the back, seeing nothing that looked good. The driver kept asking him how many pills of what she'd taken. And he only knew what they were, not how many. And how many seemed to be the important question. And how long ago. He had no idea. They'd been asleep for almost 4 hours. It could have been at any point during that time. The ride to the hospital seemed unduly long. And no one was telling him anything. And when someone calls the paramedics and says their girlfriend just took a bottle of sleeping pills and washed it down with aspirin, the doctors don't assume they meant three sleeping pills. ##### Mulder went running through the lobby while the ambulance was still sitting there. It didn't even occur to him that it had anything to do with her. And by the time he reached the apartment, the place was empty. He looked around, trying to figure out if they were coming back or not. There was food sitting on the coffee table and a sandwich sitting on the floor, looking like it had been thrown down. Next to the plate on the table was a knife and a hammer. The TV was still on, but the sound was muted. He began to think they'd somehow been alerted to the fact he was coming and took off. He willed back tears before they could form. He wasn't about to lose her. Not when he was so close to getting her back. He went back down the hall and peered in the bathroom. Nothing of any interest there. Then he tried the bedroom. The bed was suspiciously rumpled, but he refused to even consider why. He saw the pill bottles tossed on the bed. His heart started pounding as he read the labels. He knew. He remembered seeing the ambulance. He ran out of the apartment, waiting for the elevator because he knew he'd kill himself on the stairs. Every part of his body was shaking. And he could hear himself repeating 'oh, God' over and over again. But he couldn't stop. He knew he had to stop hyperventilating or he never make it to the hospital. When he finally got to the lobby, he asked where the ambulance was headed. The guards shrugged and mumbled something about 'damn ambulance chasing lawyers.' Mulder wanted to strangle them, but he'd have to stop running to do that and he just didn't have the time. Krycek had enough sense to call the ambulance. But he wouldn't know anything about Scully's health. And the damn car just wasn't moving fast enough, even though the speedometer read 90, he was sure it was a lie. His phone began to ring and he thought about not answering it, but he was too scared to ignore it. "WHAT!" He wasn't going to get there in time. He just knew it. Skinner almost dropped the phone when he heard Mulder screaming. He must have already found out about the overdose. So he told him as quickly as he could where they were and that she was already at the hospital, but he seriously doubted it would help. He added that he'd already sent some agents over to pick up Krycek. Mulder was about to hang up when he realized what Skinner had just told him. "Wait, what? Krycek's at the hospital? What the hell is he doing there?" It suddenly struck Skinner that Krycek's presence was odd. "Apparently he rode in the ambulance with her." Mulder hung up without another word. This was Stockholm Syndrome, definitely if Krycek's sitting around at the hospital, knowing full well that agents were on their way over. But he didn't care. He'd arrange for counseling, as long as she made it out of this alive. Part 16 He'd gone running into the hospital with the ambulance crew, but they pushed him aside and took her behind some closed door. The nurse was grilling him about her health. And he didn't know the answer to any of the questions. He got a strange looked when he admitted that he didn't even know her birthdate. But he knew they needed to know these things to save her. He couldn't let her die. He had to try. He owed her that much. "She's an FBI agent. The bureau has all of her medical information." When she called the Bureau, he knew there would be agents swarming all over the place. And Mulder would probably be leading a lynch mob. Not that he didn't deserve it. But he had to do whatever he could to help her. The nurse looked partially satisfied with his answer and began typing away on her computer. He just hoped that the FBI wouldn't mention what was going on. "Can I see her?" He tried to keep the pathetic whimpering tone out of his voice, but he was losing the battle. The nurse turned back to face him with an annoyed look. "Sir, you'd be well advised to stay in the waiting room. This is a serious condition. Someone will call you when you can see her." With another disapproving look, she turned away in a decidedly dismissive manner and picked up her phone. He knew who she was calling and he figured it would be best if he wasn't sitting there when she reached them. He'd barely reached the doorway when she called him back. "What's your name?" He felt all the color drain out of his face. Could she already know? She must have been used to getting blank terrified stares from people, because she explained herself almost immediately. "When they're ready for you to see her, who should they call?" He didn't have the time to sit and wait for them to call him. He'd probably be in custody before he'd be allowed to see her. And if Mulder was there, he'd probably be dead before they called for him. "Fox Mulder." He turned and left the office, searching for someplace he could hide. He needed to see her. He needed to know she was going to live. And he couldn't go near the waiting room because it was right next to the office where the security guards were waiting. He had one thing going for him. He was average height, weight, and build. He could blend in easily. But he was too frantic to blend in with the people walking down the hall. He ducked into an empty room and sat on the floor behind the curtain. Hopefully he could stay there for a while, at least until people stopped looking for him. If the agents combed the place and didn't find him, they would assume he'd left. The other thing he thought he had going for him was that no one would think he'd have any reason to stick around. They'd have to give up after a while. He just had to hope she'd be ok until then. ##### Mulder drove the car up onto the sidewalk by the emergency room and left it running when he went running in the door. He heard the security guard yell something at him and he flashed his badge in the general direction of the voice. He tried to push his way through the group of people at the triage desk and failed miserably. Everyone there was having an emergency. He was no more important than the rest of them. He couldn't wait. He had to see her, to know how serious the attempt had been, and to keep that sick bastard away from her. If she was desperate enough to try suicide to get away, it must have been a hell of a lot worse than he'd imagined. He walked away from the desk and tried his best to slip unnoticed past the nurses. He heard someone call after him and knew he'd failed but he wasn't about to stop. He just started moving faster, looking in every room along the way for Scully. Sure enough, a few seconds later, two security guards grabbed him and tried to get him to stop. He was ready to kill. He shook free one of his arms and threw his badge at them, using the time they were distracted to try another door. She wasn't in there either. He turned on the guards and started yelling. He didn't care who heard him. If he got his hands on Krycek one of them wouldn't live to see the next day. "Where the hell is she?" The guards suddenly found other things to worry about and walked in the other direction. Luckily for Mulder, an innocent doctor came walking past. He grabbed the doctor by the arm and started grilling him. "Dana Scully. Where is she? I need to know where she is. And where's the guy who came in with her?" The doctor tried to shrug, but Mulder had a death grip on his arm. Maybe if he said it louder, maybe then someone would know where she was. He had completely lost control and he knew he was minutes away from seriously injuring someone. He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. And then an understanding, yet commanding voice told him to let the doctor go. He turned around to face Skinner, not even bothering to hide how terrified he was. His tone was much lower, but every bit as panicked when he spoke again. "Where is she? I need to know where she is." He wasn't sure pleading with Skinner would get him anywhere, but he felt relatively certain that Skinner was nearly as concerned as himself. "What you need, Mulder, is to calm down." Skinner gave Mulder his best authoritative frown and watched Mulder's shoulders relax slightly. He was sure that every single muscle in Mulder's body was flexed at that moment. "They're pumping her stomach." He watched Mulder tense right back up in sympathy. "They said you can see her when they're done. Probably about fifteen minutes." He'd used up every bit of energy he'd had to get to this point. He felt the adrenaline wear off and he started feeling like he was going to fall over. "She's alive?" He was afraid to hope for too much. He was still nervous, but just the thought that he'd be able to see her in a few minutes worked wonders on him. "Yes, and she's going to stay that way." He steered Mulder towards the waiting room, through the group of agents that had amassed there. "They said it was sleeping pills and they're going to try waking her." Mulder had never been so happy to see a chair in his life. He dropped into in. And propped his head up on his hands. He was so tired. And in just a few minutes, he'd be able to see her. Then he could rest. He stared as one of the agents broke free from the group and approached Skinner. "Sir, we're pretty sure he's not here. No one remembers seeing him, except the nurse who called us and she said she told him to go wait in the waiting room." He motioned around the room, pointing out the obvious fact that Krycek wasn't there. He glanced at Mulder momentarily and then continued. "She does clearly remember him saying his name was Fox something." Mulder watched Skinner stand up and approach the other agents. But he interrupted before Skinner got the chance to send them all away. Mulder stood back up, and tried his best to keep his voice quiet. "Sir, he's still here." The look on Skinner's face at that moment was the exact same 'oh, yeah, how the hell do you know' look that Scully always gave him. He couldn't wait to see it on her again. "He'll want to know how she is. I'm sure he'll stick around until she's conscious." Skinner's face didn't even register Mulder's words. "Look, I know how it sounds, but I think, maybe," He took a deep breath and then stared straight into Skinner's stoic face. "I think he's started to care about her. He'll want to know she's going to live before he leaves. He'll probably want to see her." Skinner listened, recognizing the syndrome, but unsure of how Mulder knew. He nodded slightly. "What would you advise that I do with these men, then?" Mulder shrugged. "If he's here, he's probably close. They'll find him if they search. But I want someone outside her door at all times, even if they don't." Skinner smirked at him. "Aren't you going to be standing guard in her room at all times?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead walking over to the agents and instructing them to find Krycek. Not look for, but find. If Mulder was wrong, he was really going to look stupid. The agents spread out, leaving Skinner and Mulder standing in the middle of the room. Mulder didn't stay still for long. He walked back out to the desk and started asking if he could see her. And after he was assured at least half a dozen times that he would be notified as soon as the doctors were done, he went back to join Skinner. "Mulder, just relax." He pretended not to see the exasperated look Mulder shot him. "She'll be fine." "Something drove her to this. She's not fine. He did this to her." He dropped his forehead into his hands, letting the misery and helplessness wash over him. He had gotten this close. And he still couldn't be with her. And even when he got to her, he didn't know what he could say to her. If he'd tried harder, he might have found her faster. And then she wouldn't have done this. He was so afraid that it was his fault she'd given up that he was almost too afraid to face her. But the second they called his name, he jumped to his feet and followed the nurse down the hall. Part 17 The nurse directed him to the end of a short hallway and pointed down another hall to the right. "Just follow the red tiles, go through the door and ask at the desk." She smiled, glad to have him out of her hair, and then walked away. He looked at the floor, at the two different sets of gray tiles leading in different directions, and wanted to cry. He stared after the nurse with a bewildered expression on his face. He needed to find someone to clear up this little problem. Luckily, Skinner had decided to follow him. But had missed what the nurse had said. He looked around, thinking Mulder might have spotted Krycek. But Mulder was too calm to have seen Krycek. "What's wrong now, Mulder?" The nurse had called for him. There was no sensible reason for Mulder to have suddenly calmed down. The fact that he was colorblind was clearly noted in his records. But he quickly discovered that Skinner hadn't looked that closely. Hell, if Scully didn't even know, why should Skinner? "Um," He was too eager to see Scully to care about being embarrassed, but he still felt extremely self conscious bringing it up. "I'm supposed to follow the red tiles." Skinner looked at the ground, actually noticing for the first time the color coded patterns on the floor. "And?" He didn't understand what the catch was here. "Which one's red?" Skinner was too dumbstruck to even laugh. Maybe Mulder hadn't learned his colors yet. "Those." Skinner pointed to the group of tiles on the right, thankfully ignoring Mulder's indignant 'I knew that' face. But once Mulder knew which tiles to follow, he took off down the hall, practically tearing the door off the hinges, and barely sliding to a halt in front of the desk. He hadn't even gotten a chance to demand to know where she was when one of the doctors pointed at one of the curtained cubicles. And suddenly, he stopped. He knew he was finally able to see her. And he had been told she'd be fine. That the doctors would probably be able to wake her up soon. He was terribly afraid to face her. He was afraid to peer behind the curtain. He could still picture the other time he'd rushed to the hospital in a hysterical rage to find her lying deathly pale and barely clinging to life. Skinner had sounded so sure that she'd be ok. But Skinner always sounded sure. And everyone knew he's lose it if he heard she wasn't going to be ok. He then became acutely aware of the fact that Skinner was right behind him. He needed do this alone. He'd already let Skinner see him earlier. He didn't want to cry in front of him too. And he was terribly afraid he would. Turning back to Skinner, he realized someone needed to call Margaret Scully. "Call her mother?" His voice rose on the last word, at least making it seem like a question, rather than the plea to leave him alone with her that it actually was. Skinner nodded, and turned back to the desk, even though he was well aware that her mother had already been contacted. Mulder approached the curtain with the same confident stride he always had. And no one noticed that his eyes were closed as he drew back the curtain and stepped inside. With his eyes closed, the hum of the machines sounded too much like the ones she'd been connected to then. He knew it was probably just a heart monitor to make sure everything was all right, but it still scared him. She could slice open dead bodies and pull them apart without flinching and he was afraid of the heart monitor. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to look. And thankfully, when he did, it was nothing like the last time. He didn't get a chance to absorb much when an obnoxious doctor walked in and introduced herself. Mulder wanted to scream at her. Didn't she understand this was the first time he'd seen his partner in weeks? And she hadn't been on the verge of suicide then. He stopped his analysis of Scully long enough to shoot the doctor a look that conveyed his unhappiness. "Sir, I know you want to be with your wife right now," Mulder looked back at her with a confused expression, but he didn't argue. Someone had probably told her how he'd been acting. Of course they would assume she was his wife. "But I have the results of the tox screen. And I think you'd be interested in hearing them." And he would have been, but he was positive that Scully's eyelids had fluttered, and almost opened. "She's - her- could she be waking up?" He had just assumed she'd be unconscious for some period of time that would be entirely too long for his liking. "It's certainly possible. We've pumped her stomach and feel strongly that we've gotten most of it out of her system. The tox screen appears mostly within normal ranges." Mulder looked up, curious as to what the doctor was getting at. "I don't think she took more than two or three pills. And if that's the case, I'd say she was aiming for a good night's sleep rather than suicide." She shot him a look that clearly said he'd overreacted and wasted everyone's time for nothing. "She'll probably wake up on her own fairly quickly. I'd like to keep her here for observation but I don't think there's any reason why she can't go home tomorrow." He looked back at Scully and noticed for the first time that she didn't actually look sick. She looked, well, like she was sleeping. He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down to stare at her in awe. She'd come up with the perfect to get away from Krycek. And she probably needed the sleep anyway. He ran his hand lightly along her face, smiling to himself, knowing that he was going to be the first person she saw when she woke up. Then he laced his fingers through hers and waited for her to wake up. ##### Krycek hadn't been in the room for more than five minutes when he heard Mulder's voice. Mulder was so loud, Krycek was relatively sure that everyone in a ten mile radius could hear. Mulder's frantic demands to see Scully seem to echo in Krycek's head. He wanted to see Scully. He wanted to know what was happening and how she was. And Mulder was getting louder, a pretty good indication to Krycek that he wasn't hearing anything good. When Krycek couldn't hear Mulder any longer, he decided it was a good sign. Mulder had either heard she was all right or someone had knocked him unconscious. Either choice was good news for Krycek. He relaxed a little, making the assumption that she was ok. He didn't think anyone working in an emergency room would knock a person out on purpose. Every time he heard footsteps coming down the hall, he'd tense up, certain that they were looking for him. But no one entered the room. Still, he knew he had to leave his hiding place. If a full scale search started, behind the curtain in an empty room would be the first place they'd check. It wasn't even that he was afraid of getting arrested. He'd been arrested before. He never made it all the way to the police station. He was afraid that if they found him, he wouldn't find out how she was. He just wanted to see her. Once he'd seen the lengths she would go to in order to get away from him, he no longer could stomach the thought of forcibly taking her back. But she didn't want to be with him. He wasn't going to force her. And he wasn't leaving without saying good-bye. After another couple of minutes, he dared to slip out of the room. Partly because he was going to need a better place to hide, partly because he wanted to find out if there were FBI agents crawling all over the place, and partly because he wanted to see where Scully was. He walked with his head slightly bent, but still with a reasonably normal speed. Hospital hallways were wide and long and there was never anything in them. He wouldn't be able to hide if he was spotted. He'd just have to run for his life. He found a group of doctors and followed them down the hall until he reached an office with an open door. He ducked inside hoping he'd be able to find something useful. Even something that would point him to where Scully was. He hadn't realized there was someone in there. He tried not to look surprised. He fought the urge to turn around and run. There was always the chance that Mulder had somehow managed to contact every single person in the hospital and tell them to kill Krycek on sight. The doctor looked slightly confused, much like he wasn't expecting someone to come strolling into his office right then. Krycek decided that since his office was so close to the emergency room, this doctor might know something. And he might not have been made aware of the agents who were walking the halls. He tried as hard as he could to look extremely worried. It didn't take much. He was in a really bad position and he was doing something that could only make it worse. He was hell-bent on seeing Scully. He might as well shoot himself. "I'm looking for my sister. Someone called and said she was brought in a little while ago." The doctor smiled and typed something into his computer. "What's her name?" The doctor turned back towards him, noticing for the first time the dark streaks on Krycek's shirt. Krycek noticed the doctor's odd expression and panicked. He looked out into the hallway, afraid that someone had spotted him. Then he saw a pair of men, dressed in suits, looking entirely out of place because of their calm facial expressions. Most people in the emergency room were upset or hurt or hysterical. They didn't just meander through the hallways, looking into every room they passed. This pair couldn't have been more obvious if they'd had a neon sign above their heads. He was trapped. He looked back at the doctor who was simply looking back at him. He didn't look perplexed any longer. Maybe he didn't know. Only one way to find out. "Is there a problem?" The doctor frowned and pointed at Krycek's shirt. "Just got something on your shirt." Krycek had completely forgotten about the stains from the soda on his shirt. Huge brown streaks all the way down the front of his shirt. No wonder people were looking at him funny. He looked like an idiot. The doctor was used to people acting strange and didn't even notice the relieved expression on Krycek's face. "If you just give me her name, I might be able to tell you where your sister's at." Knowing the agents would be passing the office in a matter of seconds, Krycek stepped forward and sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. Then he twisted his fingers together in the best show of extreme worry he could muster. "Dana Scully." He was close to jumping out of his skin. The agents would be behind him. If they noticed something strange or recognized him, he wouldn't be prepared for them. He wouldn't stand a chance of escaping. The doctor clicked away at his keyboard. And then suddenly looked up, past Krycek, and appeared to be expecting something to happen. Krycek hadn't even heard their footsteps. Probably because his heart was pounding so loudly. He could tell they were there, but they didn't make any sort of move toward him. "Excuse me, have either of you noticed anyone around here acting strangely?" Krycek wanted to laugh. Subtlety wasn't one of the FBI's finer points. He hoped they were paying particular attention to him and nodded that he hadn't. The doctor smiled at them and pointed out that when people come to the hospital, they didn't usually act normal. The agents turned and left, apparently satisfied with the answers. Krycek guessed they were looking for someone hiding, not sitting out in the open. Someone was still bound to recognize him, especially the more he asked about Scully. "Sir?" The doctor waited for Krycek to look up. "She's still being treated, but I can point you in the right direction. You may not be able to see her yet, but you can check with her doctor." Krycek smiled in thanks and listened to the doctor's instructions. He left the office, feeling hope begin to creep up. He might actually be able to see her. He could tell her he was sorry. He turned down the hall where the doctor had indicated. And Mulder was standing about ten yards in front of him. Skinner was facing him and if they turned their heads even a fraction of an inch, they would have seen him. Part 18 Krycek ducked back around the corner and cursed himself for not having figured Mulder would be directly between him and where he wanted to go. And naturally Skinner was there too. He leaned on the wall for a moment longer and then looked back. He watched both Mulder and Skinner start walking again. Odds were good that they were headed in Scully's direction. Once they'd gotten a little further away, he started following them. He knew he was taking an incredible risk, following them down the hall, but it would be the quickest way to find Scully. And once he'd seen her, then he could leave. Then he could crawl back to his miserable life. There was very little Alex Krycek could not be convinced to do. But there would be one difference in the future: he wouldn't hurt her. Never again. It would never make up to her what he'd taken away, but it was all he could do. He'd keep her safe. She deserved that much. He watched them turn and go through another door. He had no idea what he'd run into on the other side. They could be standing just inside, and if they were, he'd be in considerable trouble. He checked the hall around him and decided he'd be in considerable trouble if any more agents were walking around. He inched closer to the doors and tried to see through the crack. He couldn't see anything. The debate over whether or not to go in continued in his head. Then he saw an ambulance crew rushing towards him. He only saw the crew and the stretcher. He didn't see anyone that had come with the patient. They were probably at the registration desk, like he had been. This was his chance. The perfect chance. He pulled open the door and then joined the crew, keeping his head ducked when they walked right past where Mulder and Skinner were standing. They wheeled the stretcher into one of the tiny curtained off areas. No one paid any attention to him as they transferred the woman from the stretcher to the bed and gave notes to the hospital crew. He saw some of the doctors giving him an odd look and he was afraid they recognized him as the man who'd come in with Scully. He took the woman's hand and thought about Scully. He knew the desired worried look would reappear on his face. He waited and after a few minutes, the doctors pulled the curtain the rest of the way around the bed. He stepped away from the bed and decided that the only way he'd see her was if he checked every cubicle until he found her. But he'd have to be careful. He couldn't let Mulder see him. And he couldn't let anybody else see him for that matter. People accompanying loved ones to emergency rooms probably wouldn't take too well to someone walking through and looking at them. He'd just have to take his chances. He had to see Scully. He would see Scully. He had to. He leaned towards the curtain and listened. He couldn't hear anything. That information was completely useless to him. He was about to pull the curtain back slightly and peer in when he heard someone, most likely a doctor, start talking. He listened closely, hoping to catch a name. But the doctor wasn't talking loudly and no one was responding. Krycek waited until he heard the doctors footsteps leave. He pulled the curtain a tiny bit and peeked through. He couldn't see much more than the bed. And with the head raised like it was, he couldn't see who was on the bed. He leaned a little further and saw a hand. A man's hand holding the hand of the woman in the bed. He still had no idea if it was Scully or not and at the rate he was going he'd have to walk in the room before he could tell. And then he saw the man's hand untangle itself form the woman's. He watched the man, who's face he still couldn't see, reach toward the woman's face. After another second, the hand withdrew and went back to holding the woman's. Krycek released his hold on the curtain and leaned against the wall. He desperately wanted to be with Scully at that second. He desperately wanted to hold her hand and caress her face and know that she'd be fine. He pulled the curtain back again, watching the couple in the next room. He couldn't see anything besides their hands, but he was still seized with envy. He'd never have that. Not with Scully, not with anyone. He didn't deserve it. And then he watched the man lean over the bed. From the man's posture, from the careful way the man moved, Krycek knew he could only be kissing her. He felt tears spring to his eyes as he watched Mulder sit back down. She loved Mulder. Krycek knew it, had known it, but it still hurt. It hurt because he'd known how much Mulder loved her for years. Because he'd known how much she loved Mulder right back. But Krcyek had still managed to convince himself for the short time she'd been with him that maybe she could love him. That maybe he could take Mulder's place in her heart. He was a fool. A pathetic little fool. And he'd never have her. Once again, he let go of the curtain and stepped back. Best to give this up before Mulder killed him. He was so close, too close to not get caught if he didn't get out of there. It wasn't worth dying for someone who didn't love you back. He checked to make sure Skinner wasn't looking and then slipped out of the room. Skinner's back was turned and Krycek could see that he was on the phone. Probably talking to yet another person who deserved to know that Scully was all right. Someone else that Scully actually cared about. Once he'd safely made it out the door of the unit, Krycek's pace quickened into a run and he didn't slow down until he reached the far side of the parking lot. He hailed a cab and tried to forget her. ##### Mulder smiled to himself as he watched her sleep. He had almost lost her yet again and he'd gotten her back. And he'd promised himself, the same as all the other times that he would tell her how much he loved her if he got her back. Here he was, sitting in the hospital room, holding her hand and just loving her. Knowing the minute she opened her eyes that he'd be so happy to see her awake and so afraid of seeing those eyes reject him that he'd never mention it. But even if she rejected him, and broke his heart into a million pieces, she still deserved to know. She would need to know it to get through this. He knew it wouldn't be easy for either of them. And then he realized what was happening. He was in love with her. He had been for a long time. He could tell her. And for the seconds that would pass before she rejected him, she would know that he loved her and he would know that she knew it. Even if she hated him, it would probably make her happy to know that someone loved her. Even if it was only him. He leaned forward, letting go of her hand for just a minute, and kissed her cheek. He couldn't believe that he was actually in love. He'd thought after everything he'd been through that he was immune to it. But he wasn't. He sat back down in the chair, thinking that it would probably be better for him not to be breathing down her neck when she woke up. And she was going to wake up. The doctor had promised him. He didn't have another chance to think before her head turned slightly towards him. He felt her hand squeeze his. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him. Part 19 She slowly became aware of noises around her. Beeps and hums and distant voices. She was tired. Very very tired. And her stomach hurt. She knew they'd pump it, but since she'd never before had the pleasure, she didn't realize how much it would hurt. She'd have to keep this in mind for the next time she tried to kill herself. The pressure she hadn't even noticed on her hand relaxed. And then she very definitely felt someone lean over her and kiss her cheek. Then he took her hand again. She knew it was Mulder. She recognized the cologne. He had probably worried himself sick over her. And he probably wouldn't believe the attempt hadn't been serious. She opened her eyes slowly. Before she even focused on Mulder, Krycek crossed her mind. She forced herself to smile at Mulder, trying to rid herself of anymore thoughts of Krycek. She was happy to see Mulder. She was happy to see him smile, a real, completely unguarded smile. She was happy to know that everything would go back to normal. He said nothing to her, just sat there, holding her hand and smiling. She felt the guilt, a now familiar emotion, rise up. She squeezed his hand. He was so happy just to see her awake. He'd spent the entire time thinking about and worrying about and caring about her. She hadn't thought of nearly as much as she should have. She didn't want to cry. If she cried, he'd want to know what was wrong and she'd have to tell him and he'd never speak to her again and even if he did she'd never be able to face him again. She simply couldn't tell him about how she'd listened to Krycek's words and comforted him. Mulder could never find out that she'd let Krycek hold her or kiss her. And she could easily imagine exactly how quickly Mulder would go through the roof if he ever heard that she'd spent the night in Krycek's arms. It would be bad enough if Mulder knew she'd been the slightest bit sympathetic towards Krycek. This would have to be the one thing, the only thing, she would hide from Mulder forever. She tried to keep her mind on Mulder, on what was happening, on anything but Krycek. It was useless. All she could think of was how peaceful he'd looked when she woke up in his arms. How comfortable she'd felt sleeping next to him. How nice he'd been to her. He'd kidnapped her, she could admit that. But he could have been a hell of a lot meaner to her. And he hadn't been. He'd cared about her. She'd cared about him. And she had a sneaking suspicion that she always would. The protective silence that enveloped them dissipated all too quickly. She heard Mulder clear his throat, suddenly shifting back into 'partner' mode. She knew the internal turmoil had reflected on her face. She had seen the answering concern on his face. She didn't know what there was that he could say to make her feel better, but she loved that he was going to try. He hadn't intended to whisper, but his voice lacked its normal tone and he didn't have the strength to force it. Luckily, she was so quiet that he knew she'd be able to hear him. "I know what's going on here. How you're feeling. I understand, Scully." He tried to ignore the hopeful look on her face. But it disappeared before he really had the chance. He saw the hope die in her eyes and he knew she was thinking he'd never understand. He knew she'd be embarrassed and probably elusive about what had happened to her. And about how she'd reacted. But it hadn't been something she could consciously control. He had to let her know that. He had to help alleviate the guilt she had to be feeling. "It's called Stockholm Syndrome." He could have sworn he'd seen recognition flash across her face. "That's what you're suffering from." As he explained the syndrome to her, she got more and more wrapped up in her own thoughts. He'd said suffering. Was she suffering? She didn't feel like she was suffering. And she certainly hadn't been suffering while she'd slept. She knew the name and vaguely remembered things about it, but she didn't see how it involved her. Krycek hadn't made her suffer. And when she'd seen how easily she could make him happy, it hadn't hurt her at all. Since when was being someone's friend considered suffering? She wanted to ask, she wanted to demand that he listen to her side, but she didn't. If she tried to explain, she'd end up telling him exactly what she'd promised herself she wouldn't tell him. She knew listening to Mulder explain would completely convince her. He always managed to convince her. And she knew she didn't have the strength to fight with him over this. She'd never be able to make him understand that Krycek hadn't purposefully done anything to make her care about him. It was ridiculous to argue. Mulder hated Krycek and he would never accept that she could feel differently. And if she hadn't experienced it, she would never have believed it herself. She nodded when it seemed appropriate and mumbled what she assumed were the proper responses. She needed to put Krycek out of her mind and move on with her life. But she'd never be able to do that unless she got some kind of closure on her relationship with Alex Krycek. ###### He had set out intent on forgetting her. And for some ridiculous reason, he found himself standing in her apartment. Not exactly the best way to forget her. But he was sure agents were back at his place, just waiting for him to come home. And he had no place better to go. Besides, he felt closer to her here, in her apartment. It was about as close as he would ever get. Mulder would let him near her again. He looked around, thinking back on the last time he'd been in her apartment. It had been a different one, of course, but all the things were the same. He remembered ransacking the place, tearing through her belongings, breaking things she cared about. He'd felt no remorse then. But he felt it now. He'd felt nothing as he he'd stood there in the dark, listening to someone putting keys in the door, thinking it was Scully, waiting to kill her. And after he'd killed her sister, the only thing he was sorry for was the fact that he'd messed up and in his line of work, messing up usually meant death. He almost wished they'd succeeded in their attempt on his life. Then he wouldn't have to feel so guilty. He sat down on her couch, clenching his jaw in an attempt to physically stop the tears that threatened. Thankfully, he hadn't killed Scully. He'd caused her pain, not the least of which was murdering her sister, but he hated even the thought that he'd almost killed Scully. It took him twenty minutes of clenching his jaw painfully before he was fairly certain he wasn't going to cry. Crying wouldn't do him any good. Nothing would. He shook his head, smiling ruefully as he looked around. What the hell was he doing? He'd managed to fall in love with the woman he'd kidnapped. The woman who was in love with the man who was quite possibly his biggest enemy. No one hated him nearly as much as Mulder did. The more he thought about it, the worse the situation seemed. He was used to just taking whatever he wanted. And while he had, technically, just taken Scully, it wasn't the same. He couldn't keep her. And he couldn't kidnap her again. Even though she'd reacted better than he'd planned the first time, she undoubtedly wouldn't appreciate a second kidnapping. He looked at his watch, more for something to do than because he particularly cared about the time. Scully wouldn't be leaving the hospital for at least another day. He was dead certain that Mulder wouldn't leave her side. Krycek stretched out on the couch and picked up the remote for the TV. She wouldn't be home tonight. He had a place to sleep. For the night anyway. Part 20 As she listened to him explain her "condition," she felt herself growing more and more tired. It wasn't that he was boring her- it was just that she didn't believe what he was telling her about her feelings being nothing more than a defense mechanism and she was still affected by the pills and his voice had taken on a wonderfully lulling tone that worked magic on her frayed nerves. She let her eyes drift closed a few times, trying to seem interested for Mulder's sake. Maybe it was just the pills she'd taken, but for once in her life she didn't want something to be logically explained and analyzed and it also happened to be the one time Mulder wasn't willing to believe blindly. She knew he could tell she was falling asleep and hadn't been listening to the better part of the lecture. She realized that his explaining away her feelings was actually his very own defense mechanism. He was protecting himself. He was afraid to admit her feelings for Krycek might be real. Had she been in his position, or had she not seen the other side of Krycek, the caring, concerned, lovable side, she never would have understood it either. Her eyes started staying closed for longer periods and his voice became extremely fuzzy. She knew she was falling asleep, and she welcomed it. There was always the hope that things would get much clearer if she just got a little more rest. She tried to catch on to what he was saying, already knowing she'd zoned out for a long period. She heard the word 'lamp' and decided she'd either missed a lot more of the conversation than she'd originally thought or she was dreaming. It didn't matter. Mulder hadn't said anything about a lamp. She could at least count on that. ##### It bothered him that she wasn't agreeing or disagreeing or even nodding much. He got the distinct impression that she wasn't even listening. He was talking nervously, his voice a little too high, way too fast, and his sentences weren't going in a logical order. She didn't seem to notice. He kept talking. He was talking more to hear himself, to listen to the explanation because he needed to hear it again. She'd smiled at him when she first woke up, but she hadn't really looked all that pleased to see him. That bothered him. As much as he'd learned about the syndrome, he still wasn't comfortable watching her exhibit even classic symptoms. By the time he'd said pretty much everything he could possibly think of, he knew she was drifting in and out. But whenever he'd stop to catch his breath or think of something else to say, her eyes would open, looking slightly confused. She wanted to hear him, but she didn't want to listen to him. That was fine with him. If she wanted him to talk to her, then he would talk. He'd talk until every last thought of Alex Krycek was completely erased from her mind and then he'd talk a little more. At least she wasn't afraid of him as he'd originally supposed she would be. Unfortunately, he was out of things to say and she was still partially awake. Maybe this would be the perfect time to bring up the fact that he'd trashed her living room. He briefly mentioned the lamp he'd broken and her eyes flew open. Maybe she had been listening. He was ready to beg for mercy when he realized he'd never seen her look so confused. She looked at him for a second and then closed her eyes once again. He knew she didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. He continued to tell her what he'd broken, but her eyes remained closed. And she was asleep by the time he finished. He spent the rest of the evening sitting by her side, even after her mother arrived. He completely ignored the doctor's orders that only one of them could stay with her. Not being sure how much he should tell her mother, he said nothing. But she was too busy worrying about Scully to even noticed Mulder's remarkably unobtrusive behavior. He stayed with her even after they moved her up to another room for the night and her mother gave up and went home. And he was there early the next morning, sound asleep, resting his head on her bed, next to their entwined hands, when she woke up again. She was afraid of making even the slightest move. She knew, from his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes, that he hadn't slept nearly as much as he should have while she was gone. She wanted him to sleep now that he was finally able to rest. After she watched him a few minutes, she slid her hand out of his and ran it lightly along his face. She couldn't believe she'd hurt him. She hadn't done anything specifically, but she'd done plenty by choosing to do nothing. He'd already been hurt enough. She took his hand once again and let him sleep, even making the doctor speak quietly when he came in. She received her discharge instructions and signed everything that needed to be signed. She carefully unhooked herself from the machines and Mulder slept through it all. She started to wonder if he hadn't gotten into some sleeping pills himself. Either that or he hadn't slept at all in the time she was gone, which after reading her chart, she established to be three and a half weeks. She was ready to go, except for getting dressed which she couldn't do while she was holding his hand. She nudged his shoulder gently, figuring she could wake him up easily. She knew the position he was in had to be horribly uncomfortable. She ruffled his hair and whispered his name and was rewarded with his eyes opening. He looked confused for a minute, then sat up noticeably grimacing and rubbing his neck. But then he saw who was waking him up. And he saw the gentle smile on her face. And he smiled back, no longer feeling at all uncomfortable. ##### Krycek awoke to the sound of a car door slamming. That was odd, considering he lived on the twenty-third floor and he never opened his windows. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and wondering when he'd stopped fitting on his couch. And then he remembered. He hadn't intended to sleep into the morning. It was already well past dawn and the odds of someone spotting him were frighteningly high. He walked to the windows and looked out, trying to locate the unmarked gray sedan parked across the street about half a block away. Someone would be watching her building. Watching for him. And while he was scanning the street to find out which way not to go, he heard someone in the hall. Probably one of her neighbors. She wouldn't be out of the hospital so quickly after a suicide attempt. It just wasn't possible. But he heard voices as they got closer. Definitely a man and a woman. He was frozen there, in the middle of the living room, afraid to move. He waited another moment, and after he heard the voices stop moving right outside the door, he realized he had to get out of there. But the men in the car that he was sure had to be there would probably notice someone climbing out her window. He took a gamble that Mulder, if that was the man with her, would leave relatively quickly and that no one would need to hang anything up immediately. He'd barely gotten the closet door closed behind him when the front door swung open. If Mulder found him, hiding in Scully's apartment, Mulder would kill him. Absolutely no questions asked. And Scully probably wouldn't be all that happy finding him there either. He wanted to bang his head into the wall for his sheer stupidity that caused him to spend the night there. But they'd notice the noise. He'd have to wait until later to berate himself. Krycek slid as far back as he could and pressed his ear to the wall. He at least wanted some sort of warning if they were about to open the door. He couldn't make out what they were saying, if they were even still speaking. It was very quiet and it could just as easily be the television. He pressed his ear into the wall harder and tried to hear. Maybe they were whispering and he probably didn't want to know what they were saying anyway. He'd have to get out of town for a while. If he lived long enough to get out of her apartment. Highly unlikely considering his predicament. Part 21 Eventually, Krycek gave up trying to hear. His ear had gone numb and it hadn't helped. He'd heard the door close behind them when they came in, so he'd probably be able to hear when Mulder left. If Mulder left. An odd mix of jealousy and sorrow ran through him at the thought that Mulder would stay all night. Krycek didn't want to think about Scully sleeping in Mulder's arms the same way she'd slept in his own. He knew in all likelihood that it happened on a regular basis, considering how close they were, but it bugged him. He wasn't used to feeling like this. It was her business who she slept with and he knew it. But he didn't like the idea of her with anyone else. And he truly hated the idea that it was Mulder. Time ticked away, and in a dark closet, where a man six feet tall had just barely managed to sit down in, time ticked away very very slowly. Every few minutes, he'd look in the direction of his watch and then realize he couldn't see anything. He'd press his ear back to the wall and hear the same quiet drone of voices. With his luck, they'd probably come in and turned on the radio and left. And he'd sit in the closet until he went stark raving mad. Or decided to make a break for it. He felt himself start to nod off several times, but had to stop himself. As much as it would alleviate the boredom, them finding him asleep in her closet was the only thing worse than them finding him awake in her closet. He started to contemplate exactly what would happen if he gave himself up. Then he suddenly noticed something: quiet. He listened as hard as he could and there was no more talking. Suddenly, the voices returned, but they'd grown louder and more distinct. And they seemed to be getting louder every second. Krycek couldn't believe it. He knew they argued, but they were fighting. Actually fighting. He hated himself for it, but a smile spread across his face. They were fighting about him. Scully was defending him. He loved it. He pressed his ear against the wall and tried to catch every word she said. "NO!" She sounded like she was incredibly annoyed, almost as if they'd been discussing the same thing for a while. Krycek grinned harder at the thought that she'd been defending him throughout the entire conversation he hadn't been able to understand earlier. "That's not what I'm saying, Mulder. I just want- never mind. Just forget it." Krycek could imagine her pouting and crossing her arms. She was so cute when she was angry. "I'm not about to forget it. Skinner isn't about to forget it. No one is EVER going to forget it." Krycek winced at the biting tone in Mulder's voice. Scully was, no doubt, backing away from him. Krycek wanted to run out there and defend her. But he desperately wanted to hear her defending him. "There are other agents investigating this case, Scully. They aren't just going to let it go. It's not like it's just me out looking for you." Krycek's heart sunk in his chest at the verbal clarification that people were once again after him. He had no way of knowing that while Mulder's words were technically true in the sense that there were actually agents assigned to the case, the words were lies because none of the agents cared and nobody would argue about having to close the case. "They can investigate all they want, Mulder, but I want you to call off the manhunt. You'd think he'd killed someone." She paused for a moment after that, and Krycek sank back against the wall. He'd killed plenty of people. And she'd obviously just remembered that fact. Then her voice returned, much lower, but still loud enough for Krycek to hear her. "He didn't even hurt me. He could have and he didn't." Mulder wasn't convinced by her words and they all knew she was losing the argument. It was blatant in the defeated tone of her voice. She sounded like she was about to get down on her knees and beg. Krycek was proud. Of himself for finally being able to feel love fro someone and for actually having earned the love of that person in return. And he was proud of Scully for coming so close to telling Mulder the truth. He was sure that if Mulder continued to push her, then she'd admit to her feelings. Then they'd both be rid of Mulder for good. ##### Mulder bit his lip and sighed. It was as bad as he'd thought. She wasn't listening and she wasn't seeing what was really going on here and she was defending Alex Krycek. He was sure if she just sat down and thought about it on her own, she'd immediately see exactly how wrong she was. But he was telling her to sit down and think about it and she was therefore refusing to do it. She was starting to whine at him and he gave in and started to whine back. "But he *did* hurt you, Scully. That's why, that's EXACTLY why you don't think he hurt you." She was breaking. He was sure. He resorted to using the quiet, pathetic, whiny voice that always made her sigh and let him have his way. It had never failed him before. There was a chance it could work here. At some point, she'd stood up and begun pacing. She wasn't giving any logical reasons, which made Mulder assume, correctly, that she just didn't want Krycek arrested because she cared about him. She could admit it to herself, but she couldn't fathom telling Mulder. She'd already decided she was keeping this to herself. But Mulder knew the exact words to say and the exact tone to use to make her give in. Something he seemed to have known since the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. But he couldn't have his way this time. Because if he did, she didn't think he'd ever forgive her. It wasn't fair that she should have to fight to keep her personal feelings to herself. It seemed to her that by five years into their relationship he should know when to drop an issue, especially when he claimed to understand how she was feeling. Just this once, she absolutely couldn't let him win. Krycek's life depended on it. She slammed her fist into the mantle, which she suddenly noticed was completely devoid of all her things. "Mulder..." "He kidnapped a federal agent and held her prisoner. He's going to jail. And I'm personally going to make sure he stays there." He stood up, done with the argument. He was angry that she was taking Krycek's side. He was angry that for the first time in five years she wasn't allowing him to have his way. And there was only one explanation for why. Krycek had come between them. Maybe she was completely unaware of exactly how much she was hurting his feelings, but she was still doing it. And he had to get away from her before he started maliciously hurting hers. His voice came out strained, the pain he felt clearly reflected in it. "He's a murderer, Scully." He turned away from her, knowing they'd both lost the fight and there was no point in talking about it anymore. It was hurting both of them too much. She closed her eyes and fought back the tears that instantly formed at the utter truth in his words. "Don't walk away from me." She stood there, waiting for him to sit back down, or at least look back at her. But he continued to gather his things. She absolutely could not comprehend that Mulder was turning his back on her and walking away. It just wasn't something he ever did. Not to her. She always had to back down or walk away because he could, and would, stand there till hell froze over and continue to argue while all the little devils skated figure eights around him. He reached for his jacket and put it on, completely ignoring her. She couldn't see his face so she had no way of knowing that he was only hiding from her because he was crying. For some reason, he just didn't want her to know how badly she was hurting him by her allegiance to Krycek. She felt her jaw drop open. Five years. In five years he'd never ever been so rude to her. And it made her angry. Silently, she watched him walk out the door and slam it behind him. She saw the lamp shake from the force. And she abruptly realized that it wasn't her grandmother's lamp. Had someone redecorated while she was gone? She opened the window and waited for him to appear out front of the building. Once he did, she screamed after him. "And where the hell is my lamp?" Part 22 She didn't expect him to respond to her shout and he didn't let her down. She couldn't understand what had gone so horribly wrong with the day. It had started out so well- they'd both been fine when they left the hospital, happy even. They'd been in the parking lot then, looking around for where Skinner had put Mulder's car rather than let hospital security tow it away from the curb where Mulder'd left it. They'd given up on finding it for a moment and were standing silently in the middle of an empty parking space. She'd felt an inexplicable urge to break the comfortable silence. The previous weeks seemed so surreal, as had the past day, that she needed to hear Mulder's voice to keep herself grounded in reality. She'd spoken quietly, wanting to keep emotions, especially regret, out of her voice. She'd explained her escape plan in one sentence, one long sentence, and then begun walking again. He had either been caught off guard by her words or he was trying to comprehend them because he remained where he was for several minutes. But then he'd caught up to her just as she stumbled across the car. She turned to him, not sure of what she was expecting, but knowing she was expecting something. She needed some kind of reaction from him. He held her gaze until she glanced away and then he smiled. The innocent admiration in his eyes had made her feel guilty and she'd turned to face the car. As he unlocked her door, he'd rested his free hand on her shoulder, the closest he'd ever come to actually putting his arm around her. She thought he was doing it to convince himself that she was really there. She'd stayed there, staring off into space, trying to silently encourage the contact. When he was obvious about his feelings for her, it was difficult for her to think of anything else. And as she'd stood there, expecting him to walk away any second, his other hand moved to rest on her other shoulder. He'd leaned against her, lightly pressing her into the car and she'd felt him softly kiss the back of her head. It was such a sweet gesture that she'd wanted to cry. But his hands didn't linger a second longer. He walked around the car and got in, seeming almost impatient with her slow movements. They'd stayed silent, not quite comfortable, but not uncomfortable either. It was an apathetic silence. But eventually, they'd started to speak and the conversation gradually turned to her kidnapping and her "condition." And even though it was terribly awkward, it had remained amiable for almost two hours. But he had to go and casually mention that the agents were staking out Krycek's building and how they were going to catch him soon. And that's when everything had gone to hell. So now she was sitting alone in her apartment, feeling extremely upset and there was no one to talk to. Mulder was the only one she ever really talked to and when they were fighting, or she needed to talk about something personal, she didn't talk to anyone. She'd been fully aware that Mulder wouldn't understand or support her concern for Krycek. It made no sense to her then that she was sitting on her couch feeling disappointed. Mulder had let her down before. She couldn't figure out what made this so different. She finally admitted that while she'd told herself to expect no more, she'd continued to hope he'd surprise her. And even if he couldn't understand, he should have respected her feelings. He was too busy trying to convince her that he understood to actually understand. She didn't want to spend the day sitting there and getting hopelessly annoyed with Mulder. She knew that he really was trying to help. He was just too close to her to be an objective psychologist and he was suffering from the delusion that she had conscious control over her feelings for Krycek. Thinking about the situation would just make her more angry, if that was possible. Getting angry, especially getting angry at Mulder, was useless. Maybe she could just clear her mind and relax. This was the first chance she'd gotten to enjoy the fact that she was free and that she didn't need to feel guilty. Looking around her living room, though, she realized it was just as easy to get bored at home as it was to get bored in captivity. She sighed and stretched out on the couch. She shouldn't still be tired, but having nothing to do always made her want to sleep. She turned her face into the pillow and wished, again, that she could fall asleep and everything would be fixed when she woke up. But as she lay there, trying to think of nothing, she noticed a faint scent around her. She assumed at first that it was Mulder, but it wasn't. She couldn't place it. It seemed familiar, not nearly as familiar as Mulder's aftershave, but she definitely recognized it. The thought that it was Krycek crossed her mind for all of two seconds before it occurred to her exactly how ridiculous that was. Krycek was long gone. He'd probably taken off right after he called the ambulance. And while she was denying it, she remembered when she'd slept next to him. It was him. She knew it. She unconsciously pressed her face further into the pillow and decided the scent of him must have stayed on her clothes- the clothes he'd given her. The clothes she suddenly decided she was keeping forever. She drifted off to sleep for no more than ten minutes. And when she opened her eyes, Krycek was standing over her. ##### He waited and waited, but after her scream about the lamp, he heard nothing. He couldn't hear her moving around or watching TV or anything. She was being impossibly quiet and he was sure she'd probably be able to hear him breathe if she listened closely. The silence was driving him crazy. He wanted to strangle Mulder for upsetting a woman who'd tried to kill herself not even twenty-four hours earlier but it wasn't something he could do while he was hiding in her hall closet. The thought that she might try it again struck him and he began to panic. With all the things she had at her disposal in her apartment, she'd probably succeed. He continued to listen to nothing and worry until he couldn't sit still any longer. His hands shook as he reached for the door knob. He wasn't afraid of her reaction to seeing him there, he was afraid that she was hurt or about to hurt herself. He couldn't live with himself if he stood by and let that happen. He turned the knob as quietly as he could. He wanted to get an idea of where she was and what she was doing before he announced his presence if it was at all possible. He closed the door behind him and carefully made his way into the living room. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that she was all right. She was sleeping, no wonder she was so quiet. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. He'd gotten the chance he'd wanted. He was able to see her. She'd be fine, he was relatively sure of that now. And regardless of his certainty that he only needed to see her one more time, he walked over to the couch instead of heading for the door. He just looked at her, sleeping in the sweatsuit he'd bought for her, on the same couch he'd spent the night on. He wished silently that she would open her eyes and just look at him. Just once more, just look at him with her beautiful forgiving eyes and not flinch or get scared. Maybe even smile. And suddenly, his wish came true. Part 23 He was so shocked she'd woken up that he stood there like an idiot. Then only think he could think to do was clench his jaw. So he did. And then he realized that whenever he did that he looked horribly angry, so he stopped. She was just laying there. She wasn't moving or acting upset or looking scared. He thought he recognized some kind of concern in her eyes, but he wasn't sure because no one had ever looked at him like that. That's what made her so special. That and the simple fact that he'd fallen in love with her. He met her eyes for a moment before he started looking around nervously. He should never have even gone there. He should have been happy enough that he'd gotten another chance to see her, to know she'd be fine. But he wasn't. He wasn't content, especially now that she wasn't running from him. She was in her own apartment. He was the outsider here. She had plenty of opportunities to hurt him or, at the very least, escape. She could pick up the phone and call Mulder and if she did, Krycek knew he'd wind up dead. She chose to sit there and watch him instead. The slightly confused expression on her face melted into a child-like wide-eyed stare. He lost any ability he might have had to process thoughts and kneeled down beside her. He actually felt butterflies in his stomach as he watched her. He'd never been so nervous in his life. But more was riding on this than ever had been before. ##### She was sure she was dreaming. He couldn't actually be there. She'd been thinking about him immediately before she drifted off and part of her had wished momentarily that she was back in his apartment and sleeping in his arms and her imagination had simply conjured him up in front of her. She couldn't think of anything to say or do, so she just watched him. She was happy to see him and she wanted to tell him, but she didn't. She was expecting him to turn around and leave or grab her and drag her off again. She began to think about what Mulder would do if he found Krycek with her and she was too concerned with that to even notice how nervous Krycek was. She stared up at him, knowing she was allowing him more power than it was wise to give him. She'd let him do anything he wanted. If he ever decided to do anything at all. Just as she was sure he was going to stay still forever, he knelt down. She was miserably confused. She was so happy that he was there with her, that he wasn't mad at her for what she'd done, but she couldn't help remembering Mulder's gentle kiss and how he's slept holding her hand, how he'd only be able to sleep because he was holding her hand. And while she thought of Mulder, she watched Krycek's hand slowly reach out towards her. He touched her cheek lightly, as if he was afraid she'd break. Or scream. She didn't. She trusted him. And she was enjoying his hesitant caress. She knew she shouldn't, but she did. His hand slid back into her hair and rested there. She wanted to sit up and kiss him, but she had finally realized how frightened he was. She could see that he was shaking. He was actually afraid that she'd reject him. If she moved at all, he'd probably run away and never look back. She'd never see him again. Besides, she was so nervous herself that she doubted she had the strength to sit up. When his hand ran back against her cheek, she leaned into it. Her mind was telling her how wrong this was, but the rest of her wanted nothing more. She met his eyes and tried to convey her feelings without speaking or moving. And slowly, very slowly, he leaned forward, holding her gaze the entire time. It seemed to her that it took hours before his lips delicately pressed against hers. But the contact was far too light and short. He obviously hadn't expected her to respond. That much was clear to her from the way he started to pull back. But she'd have none of it. She didn't care what Mulder thought. She wanted this. Suddenly remembering she had control over her limbs, her arms wrapped around him, one hand running into his hair and pulling him closer to her. He didn't need any more reassurance. Once he knew she was welcoming his kiss, he leaned even further over her and pressed her back against the couch. He was trying to let her decide how far this should go, and she could tell he was having a hard time of it. She was afraid that he'd push her away again, like he had the last time they'd kissed. She didn't want to throw herself at him. She was already embarrassed enough about the whole situation. But Krycek didn't push her away. He may have been pushing her onto the couch, but his whole body was following. And he wasn't teasing her about how ridiculous she was being like Mulder would have. Krycek was probably as astounded by all of this as she was. Her feelings were real. She was sure of it. And she was pretty damn sure Krycek's feelings were too. ##### Mulder spent the first ten minutes in his car, trying to get a grip on himself. He'd known that she'd defend Krycek. He'd told himself that he had to be prepared for it. But nothing could prepare him for watching his partner taking the side of the man who'd killed his father. He knew that she wasn't doing it to hurt him, but it didn't really matter since he was still hurt. He wasn't so sure anymore that it had been a good idea to storm out of her apartment, letting her think he was too mad to talk to her. He was supposed to show her that he was on her side. He shouldn't have argued with her. But he hated seeing her concern for Krycek. He'd become completely convinced that something was going on between Krycek and Scully. She'd jumped to his defense too quickly. And the guilt was plastered across her face. He'd thought of calling her on it, maybe even declaring he *knew* about it, but he didn't have the nerve. And when the realization hit him that she'd probably slept with Krycek, he'd been too hurt to think anymore. It wasn't a personal attack. He kept trying to convince himself of that. He reminded himself of exactly how convoluted her thought process must have become when she was able to rationalize sleeping with the man who'd kidnapped her. But he kept picturing Krycek with his arms around Scully and he took it personally. He slammed both fists into the wheel and wanted to scream. He loved her. He'd loved her for years. He knew he'd hurt her feelings from time to time, but she had to know he cared about her even if she didn't know he loved her. He should be the one holding her. But he didn't want to pressure her and he didn't want to drive her away so he didn't tell her. Or show her. Or let himself admit it. And a hell of a lot of good it had done him. He'd still managed to drive her into someone else's arms. He'd really thought that he'd made some progress towards telling her. He'd continued to hold her hand that morning after she'd woken him up long enough for her to know it wasn't by mistake. And he'd kissed her. If she didn't know, she wasn't nearly as intelligent as he'd always thought she was. He decided that it didn't matter how many times he'd come so close to telling her. He just had to do it. Then she would know. There wouldn't be any questions about his feelings. He circled the block a few times, trying to think of the perfect way to tell her. There had to be perfect words to use. And he had to think of them before he walked in there because he'd be too scared to think straight once he was looking at her. But it would be worth it. To finally get it out in the open. To finally know she understood why he was so protective. To finally, maybe, be able to hold her without suddenly remembering he didn't have a right to. He parked the car back in the spot he'd just vacated and went back in the building, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down the whole way back to her door. He reached for the knob, pleased when he discovered it was still unlocked. There was a chance she wouldn't let him in if she knew who it was considering the fight they'd just had. ##### He continued to kiss her, eventually moving his lips to her throat, positive that at any moment she was going to come back to her senses and kill him. On the off chance that she didn't, though, he was going to take what she offered. He loved her. And he was going to kiss her until she told him to stop. And for some strange reason, she didn't. But a decidedly masculine voice did. Part 24 He absolutely could not believe what he was seeing. Scully was not on her couch. Krycek was not practically on top of her. She was not kissing him. Krycek's face was not buried in her neck. She did not have her arms wrapped around him. She was not enjoying it. None of it was really happening. He'd just gone completely out of his mind. But the thought that he was hallucinating didn't stop him from slamming the door behind him. And somehow, even though he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, he found the strength to speak. "Get the hell away from her." He didn't bother trying to keep his voice down. He wanted to walk over to them and wring Krycek's neck. And Scully's too, for that matter. No wonder she'd wanted him to leave. She wanted to be alone with her boyfriend. He took a step forward, knowing either himself or Krycek was going to leave that apartment dead. But the look on Scully's face stopped him dead in his tracks. She was afraid of him. It was understandable. He knew the pure hatred was reflected on his face. But it wasn't that she was afraid of him hurting her. She was afraid he was going to hurt Krycek. She looked like she was about to cry. He shifted his gaze from her face to her hand, which was clutching Krycek's shirt for dear life. It looked like she wanted him to protect her. Maybe she was afraid Mulder was going to hurt her. The idea that she was honestly afraid of him struck him so hard that he almost turned and ran out of the room. He stopped staring at her, realizing it wasn't helping, and turned his eyes to Krycek. Not that he had to move his glance more than a fraction of an inch since they were sitting so close to each other. At least Krycek had the decency to let him see what he wanted to see. Fear. Krycek was afraid of him. For good reason. But Mulder didn't move. He'd hurt one of them, possibly both. He was coming in to tell her he loved her and he found her with him like that. He couldn't even think about it anymore, even though he was standing there looking at it. The initial anger hadn't subsided, but somehow, the pain managed to peek through. It felt like she'd just ripped his heart out. It probably would have been better if she had, at least then he wouldn't still have to be alive. He tried to think clearly, but there were too many emotions warring in his head. He was sure of one thing though. He wasn't leaving. Krycek was going to have to give first. If he had to, he'd sit there and watch them. But he wasn't leaving. He could wait them out. Or he'd kill them. It would all depend on his mood if and when he decided to do anything. ##### He'd known it was too good to be true. He was lucky enough to be with her. Lucky enough that she was allowing him to kiss her. So naturally, Mulder had to show up. The minute he'd heard Mulder's voice, he'd pulled away from her, but only enough that he was kneeling in the same place he'd been before he'd kissed her. Seeing the look on Mulder face, he was ready to run for his life. But Scully was still holding onto his shirt. He couldn't tell if it was because she'd forgotten to let go or if she was terrified of Mulder. Even if she wasn't afraid of Mulder, he was afraid of Mulder for her. Mulder's expression had an unmistakably homicidal look about it. And Krycek wasn't going to leave her to face Mulder alone. He'd gotten her into this mess, he'd been the one who started the whole damn thing and he was going to protect her. He remained frozen, knowing he didn't have a chance against Mulder, except maybe outrunning him. He wasn't armed. Scully's gun was still back at his apartment. And the adrenaline rush Mulder was experiencing would make him much stronger than he ever had been before. And if he didn't stand a chance against Mulder, Scully stood less of one. Krycek's eyes never left Mulder's face. He needed to have some warning if Mulder decided to come after him. While his eyes stayed trained on Mulder, Krycek slowly moved his hand over Scully's, trying to gently work his shirt free. He could feel her shaking, but she let him move her hand. He moved it away from him to rest on the edge of the couch, but he didn't let go. He almost laughed when he realized the irony of the situation. A month, probably an hour, earlier, none of them would have believed that he'd be holding Scully's hand and the two of them would be terrified of Mulder. It usually worked the other way around. Slowly, he stopped expecting Mulder to move. Krycek had no doubt that he was still irate, but some of the fury had given way to hurt. One thing Krycek had no trouble understanding. He'd feel the same way if he'd walked in on Scully kissing Mulder. But Krycek had learned to anticipate and deal with everything going wrong. Mulder obviously was still naive enough to expect things to work out. Krycek was prepared to sit there forever and stare Mulder down. But he felt Scully's grip on his hand release and pull back. He turned to look at her, fearing that she was going to throw him out. It was one thing if he had to run out of there in fear of death, but it was an entirely different matter if she told him to leave. If she did, he'd obey her request. He wouldn't threaten or cry or get hysterical. He'd just walk out the door. And in front of the next car he saw coming down the street. He watched her sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch very slowly, completely blocking Mulder from his view. Not that he wouldn't rather be looking at her legs. But after she sat up, he stopped watching. He'd leave if she wanted him to, but he wouldn't be happy about it. And he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye as she told him to get lost because he knew he'd just end up crying. And he really didn't want to cry in front of the two of them. He glanced down at the carpet and dropped his hands into his lap. When had he begun to hope for anything more than what he already had? There had been a time when he was happy enough just to be alive. He'd been willing to fight to stay alive then. But now he realized there was something more than just living and he'd just been given a taste of it before it had been taken away. Much more cruel than if he'd just never known about it. He wished he'd never kidnapped her, never started to like her, never fallen in love with her. Loving her was just too dangerous. But at least now he understood why Mulder would go to the ends of the earth to keep her safe. He saw her slide off the couch and sit down next to him. Then he closed his eyes and waited for her to break his heart. ##### She'd barely convinced herself she wasn't just dreaming that Krycek was there when Mulder had burst in. No, she definitely wasn't dreaming. She was having a nightmare. A terrible horrible appalling nightmare that she'd eventually wake up from and spend several minutes shaking from and then never be able to forget as long as she lived. But the situation didn't seem in the least bit dream-like other than it being the absolute worst thing she could have ever imagined. Mulder was just standing there with exactly the expression she expected him to have if he ever found out his sister was dead. He was too still. And the fact that he hadn't yet killed her and Krycek didn't mesh well with the palpable animosity in his eyes. He was just standing there, staring at them, seeming as if someone had put him in suspended animation. She could see him breathing, way too fast, and she was about to tell him to sit down because he was hyperventilating. But she couldn't say that. She couldn't say anything even remotely sounding like she was concerned about him cause she knew it would push him over the edge. Besides, he'd just walked in on his best friend making out with the man who'd killed his father and kidnapped her for the sole reason of tormenting him. He could hyperventilate if he wanted. She couldn't blame him. And if it kept him from killing Krycek, she'd encourage it. She'd been busy concentrating on Mulder when she felt Krycek's hand close over hers. She kept her eyes on Mulder, afraid that he would see Krycek reaching for her hand. It wouldn't go over well. Not well at all. And then Krycek had simply moved her hand away from his shirt, where she hadn't realized she'd left it. She'd been too surprised at Mulder's sudden entrance to remember to disconnect herself from Krycek. She was thankful that he continued holding her hand, though. She couldn't see his face, not while she was looking at Mulder, and she had no idea what Krycek was thinking. She thought maybe he'd changed his mind and would go running as soon as he got the chance. Too many minutes went past. The room had gotten impossibly hot and she was sure everyone else's heart was racing as fast as hers. She could see that Mulder was putting up an admirable fight against ripping Krycek and herself limb from limb and while he was succeeding for the most part, she didn't know how long his calm would last. And Krycek, well, something would have to be said to him. He was considerably calmer, but much more aggressive than Mulder and therefore just as likely to fly off the handle and kill someone. She was the only one in the room who ever managed to stay calm and she was close to hysterical. Silent, but still hysterical. She sat up and moved to sit on the floor in front of Krycek. Maybe it would help if she could stop them from trying to stare each other down. She saw the hurt in Krycek's eyes for a moment before he looked at the floor. And then he slid back into the mask she'd forgotten he usually wore. The cold, emotionless side of him that she hadn't seen since the first few days he'd had her. She'd forgotten how frightening he could look. She reminded herself of how gentle he'd been with her, how he hadn't pressured her, and she knew it was just because he was afraid of getting hurt. She didn't want to hurt him. But she knew she would end up hurting one of them, probably both. She moved slowly, to avoid startling either of them. She placed her hand under Krycek's chin and pulled his face up until he was looking at her. He had no idea what she was doing, she could tell because the moment she touched him, the mask dropped and she saw how vulnerable he was once again. Not caring that Mulder was standing there watching, not caring that it would just confuse all of them a little bit more, she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't an even slightly hesitant kiss. She was trying to get a point across to him. She did care about him and she wanted him to know it. She didn't want him to ever doubt that. But she was the one who would have to end this. She was the only one who didn't want either of the other two dead. She loved them both and she could feel both of them waiting for her to make the choice. An impossible choice. But she knew them both and she knew they really would fight to the death in a ridiculous reenactment of some ancient ritual over her rather than concede a mutual defeat. Or a mutual victory. She seriously doubted she was worth the trouble. Part 25 ##### Watching her kiss Krycek about killed him. Hadn't she done enough already by smashing his heart into a thousand pieces? He was about to change his mind about waiting for Krycek to leave. Mulder hadn't even imagined Scully would have the nerve to do this to him. He heard Scully's voice, quietly saying something to Krycek. He knew it would probably make him even sicker, but he wanted to know what she was saying. But then he watched Krycek stand up, and move away from the couch. Mulder had never had the pleasure of seeing Krycek so unsure of himself. It was a hollow victory at best. Mulder just stared as Krycek looked back at Scully, concern plastered all over his obnoxious face. Mulder had regained enough control to know Scully was not in any danger from himself. But Krycek, obviously didn't realize it. "I'm not sure this is a good idea." What the hell did that mean? Mulder wanted someone to give him the Cliff's notes cause he'd missed something. He looked back at Scully, who was still not looking back at him. He was happy to know she didn't want to meet his eyes. She ought to be ashamed of this, Stockholm Syndrome or not. Mulder resorted to leaning on the table to help keep himself standing. He'd begun to feel incredibly weak and he'd be in a lot of trouble if Krycek came after him right then. He watched Krycek approach him, absolute hatred evident on his face. Mulder took a deep breath, relatively certain that Krycek was about to kill him. But Krycek merely walked by, brushing past Mulder's shoulder in a display of fearlessness. Mulder turned to watch him go, wondering why he didn't pull out his gun and just shoot the bastard in the back. But he knew why. Scully didn't want him to. Krycek turned as he reached the door, taking one more look at Scully who was still facing the opposite wall, and then fixing his gaze on Mulder. His voice had a distinct hiss to it, which Mulder thought was particularly fitting for a little snake. "If you hurt her, I will kill you." Then he walked out the door, leaving Mulder to face Scully. Mulder had become certain that Scully had invited Krycek to come back later, after Mulder left. If that was the case, Mulder wasn't going anywhere. Ever. He was shaking as he walked towards the couch. Maybe he should follow Krycek and leave her alone. She'd probably rather be alone than with him. Immediately after he sat down on the couch, she got up off the floor and sat down next to him. Next to him with two feet in between them. He still considered it a vast improvement over what he'd expected. Maybe she wasn't so scared of him anymore. He looked over at her, the hatred and anger having vanished along with Krycek, and wanted to understand. All the reading in the world hadn't prepared him for this. And as much as he wanted her to be ashamed of what she'd done, he still hated the sight of her sitting there, shoulders slumped, trying to fight the tears that were streaming down her face. He'd spent too many years and too much energy on loving her to hate her. Even now. He slid across the couch, knowing she would probably rather die than have him comfort her, but needing to try anyway. Krycek had done this to her. To both of them. This wasn't something she'd chosen. He needed to remember that. He had to let her know that he wasn't mad at her. He had been, but he wasn't anymore. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him. Amazingly, she let him put his arms around her. He'd been sure she'd pull back and be upset that he'd even thought of such a thing. But she turned in towards him and pressed her face into his shirt. He felt her shoulders begin to shake as the tears came faster. He felt like crying himself. He'd wanted her to be ashamed, but now that she was, he was sorry. He didn't want her to be hurt. He hated himself for thinking it. He ran his hand up and down her back, trying to convey without words how sorry he was. He felt her press herself closer to him, even though there wasn't any closer she could get. He pulled her legs up over his own, pulled her into his lap and just held her, waiting for the sobs to subside. ##### She hated herself. She absolutely hated herself. She'd managed to convince Krycek to leave, telling him he could come back later, but it didn't make anything any easier. Mulder still wanted to kill her, she was sure. She remained on the floor, desperately wanting to sink through it. She heard Mulder walking towards her. He seemed calmer, but she couldn't look at him to find out for certain. She didn't deserve to know if he was about to shoot her. She heard him sit down and somehow, through the guilt that seemed to permeate her soul, she believed he wanted her to join him. The minute she sat next to him and he once again entered her line of sight, she couldn't stop the tears. He was hurting. He was in pain. And she'd done it to him. She'd hurt him. She'd ruined everything. And she had a bad feeling that Krycek wasn't going to take her up on her invitation. So she'd managed to hurt everyone a little more and still not get anywhere. If she didn't feel so damn guilty, she would have thought herself amazing. Everything she touched experienced gut-wrenching misery. The amazing pain inducing Scully. She should be a carnival act. Then his arms went around her. He was going to forgive her. She couldn't believe it. And even while she was denying it was possible, he held her and let her cry into his shirt. She could never voice how incredibly sorry she was. There really were no words to describe it. She just sat there in his arms and cried, letting him pull her into his lap. He was the amazing one. Maybe he could have the act right next to hers- the amazing forgiving Mulder. She stayed there, in his arms for quite a while. She couldn't really tell how much time had gone past. But it didn't matter to her, not as long as he was still there. She stayed there long after she'd actually run out of tears. He continued to hold her, his light caress on her back keeping her awake. She was waiting for something to happen. Whatever it was, it was up to him. She wanted to apologize, but it would be futile. She'd never be able to take it back and she really didn't think she had the strength to speak. And maybe he already knew anyway. She felt him start to pull away and she didn't want to let him. As long as he was there, holding her, she forgot her feelings for Krycek. She forgot that she ever cared about anyone but Mulder. And that was exactly what she needed to feel. He didn't pull back very far. In fact, his arms were still fastened tightly around her waist. She looked up, not sure what she was supposed to do. She was sorry she did, though, because the look on his face made her want to cry all over again. She could tell he'd been crying himself. He just stared at her, keeping his eyes locked with hers. She thought she was supposed to say something and she opened her mouth to try and figure out what it was. He silenced her by placing one finger over her lips before she began to speak. She closed her mouth again and he moved his arm back around her. Now she was completely confused. He wasn't speaking and he apparently didn't want her to speak and yet, he was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She averted her eyes, assuming that she was missing some conspicuous clue, embarrassed that she hadn't gotten it already. And then she felt him lean towards her and kiss her cheek. His hand ran up into her hair and she felt him press his cheek against hers. His whisper was soft and his voice raw with emotion. "Please don't leave me." He pulled back once again, placing his hands on either side of her face, and staring at her for a long moment. "You won't leave me, will you?" He waited for her to shake her head before he leaned in to kiss her lips. Part 26 ##### He didn't really think leaving her alone with Mulder was the best of ideas, but she'd asked him to go. She'd told him to come back later, after Mulder had left, and while he knew her invitation was sincere, he knew he wasn't going to take her up on it. He didn't belong there with her, no matter how much she seemed to want him there. He'd never come between them. He wasn't going to stay where he wasn't wanted. And when he brushed past Mulder's shoulder in as threatening a display as possible when he was on the verge of tears, he noticed the anger had left Mulder's face. All that was left there was shock and hurt. Krycek knew he could trust Mulder not to hurt her. But he couldn't resist the threat that escaped his lips. And he had every intention of making sure Mulder didn't harm her. Ever. By the time he reached the sidewalk outside her building, he remembered he'd gotten there in a taxi. And he wasn't sure he had the nerve to go back in and ask to use her phone. He looked around, not quite familiar with the area, and decided to turn left and walk. His mind drifted back into the small apartment he'd just left. He'd never gotten so attached to anything in his life and he hated the idea that he had now. It wasn't her fault, so he couldn't blame her. It wasn't his fault either. He'd kidnapped her, a perfectly despicable act, and he hadn't gone out of his way to like her. She'd just sort of grown on him. And now he liked her. Way too much. There was nothing he could do about it, though, so there really wasn't any point in dwelling on it. He shoved his hands further down into his pockets and tried to remember where he'd left his jacket. He couldn't remember if he'd worn it to the hospital or if he'd had it in Scully's apartment. At any rate, it was chilly and he had a long walk ahead of him. He ducked into a small diner and sunk down in a corner booth. In all his life, he'd never felt so out of place. It wasn't the diner. It was his complete lack of direction. He was used to having a plan, a goal, a job, something to work for. He'd kidnapped Scully in the first place merely for revenge. And that had backfired rather painfully in his face. Maybe it was time to change professions. Killer for hire wasn't cutting it anymore. The help wanted sign in the window caught his eye. He took a second look around the place and knew it wasn't very promising. The unbidden thought that he could keep an eye on Scully from here hit him and he suddenly found himself asking to talk to the owner. In a tiny, hole in the wall diner that served food on dirty plates a few blocks from her apartment, he could watch out for her. He could probably find a place in the area and then he'd have no reason to be far away from her. And he was sure that Scully didn't eat there regularly. So long as Mulder didn't find him, and Krycek was confident that wouldn't happen, he'd be fine. And Scully would be fine too. A ridiculous smile appeared on his face as he listened to the owner describe his various duties. Now he had a plan. He could relax. ##### Mulder wasn't sure where exactly he'd found the courage to kiss her right then, especially after he'd walk on her and Krycek doing, well, he didn't want to think about that. What was more unbelievable to him was that she kissed him back. He wasn't convinced that it was the most opportune time to tell her that he loved her, but he wasn't convinced that such a time existed. Still, he thought maybe he should wait. She was confused. Very very confused. He didn't want to add to the current emotional chaos she was experiencing. He only needed to keep her away from Krycek. If he managed to do that, most of this would resolve itself. And what didn't clear up on its own could be dealt with. He could get her to talk to him. Or maybe he could get her to talk to someone else. And once that was done, their lives would return to normal, at least, normal for them, and then he could contemplate screwing everything up again. He had broken the kiss, fearing that it wasn't him she wanted to be kissing, but he was in no hurry to move. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and buried her face halfway between his shirt collar and his neck. Her hand, which had been resting on his chest, reached around his waist. He heard her mumble something that sound vaguely like an assurance that she'd never leave him. He hugged her tightly for a moment and then let his arms embrace her loosely. This was fine with him. He could spend the rest of his life in the same position and never complain. He knew in the back of his mind that they couldn't stay there forever which made him slightly more prepared for the inevitable moment when she pulled away. He let her slide out of his arms and stand up. As much as he wanted to hold onto her and protect her from the world for the rest of time, he couldn't. And even if he could, she'd hate him for it. It wasn't worth making her mad just to continue to fail miserably at protecting her. He looked up at her, not sure what she wanted him to do. She only met his eyes for a second. He knew she was uncomfortable from a combination of the unusual events that had landed them in this situation. He looked away from her, for the first time that day actually knowing exactly what she wanted him to do. Once he knew she wouldn't catch him, his eyes returned to her and followed her as she moved. She moved like she didn't know what to do. It was probably precisely the problem she was having. After having spent so much time following someone's orders, he knew it would take time for her to begin to once again think for herself. She finally stopped moving when she reached the window. He continued to stare, barely even aware of it. She was facing away from him, but she turned her head to the side so that he could hear her clearly, even though her voice was soft. She rebuked him gently, making him keenly aware that she had noticed him watching her, but he gathered from the tone of her voice and her delicate smile that she wanted him to know she was aware of his staring rather than that she wanted him to stop. He ducked his head sheepishly, feeling guilty for doing something that he knew she didn't want him to do. But when he looked up, she had turned to look at him and he knew she didn't mind. He got up and joined her, standing at her side and gazing at nothing in particular, just happy that he was with her. She drew in a breath and he knew she was going to offer some sort of explanation, an explanation that he understood she thought he still wanted. Once again, he stopped her before she could start. She glanced at him, the question of what he wanted her to do still on her lips. He shook his head, trying to tell her that he didn't need her to justify her actions, but not wanting to break the silence. She eyed him for a few moments and then stared back out the window. They stayed there for quite a while, more to enjoy the company than for the view. Gradually, he began to understand. He needed to accept that there was nothing he could do other than be there. She was lost. And she would have to find her own way back. But he would be there every step of the way. He smiled at her and reached for her hand. After a moment, she smiled back and stepped forward to hold him. And as he held her in his arms he realized she'd already made the first few steps home. The End