WICKED GAME 
By Mare (MareZX@aol.com) 
Chapter 12
Disclaimers in Chapter 1; rated NC-17

Thump.
The soft sound woke Scully and she sat up, momentarily disoriented. It was a second before she 
remembered turning off the television and curling up on the sofa, clutching a pillow. She must 
have fallen asleep.
Faint light came through the curtains and the VCR clock read 7:06. Had she really spent the 
whole night on the sofa? She put the pillow down and ran her hands through her hair. If she’d 
slept all night, why didn’t she feel more rested?
Thump.
Another sound, louder this time, and it seemed to be coming from the hall. One thought raced 
through Scully’s mind: Krycek. Didn’t he have his keys with him? Not that it mattered; he knew 
how to pick the lock.
Now there was a prolonged knocking at the door. Krycek definitely wouldn’t knock. What was 
going on here? "Okay, okay, I’m coming," she muttered. Her hand on the knob, she glanced 
through the peephole.
A middle-aged Arab man was outside, furiously knocking. Scully quickly searched her memory, 
but the man’s face didn’t register. Curious, she started to open the door. "Can I help --"
Her words died in her throat when the door fell open and a figure tumbled through it. She tried 
to break its fall but she wasn’t fast enough, and the body tumbled to the floor.
"Oh, my God," she breathed, bending to the moaning figure on the floor. This face she 
recognized. "Alex..."
He was breathing, but each breath was shorter and more shallow than it should have been. 
Pressing her fingers to his neck, she found a weak, rapid pulse, and his skin was very pale.
"You know him, Miss?"
Scully looked up to find the man who had knocked leaning into the apartment. "Yes, I know 
him. Where’d you find him?"
He waved a hand, generally indicating his find wasn’t local. "Southeast..."
"Yes, yes, I know," she murmured.
"I tried to take him to a hospital, but he wouldn’t go," the man continued. "Kept saying to bring 
him here."
"Of course." Scully stood now and reached for her purse. "Thank you very much for getting him 
here. I’ll see that he gets medical attention." She pressed some money into the man’s hand. 
"Thank you."
He took the money, but held her eye and kept his foot in the door. "He puked in my cab."
Anxious now to get back to her patient, Scully handed him more money. "Get it cleaned on me. 
Thank you again and I’ll take it from here." She practically pushed the cab driver out the door, 
then closed it and bent again to Krycek, lying motionless on the floor.
She gently turned him over and took his head into her lap. His right arm, forehead, and the right 
side of his face were caked with dried blood. He was completely unconscious, and didn’t 
respond at all to her touch.
Scully quickly went through in her mind the procedures for evaluating a trauma patient. He was 
breathing, so she moved on to the next step, checking for obvious bleeding. The scrape on his 
forehead, near his right temple, was still trickling blood, as was the wound she found on his right 
arm near the shoulder. That one would need stitches, but it looked relatively superficial and she 
could see no other wounds.
Pulling her purse off the table, she dug her penlight out of it and checked his eyes. The pupils 
were equal, which was a good sign, but it bothered her that they were somewhat sluggish in 
responding to the light. The light did, however, bring him back to some semblance of 
consciousness, which Scully took advantage of. He had to have been coherent enough to tell the 
cabbie her address; time to find out if, or how much, that had deteriorated. "Hi there," she said. 
"Can you tell me your name?"
He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
"I couldn’t hear you," she said. "Tell me your name?"
He mumbled again, something sounding like "Arnsen." Scully sat back, now thinking that that 
was probably not the right question to start with. Krycek almost certainly didn’t use his real name 
when conducting his shadowy business. If he’d been using another name for the last four days, it 
stood to reason that he still thought of himself that way. She tried something else. "Do you know 
who I am?"
His eyes opened slowly, and he focused on her for the first time. "Dana," he murmured softly. 
"Little... Red."
Scully never thought she’d be happy to hear that nickname, but now she smiled. "That’s right. Do 
you know where you are?"
Krycek rolled onto his side, grimacing in pain. "Home," he gasped. "Asked... take me home..."
"Alex, you are home." She carefully slid out from underneath him, pulling a pillow off the sofa to 
rest his head on. "Do you know where home is?"
No answer.
"Okay, who did you ask? Do you know how you got here?"
"Don’t... remem..." A groan cut off the rest of the word.
"Do you know who did this to you?"
"Dead," he murmured. "All dead..." His voice trailed off as consciousness left him.
She moved to his side now and lifted his shirt, a little surprised to see two guns in his waistband. 
Two? One she recognized, the other was unfamiliar. The second must have belonged to his 
assailant. Or was there more than one? Who exactly was dead? Temporarily shelving those 
questions, she put the guns aside and continued her examination.
Her gentle probe of his abdomen brought him awake again, shaking his head and groaning in 
pain. He wrapped his arms protectively around himself, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Scully 
let him rest for a moment, then tried to move his arm to continue her examination. He made a 
weak attempt to push her hands away and cringe from her probing hands, but she wouldn’t let 
him. "I’m sorry, but I have to," she murmured. "I need to know how badly you’re hurt."
"Hurts..." The word trailed into a long moan.
"I know it hurts. I’m sorry," she said gently, her mind racing. She couldn’t manage a complete 
exam, but she’d seen enough already. The left side of his abdomen was rigid and distended, 
indicating internal bleeding. The left side of his chest was also rigid and over-extended, meaning 
that air had escaped his lung. Adding to that a probable concussion -- if not worse -- made her 
course of action clear. He belonged in a hospital.
Her first thought was to call 911, but she dismissed that quickly. A DC hospital would probably 
be more dangerous to him than his injuries were. Too much potential for him to be found. There 
was another possibility, a hospital she knew of in Silver Spring, Maryland, at which an old friend 
of hers worked. Dealing with a doctor she knew and trusted was a big plus, but getting Krycek 
to the hospital required a drive of at least a half hour. Did he have that much time?
"Alex?" she asked. "Still with me?"
"Mmmmm...."
"Do you know when this happened? Was it dark out, or light?"
"Mmm... d.... dark," he gasped. "Couldn’t... see..."
Dark. That put the time of his injury anywhere from two to twelve hours ago. Still-fresh bleeding 
from his shoulder and forehead suggested it was less than twelve hours, but maybe not much 
less. He might be able to stand another half hour, but the faster she got there, the better she’d 
feel. At least she’d be going against traffic.
Scully shook Krycek’s shoulder. "Come on, Alex, I’ll help you up. We need to get you to a 
hospital."
His eyes opened wide and he shook his head. "No... no hospital..."
"Yes, hospital," she said firmly. "Now."
**************************************
It wasn’t until she was in the emergency room of her targeted hospital, relating her own findings 
to the young physician examining Krycek, that Scully started to relax a little.
The last forty minutes had been a nightmare. She still didn’t know how she’d managed to get 
Krycek into the car, but was pretty sure that whatever she did had only made his injuries worse. 
She made it to Silver Spring okay, but got lost once she turned off the highway and had to waste 
time asking for directions. By the time she pulled up at the emergency entrance of Jackson 
Memorial Medical Center, Krycek was breathing in short, shallow little gasps and his skin was 
deathly pale, almost gray. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen, he was likely losing a lot of blood, 
and she was terrified that time had run out.
Now, she found the recitation of her exam results to have a calming effect. She started to notice 
details around her, primarily how young the doctor looked. Probably a resident, she figured. He 
nodded occasionally during her speech but didn’t ask any questions, and she wondered if he 
were really listening.
"Two more things," she said, watching the nurse place an oxygen mask on Krycek. "First, IVs in 
the right arm only; the left one is prosthetic."
Another nurse immediately moved around the gurney to Krycek’s right side to place the IV the 
doctor ordered. "And two," Scully continued, "please have someone page Dr. Keith Manning."
That got the doctor’s attention. "I assure you I’m completely qualified to treat your friend," he 
said, and Scully detected a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"I’ve no doubt you are," she said, choosing her words carefully, "but there are... extenuating 
circumstances here."
"Somebody get a chest tube over here!" the doctor barked, then turned back to Scully. "What 
extenuating circumstances?"
"Dr. Manning knows what they are," Scully lied smoothly. "He’s familiar with this patient, and 
would want to be notified."
"I bet," the doctor snorted. He swiftly prepared and draped the tube insertion site on the left side 
of Krycek’s chest, then administered local anesthetic. "Do you mind? You’re not supposed to be 
here, especially while we’re doing this."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "I’m a medical doctor. I’m as qualified to do that as you 
are."
"Qualified or not, you don’t belong here."
Scully watched the physician make the incision and widen it with a clamp. "Page Dr. Manning 
and I’ll move," she said firmly.
To the young doctor’s credit, he kept his attention firmly on his work, even through his 
annoyance with her. He carefully inserted the chest tube before barking at her, "Do I have to call 
security?"
"Page Dr. Manning and I’ll move," she repeated.
The doctor connected the tube to suction and sutured it in place, then turned to a nurse. "Let’s 
get a chest X-ray here, then we need head and abdominal CTs. I’ll be right back." Then he took 
Scully aside. "Look, Manning’s a surgeon. He doesn’t work the ER."
"I’m well aware of what Dr. Manning does," Scully said, trying her best to remain calm. It didn’t 
matter if they thought she was a pain in the ass. Krycek was being treated, and that was the 
important thing. She took a deep breath and continued, "I know you’re doing good work here, 
and I appreciate it. But if you want to offer full and complete medical care to your patient, it 
would be in everyone’s best interests if Dr. Manning were called."
The young physician just stared at her for what felt like a long time. Finally he threw up his 
hands and made an exasperated sound. "Okay, fine, have it your way." He tapped a passing 
nurse and said, "Page Manning."
Scully allowed herself a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"Until he gets here," the doctor said testily, "I’ll continue treating my patient, if you don’t mind."
"Please, do whatever you have to. I’ll wait."
Scully watched as Krycek was whisked off for the requested CT scans, then moved slowly 
toward the ER’s waiting area. She paced for what felt like an hour before she saw the familiar 
figure of her old med school buddy stride into the ER. A nurse pointed him in her direction, and 
seconds later she found herself enfolded in a big bear hug.
"Dana! Great to see you, stranger! What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
Scully pulled back from his embrace. "Keith, I need your help," she said quietly. "I have a... 
situation."
A flicker of concern crossed her friend’s dark eyes. "Situation?"
"I brought in a witness who’s in unofficial protective custody. It would be to everyone’s 
advantage to keep this... discreet..." Her voice trailed off, and she realized that she probably 
sounded like an idiot.
But Manning nodded. "You want a doctor you trust to take over your witness’ care. Right?"
"Yes, exactly." She took a deep breath. "I know you’re busy, but could you...?"
"Dana, do you really have to ask? Of course I’ll help. Just fill me in."
She gave him a summary of what had happened that morning. "You were the first person I 
thought of," she finished, "but I had to tell them that you know him before they’d page you."
"I’m surprised they bought that." Manning gave her a long look. "Unofficial protective custody, 
huh?"
"Not Bureau-approved," she said softly.
"I can see the need for discretion," he said with a wry smile. "So let’s go see what’s going on 
with... what’s his name? I’m supposed to know the guy; it would help if I had a name."
Scully thought back. What had Krycek said the first time she asked if he knew his name? 
"Arnsen," she said. "Al Arnsen."
They made their way to where Krycek was, Scully hanging back while Manning approached the 
ER doctor. "How’s it going?" he asked casually.
"This your patient?" Scully thought the ER physician still sounded a little defensive.
Manning nodded. "Mr. Arnsen. Looks like he got himself in a whole lot of trouble. Care to give 
me a rundown?"
The younger doctor looked a little surprised, probably figuring that he’d heard the story already, 
but he gave a quick, complete briefing. Though his account was virtually identical to Scully’s, 
Manning listened carefully and asked questions as if it were the first time he’d heard it. Scully 
smiled, grateful that her friend was able to smooth the feathers she’d ruffled.
"Chest film’s up on the viewer," the ER doctor finished, "and we should be getting CT prelims 
any time now. He’s all yours."
Scully drifted to the viewing box to join Manning, who was intently studying the X-rays. 
"Pneumothorax," he said. "And four... no, five rib fractures."
"Six," Scully said softly, lightly tapping the X-ray where she saw each one. "Five on the left, one 
on the right."
"You’re right, six. Lucky guy," Manning commented. "Could’ve done a hell of a lot more 
damage to that lung."
I could’ve done more damage, she realized suddenly. His breathing was much worse after I 
moved him. Oh, God, I could’ve killed him myself... But she said nothing, retreating to the corner 
and leaving Manning to his patient.
She wasn’t allowed to brood for very long. Manning, studying the preliminary results of the head 
CT, interrupted her thoughts. "Dana, how long ago did you say this happened?"
"I don’t know," she said. "Anywhere from three to about twelve hours ago. Why?"
"Was he conscious at all?"
"In and out, mostly out --"
"Was he at all coherent when he was conscious?"
"Somewhat, but he was pretty confused and disoriented. Keith, what are you looking at?"
Manning motioned her over to the computer and lightly circled one spot on the display with his 
finger. "Subdural hematoma," he said, echoing the words already running through her mind. 
"Small, especially if it happened twelve hours ago. It probably won’t be a major issue, but I’d like 
to have neuro take a look anyway. What do you think?"
Scully stared at the spot on the computer screen with a sense of dread. There was bleeding in 
Krycek’s brain. Not much -- she knew that there could’ve been much more after all that time -- 
but it didn’t take much to cause problems. She could just see him waking up with no memory at 
all of the deal, or of the information he was supposed to give her. The scientist in her knew that 
was very unlikely, but she couldn’t help but worry that that was exactly what would happen. "I 
think a neuro consult is a very good idea," she said after a long moment.
Manning didn’t appear to notice her hesitation. "That’ll have to wait, though," he went on. "I’ll 
stick around for the prelims from the abdominal, but I can tell you already that from here he’s 
headed straight up to surgery. It’s pretty clear that there’s significant abdominal bleeding, and 
getting that stopped is top priority."
Scully didn’t even look at the other CT preliminaries as the images came up on the computer. She 
retreated to the far corner of the room, her mind filled with questions, many about her own 
actions. Had she made a mistake bringing Krycek to a hospital so far outside DC? If she’d hit 
traffic, or had a flat tire, or had taken longer to get directions, would Krycek still be alive now?
Manning’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "We’re done here, Dana. In a few minutes we’ll be 
heading up to surgery."
"How does it look?"
"It looks... like he really needs to get to surgery. I’m just going to call upstairs and make sure 
everything’s set, then we’re outta here."
While Manning was on the phone, Scully drifted toward Krycek’s gurney. For the second time in 
a very short time, she was surprised at how vulnerable he looked, and on some level it scared her. 
Now that she was counting on him to provide all that information, what would she do if he 
wasn’t around?
A slight movement from the gurney caught her attention, and she found herself looking down 
into Krycek’s half-open, pain-filled eyes. "Everything’s all right," she murmured, lightly stroking 
his hair. "You’re going to be just fine."
"For... you..." he gasped.
Scully stood there, stunned. For her? Whatever he did, he did it for her? What exactly did he 
do? Did he even know who she was? She started to ask, but her chance was gone. Krycek had 
lost consciousness again, and the gurney was being moved.
Manning took hold of her elbow and guided her along behind it. "Care to observe, Dr. Scully?" 
he asked.
It took a moment for his question to register. Watch someone poke around the internal organs of 
the man she was sleeping with? Not a very appealing idea. "No, thanks," she said, her mind still 
half-occupied by what Krycek had said. "I, um... have to break the news to my partner."
"Okay, then, I’ll see you later." Manning and the gurney disappeared into an elevator, leaving her 
alone with her thoughts and worries.
******************************
Shortly thereafter, Scully found herself pacing a well-appointed waiting room just outside the 
surgical suite. She’d been handed admissions forms to fill out, which she had done to the best of 
her ability. Filling out forms with vague information was harder than it looked, especially for a 
woman who, until recently, had prided herself on her truthfulness. Just another lie, she thought, 
to add to the ones I’ve already told everyone... and the one I’m about to tell Mulder.
Before she could lose her nerve, she dialed Mulder’s cell number. Too quickly for her comfort, he 
picked up. "Mulder."
Words suddenly froze in Scully’s throat. What could she say that he’d believe? He was already 
suspicious enough...
"Hello?" Mulder’s voice prompted her. "Anybody there?"
"Mulder, it’s me," she said weakly.
"Scully, are you feeling all right?" There was obvious concern in his voice. "You don’t sound so 
good."
"I’m..." He just gave her an opening; if she had any sense, she’d run with it. "Actually... no, I --"
"Say no more," her partner broke in. "I’m not surprised. You haven’t been yourself the last few 
days."
She’d been worried, distracted, and inattentive ever since Krycek went missing, and that was all 
he could say? Mulder, master of understatement. "Well... it’s time I saw some doctors," she said 
in a small voice. That wasn’t a lie, exactly. She was indeed meeting with doctors. "There will 
probably be tests, and... maybe the start of a new treatment..."
"Go ahead and do what you gotta do, Scully. I can hold down the fort here for a while."
Typical Mulder, avoiding her illness again. But in this case, maybe it was better that he not ask 
too many questions. "Are you sure, Mulder? This may require, um... several absences..."
"No problem. Take whatever time you need."
Her mind raced, trying to figure out what her partner was up to. She knew he was hugely 
suspicious, and he hadn’t confronted her in a while. Was he just giving her enough rope to hang 
herself with?
No, Mulder wouldn’t do that. Not to her. Of course, he probably thought that she’d never use 
her illness to cover other activities. What if they were both wrong? "If you really need to reach 
me, call my cell," she said, shaking the other thought from her head. "I don’t know exactly where 
I’ll be today..."
"Will do. Take care of yourself, Scully, and I’ll see you when you get back."
Scully clicked her phone shut, feeling horribly guilty. Technically, none of the words she’d said 
were lies, but was it really fair to let Mulder believe she was the one receiving treatment? She 
was doing this in large part for him, but did the end justify the means?
The door of the waiting room opened, interrupting her thoughts. Someone wearing scrubs leaned 
in and handed her a large plastic bag. Scully opened the bag to discover what looked like 
Krycek’s personal effects, so she sat down and began to pick through them.
First there was clothing that was in desperate need of a run through the laundry. Underneath that 
were boots that had seen better days. In the bottom corner of the bag was Krycek’s watch, and 
that was all. Nothing else; nothing to tell her where he’d been or what he’d been doing.
She considered the bag for a moment, then picked up the shirt. Pockets, in most cases, were the 
male equivalent of the handbag. She knew men who carried their lives around in their pockets. 
While that was hardly likely to be true of Krycek, it wouldn’t hurt to look, just in case.
The shirt yielded nothing, but she found two wads of what appeared to be cash in the back 
pockets of the jeans. One had a ten on the outside, the other a twenty. Both folded wads felt 
fairly thick, making her wonder both how much money he’d been carrying and how he’d 
managed to avoid having it stolen. She snapped the rubber band off the first pack, expecting to 
see more tens, but gasped when her eyes registered that the bill underneath the ten was a 
thousand.
Where did someone get thousand-dollar bills these days? As far as she knew, they’d been out of 
circulation for years, yet here was one, right in her hand. She stared at it, her first thought being 
that it was fake, but that didn’t make sense. This came from the pocket of a man who bought her 
lingerie costing hundreds of dollars, just on a whim. She knew the bill was real.
So, then, was the one underneath it, and the one underneath that. All in all, between the two 
bundles, there were fifty of the large bills. Fifty thousand dollars.
What kind of information was Krycek after that would cost so much? How much more had he 
spent over the last four days?
For... you...
Krycek’s words in the ER came back with surprising force. Had his trip had something to do 
with the cure he said he knew of? With that head injury, did he have any idea what he was 
saying, or who he was saying it to?
"Well," she sighed, "at least I know now how his hospital bill’s going to get paid." Scully tucked 
the wads of cash into her bag and settled down to wait, many questions swirling around in her 
mind.
The next thing she knew, she was startled awake from a doze by a knocking sound. Keith 
Manning was leaning against the open door, knocking on the frame. "Sorry to wake you," he 
said. "Didn’t expect you to be asleep."
Scully hadn’t thought she’d be relaxed enough for sleep. Maybe it was just the last four days 
catching up with her. "’S okay." She sat up and ran her hands through her hair. "What time is it?"
"Almost eleven. You okay, Dana?"
"Fine, fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well." She sat up straighter as Manning came into the 
room. "So...?"
"Relax. Your witness is going to be okay."
"Thank God," she sighed. "You were in surgery longer than I thought you’d be."
"Well..." Manning sat down opposite her, laying an x-ray envelope on the table between them. "I 
won’t lie to you. It got a little dicey. He lost a lot of blood, his pressure bottomed out..."
Scully couldn’t mask a tiny, very soft sound of alarm.
"Don’t worry; I told you he’s fine. He came through it okay."
"You gave him blood?"
Manning nodded. "Two units. If he’s a Jehovah’s Witness, now’s not the time to tell me."
Scully smiled. "No, far from it. I was just thinking, he had a minor anemia problem a few months 
ago..."
"No sign of it now. So... want the gory details?"
She nodded. "Please."
"Okay... well, we tried to repair the spleen, but the thing was pretty much shredded. Too much 
bleeding; we had to remove it. There’s bruising and a nasty little laceration on the left kidney. 
We repaired it, but I’ll be keeping an eye on his renal function for a few days just in case. 
Everything else looked okay; just some bruising that shouldn’t be a problem. We patched up the 
lung, cleaned up the external wounds, stitched the one on his shoulder, and... that’s about it. The 
shoulder wound... looks like he was grazed by a bullet."
Scully remembered the two guns she’d found on Krycek. "I wouldn’t be surprised."
Manning took a deep breath. "Your friend there’s one damn lucky guy, Dana. He took a hell of a 
beating, but it could’ve been a lot worse. Matter of fact, it was probably the broken ribs rather 
than direct hits that did most of the damage."
A mental image of Krycek in the car, deathly pale and barely able to breathe, sprang into her 
mind. "Probably happened... through moving him?" she ventured.
"Let’s put it this way..." Manning paused, weighing his words carefully. "He couldn’t possibly 
sustain that level of bleeding for twelve hours and still be alive. Had to have happened over a 
much shorter time."
"Of course," Scully said quietly. "It was that bad?"
He nodded. "It was bad. Likely got progressively worse while he was down in the ER. And not 
only that, there’s the lung. Highly unlikely that he could survive for twelve hours with lung 
capacity diminished to that degree. So yeah, it’s probable that something happened to exacerbate 
the injuries shortly before you brought him in here. He moved, or someone moved him."
"I did," she admitted. "I moved him. It’s my fault."
"Doesn’t necessarily have to be what you did, Dana. He might’ve moved on his own."
"No, it was me," she said, feeling a sudden stab of guilt. "He wasn’t as bad as that when I found 
him, but I could see how much worse he’d gotten by the time I got him here. I made the choice, 
and I could’ve killed him."
"You must have him in, er.. unofficial custody for a reason," Manning said. "Did you really have 
a choice?"
She’d nearly killed him, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d done the right thing anyway. 
DC hospitals were just too dangerous. "No, I didn’t."
"Then don’t beat yourself up over it. He’ll be fine. Really." Manning pulled an x-ray out of the 
envelope on the table. "By the way, here’s something the CT didn’t show us downstairs." He 
handed the image to her. "What do you see there?"
Holding it up to the light, Scully studied it. She saw what she expected to see -- a small subdural 
hematoma. But there had to be something else there...
It took a moment, but she spotted it. "Skull fracture," she said softly, tracing it with her finger.
"Hairline fracture, not large but definitely there." Manning took the x-ray back and replaced it in 
the envelope. "Takes a lot of force to crack a skull. It’s a wonder there wasn’t more bleeding."
Thank God there wasn’t, she thought. "Like you said, lucky guy."
"I had one of the neurosurgeons take a look, too," Manning said. "He agreed that the subdural 
hematoma shouldn’t cause any major problem, but we’re going to do a follow-up CT tomorrow 
morning. As long as it hasn’t grown, it should reabsorb, no problem. In the unlikely event that it 
has, then we’ll examine our options."
Scully closed her eyes. "My God, brain surgery."
"It’s not going to come to that, Dana," he assured her. "You know that as well as I do."
She sighed. "Yes, Keith, I know that. It’s just that a very big case depends on information he 
has, and at this point there’s no known written record of that information. Serious brain injury 
would be disastrous, in more ways than one."
Manning sat back and studied her. "Y’know, Dana, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite like 
this."
She realized that he was right. She’d always been cool and calm during medical crises in the past; 
worse ones than this. Why did this one have her so rattled? "I suppose... it’s the stress of the last 
four days catching up with me." She paused, then admitted, "That’s how long he’s been missing."
"Missing?" Manning repeated. "This guy’s in federal custody, and he goes missing? For four 
days?"
"Unofficial custody, Keith," Scully said quietly. "Without the full resources of the Bureau behind 
us, we can’t keep him under round-the-clock watch." She took a deep breath. "We’ve been using 
an honor system of sorts, and it’s worked quite well for a while. This was the first real incident..."
"Why..." He suddenly stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. I don’t want to know. If I 
don’t know, they can’t torture it out of me."
She smiled. "The government doesn’t do that anymore. Besides, it’s only a temporary situation. 
We’re... negotiating a deal involving official protection." She rose. "Can I see him now?"
Manning stood too. "He’s still in recovery. Might be better if you waited until we get him up to 
ICU."
"Please, humor me. I know you said he’s fine, but I just need to see for myself."
"Fine, fine, if you insist."
In a moment they were in the recovery suite, and Scully was gazing down at a sleeping Alex 
Krycek. His color was vastly improved since the last time she saw him, and he was breathing 
much more easily. Gauze bandages covered the right side of his forehead and his upper right arm. 
She lightly touched his right hand, the warm skin reassuring her that he was alive and most likely 
okay. Only then did she allow herself a sigh of relief. "He’s really all right," she whispered.
"Told you." Manning accepted a chart from the young doctor on the other side of the gurney. 
"He’s --" He stopped and looked closer at the chart, then pointed something out to the other 
doctor. "Is this right?"
The other doctor, who Scully figured to be a surgical resident, nodded. "BP’s still down, heart 
rate’s still up."
"Hmm." Manning flipped through the chart. "Hope we didn’t miss a bleeder."
"We didn’t."
"You sure?" He passed the chart to Scully. "Must have a pretty good crystal ball, then. Maybe 
later you can tell me what the winning numbers in Saturday’s lottery will be."
Chastened, the resident mumbled, "Sorry, Dr. Manning."
Scully opened the chart to see a set of vital signs that, while not exactly alarming, weren’t what 
they should’ve been, post-surgery. "Maybe he just needs a little more time," she suggested, 
handing the chart back.
"Maybe." Manning scribbled a note and passed the chart back to the resident. "Monitor him," he 
said. "If it gets any worse, page me immediately."
He led Scully back out into the hall. "How ’bout I treat you to an early lunch?"
Her mind was still occupied with Krycek’s condition. "Are you sure he’s all right?"
"Pretty sure. In any case, Parsons’ll keep a close eye. He’s a good guy; he’ll let me know right 
away if anything goes wrong." He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "So, what d’you say? 
Care to spend some time catching up?"
Her stomach was reminding her that she’d missed breakfast, and there was nothing else she 
could do but wait. Might as well spend that time pleasantly. "Lead the way."
******************************
"Heard some disturbing news over the Momvine not long ago," Manning said once they were 
settled in the cafeteria.
Scully spread light dressing over her salad. She was pretty sure she knew what he was going to 
say, and the fact that he knew irritated her. Her mother and Manning’s mother were good friends 
who talked and saw each other much more than their children did. Naturally, information was 
passed back and forth, and their respective children often heard news of each other first from 
their mothers. She and Manning had been calling this motherly grapevine the Momvine for years, 
and were usually able to laugh about it. Not this time, though. "Oh?"
"Cancer," he said softly. "Dana, why didn’t you tell me?"
She put down her fork. "It’s not just you, Keith. I’ve hardly told anyone, and it bothers me that 
my mother --"
"Don’t blame her. She’s just worried about you." He placed his hand over hers. "Is it really that 
bad?"
She nodded. "Nasopharyngeal tumor. Inoperable."
"I’m so sorry. How do you feel?"
She picked up her fork and dug into her salad. "Actually, not bad. I have the occasional 
headache or nosebleed, and sometimes I feel a little weak, but overall I’m feeling fairly well."
"Is this why you’re the one doing the witness-sitting?"
"Partly," she said, "but mostly because Mr. Arnsen and my partner would likely kill each other if 
left alone in a room together." On Manning’s look she added, "Long story."
"I’ll bet. So, are you undergoing any treatment?"
"I was on chemo for a while, but I stopped. So far that seems to be the right decision for me." 
Scully concentrated mightily on her salad, wishing he’d just drop it.
Manning was silent for a long moment, and she looked up to see him gazing thoughtfully at her. 
"Y’know," he finally said, "we have one of the top oncologists in the state right here. If you 
wanted a second opinion, I’m sure I could persuade him to give you and your records a look."
She considered that. Was it worth getting a second, or third, or fourth opinion? Maybe a 
different doctor would have some different treatment options. "I think I might take you up on 
that," she finally said. "Another opinion couldn’t hurt, right? I’ll just have to get a copy of my 
records sent over. Now could we please talk about something else? Something happier." She 
seized on the first thing she could think of to steer the conversation in a different direction. 
"How are things with you and Liz?"
Something dark came into Manning’s eyes. "Over," he said flatly.
That was something she hadn’t heard from her mother. "I am so sorry," she said, truly surprised. 
"I thought she was The One."
"So did I," he sighed. "She apparently thought our plumber was The One. They ran off to Mexico 
and got married."
Scully nodded in sympathy. "I can understand why this didn’t come through the Momvine."
"I’ll survive," Manning said. "Mom’s in denial. I’d expect her to start leaning on me again to 
hook up with you if it weren’t for the other thing I heard over the Momvine recently."
Scully inwardly cringed. He had to be talking about her "new boyfriend." She’d never known her 
mother to be much of a gossip; most of the news she passed on related to Dana’s professional 
achievements. What was up with her mom suddenly sharing pieces of her private life?
"How’s it going with this new guy?" Manning asked, confirming her suspicion.
"It’s..." Suddenly put on the spot, she had no idea what to say. "... going," she finally answered.
"Doesn’t sound too encouraging."
"Well..." She took a moment to think about it. She was confused enough about Krycek’s place in 
her life. Trying to put into words what she felt only made it worse. "It’s just that he’s... not like 
any other man I’ve ever dated." That, at least, was the truth. "He’s... not the type of man I’d ever 
thought I’d be with."
Manning asked the obvious question. "So why are you with him?"
"Because he appeals on a level that..." Her voice trailed off as she thought back. She had always 
been the one to remind Mulder of what exactly Krycek was every time her partner looked like he 
was buying into anything Krycek said. She kept Mulder grounded; made him see what really was 
instead of what Krycek wanted him to see. That was why the incident in Queens after the militia 
arrest was so strange.
Never in her short acquaintance with Alex Krycek had she seen him as anything other than a liar 
and murderer; someone standing in the way of their pursuit of the truth. But on that night, as she 
watched him sitting there in the warehouse playing mind games with Mulder, something else had 
clicked. It lasted barely a moment, but it frightened her deeply. In that moment, that tiny 
rebellious voice inside her, the one that prompted her to sneak her mother’s cigarettes and, more 
recently, to get a tattoo, piped up: The bad boys are always good in bed. Wouldn’t you love to 
find out how good he is?
She’d silenced that inner voice immediately, but its words echoed in her mind. For a moment she 
couldn’t help but wonder, what if...? Her usual, rational thought patterns took over right away 
and she never thought of that moment again... until the night Krycek came to her.
At the time she’d called the action of that night rape, and when faced with indisputable evidence 
that it wasn’t, blamed it on alcohol and cancer-imposed isolation. Only now did she realize that it 
was more likely the suggestion of that little inner voice that had made her give in so easily that 
night. On some level, known more to her body than to her mind, she had wanted Krycek months 
before she had ever known she did. She could tell herself that the deal was all for Mulder, but 
she knew that wasn’t true. From the beginning, she wanted the sex as much as the information... 
and now, over the last four days, she’d discovered other things she wanted just as much.
"He appeals to me in a way that no other man ever has," she finally finished. "He seems to have 
tapped into needs I only recently found out I had."
Manning was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed and said, "I hate it when you’re cryptic 
like this. Let’s try an easier one. What’s he like?"
"He’s..." She paused to think. What was easier about that? "He’s smart, handsome, an excellent 
cook... he’s well-read and well-traveled... my mother seems quite taken with him..."
"None of this is exactly a glowing review, Dana," Manning commented. "You sound like you’re 
describing the class valedictorian, not your boyfriend."
"This isn’t easy for me, Keith," Scully said quietly. "It’s not as simple as all that. He’s brought out 
a different side of me that..."
"That you’re not comfortable with?" he finished for her. "Sounds that way to me."
"A side that I’m having a little trouble coming to terms with," she corrected. "It’s not that I’m 
uncomfortable with it... at least, not anymore... it’s just that it’s so new to me and it takes some 
getting used to. There have been a lot of new experiences in my life lately, and they’re mostly 
due to him."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
She considered the question for a moment. "Mostly good, I think. He’s broadened my horizons 
and I think, for the most part, the new experiences have helped me to become more... well-
rounded." How harboring a fugitive made her a more well-rounded person she couldn’t say, but 
she was willing to ignore that for the moment.
"Sounds like a very... odd... relationship."
"It is," Scully agreed. "And he’s an... unusual man. There’s still a lot I don’t know about him. 
What was it Churchill said about Russia? A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. That’s 
him."
"Okay, bottom line. Are you happy?"
"Not entirely," she said quietly.
"Then why are you still with this guy?"
"Because..." She paused for a second, suddenly aware of the truth of what she was about to say. 
"Because I’m not entirely unhappy either."
Manning shook his head. "Complex relationship, huh?"
"Complex man."
"And you, Dana Scully, are a complex woman. I’ve never been able to understand your choices 
in men, and I guess that pattern still holds."
"There’s only one thing you need to understand. Yes, this man may have changed my views on 
some things, may have changed me, in ways that I’m still coming to terms with, but the bottom 
line is this. My life has been... pretty messy lately, and he’s been there for me, more than anyone 
else." For... you... echoed in her head again. "Maybe much more than I’ve realized until now."
Manning gave her a long, speculative look, then said, "I hope everything works out the way you 
want it to."
Just how did she want things to work out? She had no idea, but she did know now that there’d 
be an empty place in her life -- probably temporary, but still there -- without Krycek in it. "Thank 
you. Now, there’s something else we need to discuss; something about your patient."
"Something else I should know?"
"You may know already... if it was noted in the chart and if you read closely enough. Did you 
see anything there about a prosthetic arm?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember... the left one. That’s prosthetic?"
"Yes. I know what you’re thinking, and all I can say is... advanced technology was used." The 
design of the arm ran through her mind. "Very advanced."
Manning’s eyes narrowed. "How advanced are we talking?"
Scully weighed her reply carefully. It probably wasn’t smart to get people too focused on the arm 
itself. "I couldn’t even begin to describe the technology," she said. "All I know is, it was made... 
abroad, and the design, though more functional than any I’ve ever seen, appears to have some... 
side effects."
He shook his head. "Damn if I could tell the difference. What kind of side effects?"
Once Krycek found out what she was doing there’d be hell to pay, but she couldn’t let the 
opportunity pass by. "He goes through periods of excruciating pain that he has a lot of trouble 
handling. Though he doesn’t like to talk about it, I’m pretty sure there’s always some degree of 
pain, but these periods are much worse. One time I got to the safe house just in time to pull a gun 
away from his head." The memory sent a slight shudder up her spine.
Manning considered that for a moment. "Phantom pain?"
She shook her head. "No, I don’t think so. This pain seems to be localized in the shoulder." She’d 
given the matter some thought since that day with the gun, and had something of a theory. "I’m 
thinking it might be nerve-related. He hasn’t said much about the design, but he did tell me that 
the arm is somehow connected to the existing nerve network in his shoulder. If the nerves 
become irritated, couldn’t that trigger such extreme pain?"
He nodded. "Certainly possible. You want to find out if you’re right?"
"What I want is for someone to teach him something about managing that pain. Surely there are 
better methods than vodka and firearms."
"Sure, I can have one of our pain management people drop by when he’s feeling better. Any idea 
how he lost the arm?"
She finished the last bits of her salad. "Like I said, he doesn’t talk about it much. The impression 
I get is that he might’ve been in a truck accident somewhere in Europe." That sure sounded better 
than saying the patient jumped off a truck stolen by her partner and then had his arm hacked off, 
most likely by Russian peasants.
"Somewhere in Europe..." Manning mused. "Where in Europe do they have technology advanced 
enough to hook a prosthetic into the nerve network of the human body?"
Scully shrugged. "You’ll have to ask him. Which reminds me, when do you estimate he might be 
awake? I really need to talk to him."
"I wouldn’t expect much before later tonight, maybe even tomorrow," he said. "Not much point 
in hanging around, I’m afraid."
A very faint alarm rang somewhere in the back of her mind. "Keith, are you trying to get rid of 
me?"
"Not at all." He placed his hand over hers. "I can see how tired you are. If I were you, I’d go 
home, get some rest, and stop worrying. Your witness is okay, and he’ll still be okay if you’re not 
here. Take care of yourself for a change and come back tomorrow morning."
He had a point; she could surely use some rest. It didn’t feel right to just leave Krycek, but if 
there was anyplace she could do that, it was here. She’d known and trusted Keith Manning since 
medical school; there was no reason to think differently now. "Okay," she sighed. "You win. I’ll 
go. But if he wakes up and doesn’t see anyone he recognizes --"
"I’ll call you the minute he wakes up," Manning promised. "I swear."
Scully stood. "I want to see him again before I leave."
"Dana, he’s fine. Don’t you believe me?"
She did, but it never hurt to make sure. "Of course. But I still want to see him."
"Y’know, maybe that boyfriend of yours wouldn’t be so mysterious if you paid this much 
attention to him --"
"Keith!"
"Never mind, not my business," he muttered. "Let’s go.
******************************
Scully stood before the chest of drawers in her bedroom, debating with herself. It looked like 
Krycek would be in the hospital for a while, making it necessary for her to bring him a few 
things. With his penchant for keeping secrets, he’d likely be pretty upset if he knew she went 
pawing through his personal things, but she resolved to cross that bridge only if she came to it.
Krycek had looked even better the second time she saw him. His blood pressure and heart rate 
had finally recovered and he was resting comfortably in ICU. She really didn’t feel right about 
leaving him, but she didn’t have much choice. Besides, it looked like Manning was right and she 
wouldn’t be able to have a coherent conversation with him for a while. There were a million 
questions shooting around in her mind, but since she couldn’t yet ask any of them, it was best for 
her to go home.
Her urgent need for rest resulted in a three-hour nap once she got home, and now, awake and 
refreshed, she put her mind to the task of preparing for Krycek’s hospital stay.
Clothing was relatively easy to gather. T-shirts and boxers were essential, but that was about all 
she could think of. For anyone else she’d pack pajamas or some other sleeping clothes, but since 
Krycek generally slept either nude or in his underwear, that was already packed. She added some 
sweats, figuring that he’d prefer to have some sort of clothing. A couple of books went on the 
stack, then she moved into the bathroom to gather his more personal supplies.
One of the things she found most surprising about Krycek was his neatness. It was probably a 
function of his lifestyle -- it seemed likely that when you were on the run, you needed to know 
where all your things were at all times.
Or you needed to be able to gather them fast when you had to leave quickly...
She shook that thought out of her head. Krycek wasn’t going anywhere for the foreseeable 
future, but it was nice that he kept his things neat enough for her to find everything. In some 
ways it reminded her of the sense of order instilled in her father and brothers by the military. All 
of his personal grooming supplies were in the same place in the bathroom cabinet, and she 
mentally checked them off as she transferred them to a bag. Everything moved along smoothly 
until she went to put the shaving supplies in the kit she found at the back of the cabinet.
The kit, which she had presumed to be empty, held three prescription bottles. The first one she 
picked up had a label from a local pharmacy which identified the pills inside as Zoloft. She 
didn’t find it particularly surprising that Krycek should be taking the antidepressant. Though he 
tried not to show it, she knew he was having a hard time dealing with the loss of his arm, and 
some depression was almost inevitable in a situation like that.
The label indicated that the prescription was for a month’s worth of pills. It was dated early 
February, more than two months in the past, but the bottle was almost half full. Krycek must not 
be taking the pills, and she wondered why. Had he stopped and then started again, or had he just 
stopped recently? She cast her mind back, examining his behavior under the microscope of this 
new knowledge, but the only time she could pinpoint when it seemed plausible that he wasn’t 
taking them was the last week or so before he disappeared. Were his uncommon drive and his 
recent increase in nightmares due to lack of necessary medication?
Shelving those questions for the moment, she took out the next bottle. This one came from the 
same local pharmacy and was labeled as the anti-anxiety drug Xanax. Again, not terribly 
surprising for someone who’d suffered a recent trauma, but apparently Krycek was even less 
inclined to take these. The bottle was practically full, and the date on the label was early January, 
even before he appeared in her apartment.
Scully took the bottle out to the bedroom and jotted down the prescribing doctor’s name. She 
had no doubt that the prescriptions were legit, and the bottles contained what the labels said they 
did, for no other reason than the fact that Krycek had hidden them from her. If the prescriptions 
were real, it seemed likely that he had made at least one visit to a psychiatrist. She would’ve 
given anything to be a fly on the wall during that session; that likely being the only way she’d 
ever find out what was going on in his head.
That was, of course, assuming that any therapist was able to get into his head. It also assumed 
that Krycek himself knew what was happening in the darkest corners of his mind, of which she 
wasn’t at all sure. Had he gone because of his arm? That seemed likely, given the short time span 
between the accident and the earliest prescription. He may even have gone back a second time, or 
at least gotten a renewal on the Zoloft, but she didn’t think he was going regularly. If he was, his 
nightmares wouldn’t be increasing in frequency and intensity, nor would he continue to refuse to 
talk about whatever was bothering him. Without therapy, the pills could do only so much, and 
now he wasn’t even taking those. Why? Why start treatment and then fail to follow through?
Going back to the bathroom, Scully drew the third bottle out of the shaving kit. This one had a 
hand-written label taped to it, and it was a moment before she realized why she couldn’t read it. 
It was written in Cyrillic, in a runny ink that wasn’t very dark. She turned the bottle over in her 
hand, noting that it was full, with only a few, if any, pills missing. What was it? It couldn’t be 
pain medication -- Krycek would likely use that, even if it was a narcotic. She had to believe that 
he’d use the hated narcotic before putting a gun to his head during his pain episodes. Besides, 
he’d said that pain meds weren’t readily available in Russia.
The fact that the bottle was tucked away with other drugs that might be prescribed for someone 
suffering from post-traumatic stress sent her thoughts in another direction. If the mystery drug 
was an antidepressant or an anti-anxiety agent, why would Krycek get new prescriptions when 
he entered the U.S., especially if he wasn’t even going to take the drugs? What kind of drugs 
were used in Russia for PTSD?
If she really wanted to know, she could always ask Agent Kowalski to translate the label, as he’d 
translated Krycek’s nickname for her, but that led to another dilemma. She didn’t trust herself to 
properly copy the label, which meant she’d have to lend the bottle to the language specialist. If 
she left the shaving kit with Krycek, he’d notice that there was a bottle missing. And no matter 
how many bottles were in it, he’d know that she knew about the drugs. He likely wouldn’t 
volunteer any information, and she wasn’t ready to bring the subject up yet.
The obvious solution was to pretend she’d never seen the shaving kit and present Krycek with his 
supplies in another bag, freeing herself to get the Cyrillic label translated. That was a nice neat 
solution to the immediate problem, but now she wondered even more about Krycek’s mental 
state... and what effect his injuries would have on it
******************************
He was suffocating. His lungs were constricted, no air coming through. Every breath he managed 
to draw in filled him with pain. It wasn’t worth the effort. He’d just stop trying, stop the pain, let 
oblivion take him if it wanted... if only he could figure out what that brightness was...
Krycek slowly opened his eyes, the light intensifying the pounding in his already aching head. 
Little by little he took in his surroundings: lots of white, stark decor, machines. Hospital? A faint 
alarm bell went off in his mind, but his head hurt too much to deal with it. With a groan he lifted 
his left hand to shield his eyes from the light.
A voice came from his right. "Light hurting your eyes? Sorry about that; somebody left the 
overhead on." There was a click and the offending brightness was gone.
He let his hand slide from his head down to his chest and turned slightly toward the voice. 
"Dana?"
"I’m here." Scully moved into his field of vision. "I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I think that’s 
fairly obvious."
"Headache..." he murmured. "Can’t breathe..."
"You can’t breathe? Or it hurts to breathe?"
He tried to pull in a deep breath, but cut it short when pain lanced through his left side. "Hurts," 
he coughed.
"That’s the broken ribs," she said, coming closer to the bed. "Do you think you need pain 
medication?"
He shifted slightly and moaned as pain assaulted him from a new direction. The ribs made 
themselves felt, and now there was sharp pain in his abdomen. His hand moved to the spot, but 
Scully gently removed it. "Do you need something for pain?" she repeated.
He nodded and let his eyes slip shut again. When next he became aware of his surroundings, the 
pain had faded to a warm heaviness in his chest and abdomen, and a male voice was speaking.
"-- looks pretty good; all we need now is the CT."
"When is that scheduled?" Scully’s voice.
"In about an hour. You said he was conscious before?"
"Before the morphine, yes. We had a coherent exchange, which I gather is a big improvement 
from last night."
"Huge. With that kind of progress I’d almost say we don’t need the CT, but I’d still like to be 
sure, and I expect you would too."
"Of course. I --"
Scully’s voice abruptly went silent, and a second later he felt her hand on his. "Hey there," she 
said gently. "You’re awake. How’s the pain?"
"Okay," he rasped. "Water?"
She held a cup for him, and once he finished drinking, the white-coated man cleared his throat 
and moved closer to the bed. "Mr. Arnsen, I’m Dr. Manning. If you don’t mind, I need to ask 
you a few questions to make sure everything’s all right. Is that okay with you?"
Krycek nodded.
"Okay, then. Do you know where you are?"
He glanced around again. "Hospital," he said. "Don’t know where..."
"Keith, he couldn’t know," Scully put in.
"True enough. Do you know who the President is?"
He said the first name that came to him. "Boris Yeltsin."
Manning looked up from his clipboard. "Yeltsin?"
Scully squeezed Krycek’s hand and smiled. "You didn’t specify country, and that’s not an 
incorrect answer."
"This country, okay?"
With a second’s thought, he came up with the name. "Southern guy... annoying wife. Clinton."
"Close enough." The doctor scribbled something on the clipboard. "Remember who won the 
Super Bowl?"
Krycek blinked, trying to clear his vision. "Packers. Won a lot of money on that game..."
"Where?" Scully asked sharply.
Krycek dismissed the question with a weak wave of his hand. His head hurt too much to think 
about money, or anything else, now.
"I’ve been apprised of your situation," the doctor continued, "so I know there are certain things I 
can’t ask you. But this should be a safe one." He gestured toward Scully. "You know who she is, 
right?"
His tongue found the Russian words first. "Plammenaya malyishka..."
"Excuse me?"
Krycek glanced at Scully, who smiled and squeezed his hand again before moving closer to the 
doctor. "Again, not an incorrect answer," she said quietly.
"Yeah, but what the --"
"Don’t push it, Keith. Trust me, he’s not wrong."
"You may know that," the doctor said, "but I don’t."
Scully weighed that for a moment. "You have a point." She gently tapped the bed. "English, 
please?"
"Scully," he murmured, his head starting to clear a little. "Special Agent Dana Scully."
"Thank you," the doctor said. "I told you my name when I came in here. Do you remember it?"
"Doctor Manning," Krycek said. "Is this over yet?"
Manning studied him for a moment, then clipped his pen to the top of the clipboard. "Yes, we’re 
done. In an about an hour someone will bring you to radiology for a CT scan. You took quite a 
shot to the head, and although it seems pretty clear that everything’s okay in your brain, we just 
need to make sure. Until then, rest, buzz if you need anything, and I’ll see you later."
Scully waited until he was gone before pacing back toward the bed. "I really hope you intended 
those responses to be amusing," she said. "If not --"
"Arnsen," Krycek interrupted. "Where’d he get that?"
She sat down next to the bed and gave him a long look before answering. "From me," she finally 
said. "And I got it from you."
His thoughts had been clearing a little, but now they clouded over again. Had he ever used his 
business name in front of her? "Me?"
"Yes, you. Do you remember the cab driver bringing you home yesterday?"
He shook his head slightly, even that small movement causing the world to spin before his eyes.
"I was trying to assess the severity of your head injury," she said, "and I asked you if you knew 
your name. You mumbled something that sounded like Arnsen. When I had to come up with a 
name for the admissions forms, that just came to mind."
"No memory of that," he sighed. "None at all."
"Not surprising, really. I don’t suppose you remember waking up here last night?" When he shook 
his head again, she went on, "The nurse said the only coherent thing she heard from you was 
something about pain."
Krycek closed his eyes. "Head injury," he murmured. "Broken ribs. Pain. What the hell 
happened?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Scully said quietly.
Fighting against powerful drowsiness, he opened his eyes again and met hers. "No idea..."
"What do you mean, no idea?"
"No idea," Krycek repeated, a faint chill of alarm suddenly going through him. "Can’t 
remember..."
End Chapter 12