He turned his back on her and went to the kitchen. He needed to put some goddamn clothes on, but he needed a drink more and he needed it now. Rachelle didn't drink beer and all she had was premixed drinks. He opened the fridge and eyed three containers. Apple martini, strawberry daiquiri, and margarita, the labels read. He pulled out the lime green concoction and snagged a glass from the sink. Tequila it is.

He chugged back an entire glass and was halfway through the second one before the trembling began to abate. He sighed and leaned against the island as the warmth spread outward from his belly. He didn't hear Scully move, she just appeared in his field of vision. Keeping her eyes on him, she reached for the phone. The dismayed look on her face told him what he already knew. The phone had been dead for a week now. Rachelle rarely paid her bills on time.

Scully inched closer, staring at him with an expression that bordered on concern. Fuck. This was so embarrassing. The next time she saw Mulder she was going to tell him how Alex Krycek had practically broken down in her arms. Hoping she would ignore the whole thing, he tried to lighten the mood.

"Would you like a drink? I've got green, pink, and clear." Better drink it now, because everything in the fridge was going to get warm.

"You had a panic attack just now, didn't you?"

No such luck. Of course she was going to figure out what happened. And where Mulder would just take the advantage to knock him around, Scully had to play doctor and look like she actually gave a shit about him. This was completely new. At least with Mulder he knew what to expect. But what he did next was the most unexpected thing of all.

"When you and Mulder came to Black Crow to look for that UFO," he started, "I was there." She looked at him sharply but remained silent. "I was locked in one of the silos with the ship . . . and the alien. I can still taste the oil sometimes--" He took another gulp of margarita, avoiding her gaze. "I thought I'd suffocate, but after a few days the air was fine. Then I thought I'd die of thirst, but I never got thirsty or hungry. A few days after that I thought I'd just go stark raving mad. It was pitch black. I couldn't see a thing, and I was alone with that . . . with . . . it, and I could sense it, could still feel it crawling around inside me, and it made me want to tear my own eyes out. So yeah, I had a fucking panic attack."

After a long silence she spoke. "How did you get out?"

"A militia group found me. I told them that if they let me go I might be able to help find a bomb or two." Christ, now he was really running at the mouth.

"Are you going to help them?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He'd been thinking about it, but they'd probably just take the stuff and blow up some church full kids and old ladies. Not only would it be a waste of explosives, it would be a waste of time to kill innocent people when there were bastards out there who deserved it so much more.

Scully sneezed, and he finally looked up at her. She was still dripping wet, and now she was shivering. "Come on." He moved toward her as non-threateningly as he could. "There's dry clothes upstairs."

There was an awkward moment at the foot of the stairs when neither of them wanted to go first. Fists clenched, Krycek took a deep breath and hesitantly started to climb into the darkness. Scully flicked on the lighter behind him. Either she was trying to help, or she was about to set him on fire. Either way it got him up the stairs a whole lot quicker.

He considered getting Scully something of Rachelle's to wear, but he was afraid of what he might find in her dresser drawers. Instead, he steered them to the guest bedroom and took the lighter so he could light some candles. His sweats would fall right off of her, so he tossed her a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, and a towel, and pulled the sweats up his own long legs.

"The bathroom's right across the hall."

"And leave you in your own room, where you probably have a gun and other assorted deadly weapons?" She arched her eyebrow. "I don't think so, Krycek. Turn around."

"But--"

"Turn around."

He was about to point out that *she* never turned around when he got dressed, but there was no arguing with Scully when she pulled out the eyebrow. That's what Mulder had told him once, and now he knew exactly what it meant. The mirror was on the wall behind him, and for a fleeting moment he wished it was in front of him. That eyebrow arch was sexy, and combined with the sound of Scully's wet clothes hitting the floor . . .

"Okay. I'm done."

He turned to find her looking down at her borrowed clothing with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What is it?"

She glanced up, looking sheepish. "Oh. It's just . . . I never really pegged you as a plaid kind of guy."

Right. Because Dana Scully sat around on a regular basis and tried to figure out what kind of underwear he wore. She held her hand to her chest, and when he got closer he could see a dark stain on the palm of her hand.

"You're bleeding. I didn't . . . did I?" He hadn't done anything harsh enough to cut her.

"No," she shook her head.

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom." They picked up the candles and went across the hall. He pulled out some antiseptic and bandages, and turned on the tap. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he took her hand and guided it under the running water. She tensed, causing him to look over at her face. She looked like she wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing. He wanted to ask himself the same thing. She was a doctor. She was perfectly capable of tending to her wounds. For a split second he'd forgotten they were supposed to be enemies.

He wasn't sure what he should do. Continue like nothing was wrong, or let go of her hand. The decision was made for him when she pursed her lips and handed him the antiseptic.

"You've got a lump on your forehead," she said.

"Yeah. I've never actually been head-butted before, you know."

"I've never actually head-butted anyone before."

"And I was your first. I'm honored."

There was a quiet chuckle beside him. He tried not to grin to himself. If Mulder could see them now . . .

He almost jumped out of his skin when her fingers touched his forehead. Instead he managed to spill the antiseptic all over the sink and whimper like a little girl when she probed the bump.

"Sorry," she said, sounding distracted.

He suddenly became hyperaware of the body beside him. Her hand in his was so small, the skin so soft. Another inch or two and she would have been pressed against his side in the cramped bathroom. Every few seconds her breasts would brush against his ribcage and it sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. Dana Scully was lightly running her fingers over his face. And she was standing there dressed in *his* underwear. It had to be one of the hottest moments he'd ever experienced. Thank God for baggy sweatpants.

Scully was the last person he ever expected to give him wet dream material, but she was doing a damn fine job. Too bad she didn't even realize it.

He finished bandaging her hand, and then she turned his face towards her. Her injured hand came up as well and pulled his face down to the same height as hers. For a moment he had the crazy idea that she was going to kiss him, but she just pried his eyes open as wide as they would go and peered closely. Conducting an eye exam. He bit his tongue to cut off the disappointed groan that welled up in his chest.

"It's hard to tell in this light, but I don't think you're concussed." She let go of his face, but made no move to step back. Why had he never noticed how blue her eyes were? He zeroed in on her lips, and felt himself being drawn forward. He swore he saw a glimmer of desire dancing in her eyes before she flushed and pulled back, disappearing into the hallway.

Shit, he thought, following her. She's definitely going to kill me if she gets the chance.