WICKED GAME
By Mare (MareZX@aol.com)
Chapter 11
Disclaimers in Chapter 1; rated NC-17
A cold lump of fear settling in her stomach, Scully lunged toward the sofa, toward the gun in 
Krycek’s hand, crying, "Alex, no!" She didn’t know if it was her shout or his own mental state, 
but his reflexes were slow and she was able to get to him and ease the gun from his hand before 
anything happened.
She placed the gun on the coffee table, out of his reach, then turned her attention back to him. 
He was curled on his side now, breathing fast, his right hand clamped hard on his left shoulder. 
His left arm hung motionless, like so much dead weight.
Which is exactly what it is, Scully reminded herself. She’d known this could happen, but 
somehow never expected it to. Krycek always seemed so strong, so in control of everything. If 
he was in pain, he almost never let her see it. There was only one time she could remember when 
he hadn’t been able to cover it, but she was nonetheless sure he hadn’t let her see the depth of 
what he was feeling. Seeing him like this now, so obviously in pain, unnerved her a little. Would 
he even let her help?
She gently touched his real hand. "Alex?"
He jerked away from her and buried his head in the sofa pillow, murmuring something 
unintelligible.
"Alex, I know it hurts," she said gently. "Did you take anything for it?"
More muffled words. Was he even speaking English? She wouldn’t be at all surprised if she 
learned that the words were Russian. "I need to know," she continued. "I don’t want to give you 
more of something that’s not working."
He moaned something that sounded sort of like "aspirin," but when she checked the bathroom, 
she found the ibuprofen bottle sitting open on the counter. That meant that all pain-relief 
possibilities had already been exhausted.
Except one.
Scully hesitated, unsure of what to do. The pills she carried in her bag had been prescribed for 
headaches. Cancer-related headaches. They would work on amputation-related pain, but she felt 
funny about giving them to someone they weren’t prescribed for.
They had one thing in their favor -- they were strong. She’d only taken the drug once, not long 
after she was diagnosed, and it had put her out of commission for most of a weekend. Her 
headache went away, but she never used the pills again. She couldn’t afford two days of down-
time for every simple headache.
Her pills could be just the ticket for Krycek. If nothing else, he’d probably sleep, which in itself 
would likely help. It went strongly against her better judgment to give him a drug that had been 
prescribed for her, but the moans coming from the living room made the decision for her. She 
had to help him, and she probably couldn’t hurt him any more than he was already hurting. She 
went back to the living room with a cup of water and one of her headache pills.
"Here, take this." She pried his hand off his shoulder and put the pill in it.
He curled up tighter and almost dropped the pill, but she turned his head and put the cup to his 
lips. "Take it," she urged, gently but firmly. "It’ll help."
He finally did, then curled up again, muttering unintelligibly when she asked if she could look at 
his arm. What he was feeling was probably some sort of phantom pain, but she couldn’t discount 
the possibility that the stump was infected.
Rolling up his sleeve, she felt around for the prosthetic’s release. She hadn’t seen him take the 
thing off since that first night and wasn’t sure quite how to do it, but after a brief search, the 
prosthetic dropped onto the sofa.
A thorough examination revealed no problems with the arm itself; no obvious structural problems 
that could cause such severe pain. She took an even longer look at the stump, but again nothing 
seemed amiss, other than some minor irritation around the attachment site. There was no doubt 
that Krycek’s pain was real, but its origin wasn’t clear.
By the time she finished her examination, Krycek had quieted; his body was relaxed and his 
breathing was more even. He was asleep. With any luck, he’d be out for a while, allowing Scully 
time to go about her business.
Two hours later, fed, changed, and with a load of hand-washables drying in the bathroom, Scully 
settled down in the living room, watching Krycek. Less than four months ago, it would’ve been 
inconceivable for her to do what she did for him tonight. Less than four months ago, she 
would’ve been the first to say that he deserved any pain that came his way. How could things 
have changed so much?
The deal was an obvious, and convenient, explanation. There were still two major questions 
outstanding. Though she didn’t believe he really had the answer to one of them, she was 
determined to get whatever answers existed. But that was only part of it.
Somehow she’d gotten used to having Krycek around. Not just on a sexual level, either. Though 
she’d never considered him anything more than a partner in a distasteful business deal, somehow 
he’d wormed his way into the atmosphere of her home to the point where it would now feel a 
little odd without him there. She couldn’t put her finger on why she felt that way, but one thing 
was becoming clearer. Though she considered her solitude a precious thing, she had to admit that 
her existence was sometimes a lonely one.
She had her mother, she had her brothers, her friends, and of course Mulder, but somehow none 
of them seemed to fill that void the way Krycek did. She didn’t understand it, couldn’t explain 
it, but somehow it was enough just knowing that she had someone to talk to when she got home, 
and that he was that someone.
It hadn’t started out that way. In the beginning, virtually all of her contact with Krycek, physical 
or verbal, was sexual. That had slowly changed, but she didn’t realize how much until the night 
he brought her cookies. Since then, their interaction was different. A smaller percentage of what 
he said and did was sexually charged, and she thought his different treatment of her might stem 
from looking at her in a new way. And she had to admit she was starting to look at him in a new 
way, too.
She’d started opening up to him, just a little, almost without knowing she was doing it, but she 
still knew little about him. The difference between now and four months ago was that now, she 
wanted to know more about him; what he thought, what he wanted, what made him tick. 
Occasionally, if she lay awake at night, her mind started to stray to a question unthinkable four 
months ago. If he weren’t what he is, if he weren’t always playing mind games, what would he be 
like? What kind of relationship would we have? Could I be friends with a man like this? Could I 
date him? She stopped herself there, unwilling to speculate further. It wasn’t worth thinking 
about; Krycek was what he was and nothing would change that. As long as the deal existed, the 
best she could do was to try to understand him. The key to understanding him, she realized, was 
in finding out why he was the way he was. What his story was. And she was growing very 
interested in discovering that story.
It could never go any further than that. Eventually the deal would be over and Krycek would 
leave. Scully knew now that she’d miss him, but probably not for long. Her life would continue 
as before; she’d find something else... or someone else... to occupy her time. The only evidence 
of this portion of her life would reside solely in her memory... if she even chose to remember it.
No, she decided, Alex Krycek would hold no permanent place in her mind once this was over. 
He couldn’t. As long as he was with her she could forge a workable, even pleasant, relationship 
with him; could gently probe for the key to unlock his mystery, but that was it. Once he was 
gone, he was gone for good. It had to be that way.
Further thought was cut off by a soft moan from the sofa. Krycek slowly rolled over, rubbed at 
his eyes, and attempted to focus on her. His eyes seemed glazed; did he even see her? "Hi," she 
ventured. "How do you feel?"
He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaned back against the pillow again, and rubbed at the 
bridge of his nose. "Drugged," he finally said. "What the hell did you give me?"
"Demerol. It’s for my headaches, so I carry it with me. That’s why you didn’t find it. Did it 
help?"
He rubbed at his left shoulder, only then fully noticing that his arm wasn’t there. "Yeah, it 
helped. Thanks." His eyes settled on the coffee table; first on the gun, then on his prosthetic arm. 
His gaze moved back to the gun again, and Scully wondered momentarily if he’d make a grab for 
it. But he just lay back and closed his eyes. "Pretty stupid, huh?"
She allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. "Under the circumstances, very stupid," she agreed. 
"Surely even in Russia there are better methods of pain management?"
Krycek shook his head. "Morphine, if you’re lucky enough to get it. Even if you are, it’s never 
enough." He glanced at the coffee table again, then up at her. "Can I have my arm, please?"
She got up and handed it to him, then rolled up his sleeve. "Here, let me."
He jerked violently away from her, so she wordlessly retreated to her chair and watched him 
struggle with it. The arm was still a taboo topic, and she could understand that, but the pain 
could no longer be. "Alex, how many times has this happened?" she asked.
He clicked the prosthetic back into place and rolled his sleeve back down. "It hasn’t. Not since I 
left Russia."
She blinked, unconvinced. His lies weren’t usually that obvious. But if he was lying, wouldn’t 
she have noticed the pain at some point? "How many?" she repeated quietly.
He took a deep breath, met her gaze momentarily, then closed his eyes again. "Damn, I hate 
narcotics," he murmured, then breathed deeply again. "Once or twice," he said softly. "But it was 
never this bad before."
Scully mentally doubled that figure. "And what did you do then?"
"Took whatever was around. Aspirins, mostly, some ibuprofen." A pause, then, "Finished that 
bottle of vodka once, too."
She sighed deeply. "Alex, there are doctors who specialize in pain management --"
"You want me to get hooked on painkillers?" he interrupted. "I can handle this myself!"
"You’d rather risk an ulcer taking all that aspirin or drink yourself into oblivion?" Scully shot 
back. "Some way to handle it, don’t you think?"
Now Krycek sighed. "Okay, I admit the vodka was stupid, but I know what I’m doing when I 
drink, okay? I know what it’s going to do to me, and I can control it a hell of a lot better than I 
can control a narcotic."
She raised an eyebrow. "You can control the hangover too?"
"I grew up in a Russian household, Dana. Vodka was like water. I know how much it takes to 
dull whatever needs dulling, and I know how to avoid the worst of a hangover. Besides, drugs 
cause hangovers, too." He rubbed his eyes again. "I’ll still be feeling this stuff tomorrow."
"So when the over the counter things and the liquor don’t work, the gun is the only answer?"
"Got a better one?"
"Yes, I do. A pain management specialist. They do have alternatives to drugs for chronic pain, 
you know."
Krycek shrugged. "The gun’s cheaper and faster."
"What happens next time if I’m not here to stop you from using it?"
"Then I’ll be dead and it won’t matter."
"How can you be so cavalier about killing yourself?" she asked, horrified. "I always thought you 
were a survivor. You’re probably the last person I’d figure to be a suicide risk."
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "Ordinarily, you’d be right," he said quietly. "I’ve 
spent most of my adult life just trying to survive, and most of the time I much prefer living to 
dying." He closed his eyes and his voice became much softer. "But pain’s a funny thing. It does 
things to you... I hope you never have to find that out for yourself."
Scully sat back, stunned. It had to be the drug talking; he’d never talk like this unless something 
knocked his defenses down. "Please see someone," she said quietly. "I have friends in the 
medical community; I can get you a name..."
Krycek sat up a little more and fully met her gaze for the first time. "Why do you care?"
Why, indeed? "Excuse me?"
"It’s a pretty simple question, Dana. Why’d you stop me? Why do you want me to get the pain 
under control? Why do you care?"
I guess on some level I care more than you do, if you’re so willing to end it all... "I took an oath, 
the Hippocratic Oath..."
He shook his head slowly. "No oath pulled that gun out of my hand. Why?"
Why? I can’t even explain it to myself... "The deal," she stammered. "Once it’s over and you’re not 
here, you can go ahead and do whatever you want. You can shoot yourself then if you want to. 
But as long as you’re here and this deal stands, I need you alive and healthy. If that means taking 
care of the pain, then that’s what we’ll do." She paused and took a breath. "Besides, if you’re 
going to be selfish enough to blow your brains out, I’d prefer that you not blow them all over my 
sofa."
That brought the ghost of a smile to his face. "You really wouldn’t stop me if I chose to blow my 
brains out after the deal’s over?"
That sounded more like the Krycek she was used to. It was a subtle mind-game question, but 
hearing it relieved her greatly. She was learning how to handle his mind games. She wasn’t sure 
she could handle an introspective Krycek. "How could I?"
"Your Hippocratic Oath wouldn’t save me?"
Cookie night might save you... She managed to squash the thought before it went any further. 
"After the deal, you won’t be here. I wouldn’t know where you were, so I couldn’t possibly stop 
you, even if I wanted to."
Here it comes now: ‘Would you want to?’ She didn’t know how to answer that, but she didn’t 
have to. She heard only a soft laugh. "That’s my Little Red." He stretched and stood up slowly, 
unsteady on his feet. Scully stifled her natural instinct to help, and remained seated. If he didn’t 
want her help with the arm, wouldn’t he just swat her away now if she tried to help him? "That 
pill of yours wiped me out. I’m going to hit the sack." He made his way to the hallway, then 
turned. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."
Scully waited until she heard the bedroom door close. Then she whispered, "You’re welcome." 
And she meant it.
*******************************
The knife flew everywhere, slashing at his shoulder, his chest, his abdomen, arms and legs. He 
screamed, but no one heard him. The cuts got deeper and deeper and there was blood, so much 
blood; it hurt and he screamed and screamed but it didn’t stop and no one came. Then his head 
was jerked back and he saw his attacker, saw the blue eyes and the red hair, just before the blade 
sliced across his throat, cutting off his scream. But he still heard it echoing in his ears -- 
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"...
Krycek woke with a jolt, screaming, clutching his throat and gasping for breath. His heart 
hammered in his chest, his head throbbed... but there was no blood. No knife. No wounds.
Those facts barely had a chance to register in his brain before he found himself in the bathroom, 
hunched over the toilet, violently retching. When he was done he just lay there on the floor for a 
moment, pressing his face to the cool tile. God, it was just a dream, only a damn dream...
He managed to pull himself to his feet, only to slump against the sink. He washed out his mouth 
and splashed water on his face, clinging with one hand to the side of the counter. The nausea had 
passed, but the world was still spinning. Why? he asked himself. What the hell was so different 
about that dream?
He flinched as something brushed against his arm. All it took was the flash of red hair to send 
him back to the toilet, but this time it was only dry heaves. What made it worse than the first 
round of vomiting was that now Scully was awake. He didn’t need her seeing him like this, and 
he sure as hell didn’t need her touching him.
But touching him she was. She was gently stroking his back, and he couldn’t pull away from her. 
He struggled to his feet again and hung over the sink, eyes closed, breathing hard. God, oh God, 
it was just a damn dream, why why why...?
"Alex, are you all right?"
He turned slightly, but the world started spinning again, so he closed his eyes. "I’m fine. Just 
wonderful." The words sounded terribly weak, even to him.
"Alex, you were screaming."
"Yeah, so?" After two deep breaths, he turned to face Scully. The image from his dream came 
back and nausea welled up again, but he managed to beat it back down. Scully had no knife. In 
fact, she looked concerned. "It was just a dream. No big deal."
Her eyes flicked to the toilet, then back to him. "Must’ve been quite a dream."
She reached out to him, but he instinctively recoiled. "Just don’t, please?" He leaned heavily 
against the counter and rubbed his face. "Goddam pill." What else could bring on such a 
nightmare?
"If you want to talk about it --"
"It was just a damn dream, Dana!" he snapped. "I don’t need to talk about it."
"Alex, it obviously had a dramatic effect on you," she said quietly. "It would help to talk about 
it."
Krycek brushed past her, somehow making it to the bedroom on legs that felt like rubber. His 
head throbbed, he still felt weak and sick, but now he needed to think, and he always thought 
better on the move. He started to slowly pace around the bed, trailing one hand along it as a 
guide in case he needed to sit. Three slow circuits helped the strength seep back into his legs, and 
allowed his mind to drift back to the dream.
After his bout with the pain earlier that day, he’d expect the nightmare to be about the forest, but 
he knew this one wasn’t. It felt different, and had vastly different after-effects. After a forest 
nightmare his shoulder would hurt, and it felt fine now. The forest dreams didn’t make him dizzy 
and nauseous, as this one had.
Then there was the Scully element of the dream. He didn’t associate her with the Tunguska 
incident; why would she show up in a dream about it? Any halfway competent shrink would 
probably point out the symbolism of Scully cutting him to pieces, but in this nightmare, Scully 
wasn’t Scully. At least, he didn’t think so.
Head down, hands raking through his hair, he paced the semi-circle around the bed with growing 
agitation. There was something about this dream, something he knew was important, dancing just 
at the edge of his consciousness, but the harder he tried to grasp it, the farther away it floated. 
Think, think! There’s something there, something I need to remember, something important...
"It was a dream about Russia, wasn’t it?"
Scully’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he stopped pacing and stared at her. "What?"
"You were dreaming about what happened in Russia, weren’t you?" she asked, leaning against 
the door jamb. "Alex, I know what happened there. You don’t have anything to hide; you can 
tell me --"
"I said I don’t want to talk about it!" He pushed past her and went out to the living room, where 
he resumed pacing. What is it? Something about the knife? The cuts? Does it even have anything 
to do with a knife? Or Scully? I gotta be missing something...
"Talking about it could help."
Krycek looked up to see Scully standing just inside the living room, a folded blanket in her arms. 
What would it take to make her shut up? "Will you just leave me the hell alone?" he snarled.
He paced in silence for another few minutes, but couldn’t concentrate because he knew she was 
still there. "Go away, would you?" he finally said.
She remained there for another moment, then placed the blanket on the sofa. "It’s chilly out 
here," she said quietly. "I’ll leave this in case you get cold." Then she padded off toward the 
bedroom.
Krycek paced for a while longer, but it didn’t help. A thousand thoughts flitted through his 
head, and he couldn’t concentrate on any of them. He needed to organize his thoughts... or just 
forget them. He brought his laptop to the coffee table, plugged it in, and booted it.
*******************************
Scully woke the next morning in an otherwise empty bed. Any other day she might’ve worried 
about where Krycek was, but she was fairly sure that he hadn’t gone out. Not the way he looked 
when she left him.
Why couldn’t he open up to her? Though she didn’t know exactly what happened in the forest in 
Russia, she certainly knew the outcome. If the dream was about that, why did he feel the need to 
hide it from her? If it left him nauseous and screaming, could she continue to let it be a taboo 
topic?
Unless, of course, the dream wasn’t about the forest. Maybe it was about the silo, or something 
else she knew nothing about. Either way, something was troubling Krycek greatly, and she had 
to find out what it was.
Sharing her home and bed with Alex Krycek was one thing. Sharing her home and bed with a 
mentally unstable Alex Krycek was a different matter entirely.
She showered and dressed, then ventured out to the living room, where she found Krycek asleep 
on the sofa under the blanket she’d left for him. Even in sleep he looked troubled. She sat on the 
edge of the coffee table, watching him.
A flicker caught by the corner of her eye drew her attention to the laptop next to her. She 
must’ve moved the mouse when she sat, turning off the screen saver. The desktop was visible, 
with no programs open.
Scully sighed. The damn computer again. What the hell was he doing with it?
Burying the dream, she realized. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it; he probably didn’t 
even want to think about it, so he immersed himself in his project. Why was he so intent on 
running away from the nightmare?
He might... if he didn’t even know what was bothering him. Maybe something in the computer 
would help her gain some insight. Her hand inched toward the mouse.
Movement from the sofa stayed her hand. Krycek’s eyes were open now, and he was watching 
her. "Good morning," she said.
He stretched and rubbed his eyes. "Time’s it?"
She glanced at her watch. "Just after seven-thirty." She paused, then, "Rough night, huh?"
He draped his arm across his forehead and said nothing.
"Are you okay?" she ventured after a moment.
"Last night..." he said softly. "Won’t happen again."
"You can’t guarantee that."
He shrugged and closed his eyes.
"But... you have a better chance of avoiding all that if you talk about it." She cringed a little, 
waiting for him to yell at her like he had the night before.
But Krycek just shook his head slowly. "Can’t."
"Do you even know what the dreams mean?"
Ignoring her, he sat up slowly, reached around her, and shut his computer down.
Whatever it was, he was hiding it even from himself. What kind of effects could that have on the 
deal? "It’ll only get worse if you keep it all to yourself..." she ventured.
"Don’t start," he sighed wearily. "Just... don’t."
"But the deal --"
"Won’t affect the deal."
"How do you know that? You don’t know what this thing’ll do to you next."
Krycek rubbed his eyes again and turned to her. "Look, Dana, I’m not going to blow your brains 
out in the middle of the night, if that’s what you’re worried about."
"No, you’re more likely to blow your own brains out. Yesterday --"
"That was different," he cut in. "I’m not about to put a bullet in my head over a damn dream, 
okay? Can you give me credit for a little more sanity than that?"
Scully bit her lip, considering. How mentally stable was he? Was it worth pushing this any more? 
If left alone, he might tell her in his own time, in his own way. Until that time, she’d just watch 
her back a little more. "I’m sorry," she finally said. "I was just trying to help."
"I don’t need any help. I’m fine."
She knew he was far from fine, but she didn’t think it wise to push him any further. "Okay, if 
you say so." She touched his arm, a little surprised that he didn’t pull away from her. "You look 
exhausted. Why don’t you go back to bed for a few hours?"
He nodded and stood up slowly. "Just so you know," he said, "this has nothing to do with the 
deal. Everything there is status quo."
"If you say so," Scully repeated, watching him shuffle off toward the bedroom. He might think 
the deal wasn’t affected, but she wasn’t so sure.
*******************************
Krycek idly clicked through a web page, not even paying attention to what was on it. He wasn’t 
looking for anything in particular. He’d done as much research as possible; all he could do now 
was wait. Just wait for the little beep that signaled incoming e-mail.
That e-mail was about the only thing that could take his mind off the nightmare. It was safest not 
to think about that at all if he could avoid it. The very thought of it made him queasy.
He had to focus his energy on something else. Since the start of his deal with Scully, he’d made 
only cursory attempts to find the person he was looking for, but the need was much more urgent 
now. Over the past week his search had kicked into high gear, and he thought he might be close 
to success. Everything depended on one e-mail.
The computer beeped, and he immediately clicked his mailbox open. Hope evaporated as soon as 
he saw the subject line: "XXX TOTALLY FREE HOT BABES NOW!!"
He shook his head. Sure, he’d browsed a few sex sites -- what else was there to do for hours 
online? He wasn’t really interested in pictures or videos, but now he’d be deluged with spam 
offering just that. He fleetingly considered forwarding the mail to "fmulder@fbi.gov" before 
deleting it. Mulder probably already had a thousand bookmarks for sites just like that.
A few more clicks brought him to a research paper on a subject he’d studied in college. He was 
just getting immersed in it when the computer beeped again. This time the subject read, "FYI."
The message was short, stating only a place and a time, but it was enough. Krycek printed the 
mail, shut everything down, and was out the door in under two minutes.
*******************************
The apartment was empty. Scully didn’t think much of it, speculating over her dinner that 
Krycek had errands to run. Despite her warnings, he still went out during the day. Something 
probably took him longer than expected, and he’d be back shortly. No big deal, really, as long as 
he didn’t mind that she’d eaten all the leftovers.
In fact, she was almost glad that he went out. His behavior had been sort of scary since the night 
of his dream. The one word she could think of to describe it was driven. He obviously had a 
mission, and he poured all his energy into that. There was no more pain, no more nightmares, but 
somehow this mission was worse, more frightening than any other aspect of his behavior. At least 
the dreams and the pain gave her opportunity to talk to him, to figure out what was going on in 
his head. Over the last week he’d pretty much shut her, and everything else, out, and was glued 
to his computer.
Attempting to slow down his unhealthy obsession with the computer, she’d propositioned him 
three times during the week. Though the sex was good, she knew his head wasn’t in it. Normally 
he was acutely focused on her pleasure. Over the last week, it was almost like he didn’t care, 
even about his own pleasure. He seemed to perform almost mechanically, and she knew his mind 
was still online even while he was inside her.
That alone was enough to unnerve her. Whatever he had going on had to be pretty important if it 
could make him lose his focus on sex.
Maybe his absence signaled an end to the mission. Maybe he’d found what -- or who -- he was 
looking for. He’d be home whenever he was done conducting business.
It didn’t even bother Scully that Krycek wasn’t home by the time she went to bed. Meetings of 
the kind he was probably arranging usually took place under the cover of darkness, right? Surely 
he’d be in the bed next to her when she woke up in the morning.
But the other side of the bed was empty when she woke up. There was no sign that Krycek had 
been there: no rumpled sheets, no imprint in the pillows, no clothing thrown on the chair. Slightly 
perturbed, Scully went to work, sure that Krycek would be there when she got home.
The second night, Scully was annoyed. How dare he run off like that without telling her when 
he’d be back? Every other time he went out, he left a note, even if it was only a scrawled, "Be 
back later." This time he’d left nothing. Just like Krycek to go running off somewhere with no 
thought for anyone but himself.
She prepared and ate her dinner while mentally rehearsing what she’d say. Just let him come 
home now, she thought. He’d get an earful for sure. Hadn’t they talked numerous times about 
the manhunt? Not only that, he still had to worry about the smoker and his group. Didn’t Krycek 
even bother to think about that before going off on his little joyride? Didn’t it matter to him how 
much trouble they’d both be in if he were caught?
She wouldn’t cover for him. This stunt was just too ridiculous. If he were caught, he’d sink or 
swim on his own. Let him try to blackmail her. Scully thought she could probably convince 
Mulder and Skinner that the videotapes were fake.
It wasn’t until she was lying in bed, alone again, that a different thought struck. What if 
something happened to him?
She considered that for a moment, then dismissed it. If something happened, he’d call, right?
Unless the smoker got to him.
Unwilling to entertain that thought, but unable to completely banish it, Scully closed her eyes 
and fell into a fitful sleep.
*******************************
Krycek waited in the alley, nervously looking around him in search of his informant. The guy was 
late. For all he knew, he wouldn’t show at all.
The first meeting had gone well, all things considered. People would do and say just about 
anything for cash, he knew, and that informant was no different. He didn’t even demand as 
much cash as Krycek thought he would. The simple arrangement of a second meeting wasn’t 
worth all that much, but Krycek was happy to pay. And once he was sure the informant hadn’t 
had any communication with the smoker, he was happy to end the transaction with a bullet to the 
head.
The best thing about cash transactions was that cash was refundable.
This second meeting, Krycek knew, wouldn’t be as easy. This informant likely had the new lead 
he desperately needed, but he hadn’t had a chance to feel this one out. He wasn’t sure he could 
get away with a simple cash-and-kill this time. Decision time: how far was he willing to go for 
what he wanted?
"Arntzen."
Krycek spun around, suddenly face to face with his informant. He could tell nothing by the 
man’s non-descript face; nothing indicated how this might go. A careful approach was called for. 
Strictly business. "You know why we’re here?" he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray the unease 
he felt.
A curt nod. "Yes."
"You know where the subject is?"
"No."
No. Fucking figured. "Thanks a lot for wasting my time." Krycek turned to go, but felt a hand 
lightly touch his shoulder.
"I know how to get in touch with him," the informant said quietly.
Krycek stopped, but didn’t turn. "Why the hell should I trust you?"
"You have no one else."
"There’s always someone else."
"No one else with the package deal I’m offering."
Krycek mulled that over. This was all a calculated risk; there really wasn’t anyone else he could 
go to. Not now, at least, and not as safely. All other contacts would bring him even closer to the 
smoker than this did. He turned around slowly, figuring he should at least listen to the offer.
"What’s all this going to cost me?" he asked.
Now the informant smiled; a humorless grin that sent a chill down Krycek’s spine. He could feel 
the man’s gaze crawling over his body, and he was suddenly very sure this deal wasn’t going to 
go down. He took a step back, realizing with some surprise that he was trembling.
The informant matched the step, closing the distance between them again. "Cost? I think you’ll 
be pleasantly surprised."
Krycek took another step back, realizing that he’d backed himself against a wall. Stupid, stupid, 
stupid! How the hell had he lost control of this meeting so quickly? He knew his trembling was 
noticeable now, but he didn’t care. His mind was already racing toward getting out of this alive, 
even if it meant losing the information.
"Why..." The word betrayed his nervousness; not the image he wanted to project. Making a 
conscious effort to stop trembling, he took a deep breath and tried again. "Why would you want 
to help me?" His hand inched toward his gun, but the man grasped his wrist firmly before he 
could grab it.
"Because, Mr. Arntzen," the informant said with a smile, "I like you. And I think you’re going to 
learn to like me too."
*******************************
By the third night, Scully was worried. All she could think of was Krycek lying dead in some 
alley somewhere, the cigarette man standing over him with the smoking gun.
She was sure she’d know about it by now if the FBI had caught up with him. Mulder would 
waste no time in inviting her to the interrogation. But Mulder had spent the day doing research 
on the information on the last disk she’d given him, so she was pretty sure Krycek hadn’t run 
afoul of the FBI. Yet.
What if something else happened to him? What if wasn’t even the smoker? What if he’d gotten 
hit by a car or something? Maybe she should call the hospitals. She couldn’t call the police; that 
would just be asking for trouble. But maybe the hospitals...
But wouldn’t someone have called her if he’d been in an accident? He usually carried the Alan 
Keller ID with him...
The thought trailed off as another one hit. Scully opened the closet and there, just as she’d 
thought, was Krycek’s jacket. She leaned in and ran her hand over the butter-soft leather, 
searching for the pockets. She couldn’t help but inhale the aroma of the leather, mixed with a 
scent that was uniquely Krycek, and suddenly his absence hit her on a much more visceral level 
than it had up to that point. She swayed for a moment, grabbing onto the closet bar for support.
The scent brought memories rushing back; the most prominent one, oddly enough, was of 
cookies. Cookies and leaning on Krycek’s chest, inhaling the same scent that was embedded in 
the leather. It was a memory of feeling safe and protected, and right now she missed that.
She missed him.
The realization struck her like a lightning bolt, and she had to grab for the closet bar again. 
Missed? Alex Krycek? How could she possibly miss a man who’d made her life a wreck from the 
moment he stepped into it?
No, she didn’t miss him. It wasn’t possible. Her concern was business-related only. Reaching into 
the pocket of the leather jacket, she brought out a slim wallet. Inside the wallet was sixty dollars 
in cash, the Alan Keller ID, and a small photo of herself.
Scully stared at the photo. What was he doing carrying around a picture of her? Was it just 
window dressing, to go with the identity she’d had him set up, or was there deeper meaning to 
it? And where had he gotten it? She didn’t even recognize it.
After a long moment, she shook her head and closed the wallet, replacing it in the jacket pocket. 
She now knew that Krycek was out without any sort of ID, without any contact information. 
She wouldn’t get a call if he wound up in a hospital or a morgue.
He was out without his jacket, too. It was only mid-April; the nights were still very cool. This 
was now his third night out. Even if he came back, he’d probably end up with pneumonia or 
something.
Scully sat at the desk, feeling utterly helpless. Her hands were tied; there wasn’t anything she 
could do.
Then her eyes fell on his laptop.
If this disappearance was related to the research he’d been doing, maybe his computer would 
shed some light on things. Sending up a silent prayer, she booted the laptop.
Just when she thought it was finished booting, a small box popped up with the message "Enter 
password."
Password? Scully’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard. What might Krycek use as a password? 
For all she knew he used something Russian, but she had to try something. It had to be 
something he thought a lot about; something that had some meaning for him.
She typed "Little Red."
The dialog box popped up again, telling her, "Invalid password. Please enter password again."
"Hmph." She sat back, gazing at the screen with narrowed eyes. What else held meaning for 
Krycek? She had no idea, and suddenly wished she’d bought one of those Russian dictionaries. 
She started randomly typing words and phrases, but she was only guessing. Each entry came 
back with the same box saying "Invalid password."
Scully closed down the computer, even more worried now. Where the hell was he?
*******************************
Krycek gave the alley a quick once-over before moving quietly down it. So many alleys, he 
mused, and they all looked pretty much the same. Another alley, another town. The story of his 
life, it seemed.
At least this alley was in D.C., the first time all day he’d been in the city. The last informant’s 
lead had taken him out of town, chasing down a connection that turned out to be a dead end. 
The information wasn’t a total loss, though. There were still leads to be followed through the 
computer.
At least the meeting, bizarre as it was, had ended as it was supposed to, though Krycek did feel 
just a tiny bit guilty about putting a bullet in the man’s head.
No time for guilt now, though. He had a viable lead. Now all he wanted was to go home and 
indulge in the simple things. A long, hot shower. Clean clothes. A hot meal.
Scully.
It suddenly occurred to him that he probably should’ve called her at some point. He wasn’t used 
to answering to anyone when he had business to conduct, and it had completely slipped his 
mind. She’d probably be pretty pissed by the time he got home.
No matter. She’d get over it.
Something suddenly whizzed past him, and he immediately dropped behind some crates. He 
knew that sound, from long experience.
Someone had just taken a shot at him.
Silenced, of course -- he hadn’t heard the shot, just the whine of the bullet as it streaked past 
him. He hunkered lower, eyes sweeping the area, looking for the shooter. He saw no one, but 
became aware of a stinging in his right arm, and a warm trickle of liquid down it.
"Shit!" He probed his right bicep, stifling a hiss of pain. There was blood, but he wouldn’t bleed 
to death from it. The bullet had just grazed him. It hurt, but he could deal with it. He had to, 
with a still-unseen shooter lurking around. He drew out his gun and waited.
He caught a flicker of movement on his left and immediately fired... but nothing happened. He 
squeezed the trigger again, but there was still nothing.
Fuck fuck fuck! Krycek jammed the useless gun into his waistband. Just what he needed; hand to 
hand combat with an armed assailant. He’d have to lie low and try to get the shooter’s gun.
Definite movement on the left now. The shooter was looking for him. Did he know his first shot 
hit? Maybe not. Best to play dead until the guy was close enough to deal with.
Krycek waited, coiled in readiness, until his attacker was practically on top of him. Only then did 
he spring, launching himself at his attacker full-force. They both hit the ground hard, and Krycek 
saw the gun fly out of his assailant’s hand. A couple of quick rights to the guy’s face gave him 
the seconds he needed to dive for the gun.
He caught sight of the gun and was reaching for it when he felt someone grab him and shove him 
forward. There was no time to prepare for impact, and fireworks exploded inside his head when 
it made contact with the brick wall.
He came to a few seconds later, now prone on the ground, his vision blurred and his head 
pounding. He moved to get up, but screamed as pain suddenly exploded in his back, once, then 
again. The only thought in his mind was that he was shot, that he’d never move again, that the 
next bullet would be fired into his head. But he managed to turn his head enough to see his 
attacker raise his foot.
Twisting away from the next blow well enough to pull the assailant off-balance, Krycek kicked 
at him, and the guy went down. Gun, registered in Krycek’s mind. Gun’s still lost. He made an 
effort to get up, but his attacker was up again, viciously kicking him. He curled up, protecting 
himself as best he could while his dazed mind tried to work out an escape plan.
Gathering his strength, he twisted away from his attacker’s foot and lurched to his feet. He 
managed to swing, but it was a glancing blow the other man easily sidestepped. Krycek wasn’t 
fast enough to sidestep the man’s answering blow.
The left to his chin dazed him even more, enough that he was almost powerless to avoid having 
his head slammed into the wall again. But a split second before impact, he saw it.
The gun. Lying right there in the garbage, not six inches from his foot.
His head hit and again he dropped to the ground, fighting with every inch of his being against 
the darkness that wanted to claim him. He could barely feel his attacker’s kicks, so intent was he 
on getting the gun. Another kick, and he could feel something give inside him, could hear a rib 
crack, but his hand closed over the gun.
Steel-toed boots, floated through his mind as he rolled over. He couldn’t focus on his attacker, 
everything was too blurry, sometimes there were two or three of him, blood dripped in his eye 
and he couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter.
Krycek closed his eyes and fired.
*******************************
By the fourth night, Scully was practically frantic, and extremely frustrated. She was an FBI 
agent, for heaven’s sake; she ought to be able to find somebody when she needed to. But there 
really wasn’t anything she could possibly do.
She tried to distract herself with the television, but none of the programs interested her. She paid 
attention when the news came on, just in case. An item came up that she was sure Krycek would 
have a unique view of, and not being able to debate it with him just drove home the point that 
she missed him.
There. She finally allowed herself to entertain the thought. She did miss him, and it had nothing 
to do with business. She missed having someone around that she could talk freely with; missed 
the way he challenged her intellectually in their news debates.
She missed having someone there to lean against and share cookies with.
The news ended and Scully shut off the TV. She couldn’t go to bed; she knew she’d only toss 
and turn for hours. She curled up in corner of the sofa, pulled a pillow to her chest and hugged it. 
"Alex," she whispered, "where are you?"
*******************************
The pain told him that he wasn’t dead.
Krycek lay amid the trash in the alley, wondering why he wasn’t dead. Then the pain kicked in 
for real, and he almost wished he was dead.
Every movement brought on a new wave of nausea, but he managed to roll over and get up on 
his hands and knees before vomiting. After that, the nausea subsided a little, but buzzing in his 
head was still there. Everything was spinning before his eyes and he couldn’t focus on anything.
He tried to stand up, but sharp pain lanced through his abdomen, dropping him to his knees 
again. Content to stay that way for now, he crawled toward the shape two feet away from him.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see straight. It was easy enough to tell that his assailant was 
dead. Krycek’s shot had blown the top of his head off.
Shot. Krycek focused on the word. Shot meant... gun, which was right there where he had fallen. 
He retrieved it and tucked it away as another thought came.
Scully.
He had to get back to Scully, call Scully, do something. Pulling himself up with the aid of the 
piles of trash, he managed to stand, but almost immediately slumped against the wall. He was too 
dizzy, he hurt too much, and blackness was starting to intrude on his field of vision. He couldn’t 
possibly move.
But move he did. Slowly, painfully, hunched over, he made his way to the mouth of the alley, 
but when he got there he had no idea where he was. Nothing looked familiar, and he couldn’t 
remember the location. Couldn’t remember why he was there. Didn’t know how to get home.
Krycek turned the corner and stumbled along the wall facing the street. It was still dark -- dark 
again? -- and he couldn’t see anybody around. He was alone.
Krycek slumped into a doorway and finally surrendered to the welcoming blackness.
End Chapter 11
Chapter 12
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