Special Agent Dana Scully woke slowly, snuggling closer to the big, warm body beside her. Her groggy mind processed the unfamiliar sensory input: the musky smell of sex; the hot, solid flesh against hers; the dense, curly hair gently tickling her nose; the huge hand entangled in her hair; the rush of moist warmth caressing the top of her skull with each even exhale. Like one of those old computers that shot out data punch cards, her brain suddenly clicked all the available information into place and with a ding! produced a single thought: Skinner.

Dana sighed contentedly, burrowing her nose even deeper into his soft-furred chest and wrapped her arms around him a little more tightly. God, she thought, this is just so....good. She sighed again and placed a gentle, moist kiss against his hard flesh. Walter’s fingers tightened in her hair and his other hand began to trace lazy circles down her arm in response to her tender kiss. She shivered as currents of sensation caused by his light caresses danced across her skin, leaving every pore, every fiber tingling with fresh desire. She slowly raised her head, blue eyes meeting brown as Walter’s lips descended to brush lovingly against her own. He whispered huskily against her mouth, "Good morning," his lips pressing hers with the "m" of "morning."

She smiled at the sensuous greeting and repeated it back to him, mimicking his soft and intimate kiss. They kissed fully; their mouths opening for each other allowing their tongues to meet in a similar greeting. Taking their time with the kiss, they explored each others’ mouths sensuously, lazily as Walter’s left hand disentangled itself from her hair, making its way slowly down her smooth back to cup one firm globe of her bottom and his right hand trailed back up her arm to rest against her cheek. Dana was busy as well, tenderly raking her nails across his rapidly tautening nipple as she snaked her other arm over his left shoulder to lightly caress his scalp. She raised her knee higher against his thigh to rub teasingly against his erection and felt the residue of their earlier lovemaking. She chuckled into his mouth and he pulled back slightly to look at her, puzzled but amused by her infectious giggle. "What are you laughing at," he mock-growled at her, his grin escaping despite his effort to look annoyed.

"You’re kind of...sticky," Dana giggled, rubbing his penis gently with her knee once more to demonstrate her point.

"Yeah, well, you’re kinda sticky yourself," he countered, moving his left thigh up against her wetness. They smiled into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Walter suggested, "Shower?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Dana nodded as well. "Sounds good." They kissed wetly one more time and then pulled apart. Walter rolled to his right and Dana slapped his butt, giggling out, "Move your ass, Sir."

Her emphasis on the word "sir" caused him to throw her an amused glance over his shoulder as he slid out of the bed. He stood and turned around to offer her his hand, pulling her off the mattress none too gently so that she landed against his solid chest, an "eep" escaping her lips as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, enfolding her even more closely. Looking down at her, his lips twitching in merriment, he replied suggestively, "Say that the next time I’m on top of you, Agent, and I won’t be responsible for my actions." She giggled again as he waggled his eyebrows at her, then released her abruptly, dropping her back on the scrawny mattress. She yelped in surprise and then bolted off the bed to chase him as he ducked into the bathroom, both of them chuckling on the way.

Their shower was brief and they discussed their agenda for the day while lathering the other’s body. Skinner shut off the water, stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel to wrap around Dana’s slender shoulders. He lovingly patted her dry as he stood behind her, kissing her on the top of her wet head when he was through. She returned the favor and then dressed quickly in her clothes from the night before.

"Just stay right here," she pointed toward the spot he was standing. "I’ll be right back - I need to get my things."

She turned towards the door to leave, but stopped when Walter asked, "What do you mean, ‘get your things?’" She turned back to face him, smiling at the look of puzzlement on his face. "Where are you going that you have to get your stuff?"

"Going? I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. I’m moving in." She smiled wider as understanding dawned across his face. "I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second, Walter Skinner." Her smile turned into a smirk as she said, "You get in far too much trouble when left to your own devices."

He laughed outright as she pointed at him again, this time shaking her finger at him scoldingly, ‘Don’t move! That’s an order!" She grinned as she spun back around to the door, exiting quickly.

It took her only six minutes. Walter timed it. Then she was back and they prepared for the day together, enjoying watching the other dress and attend to their morning rituals. Dana "helped" thread Walter’s belt through the loops of his cotton chinos which, of course, necessitated grinding her body against his while she sucked and nipped at his lower lip. Walter "helped" Dana button and tuck her light blue shirt into her creme-colored linen slacks, spending an inordinate amount of time sliding his hands across her ass, trying to smooth out the shirt’s creases. Then he had stood behind her while she blew-dry her hair, his front pressed to her back as he softly kissed her neck and ran his hands up and down her flat tummy and trim hips.

After her hair was done, she leaned against the sink to watch him shave and her eyes suddenly misted over, remembering his cries of love during their lovemaking and his softer confession afterwards. The tender memory was quickly displaced by the menacing image of Krycek, looming over their happiness. How could she lose Walter now, after all they had been through, after all the misunderstandings and mistrust that had led them to this place had been dispelled and they had been finally brought together? How can I lose him, her heart cried, when I’ve finally realized that I love him...? Her heart shone in her eyes as she gazed intently at him, memorizing his features, afraid this could be the only morning they would ever share.

Walter finished shaving and rinsed off his face with a couple of quick splashes from the sink. He grabbed a towel, swiped it across his cheeks, chin and neck and looked at Dana for her approval. When he saw the expression of despair on her face, he sobered immediately, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. It was there in her eyes: the fear, the worry. He sighed against her silky hair as she clung to him tightly. Then suddenly, she raised her head and pinned him with an intensely determined look.

"I don’t want you to tell me it’s going to be all right," she began, her voice low but steely. "I don’t want you to tell me not to worry about it or think about it because it’s beyond my control." Dana’s gaze softened a little as she admitted quietly, "I have to worry about it because...because I love you." Walter’s eyes widened at her words, his mind reeling and his heart swelling with emotion. But as quickly as it softened, her gaze once again turned to steel. "I’m telling YOU not to worry about it, Walter, because if Krycek wants to hurt you again," she continued steadily, her arms tightening around his waist, "the rat bastard son-of-a-bitch is going to have to go through me to do it." With that pronouncement, she raised up and kissed him soundly, passionately for a long moment and then pulled back to look at him again, waiting for his acknowledgment of her confession of love and devotion. Walter couldn’t speak; his love for her seemed to well up inside him and form a huge lump in his throat. Instead he just nodded shakily, his eyes communicating more than his words ever could. Dana nodded back at him and slowly released him, her hands caressing his sides as she pulled away. Without another word, she took his hand and led him out of the bathroom, ready to face together whatever the day might hold.

*********************

Krycek had been true to his word for once; he had left the hotel for the shore almost immediately following his meeting with Skinner. One quick call to the old man apprising him of the latest and he was on his way. The directions Skinner had given him were simple enough, but the trip was worse than even he had expected. "No wonder they crawled in looking like crap," he had muttered to himself, in between the frequent and painfully jarring bumps and potholes that made up the pathetic road. It had taken him over three hours to make it to the shoreline, only to realize that the tide had come in and there would be no way for him to reach or even see the artifact without diving equipment. He swore heartily all the way back to his rented truck, cursing himself for not being prepared and Skinner for not telling him about the current water level.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Krycek shouted, slamming his good hand into the hood of the truck, denting the metal and painfully bruising his fist. "Shit!" Hopping up and down, he shook out his hand, trying to get the blood flowing through it and then rubbed it against his thigh in an attempt to relieve the pain a bit, all the while cursing under his breath. When the pain dulled to a rhythmic throbbing, he yanked the truck door open and climbed in, slamming it closed as hard as he could with his prosthetic arm. He fumed behind the wheel, letting the impotent rage flood through him, letting it run its course. He knew his anger was caused by more than this minor setback. It was this entire situation.

That black-lunged bastard had really let the shit hit the fan this time, and it was up to good ol’ Alex to clean up the mess. No problem, he sneered to himself, what are a few more murders at this stage in the game? He had thought that when the eldest members of the Consortium had been turned into crispy critters by the alien rebels, his days as their errand boy would be over. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the case. It’s not that he minded killing people; it was a bit of a rush, actually. He just preferred to make decisions for himself rather than having to answer to anyone. The problem with his current arrangement was simply that he wasn’t being allowed to kill the one person he really wanted to kill: Walter Skinner.

Krycek had never examined the reasons why he hated Skinner so much, he just went with the feeling, knowing it was reciprocated – in spades. But he thought about it now, pondering why the hard-nosed A.D. got under his skin the way he did. He could cite the balcony episode, but that had been payback for the beating he and two other errand boys had given Skinner in that hospital stairwell. He tried to think of other confrontations they had had while he was still with the FBI, but the only times he had really spoken to Skinner was either with Mulder or about Mulder.

Mulder. The realization suddenly dawned on Krycek like the first flickers of fiery rays before him. Mulder was the reason he hated Skinner. When he had first been teamed with the rogue agent, he had to make a sustained, conscious effort to not salivate whenever Mulder turned those sexy hazel eyes his way. Mulder was so pretty with his little boy looks, sensuous fuck-me lips and tight little swimmer’s ass that Krycek could barely restrain himself from ripping off the man’s pants and stuffing him right there on that mess he called a desk. Krycek had tried to show his interest in little ways, not wanting to spook him (no pun intended), but Mulder had never picked up on it. He had been too preoccupied with his quest and with Scully, or so Krycek had thought. He finally decided Mulder was either straight or unwilling to face his latent bisexuality.

Then there was the moment in Skinner’s office; Mulder had pulled some dumb-ass stunt – again – and Skinner was ripping him a new one when Mulder suddenly flushed and looked down at the rug, avoiding Skinner’s gaze. Krycek would have written it off to embarrassment or anger at being called to the carpet, if it hadn’t been for the growing bulge in the red-faced agent’s pants he tried to hide beneath his folded hands. Krycek had just stared, dumbfounded, first at Mulder, then Skinner, then back to Mulder again. Oh, he had been right about Mulder’s potential as a submissive, it just wasn’t Krycek he wanted to dominate him. No – Mulder’s twisted little desires had been focused entirely on the alpha male of all alpha males: Assistant Director Walter hard-as-nails Skinner. Not that he could blame Mulder for his fantasy, no matter how futile it might be; even he had to admit that Skinner was a walking wet-dream. Hell, the man was six-foot something of hard muscles, broad shoulders and incredible ass. Krycek would have had to have been blind not to notice him himself. There had been many times that he had watched the A.D. stalk down the corridors of the JEH building, those long, powerful legs eating up the floor, growling hellos to subordinates in passing and had felt himself quivering with the raw force of the man. But he hadn’t been stupid enough to dwell on it; the man practically screamed "butch heterosexual."

No, Krycek shook his head in disgust, he knew better than to think of the AD in that way, but Mulder! God, now there’s a one sorry ass of a man if he’d ever seen one. "Mulder couldn’t possibly have been content with me, nooooo," he chuckled to himself without humor. "No, Mulder could actually have had me, but Mulder only wants what he can’t have." Krycek stared into the growing light of the rising day, shaking his head again but this time with sadness. Mulder only wants what he can’t have, he mused, the accuracy of the petty thought suddenly sobering him. His sister, his father’s approval, Scully, Skinner, the Truth...

Krycek snorted in self-reproach for his idle mental wandering. He needed to get to the nearest village to find out what time the tide went out and to see if he could rent some diving equipment. He glanced quickly at his watch; it wasn’t even 8:00 yet. The flight from Paris wouldn’t be landing for at least two more hours - no use in trying to contact the old man until he had some more information.

He turned over the ignition key and the truck jolted to life, the rumbling of the engine an unnatural counterpoint to the insistent pounding of the surf. Turning the truck around carefully in the deep sand, Krycek headed back the way he came.

Dana glanced over Mulder’s chart, noting no change in any of his stats. His status had been officially changed to comatose, although the doctors still weren’t any closer to determining if it was a coma or not. She sighed and quietly hung the chart back on the end of the bed, not wanting to disturb the tender scene before her.

Walter stood next to Mulder’s unconscious form, silently stroking the agent’s hair back from his forehead. The guilt and worry were etched into the lines of his face as he stared pensively at the younger man. His hand finally coming to rest on the top of Mulder’s head, Walter placed his other lightly on the unresponsive man’s chest and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Scully could make out "promise" and "home" but nothing more. Then Walter straightened and with a last ruffle of Mulder’s hair, turned from him and looked at Dana, the sadness in his eyes making her heart ache.

"Ready to go?" he asked gruffly.

"Are you through that pile yet?"

Dana’s head popped up from behind the massive desk in response to Walter’s query. "Almost - I’ve got a few more notebooks." She shifted on the hard wooden floor, trying to give her numbed right leg some relief. Her gaze took in the discarded piles around her; they had covered quite a bit in the last several hours, but they were nowhere near finished. She sighed in frustration before returning to the stack of papers in front of her.

Seated at the desk, Walter heard Dana’s sigh and silently concurred as he too leafed through page after page of notes, finding nothing. The man had been meticulous in his documentation, which accounted for the seemingly unending piles of notebooks and journals, yet they hadn’t found one mention of the artifacts that had washed up from the alien vessel. There was plenty of hypothesizing on ancient aliens’ influence on human origins: wild theories attempting to link the two by citing myths and legends pertaining to astral visitors found in many cultures disparate geographically, linguistically and technologically. Although he had to admit that the professor’s arguments were compelling, Skinner couldn’t help shaking his head at what he considered to be a complete waste of an obviously creative and brilliant mind.

His reverie was broken by a muttered obscenity from the other side of the desk. "What is it? What’s wrong?" he asked as he quickly rose and crossed around to where Dana sat indian-style on the floor. Dana just stared at the piles of notes surrounding her, a look of complete disgust on her face.

"This! This is what’s wrong!" Dana stared up at him, obviously exasperated. She took in his blank expression and gestured around her to the papers around them. "I mean, look at all this - just sitting around here. What in hell are we doing?" The question sounded almost rhetorical, but for the life of him Skinner couldn’t see what she was so upset about, beyond the obvious.

"I’m not following you, Dana," he admitted, his dark brows furrowed in confusion.

"Look around us, Walter," once again she waved her hand towards the many boxes and folders laying about the room. "All of this was just laying here, out in the open where anyone can look through it. Now do you see what’s wrong with this picture?"

Understanding suddenly hit him like a sudden blow to his gut. His jaw clenched and he exhaled slowly through his nose reining in his anger at his own stupidity. He glared at the offending boxes as if it was their fault that he and Dana had wasted two hours. He finally met Dana’s disgusted look with his own and stated decisively, "Start emptying the bookshelves against the far wall. I’ll work over here." She nodded and turned towards the opposite wall while Skinner turned back to the desk and the shelves behind it. He quickly began sweeping armfuls of books, notes and periodicals down from their perch, making note of the brickwork behind the wooden beams. "Look for any loose mortar or bricks - anything to indicate a false wall." Dana’s grunt of acknowledgment could barely be heard over the sound of hardbacks being dumped unceremoniously to the hardwood floor.

They worked quickly, clearing every shelf in a matter of minutes. When they found nothing to potentially lead to a hiding place behind the wall, Walter barked, "Check the floorboards." They both dropped to their knees, pushing aside boxes and the piles of books, knocking on the hardwood boards, listening for hollow spots. Walter had just worked his way under the massive desk when, instead of a dull thud, his fist produced a decidely less-than-solid thwock.

Both of them paused when they heard it, taking a second to register what the hollow sound could mean. Then Dana was scrambling over the scattered books and papers to Walter’s side, as his fingers excitedly searched around the corners of the hardwood slat, looking for worn or chipped spots. Dana followed the board’s edges to it’s opposite end, crawling around the desk to where the board disappeared beneath a beautiful woven rug. She yanked up the rug to find one partially broken corner. "Yes!" At her outburst, Walter immediately back-pedaled out from under the desk and hurried to her side.

The hole at the corner of the board was too small to get their fingers hooked into, so Walter went back to the desk, recalling seeing a screwdriver in one of its drawers. He found it right away and returned to where Dana knelt. She scooted out of his way and he quickly inserted the screwdriver into the jagged hole, levering up the hardwood slat an inch with one solid push. The board was wedged in tightly, and Walter had to work at it for a good minute before it raised any further. When he got it raised to six inches, the entire plank popped up like a spring and Dana helped him to pull it out of the way, revealing a hollowed out section in the floor, four feet long by six inches wide by one foot deep. Inside were files, notebooks and a small leather-bound journal, encased by several rubber bands. Walter and Dana just stared at the hoard of documents for a moment, breathless and disbelieving that they had finally found something significant. Lifting the journal out almost reverently, Walter muttered in a hushed voice, "It looks like we found the jackpot."

Dana began pulling out the files of papers and noted, "Look at this - there’s barely any dust on these."

Looking at the relatively clean surface of the journal in his hands, he suggested, "Merkmallen must have hidden this stuff right before he left for the states. That would account for not only the lack of dust, but the difficulty I had pulling up the plank."

She nodded her agreement. "I think you’re right. He must not have used this very often. He probably hollowed it out just for this purpose."

Walter grunted his assent as he joined Dana in removing the remaining items from the well-concealed cache.

************************

The truck bounced noisily down the pot-hole laden road, its overworked suspension unable to handle the abuse it was taking. However, the driver looked far from pained. In fact, he almost looked happy. Which was quite a change from his earlier mood.

It had taken Krycek about an hour to find the nearest village, where he was informed that the tide wouldn’t be going out for another three hours. Although no-one there was able to provide him with diving equipment, they were able to direct him to a village about thirteen miles to the southeast where he would be able to rent the gear he needed. Unfortunately, the path (Krycek was hesitant to use the term "road" to describe the route he had to take) had been even holier and bumpier than the one he had taken out to the shore, so he didn’t reach the second village until almost 10:30. Before he had gotten a chance to get out of the truck, a small group of natives formed close by, looking a bit agitated and talking in hushed tones as several cast anxious glances in his direction.

Krycek had carefully exited the vehicle, making a show of raising his hands in greeting and smiling his friendliest smile. "Excuse me," he had called out courteously, "excuse me, but do any of you speak english?" He slowly walked towards the group, keeping his smile wide and his hands raised where the men could see them. "Excuse me," he repeated as he neared the now quiet men, "do any of you speak english? I’m looking to rent diving equipment. Can any of you help me?" Krycek stopped several paces back from them, slowly lowering his hands to his sides. Damn! These guys are edgy, he had thought to himself while he smiled at them, trying to project the friendliest and most open manner he could.

Finally, a very tall, dark-skinned man in a ragged tie-dye shirt stepped forward. He nodded warily at Krycek and asked, "Diving equipment? Are you here to stare at it too?" The men behind him had begun once again to murmur to one another nervously at the question.

Bingo! Krycek had known at once things were beginning to look his way. "Are you talking about the shiny pieces of metal with strange writing on them?" The tall man had glowered at him slightly, but nodded in confirmation. Krycek smiled even wider. "Yes, I’m here to look at them too. The others who were here told me about them. Did you help them find the place where the pieces are buried?" Krycek had asked, trying to encourage the man to trust him.

"I showed the woman the way," Tie-Dye (as Krycek had mentally dubbed him) had answered hesitantly. "But I wouldn’t take her all the way to it. None of us will go near it," he gestured to the men shuffling nervously behind him. "We heard what happened to the professor up at the university. Only evil comes from those things." He had stated this with such finality and conviction that even Krycek had felt a little nervous.

"I believe that there is something very strange about them, too," Krycek had agreed, "but it’s my job to find out more about them so no more people are hurt." He had smiled reassuringly at Tie-Dye while he deliberately reached into the pocket of his light jacket and pulled out his old FBI badge. He then flashed the badge for the group and had been gratified to see recognition on their faces and the resultant lessening of their anxiety.

"Then I will show you how to find what you’re looking for," Tie-Dye had offered solemnly. "Katin," he pointed his thumb at a smaller man in the group who acknowledged him with a sharp nod of his head, "will be able to provide you with the diving equipment you need. For a price, of course."

"Of course," Krycek had grinned. "And you will show me where the pieces of buried metal are?"

"Yes," Tie-Dye grimly nodded, "but I will only take you as far as I took the woman." He tapped his chest with a long, slender finger. "I am Teso. When you are ready to go, I will be waiting here."

"That will be fine, Teso. Thank you." Krycek hadn’t cared if he only drew him a map in the dirt; he had just been happy to finally be within reach of what he had traveled half-way across the earth to find.

It hadn’t taken him long to work out an arrangement with Katin, and, once the diving equipment was procured he re-joined Teso by the filthy truck. After throwing the gear in the back, Krycek had remarked, "I really appreciate your taking the time to show me personally, Teso. It’s a bit of a long trip and not a very pleasant one at that."

Teso had looked at Krycek in mild confusion. "Although the road is bad, it’s really not that far," he had corrected.

Krycek glanced at him sharply, taken slightly aback at the man’s words. As he mentally calculated how long it would take to retrace his trip back to the shore he had asked, "How far exactly is it from here?"

Without any hesitation, Teso supplied, "Maybe twenty minutes by truck, then another ten minutes on foot." Teso gestured with his head at the dusty path Krycek had driven down to reach the village, "If you continue west on this road to its end, you’ll reach another that heads south, directly to the ocean. From there, it’s a short walk east along the water." Finally, the tall native had turned his attention back to Krycek, stopping short at the quiet man’s darkening expression. Teso just looked at him, completely puzzled as to why the american was upset.

Krycek had fumed; he had known Skinner wouldn’t be straight with him! The mother fucker had given him the wrong fucking directions! The bald son-of-a-bitch was going to pay for this! He looked up then, catching Teso’s confused expression and quickly quashed the murderous impulses running rampant through his body. "Sorry." Krycek had apologized, a grin quickly replacing the look of fury on his face, "I must have been given bad directions." Teso had nodded in understanding and Krycek motioned politely towards the truck with his good hand. "After you."

His guide had been right. It hadn’t taken long to get to the beach at all, and a quick dive had revealed the true nature of the "large artifact" Skinner and Scully had investigated night before. Krycek had dropped Teso back off at his village and then had proceeded to call in with the new information. Ciggie-Butt Spender (at least, that’s what Krycek had decided the C.G.B. stood for) wasn’t all that surprised to hear Krycek had found an entire alien ship rather than the piece of metal they had been expecting. He had simply taken a long draw of his Morley and said, "Well, I believe we’ve given Mr. Skinner ample time to prove his worth to us, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Oh, more than ample, sir," Krycek had eagerly concurred.

"Head back now for the university hospital. It should take you, what, three hours to get there? I’ll meet you in Agent Mulder’s room." With those instructions, the phone had gone dead.

Now headed back towards the city, Krycek was almost whistling to himself as the truck was jostled roughly by the jagged road. Yep, he thought to himself, smiling with evil glee, in three hours or less Alex is going to finally going to have himself some fun! It’s about fucking time!

With that happy thought being tossed merrily around his twisted mind, Krycek threw the truck into fourth gear and stepped on the accelerator.

Scully and Skinner sat on cushions on the floor amidst a slew of scattered papers and notebooks. All of Merkmallen’s journals were written in French and were taking much longer to go through than they had originally anticipated. Fortunately, Walter spoke the language fluently and had provided Dana with certain keywords and phrases to look for. They had found a lot of information on Merkmallen’s theories and his conversations with Dr. Santos, but nothing to shed any light on a possible connection between the artifacts and Mulder’s condition.

Dana had tossed aside several of the older notebooks in favor of the leather-bound one encased in rubber bands; perhaps if she could find documentation of Merkmallen’s discovery of the artifact he took to the U.S. there would be a detailed description that would help them in some way. She sighed tiredly, rotating her sore shoulders in their sockets, attempting to relieve the knots that had formed from sitting in such an uncomfortable position for such a long period of time.

Walter looked up from the documents in front of him at her movement. Noticing the way she winced as she slowly stretched her muscles, he couldn’t help flexing his own shoulders in sympathy. Suddenly setting down the notebook he had been perusing, he slowly unrolled from his position on the floor and stood, his vertebrae popping loudly in protest at the unfamiliar movement. Dana looked up at him with a grin on her face, taking in his long, large body as he stretched like some kind of big cat, a panther maybe, raising his hands high above his head and standing on his tiptoes, pulling taut all the muscles down his arms, sides and legs. She couldn’t help chuckling as the action resulted in even more cracking sounds as his joints popped suddenly back into place.

He grinned back down at her and defended himself. "When you reach my age, you won’t even be able to get up from that position without the help of some major machinery."

Grateful for the small bit of humor to relieve the tension that had been building since they left Mulder that morning, she smirked and replied drily, "When I reach your age? You don’t see me getting up from this position now, do you?"

They smiled into each other’s eyes, sharing a brief moment of warmth before Dana regretfully turned her attention back to the notebook in front of her. She shook her head as her eyes refused to focus on the words hastily scrawled across the page. "I think I’m going to go blind from this much reading. All the words are starting to look the same..." She paused as her gaze caught on one phrase in particular: substance noire et huileuse . She knew noire meant "black" and substance, well, that one was obvious. With a surge of excitement, she motioned Walter over to her side.

"What is it? Did you find something?" He knew immediately the answer was ‘yes’ as he knelt beside her, taking in the urgency of her manner, her clear blue eyes focused intently on the page before her.

She pointed to the phrase and asked, "Does that mean ‘black, oily substance?’"

Walter’s sudden intake of breath as he recognized the phrase answered her question. "Translate the entire paragraph," she said quietly, handing him the journal.

He took it from her and translated it quickly, reading aloud. "’The artifact, made of a strange, metal alloy which I can’t readily identify, is much heavier than its size would suggest. The workers gave it to me wrapped in a ragged piece of cotton coated with a substance black and oily. I thought at first that the rag had been dirty when it had been used to cover the artifact, but after a closer examination, I could see that the artifact was covered with an oily film, as if it had been dipped in the substance. I cleaned it off carefully and proceeded to my study to look more closely at the unusual markings engraved on one side of the object.’" Skinner finished the paragraph and lowered the book to his lap, looking intently at Scully.

"Do you remember when Mulder and I went to San Francisco to investigate that French salvage ship?" At his brief nod, she continued. "All of the crew had suffered from radiation burns except the diver - Gauthier. When we examined Gauthier’s diving suit, we discovered it to be coated with a black, oily substance. Mulder found Gauthier at his home later, covered in the same substance."

"I remember your report," Skinner murmurred, deep in thought. Suddenly recalling one of the stranger details from their investigation he asked, "Didn’t Mulder attribute the oil to some alien life form?"

"Yes," she replied. "Mulder believed the substance was a medium for the transferrence of an extraterrestrial, biological entity. He hypothesized that it had survived aboard that sunken submarine and then transferred to Gauthier, moving to his wife and finally, to Krycek." She paused, trying to dredge up all the particulars of the case. "When Mulder found Gauthier, the man was disoriented and completely unaware of any of his actions since his dive. Mulder believed that the entity somehow controlled its host."

Skinner looked at her quizzically. "But wasn’t Mulder affected by the black oil too? When he was subjected to those experiments in Tunguska, the oil was dripped onto his face but it turned into black worms, according to his description, which invaded his body." A shudder passed through Walter at the thought of those things crawling into his body as he lay helpless. Jesus! The things Mulder got himself into...

"Yes," Scully interjected, remembering, "just like the elderly patients at that nursing home in Florida." As she spoke, she suddenly remembered something Mulder had told her after they returned from Antarctica. "Wait a second - I also recall Mulder saying he believed the oily base was a medium for the virus, too."

"The same virus you were infected with by the bee?" Skinner asked, looking very confused.

"That’s right. According to Mulder, that’s what those firefighters in Texas died of; the alien virus created a new life form, gestating inside its human host."

"So," Skinner breathed, trying to digest this new information, "we supposedly have different uses here for the same substance?"

"It would appear so." Scully rolled her eyes in frustration. "God, I think my brain will explode before Mulder’s. This is too confusing." She looked at Walter, immediately noting the look of intense concentration on his face. "What is it?"

"I just thought of something," he began, tentatively. "The black oil that Mulder was exposed to could have been the same as what had infected those senior citizens..." He looked at Scully expectantly.

"But the oil-worms left their bodies when they died," she started to protest, but Skinner cut her off.

"Right, but Mulder hasn’t died, so what if that substance - that alien consciousness - is still in him?" Walter’s eyebrows raised at the question he posed and Dana scowled, considering the potential implications.

"But that would mean that Mulder has been controlled by the alien consciousness inside him all of this time." She shook her head in denial. "I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that."

"Not necessarily," Walter said calmly. "The senior citizens weren’t affected that way." He gave her a chance to consider his statement before he went any further. "Mulder said that in Tunguska, he had been part of the experiment to test a vaccine."

"Right. The same vaccine Mulder injected me with in Antarctica."

"Again, not necessarily." Seeing Scully’s questioning look, he explained, "The vaccine you were given was meant to eradicate the alien life form growing inside you." At her nod, he continued, "What if Mulder had been given a vaccine to block the alien consciousness in him, to hinder its control, but otherwise leaving it intact? Mulder would still be Mulder, but he would be a carrier of the black worms in his body - just like the elderly patients." As an afterthought, he added, "I bet they were part of the experiment, too."

Dana’s mind reeled at this theory. She stared at Walter, startled at what he was proposing. "So you’re suggesting that Mulder still has that - entity - inside of him?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I am," he replied, more certain of himself the more he thought about it. "And that would be the direct reason for his psychosis."

"Wait - what do you mean?" she questioned, confused by this sudden shift in the conversation.

Skinner got up abruptly and started to pace slowly back and forth across the small section of floor unlittered with books as he thought aloud. "You said Merkmallen’s body showed signs of exposure to cosmic radiation, right?" He paused to catch her nod of acknowledgment, then resumed his slow pacing. "These aliens travel through space, so they must either be immune to that radiation or have adapted to it somehow. Would that be a logical assumption?" Again, he waited for her nod. "So, assuming that this radiation is part-and-parcel of their biological makeup, what if the radiation had somehow triggered Mulder’s mental deterioration? What if it had somehow brought the consciousness inside of him out of its dormancy once the entity was exposed to it again?" He stopped in front of her, waiting for her response.

"But Mulder never came in contact with the actual artifact," she reminded him.

"No," he agreed, "but he did come in contact with a rubbing of it..." he trailed off, allowing her to complete the thought.

"And the rubbing may have picked up radiation from the artifact, transferring it to Mulder!" She finished for him, excited as the pieces finally began to fall into place. "So," she exhaled noisily, preparing herself, "let me get this theory of yours straight." Dana rose from where she sat and took a step towards her lover as she spoke. "Mulder is inhabited by an alien consciousness introduced into his system while in Tunguska, but the consciousness is held in check by a vaccine he was given at the same time. Mulder is then exposed to a very low level of cosmic radiation which strengthens the consciousness, allowing it to overpower the vaccine and gain limited access to Mulder’s brain, disrupting his normal mental processes and degrading his synaptic patterns to the point of coma and, finally, death." Her last statement sobered them both, and her thoughts suddenly turned to Mulder, lying near death at the hospital.

Walter quietly prompted, "Your conclusion, Dr. Scully?"

"We need to give Mulder the same vaccine I was given. We need to destroy the entity inside him in order to save his life." They stared at one another, the excitement of having figuring out what was happening to Mulder and why it was happening effectively dampened by her diagnosis.

"So," he began, setting his hands on his hips in his trademark A.D. pose, "where do we find it?"

Dana sighed, running one hand through her coppery hair and admitted, "I don’t know. I don’t even know where to start looking." She shifted her hand to her neck and gave her sore muscles a quick rub. "But I can guarantee you that we won’t find it here." Dropping her hand to her side, she looked tiredly at Walter, wanting very much for all of this to just be over.

Walter and Dana stepped out of the elevator together as soon as the doors opened on Mulder’s floor. They walked side-by-side down the corridor towards the unconscious agent’s room, neither of them speaking as they were absorbed in their own thoughts and concerns. Turning a corner, Dana gasped, stopping suddenly. Walter glanced at her quickly and, seeing her face flushed with anger and her gaze riveted on something down the hall, turned to see what was upsetting her. He immediately recognized the lanky man walking leisurely down the hallway away from Mulder’s room.

"Krycek," he hissed between clenched teeth. Walter grabbed Dana’s upper arm, propelling her towards Mulder’s room, his eyes never leaving his quarry. "Check on Mulder - I’ll take care of that little bastard." He abruptly let go of her arm, and stalked down the hallway after Krycek, picking up his pace when the traitor opened the door to the stairwell. Dana practically ran the last few steps to Mulder’s room, throwing one last glance Walter’s way, praying he would be all right.

She flung open the door and was greeted by the all-too-familiar smell of cigarette smoke.

"Agent Scully. You’re looking well. The ocean air must agree with you," the older man dead-panned, a slight smirk creasing further his already heavily-lined features.

‘What the hell are you doing here?" Scully demanded, her blue eyes flashing with barely-controlled anger.

"Now, now, Agent Scully, is that any way to greet a man who’s here to save your partner’s life?" Scully stared at him, incredulous. He smirked again at her expression of complete distrust and dropped his cigarette to the floor, stamping it out beneath an expensive leather shoe. "I’ve come here to offer you a deal."

Scully circled around him, wary, trying to place her body between his and Mulder’s. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

"It’s very simple, really. All you have to do is promise to take Agent Mulder back to the United States and never tell him or anyone else about the alien vessel you found and I’ll provide you with the means to save Agent Mulder’s life." He kept his gaze on her as he spoke, pulling his pack of Morleys out of his pocket and shaking out another cigarette.

"You’ll give me the vaccine?" Scully asked, testing him, and was pleased to see his startled expression at the question and the knowledge it implied.

"Well, well, well...we have been busy, haven’t we, Agent Scully?" He finished the act of lighting his cigarette and took a long drag before continuing. "Actually, I’m quite impressed at your deductive skills. No wonder Agent Mulder values your partnership so highly."

Dana ignored his mocking tone. "Do you have it here, now? I want to see it."

He put the cigarette in his mouth, gripping it between his lips as he reached inside his suitcoat to pull a small vial out from an inner pocket. He held it up for her to see clearly, then held it out for her to take. "It’s yours if you promise to leave here and forget about all you’ve seen. Not a word to anyone. Not even an explanation to Agent Mulder as to the nature of his illness or his recovery. Do we have a deal?"

Dana reached for the vial and then paused. She carefully considered what he was asking. To keep something like this from Mulder would be extremely difficult at best. If he suspected even for one brief moment that she had information about the extraterrestrials he had spent the last six years of his life pursuing, he would drive her insane with his constant badgering and whining. Not to mention the guilt she would experience over keeping such a thing from him, knowing how important it was to him.

Suddenly, Dana realized that her concern over whether or not she could make this deal was moot. She could promise him anything he wanted her to promise; that wouldn’t mean she would follow through. Why should she? Everything this man had ever told them had either been lies or had lead to more lies. She would make the deal to get the vaccine. They had intended to head back to Washington anyway, and once they were there she would tell Mulder everything. She put on her most sincere expression and looked directly into the disgusting old man’s eyes. "I promise," she lied, "I promise to take Mulder back to D.C. and never utter a word to him or anyone else about anything I’ve seen here."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally, he seemed satisfied and placed the vial in her outstretched hand. "Then we have a deal. I suggest you remember how closely you and Agent Mulder have been watched in the past before you consider doing something extremely stupid." His voice had been casual, but the menace he exuded was almost palpable. Dana forced herself not to shudder visibly with revulsion and fear.

Her fingers closed tightly around the vial and she held it close to her chest. Her relief at holding Mulder’s deliverance quickly gave way to concern. Lifting her eyes back to his, she asked, "What about Skinner? You had a deal with him, too, didn’t you?" She tried to sound accusing, as if she had somehow suspected Skinner’s involvement with the sinister old man rather than knowing it from his open confession.

The old man took another drag on his cigarette before answering. "Any deals I may have had with Assistant Director Skinner have been rendered null and void." His long exhale of smoke seemed to envelop Scully as the implications of his statement hit home.

Her face suddenly leeched of color, she backed towards the door, almost stumbling past Mulder’s bed. Her back hit the door without warning and, as she pushed it open to exit the smoke-filled room, the last thing she saw was the smoking man’s evil, knowing smile.

****************

Skinner hurried down the hall and pushed open the door to the stairwell mere seconds behind Krycek. As he passed over the threshold, he was immediately wracked with a consuming pain throughout his body. He stumbled through the doorway and saw Krycek at the top step going to the lower floor, the palm pilot open in his hand.

Walter registered the grin on the bastard’s face and propelled his agonized body towards the traitor, gratified to see the man’s expression change suddenly to fear. With a loud roar, Skinner’s large bulk impacted Krycek’s much thinner one, sending them both tumbling down the steps. Skinner landed on the bottom of the two-man pile-up, Krycek’s weight falling hard on top of him knocking the breath out of his lungs. Unfortunately for Krycek, the force of the fall did nothing to lessen Skinner’s grip on the younger man. They wrestled frantically, each trying to gain the superior leverage.

Krycek knew all he had to do was survive the next few minutes and the nanocytes would take care of Skinner for him, but he hadn’t counted on the older man’s furious and immediate response. Skinner continued to batter his greater bulk against his foe as Krycek shouted at him, "Dammit! Die already, you fucker!"

He desperately tried to kick the man who had somehow managed to roll on top of him, tried to punch him back as Skinner repeatedly dealt blow after blow to his enemy’s writhing form. Krycek could move faster due to the fact he wasn’t being destroyed from within, but Walter fought with the passion of a man not only fighting for his life, but that of the woman he loved. He punched and knee-ed Krycek in time with the mantra repeating over and over in his head: Scully. I can’t leave Scully. He finally managed to grab Krycek’s right wrist as the man was still clutching desperately to the control device and at the same time forced his beefy forearm into Krycek’s neck as he slammed the bastard’s arm against the hard concrete of the bottom step, again and again, attempting to force him to drop the device. After the fifth blow, Krycek cried out in pain as the bone in his forearm snapped with a loud "crack" and the device flew out of his hand, hitting the wall and then clattering down the first few steps next to them. Immediately Skinner pushed his forearm into Krycek’s throat hard, and crawled over his gasping body as quickly as he could after the palm pilot.

He scrambled to his feet to run down the stairs and, just as he was about to bend down to retrieve the device, Krycek hit him hard from behind, the full weight of his body sending him crashing, shoulder-first, into the solid wall. Walter’s foot kicked the device as he stumbled and it fell the remaining distance to the next landing. Then Krycek was behind him, punching him in the kidneys with his hard prosthetic, kicking at his legs, yelling obscenities at the dying man as all Skinner could do was fight with all his strength to remain standing despite the pain pulsating through him, increasing exponentially as every one of Krycek’s blows landed against his over-sensitized skin.

Skinner closed his eyes tight against the wave of nausea suddenly coursing through his abdomen and with a last surge of strength, spun around in time to catch Krycek’s fist mid-air in his large, meaty hand. With his other arm he struck out at Krycek so quickly the man had no chance to evade the blow. Walter’s fist landed fully in the center of Krycek’s face, his nose bursting in a spray of red, sending him careening backwards. Before he could topple to the floor, he was grabbed around the shoulders and wrenched back towards the larger man’s solid body. With his right arm pinning the ex-agent to his chest, Walter reached with his left hand for the opposite side of the man’s head and with one mighty yank, whipped Krycek’s head brutally to the left, snapping his neck. Krycek sagged against him, and Walter released his grip, allowing the lifeless body to fall to the floor.

Walter staggered back, the pain in his body suddenly centering in his chest, radiating down his abdomen and arms with an intense, debilitating heat. His chest feeling like it was being crushed under an insurmountable weight, he stumbled down the steps towards the palm pilot laying innocently on the cool gray cement. At the last step he tripped, no longer able to support his own weight, and tumbled to the hard floor, mere inches away from the device. He tried to crawl towards it, but the pain intensified until it seemed as if each wave of agony hit him with the force of a speeding truck, knocking the breath out of him, immobilizing him. He stretched out his arm, the device so close, so close, feeling each wave like the pulse of his blood, and he realized it was his pulse, trying desperately to reach the places it needed to go, unable to move around the walls built by the nanocytes until all he could hear was the roar of his stuttering pulse in his own ears, all he could feel was the agony as it pushed him further and further towards death. He reached with his hand, using the last of his strength, his fingers just brushing the black, cool plastic as one final, crushing wave of fire burst through his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. The breath rushing out between his clenched jaw carried a single, despairing word: "Sculleeee..." Skinner’s body stiffened, and then fell limp against the cool cement.

*****************

Dana rushed down the hallway, pushing past the nurses and other hospital staff drawn towards the sounds of a fight in the stairwell. She shoved past them and pushed the door open with the full force of her body, stumbling through. She immediately caught sight of Krycek’s body at the lower landing, his head twisted at an impossible angle, his eyes sightless and staring. She called out hopefully, "Walter?" When she got no response, terror gripped her sides and she ran down the steps, praying the entire way.

She saw him as she stepped over Krycek’s corpse. A low moan escaped her lips as she registered Walter’s limp form, bulging purple veins snaking across his arms and face, his eyes open but unfocused. She staggered against the wall, her entire body shuddering, her head shaking in denial. "Nooooo..." she moaned again, her voice broken and rising in pitch as she began to sob. Her chest heaving with emotion, she fell to her knees, her legs suddenly too weak to support her slight frame. She half crawled, half slid down the steps to where her lover lay, and, unable to pull his lifeless form into her arms, draped her torso across his, trying to hold as much of him as she could - one last time.

"W-w-w....walter......n-noooooooo...." she sobbed against his cheek, as she ran her hand down his outstretched arm and closed around his large hand, her fingers clutching at his. "Noooo...."

Her gasping sobs echoing in the cavernous stairwell, Dana Scully held tight to the man she loved.

******************

Taking a satisfying drag of his cigarette, C.G.B. Spender left Agent Mulder’s room, barely giving the medical personnel rushing towards the stairwell a second glance. He looked at his watch and walked, leisurely, in the opposite direction. He had a plane to catch.