Shit. I am so going to kill him. What did he think he was doing? Did he think he could just bat those big green eyes at her and she'd get so distracted that she'd forget she was supposed to arrest him? Well . . . okay, so it had worked, but only for a second. She wouldn't fall for it again. She might have been stuck with him for now, but as soon as the sun rose, she'd run for help.

And by the time she got back with the police, he'd be long gone.

So it wasn't the best plan she'd ever come up with, but there wasn't really anything else to do. He darted into the hallway after her, and she steeled herself against the sight of him clad in sweats and nothing else. It was a little disconcerting knowing he wasn't wearing any underwear. Only a layer of fabric between him and . . .

She took a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you." She groaned inwardly as his pupils dilated. Wrong thing to say. Better start over. "Let's make a deal. We're both basically stuck here, so why don't we call a truce?" For now, she added silently.

He studied her for a long moment, and even though his eyes didn't stray any farther south than her chin, she felt strangely exposed. He nodded once and held out his hand, obviously expecting them to shake on it. She hesitated, and the brief show of uncertainty was enough to turn his speculative gaze into the hard stare of a challenge. Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do. Especially after that little show in the bathroom. For one brief second she wished she had never set foot inside the FBI academy. She could have a nice family practice by now, maybe obstetrics, where she wouldn't have to deal with aliens, and government conspiracies, and dangerous criminals who should really pull their sweats up, because those things were riding pretty low, and it would only take one good yank-- She swiftly halted her train of thought and slid her hand into his.

The next thing she knew, she was being jerked forward. His other arm snaked around her waist, holding her captive against his body.

"Truce," he growled into her ear. "But don't cross me, Agent Scully. You won't like the consequences."

The condescending tone of his voice gave rise to a flare of anger in the pit of her stomach. If Mulder were here, he wouldn't be so damn cocky. The entire time she'd been here, Krycek had never looked at her as if she was a threat. The first thing he did was laugh at her. She may have been small, and female, but she was trained as an FBI Agent. Didn't that count for anything?

The second he relaxed his grip on her she sprung into action. She hooked her foot around his calf and pulled, shoving him in the chest at the same time. He landed hard on the floor of the hallway, and she immediately jumped on him, wrapping strong thighs around his so he couldn't move his legs. Knowing her weight wasn't enough to hold him down, she did the one thing that would strike fear into the heart of any man. She reached down and grabbed his crotch, pulling up and twisting slightly.

His eyes widened as all the color left his face. She squelched the grim smile that wanted to overtake her face. Not so cocky anymore, was he? For good measure she gave a hard squeeze and his breath stopped.

"Don't play games with me, Krycek. I'm not Mulder. You can't jerk my chain and expect me to come running. Do you understand?"

This time he hesitated, so she gave another twist of her wrist. "Do you understand?"

He nodded quickly but her grip didn't loosen. He cleared his throat and choked out, "Some of the guys in the bullpen warned me you were a ballbuster, but I don't think this is what they meant."

She gave him a narrow warning stare, and slowly let him go, getting to her feet. His eyes closed in relief. Absently, she wiped her hand over her borrowed shorts and waited for him to get up. She was about to poke him with her foot when he stirred, opening one eye to look at her.

He was wary. Good. And now that she'd proved her point, the anger ebbed away. They were probably going to be stuck here for a few hours. Might as well try to be civilized.

"Come on. You need to ice your forehead." And judging by the slow ache that was forming behind her right eye, so did she. He climbed to his feet and retrieved the candles from the bathroom. She took one from him, ignoring the spark as their hands touched, and gestured for him to go down the stairs before her. After that display, she wouldn't put it past him to give her a good shove.

As he slunk past her he said, "Just wait until everyone hears about how Dana Scully jumped me." He glanced over his shoulder and instead of the anger or retaliation she expected, he looked . . . almost amused. Almost. There was still a hint of caution that indicated her message had been heard loud and clear.

"Don't be cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"You. Are. Annoying," she ground out as they descended, unable to think of a better comeback. She thought she heard a snicker, but chose to ignore it. Maybe she'd be the one doing the shoving.

As soon as they got downstairs he spent ten minutes lighting everything with a wick. She was tempted to warn him about fire hazards, but thought of the panic attack that had been brought about by darkness. She left him to it as she found an ice pack and a bag of frozen vegetables in the freezer. Well, maybe frozen was saying too much.

So, Krycek had been stuck in one of those missile silos. She wondered how long he'd been in there. Long enough to develop a fear of the dark. He was probably claustrophobic as well. She tried to suppress the sudden wave of sympathy that washed over her. It was ludicrous to feel sorry for him after everything he'd done. He deserved every bad thing that ever happened to him. It was called karma. Christ. Now she sounded like a heartless bitch. She shouldn't feel sorry for Krycek. But she did. And it had nothing to do with being a doctor, and everything to do with being a human being. If she had been trapped in a silo, she didn't know that she'd be holding up as well as he was.

She turned, about to call him over, but his name died on her lips. Condensation from the bag of vegetables dripped down her arm, unnoticed. A friend in college told her that candlelight smoothed sharp edges, flattered even the most unflattering form. She would always ask, 'What if the person is already flattering?' He would just shrug and tell her that she thought too much. Maybe so, but after all these years she had her answer.

Krycek stood it the middle of the living room like a statue. Candlelight danced over the planes and valleys of his body, shadows played at the small of his back, the hollow of his throat, hid one side of his face from her eyes. Her gaze trailed down one well muscled arm and something inside her quivered. She had a thing for arms. Arms could hold you, lift you up, protect you. And arms had hands, which were good for all sorts of things. Horrified at the turn her thoughts had taken, she tore her eyes away. Why did he have to be so damn good looking? The bad guys were supposed to be ugly, like Rumplestilskin, and Scar Face, and that wrinkled Emperor from Star Wars. It made it easy to tell the bad from the good.

She had a sudden vision of him turning, smiling dangerously, crooking a finger at her. And one look in those cat-like eyes and she'd be history. She shook herself. Damn. Now *that* was definitely a hallucination. If only he was hideously disfigured or something. Resolving to keep her mind on the fact that she was sharing a house with a dangerous criminal, she walked into the living room and handed him the vegetables. The ice pack didn't seem to be so leaky, so she kept it for herself.

With an absent "Thanks," he stared at the bag a moment, then raised it to his forehead. Everything about his stance told her that he wasn't paying any attention to her. It wasn't long before she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"What are you doing?"

"Listening to the rain."

"What?" He could have said 'Communicating telepathically with aliens' or 'Having a staring contest with my imaginary friend' for all the sense it made to her.

"I'm listening to the rain."

"You're listening to the rain."

"You sound surprised."

"I am. Aren't you supposed to be plotting for world domination?"

"That's every second Tuesday. Today is Saturday, and today I listen to the rain."

She was at once amused by his sarcasm, angry that he had amused her, and fascinated by this strange creature she knew as Alex Krycek. He was a highly dangerous criminal with a fear of the dark. He liked to crack dry jokes. His house had no security system. And it was purple. Everything Mulder told her about Krycek bore only a passing resemblance to the man that was standing beside her. She didn't even want to know about the vibrator.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why are you listening to the rain?"

"Haven't you ever listened to a rainstorm? It's soothing."

"Not when you're walking through it," she muttered. "How can a storm be soothing?"

He turned to glance down at her curiously. "The sound of the rain falling is rhythmic, and being inside during a storm makes people feel warm and safe. Don't you feel safe, Agent Scully?"

Not particularly, no. So why hadn't she run back out into the storm? Because if Mulder ever found out she had Krycek in custody and she ran away, he'd torture her with theories of Bigfoot and swamp gas. She glanced over at the door for a second, then back up at Krycek.

"Me? I'm peachy."