Author's note: Mulder/Krycek slash story. Set after "The Red and The Black," but 
before the movie. Rated NC-17 for sexual content, violence, and foul language. 
If you're under 18, don't know what slash is, and/or homophobic, do not read 
this.
Standard disclaimer: I don't own these characters or brand names, I'm not making 
any money off this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I am in no way 
affiliated or associated with Carnegie-Mellon University, and they are in no way 
affiliated or associated with me or the content of this story. 
Many, many thanks to Kenna and Marie, who read early drafts and gave me 
much-needed guidance, and to Gwyneth and Shoshanna, for their help, editing 
skills, and patience. Bonus thanks to Gwyneth for generously giving it space on 
her page.
Do not redistribute this story to any discussion lists, bulletin boards, mailing 
lists, or newsgroups. Do not archive this story anywhere else without my 
permission. Feedback is always welcome.




Waking Up In Pittsburgh 
by Keiko Kirin 
  
It was 102 degrees and the air was thick and muggy. A bright, hazy sun ruled the 
cloudless sky. Soft, elusive breezes rustled the leaves on the trees, but 
disappeared before giving any relief from the oppressive heat.
There would be no relief from the smell. Human corpses didn't smell good under 
the best of conditions, and outside in hundred-plus weather wasn't the best of 
conditions. Fox Mulder lifted the handkerchief from his nose and mouth to mop 
the sweat from his brow. He watched Scully walking carefully between the bodies, 
occasionally bending down to inspect one more closely. She crouched next to a 
misshapen mass of flesh and bone, prodding at something -- neck? shoulder? -- 
with her latex-gloved fingers.
Mulder looked up. All around the sunken tennis courts where they stood, a line 
of people had formed, despite the yellow "Police Line Do Not Cross" tape. Some 
looked appropriately horrified, or grossed out. Most just looked bewildered. He 
glanced back at the carnage before him and figured that from where they stood, 
they couldn't tell what they were looking at. Even up close, it was difficult to 
discern individual bodies.
His thoughts were interrupted by a woman hurriedly approaching him. "Are you the 
FBI agent?" she called, as she shouldered through the investigative team. She 
looked angry, so he didn't respond until she reached him, panting and sweating 
in her bland business suit.
He flashed his badge at her and waited. She caught her breath and followed his 
line of sight to the corpses. Scully was gently turning one over. Bits of it 
fell away in Scully's hands. The woman immediately looked back at Mulder.
"I'm from the president's office. He needs to make a statement to the press. 
What can I tell him to say?"
Mulder looked up at the perimeter of the courts. "You need to get these people 
out of here."
"Yes, yes, we're working on that," the woman said quickly. "It's not an easy 
thing to seal off this part of the campus, you know. Even in summer."
Scully caught Mulder's glance. Mulder turned to the woman and said, "I don't 
know what your president can tell the press. Now if you'll excuse me..." He 
walked over to Scully before the woman could protest. He didn't think she would 
follow, into the mass of corpses. He was right.
Scully wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. "It's as if they all 
melted together. Some of the body tissue is almost gelatinous, and many of the 
bones we're finding are soft. You can almost bend them. I don't know what could 
have caused this. Some kind of acid, perhaps."
Scully paused and watched him, as if expecting him to contradict her. Mulder 
looked around, but no theories were springing to mind. No tales of supernatural 
beings or forces, no evidence of extraterrestrial interference. The fact was, he 
was just too damned tired and hot to think of anything right now.
Scully shook her hair back from her face. "They're bringing some stretchers and 
tubs so we can take what's left to the forensics lab." 
"Kind of brings new meaning to the phrase 'hot enough to fry an egg,' doesn't 
it?" Mulder murmured as they walked toward the steps. Scully smiled wearily at 
him. 
*** 
Hotel pools sucked. Too small and crowded for laps, too chlorinated to feel 
refreshing. Mulder stared at it for a while, every cell of his being longing for 
a swim, then turned and went back to his room. The pool was too depressing. It 
would be worse than not having a swim at all.
He moved the desk chair in front of the air conditioning unit and sat down, 
still in his Speedo and hotel robe. The a/c was blasting arctic-cold air at him, 
but he felt sluggish and stupid. When he closed his eyes, he was back on the 
tennis courts, under a merciless sun, surrounded by the stench of baking bodies.
This wasn't like the victims the alien rebels had left on Skyland Mountain and 
in Kazakhstan. Those victims had been cooked, not melted, and their skeletons 
had been solid and intact. His thoughts got that far, but remembering Kazakhstan 
brought another thought entirely: Krycek. Mulder shifted, as if he could edge 
away from the memory his mind kept replaying. Krycek grabbing him. Krycek 
kissing him.
It was just a chaste little kiss on the cheek. Except nothing about Krycek was 
chaste. And yet... What had it meant? Krycek didn't do things for no reason, of 
that Mulder was certain. Mulder should not have cared about Krycek's reasons, 
but he did.
Krycek was a puzzle. Capable of the blackest deeds, yet still ambiguous in his 
loyalties and motives. There was something dangerously interesting -- 
dangerously attractive -- about that ambiguity. Something attractive about the 
danger itself.
Mulder didn't want to be interested or attracted, so he kept trying to tuck 
thoughts of Krycek into some far away corner of his brain. The problem was that 
no corner was far enough to make him forget the brief touch of Krycek's lips on 
his skin, or the strange sense of desertion he'd felt when Krycek had walked out 
his door.
And if he hadn't, what then? There were logical, practical answers to that 
question. And there were the disturbing, alluring alternatives that his dreams 
relentlessly tormented him with.
The sun set in a brilliance of orange and vermillion while Mulder fell asleep in 
the chair, feet propped up on the air conditioner. 
*** 
They were kissing. Slowly and sensuously and those lips were so warm and soft 
and Alex thought he could do this forever, he wanted to drown in that kiss. 
And then he felt it. 
Pulling away from his tissue and bones, rising within him to seep out through 
his pores. Flooding his ears and nose and eyes to escape. Finally, pouring into 
his mouth and slithering over his tongue, seeking the haven of their kiss.
Mulder's eyes opened wide in surprise. Black clouds swirled beneath the corneas. 
Alex watched, fascinated. They were linked together now. Possessed. It was 
beautiful. Their bodies entwined, liquid blackness coiling under their skin and 
filling them. Horrifyingly beautiful.
=Beep!=
Alex Krycek jerked awake, face down in a wad of pillows. Damn. He hadn't meant 
to fall asleep like that. He reached for his gun on the nightstand, shaking off 
the remnants of his dream, and peered back over his shoulder.
"Oh. Sorry, honey. It's just my beeper," the large, chocolate-hued hooker said. 
She stood at the foot of the motel bed and frowned at her fluorescent green 
pager as its message flashed by. She looked up and smiled apologetically at him, 
stuffing the pager into her huge purse and grabbing her white faux-leather 
jacket from the chair. "I gotta go."
Krycek blinked. Ginger, that was her name. "Sure thing," he said, setting his 
gun down. Ginger grinned and leaned over to playfully smack his ass through the 
blanket. 
"You got my number," she said. 
He winked at her. "Sure do."
Ginger hefted the purse over her shoulder, said goodbye with an answering wink, 
and left. Krycek rolled onto his back and listened to the quiet, barely audible 
sounds of the hotel around him. Water in a drain. Somewhere down the hall, an 
ice machine. Outside, a car entering the parking lot. On the floor above, a 
muffled conversation between a man and a woman accompanied by the steady drone 
of a late-night talk show. He could pick them all out and name them. It was 
better than listening to his own heart beating.
Real silence was being hundreds of yards underground, in a concrete silo, in the 
middle of nowhere.
He stretched and reached to scratch his right underarm. A perfectly normal, 
routine habit. Damn. Those were the slip-ups. The little things. Movements 
people made a hundred times a day and never registered. It didn't seem possible 
that there could be a moment when he would forget he had no left arm, but there 
it was. Some stupid little move like a scratch and he tripped up. Pathetic, 
Alex, he told himself. Pathetic.
Across the room, on the chair, was his prosthetic arm, discarded last night. He 
regarded it with mingled loathing for its ugly falseness and appreciation for 
its mundane usefulness. Ginger hadn't batted an eyelash when he took it off. A 
real pro. He liked that in a hooker. 
He might call her again, especially since it seemed he was doomed to a lifetime 
of Mulder dreams. Just erotic enough to make him hard, just disturbing enough to 
make him a restless sleeper. It figured. Mulder had spent the length of their 
partnership trying to ditch him. Now Mulder was spending the length of their 
enmity haunting him. 
Although, to be fair, Krycek had to admit that if it was a haunting, he had 
opened the front door and placed a neon sign out front: Spooks welcome.' 
Thinking over various means of exorcism, Krycek slipped back into sleep. 
When he woke up in the morning, it was 87 degrees already, according to the 
Weather Channel. Krycek sighed. All of his clothes were cold-weather clothes: 
black jeans and shirts, leather, gloves. Hot weather wasn't conducive to the 
assassin's code of dressing dark and blending in with the shadows. While he 
considered the wardrobe options for his latest job, he flicked through the 
channels aimlessly until something caught his eye. 
"...like a mass grave," the CNN reporter was saying as pictures flashed of 
things barely recognizable as bodies. Krycek sat up. An image appeared of the 
scene where the bodies were found: the tennis courts at Carnegie-Mellon. Oh, 
shit. It had happened already. 
*** 
"Mulder?"
Mulder opened his eyes and stretched. Various bones realigned themselves loudly, 
and he winced as his leg muscles woke up. It was morning already. Scully was 
staring down at him in concern. He looked at himself, in his swimming trunks and 
robe, realized he'd slept all night in the chair, and wondered if Scully might 
have good cause to be concerned.
"Jet lag?" he hazarded, standing up and stretching again. Scully set some papers 
down on the desk.
"I have the preliminary analysis," she said.
Mulder was picking out a suit while his brain whispered the "I need caffeine" 
mantra, but he managed to ask, "And? Anything?"
"Not much," she sighed, sitting down on the bed. "If it was an acid, it's a 
previously unknown compound. The other likely explanation is some sort of 
biological infection or biochemical. But again, not one we know about."
Mulder went into the bathroom to wash and change, keeping the door ajar. "Would 
a virus or infection work that quickly without leaving traces of contamination?" 
he called out. He looked at himself in the mirror, running a hand over the 
stubble on his jaw, and noticed some red blotches on his cheeks and nose.
From the other room, Scully was saying, "That's why we think it was an acid or a 
new, advanced biochemical. Right now, we're running the results to see what 
we're left with. If it was something that attacked a certain chemical or tissue 
in the body, we should be able to tell."
Mulder finished dressing and returned to the room, sitting down next to Scully 
while he put on his shoes. He could tell she was watching him.
"I'm surprised at you," she said. "No theories about aliens testing on humans or 
mutation experiments gone wrong. No legend of the Body-Melting Man of 
Carnegie-Mellon."
Mulder shrugged. "I'm surprised at myself. What can I say? If it's not an X 
file, I can't make it into one." Before she could argue that point, he turned to 
her and asked, "Does my skin look blotchy to you? Some kind of infection?"
Scully examined his face, then firmly pressed a finger against the tip of his 
nose. She pulled it away and pronounced, "Sunburn."
She got up to leave and Mulder grabbed his jacket. "You better hope it's 
sunburn. If you find me melted into a blob..."
"If you keep the air conditioning cranked this high, I'm more likely to find you 
frostbitten," she commented as she opened the door. 
*** 
They had tried to seal off the central campus by putting up concrete and barbed 
wire barriers, blocking off Forbes Avenue, and stationing policemen at the main 
entrances, but Krycek soon found an unguarded side street and a way through the 
barriers. Someone had already moved them just enough for a person to slip 
through the gap. When he had edged himself through, he heard two voices, not far 
away.
"This is creepy," a guy's voice said, and in answer, a girl's giggle and urgings 
to go on. Krycek let go of his gun and let it slide back into the plastic tool 
case he was carrying. He caught sight of the other two trespassers. Typical 
undergrads.
He pulled out the fake forensics lab ID and clipped it to his shirt, then strode 
purposefully toward the tennis courts. Policemen were walking around, nominally 
patrolling the campus, but no one stopped him, proving the validity of the 
trespassers' code: as long as you look like you know what you're doing, you can 
go anywhere.
For some reason, the idea that Mulder and Scully would be called to this case 
hadn't occurred to him. Krycek stopped at the top of the steps and looked down, 
cursing himself for not anticipating this. There was no mistaking the tall, 
slender man whose body managed to make a drab business suit look like Armani, or 
the petite red-head wearing latex gloves and picking up crud with oversized 
tweezers. Bodies melted into globs. Right up Mulder's alley, you idiot.
Neither had spotted him yet. Krycek casually stepped back and walked a few yards 
away from the sunken tennis courts, considering his next move. His plan had been 
to blend in with the forensics team, examine the courts for any leftover 
evidence, and go back to the lab to take a look at the bodies. No way could he 
blend in with Mulder and Scully there.
He decided to wait it out. It was life-threateningly hot, hot enough to make him 
rethink black as today's wardrobe statement, and if he stayed outside, loitering 
with intent, he was probably going to blow his cover. No choice but to break 
into a building and watch from there.
Fortunately, the buildings had crappy locks and were mostly empty. It was only 
about five degrees cooler inside, though. Krycek found a window on the fourth 
floor that overlooked the tennis courts and sat down, untucking his shirt to 
wipe his face with his shirttails.
It took a few hours, but at last Mulder and Scully left, with a few other 
investigators, while enough were left on the scene that Krycek knew he could 
carry on. Some more city detectives arrived, too, bettering his chances of 
blending in among the confusion.
His plan worked, but nothing was panning out. Any useful evidence had been 
cleared away from the scene already, and now, as he peered at the lumps of 
victims left on metal tables in the lab, he realized that the bodies weren't 
going to tell him anything, either. Nevertheless, he scraped some tissue into a 
glass vial, just in case, before leaving the lab. He found an empty office 
nearby and ducked inside to sit down and think about his options.
Something had gone wrong, and triggered a literal meltdown. Without contacting 
certain people, Krycek couldn't be sure if this was an accident or an attack. 
But he was reluctant to make that contact just yet. What if it was an attack? 
Why hadn't they contacted him?
Almost unwillingly, he thought of Mulder. Mulder was already investigating, so 
he must have known something. Must have had some idea. Goddamn Mulder.
Although, on another level, he was almost pleased that he'd be working with 
Mulder again. 
*** 
When Krycek had traced and trailed Mulder back to the same hotel that he, 
himself, was staying at, he wanted to laugh. What were the odds? Ironic justice. 
Mulder would appreciate that. Krycek wished Scully would disappear for a while, 
though. He wasn't too eager to run into her again. Mulder always faced him with 
blatant, violent anger, which Krycek could appreciate, and which was stimulating 
in an unnerving, animalistic way. But Scully... Scully's reception was always 
cold and cautious. She looked like she knew all his secrets, which in itself was 
one unbelievably scary thought.
He sat in a dark, quiet corner of the hotel bar and watched them sitting up 
front, having dinner and going over notes together. He felt a ridiculous pang of 
envy; he and Mulder had never sat huddled so close together, talking shop and 
stealing french fries from each other's plates. A little late for that now.
As he nursed his beer, Dick and Jane FBI Agent finally split up. Scully took the 
car keys and left the hotel, and Mulder went upstairs. Krycek finished his beer, 
but not quite soon enough. Before he could follow Mulder to his room, Mulder was 
back downstairs, in a robe. Curious, Krycek shadowed him to the pool, and found 
a bench half-hidden behind a fake plant from which to watch.
The pool was almost deserted. Mulder took off his robe and headed for the diving 
board. Ah, those red Speedos. Now that brings back memories. It was very 
surreal, hiding and watching Mulder swim, thinking of the past and the present, 
wondering if Mulder would finally kill him this time.
Mulder swam for about three-quarters of an hour, taking short breaks. His heart 
didn't seem in it, somehow. Krycek supposed it was the pool. Not up to Olympic 
standards, not by a long shot. Even so, Mulder made swimming seem such an 
inviting activity. He swam well, made it look so easy and natural. Krycek tried 
to imagine joining him in the pool. Tried to feel the cool of the water, the 
warmth of Mulder's body. Floating together...
Krycek shook himself from his fantasies. He couldn't swim. Even if he'd ever 
learned how, he doubted he could have managed it with the false arm. Besides, if 
he were to join Mulder in the pool, Mulder would surely recognize the golden 
opportunity to drown him.
Mulder climbed out of the pool and put on his robe. He had a towel, which he 
rubbed over his hair and slung around his neck. Krycek watched him go, then 
followed. He already knew which room Mulder was in, but as he slipped down the 
hallway, he tried to decide how to get inside. The most direct approach -- 
knocking on the door -- would probably work, but it seemed awfully risky. 
When he got to the room, however, he discovered that fate had helped him out. He 
could hear the shower running, and when he tried his skeleton key-card, the door 
unlocked. He opened it carefully, very pleased that Mulder hadn't bothered to 
turn the deadbolt or use the chain lock. Once inside, Krycek remedied this 
situation and made himself at home, stretching out on the bed. Mulder in the 
shower. It was almost too good to be true. 
*** 
Mulder stayed in the shower a long time, scrubbing the film of chlorine away. 
Hotel pools sucked. But it had felt good to swim, anyway. It had cleared the fog 
from his brain a little, and as he stood under the pulsating water, he ran 
through the details of various X-files, searching for a link to the melted 
bodies. 
Melt. Burn. Burn without fire. Word association games that kept failing to 
connect to a supernatural case. And why the tennis courts?
Frustrated by the lack of an answer, Mulder turned off the shower, dried 
himself, and went back into the bedroom. He stopped at the foot of the bed and 
stared. Alex Krycek was lying on the bed, completely clothed in black, seemingly 
asleep. For a moment, Mulder just stood there, not believing what he was seeing. 
It was too much like a certain dream... Nightmare, he quickly corrected himself.
Mulder was just about to get his gun when Krycek opened his eyes and sat up. 
Either he was the lightest sleeper in the world, or he'd been awake the whole 
time. They stared at each other, not moving, and Mulder again questioned the 
reality of the situation.
Then Krycek spoke. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered; then his eyes widened 
and his face flushed with color, as if he'd just said something he didn't mean 
to say.
Beautiful? Mulder's self-awareness returned in that instant. He was naked. 
Horrified, embarrassed, angry, and slightly but disturbingly turned on, he 
quickly turned away and grabbed the first article of clothing within reach: a 
shirt. Common sense patiently explained to him that the shirt would not cover 
nearly enough skin if worn as a shirt, but he was too rattled to think of 
alternatives. He pulled it on and buttoned it up, then stood there, glaring at 
Krycek, who looked just as rattled.
The air conditioning was on full-blast. As it blew on his bare legs, Mulder 
realized exactly how little the shirt covered. Krycek had already noticed; his 
gaze was levelled at where the shirttails ended. Again Mulder felt the same 
amalgam of horror, embarrassment, and anger, only this time there was a more 
discomforting level of turn-on.
Trying to brush that aside, Mulder snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?" 
at the same moment Krycek said, "Christ, Mulder."
"Well? Answer me, you son of a bitch."
Krycek didn't answer. He moved his lingering gaze up, met Mulder's glare, cocked 
his head slightly, and gave him a dangerously sexy smile. Mulder clenched his 
jaw.
If this isn't a nightmare, I'm going to have to kill us both.
"Mulder," Krycek murmured, sounding pleasantly surprised. "You're getting a 
hard-on."
The denial stuck in his throat. Mulder couldn't really deny what was, 
unfortunately, only too obvious. Different explanations rushed to mind: an 
adrenaline rush, a deep-rooted exhibitionist tendency that had nothing 
whatsoever to do with the present audience, a rare physical dysfunction. He had 
to think fast, choose one that sounded convincing. Anything but the truth.
Mulder wasn't thinking fast enough. Krycek slid along the bed, getting closer 
and closer, saying, "Why, I never knew."
No, no. This wasn't a dream, this wasn't a fantasy.
Krycek had reached the foot of the bed, where he was within touching distance. 
Mulder stepped back and finally let his survival instincts take over. His gun 
was on the desk. He seized it and aimed it squarely at Krycek's forehead.
"I said, what the hell are you doing here?" he repeated.
Krycek smiled smugly at him. "Go ahead. Shoot."
Mulder didn't know whether to be appalled or exasperated. He tightened his grip 
on the gun, then paused. There was something suspicious about that smile. Mulder 
checked the clip. Of course. He should have known. Efficient bastard.
If Krycek hadn't chosen that moment to laugh, Mulder might never have whacked 
him with the empty gun. 
*** 
Mulder sat in the chair, now wearing pants, and only very marginally turned on, 
and watched as Krycek came to. The whack hadn't been that hard, but it had left 
a nasty bruise and cut along Krycek's left temple, and some blood had trickled 
down and dried on his cheek. Actually, Mulder had been surprised that Krycek 
passed out. Just for a few moments. Long enough.
"Are you back?" Mulder asked. "Good. Now, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Fuck you," Krycek muttered, wincing and trying to stand up from the floor. He 
was yanked down abruptly as the handcuffs caught against the bedframe. He sat 
down with a thunk and shot Mulder a malevolent glare.
"All you have to do is answer me," Mulder said calmly. Then he reached across 
the desk and picked up Krycek's gun. "Recognize this, tovarich?"
Krycek's glare became more lethal, but he didn't answer. Mulder sat back, set 
the gun aside, and wondered how long they could play this game before it became 
boring.
Apparently not too long. Krycek said, "All right. I'll tell you. I was going to 
tell you, anyway, before you decided to prove your manhood, you asshole. But 
first, you tell me something."
Game doesn't work that way. But despite himself, Mulder asked, "What?"
"Why did you get hard?" Krycek squirmed to sit up a little more. "I'm not 
winding you up. I just want to know. Was it me? Was it the circumstances? A 
fluke?"
He seemed serious. Mulder considered answering, and to his own shock, actually 
toyed with telling him the truth. For some reason, sharing the truth with Krycek 
gave it an added dimension of interest. Sharing your deepest, darkest secret 
with your enemy, because he understood.
Mulder decided not to answer him, not yet. "Why did you call me beautiful?"
The color rose in Krycek's cheeks again. He was embarrassed, which made Mulder 
feel uncomfortable, rather than exultant. Mulder didn't think he would answer, 
but Krycek said quietly, "Because you are."
Krycek gazed at him steadily, and Mulder found he couldn't look away. So are 
you.
Silence then, because Mulder couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud. Not 
in his wildest, most disturbing fantasies, not even in his nightmares, had he 
ever imagined having this particular conversation with this particular person.
"Is that why you kissed me?" Mulder finally asked.
Krycek half-smiled and shifted, trying to move his right arm to a more 
comfortable position. "No. That was just a mind-fuck." He paused, looking down 
at the carpet, then said uncertainly, "Well, maybe. You know, I don't know."
Mulder watched him. He felt the urge to go get a cloth and wipe the blood away. 
Where did that come from?
"I thought it was just a mind-fuck, myself," he offered. 
Krycek leaned his head back against the bed. "Yeah, you would. It fits my 
profile better, I guess."
Mulder smiled. "Speaking of which... Your profile says you never go someplace 
and risk exposure unless you have a damn good reason, and that brings me back 
to--"
"--why the hell I'm here," Krycek interrupted with a quick grin. "You know, 
maybe I'd feel more inclined to tell you if you'd let me out of these cuffs and 
bring me an aspirin."
"You're in no position to negotiate terms," said Mulder, still smiling. 
"Something I'd think would be blatantly obvious, even to you."
Krycek shook his head a little. "You're discounting your own insatiable 
curiosity, but okay, I'll play along. Can I at least have an aspirin? Some prick 
hit me with a gun." 
*** 
Mulder actually brought him two aspirin tablets and a glass of water. And, since 
his arm was chained to the bed-frame, Mulder had what Krycek was certain was the 
dubious pleasure of placing the aspirin on Krycek's tongue and holding the glass 
to his mouth so he could drink. Krycek expected Mulder to move away after that, 
but instead Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, waiting for his 
answer.
Krycek leaned back against the bed. His head was killing him. If he could ever 
erase from his consciousness the sublime bliss of seeing Mulder naked and 
interested, he'd have to kill Mulder for bashing him with the gun.
But that consciousness erasure was unlikely to happen any time soon. Even now, 
just the glimpse Krycek was getting of Mulder's bare feet and ankles was 
reminding him of the rest of that gorgeous body. Long legs and flat stomach and 
lean hips and... oh yeah, very nice cock. Especially when perky.
Krycek swallowed hard from the pain drumming in his skull and the extreme 
discomfort of his erection trapped inside his jeans. His agony must have shown 
on his face, because Mulder gave him a sympathetic look and reached for the 
glass. Instead of offering him a drink, though, Mulder dipped his shirttail into 
the water and reached out. When it wouldn't go far enough, Mulder unbuttoned his 
shirt and lifted the moistened fabric to Krycek's temple, dabbing away at the 
dried blood.
Krycek stared at Mulder's chest. The soft hairs there... the small, tempting 
nipples... Mulder touching his face so tenderly... Krycek twisted away. "Jesus, 
Mulder, would you stop that?"
Mulder sat back and stuffed his shirttail into the glass again, pulled it out 
and wrung some of the bloody water out. "Why? Oh."
Krycek glanced over. Mulder's eyes were focused on Krycek's crotch. Krycek tried 
to edge further away, but the damned handcuffs kept him pretty much trapped. 
This was too much. How could your dreams and nightmares come true at the same 
time?
"Okay, okay, okay," Krycek said quickly. "I'll tell you why I'm here." Anything 
to keep the conversation away from hard-ons.
Mulder lifted his gaze and waited. Krycek tried to detect a hint of gloating, 
but if it was there, it was too subtle for him to catch. "It's those bodies you 
found. I saw it on the news. I need to know if they were hybrids or not. Tell me 
what you know, and I can help you."
"Help? You?" Mulder scoffed.
Krycek couldn't really blame him, but it was still annoying. "All right, I'll 
tell you what I know. But I still need to know if the bodies are human or 
hybrid."
Mulder gave him a cautious, assessing look. "The DNA tests aren't done yet. Was 
this some kind of experiment on alien-human hybrids?"
"Maybe." When Krycek didn't elaborate, Mulder's look took on a colder, 
potentially violent aspect. Krycek decided that either way, he was in trouble 
here, and telling Mulder everything wasn't going to make much difference in the 
grand scheme of things.
"There were experiments being done," he continued. "Here, in Pittsburgh. It was 
thought that if a chemical compound could be found to break down alien-human 
hybrids, the same compound could be refined to break down just the alien 
elements." 
Krycek paused, but Mulder just nodded for him to go on. "This was beyond top 
secret. Practically no one knew about it. So exchanging information about the 
progress of the experiments was risky. Well, you know what it's like. Nobody 
trusts anybody else, and then someone gets to thinking, 'If they can get the 
compound to attack alien elements, what's to stop them from getting it to attack 
the human elements, too?' That's why I'm here. I was supposed to break into the 
lab and steal a sample." 
"Then you saw the news and wondered if the compound had already been tested," 
Mulder said.
Krycek nodded. "The thing is, I don't know if this is an accident, or if this 
was planned. And either way, it's not good. Someone dumped those bodies in a 
public place. To cause hysteria or to draw attention away from the next step, 
who knows."
Mulder drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. "You're telling 
me the truth." He sounded a little surprised.
Krycek cocked his head. "You know what I think about the truth. But, yeah, I'm 
telling you what I happen to know."
"Why? Why help me?"
Krycek had to laugh at this. "Because I thought you already knew what I wanted 
to know. I thought you'd be helping me."
Mulder smiled. A genuine, pleased smile. It almost took Krycek's breath away. An 
uncomfortable silence arose. Mulder's smile faded and he looked down at the 
floor.
"So," Mulder said. "Why were you hard?" 
*** 
Mulder already knew the answer. It was, after all, the same answer he had for 
the same question: he was turned on. Neither of them had asked the real question 
yet: why were they turned on? Maybe they hadn't asked it because they didn't 
have any answers for that one.
He couldn't explain it to himself satisfactorily. There were instances of mutual 
attraction between enemies, he knew, but ever since the night Krycek had broken 
into his apartment, given him useful information, and kissed him, Mulder had to 
hesitate before calling Krycek an enemy. Certainly not a friend, no... Nemesis, 
perhaps? He'd spent a long time hating Krycek, and part of him still did. There 
were things Krycek had done which could never be erased. But hate was too simple 
an emotion for their complex relationship, Mulder had found. That damned kiss on 
the cheek had proven that.
And if it hadn't, the twists and turns this evening was taking were certainly 
proving it. He called me beautiful. Mulder couldn't even begin to catalogue how 
that made him feel.
Krycek was looking at him. Mulder glanced up and returned the look, wondering 
what kind of smart-ass answer he was going to get. But Krycek seemed determined 
to stay on the path of truthful responses, at least for tonight.
Krycek said, "Because I want to fuck you so badly I can barely breathe."
Oh.
Christ.
Krycek saying "fuck" made Mulder's balls ache. The entire sentence, and the 
obvious vehement sentiment, made Mulder's cock hard. He hugged his knees 
together and rocked slightly.
Krycek watched him with interest. "And why did you get hard?" he murmured, and 
Mulder was sure Krycek knew just how sexy he sounded.
"I don't know," Mulder said, adding as the disappointment began to show on 
Krycek's face, "But I like your answer better."
Krycek smiled at him and slid as close as the handcuffs would allow him. "What 
about now?"
"What about now?"
"Are you hard now?" Krycek asked quietly.
Mulder felt his cheeks grow hot. He wondered if the blush would show through the 
sunburn. Krycek's eyes glinted. Apparently so.
"Are you?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," Krycek whispered, cranking Mulder's excitement up another notch. A 
tremor raced up his spine, and the heat that had flushed his face spread through 
his body. He swallowed a breath.
"Do you want to see?" Krycek whispered. Mulder had to bite the inside of his 
mouth to keep from moaning. "Undo the handcuffs and I'll show you. I'll do 
anything you want."
Mulder stared into Krycek's eyes. Anything? 
*** 
Uh oh.
The words "anything you want" had just slipped off his tongue like that. So 
easily. Now Mulder was giving him that look... Oh, that look. Krycek had never 
seen Mulder look so avaricious before. He just might do anything for that look.
Mulder moved closer, and Krycek helpfully offered his chained wrist up, but 
undoing the cuffs wasn't what Mulder had in mind, apparently. Not just yet. 
Mulder touched Krycek's face with both hands, long fingers tracing Krycek's brow 
and nose and cheekbones and, finally, his lips. Krycek tilted his head and bit 
one fingertip. Mulder kept his finger there, in Krycek's mouth, and looked, if 
anything, even greedier. Hungrier.
Krycek felt dizzy. Mulder touching him... There were no words, in any language, 
to describe the rush it gave him. He chewed on Mulder's finger, wondering where 
that throaty moan was coming from until he realized it was coming from him.
Mulder pulled his finger free and reached into his pants pocket. He was 
breathing harder, and his voice was shaky as he asked, "This is just sex, 
right?"
Krycek looked into his eyes. Just sex? Was it just sex to want to devour a man 
who hated you, to crawl into his skin so deep you never came out? Just sex to 
want to dive into him, swim in his senses, and ultimately drown?
"Just sex," he agreed, and Mulder unlocked the handcuffs.
As soon as he was free, they were grappling with each other, yanking each 
other's clothes off, touching whatever skin was exposed. Krycek unfastened his 
prosthetic arm and tossed it aside.
"Oh my god."
Krycek glanced up. Mulder was staring at him, eyes wide, alarmed. No. Please, 
no. This is Mulder, not some whore. Don't let this scare him off. No. Krycek sat 
up straight, resting his hand on Mulder's thigh, while Mulder examined what was 
left of Krycek's arm. Mulder cautiously touched the scar tissue.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No. Not any more." Krycek watched Mulder, afraid to move. "Look, I know it's 
ugly, but that... thing... gets in the way. I can put it back on..."
He trailed off. Mulder was running his fingers over the remaining flesh, along 
his shoulder then down his side. He seemed fascinated by it. Krycek exhaled a 
deep breath.
You're even more of a sick fuck than I am.
"It doesn't gross you out?"
Mulder paused, meeting his look. He let his fingers drop lower, smoothing along 
Krycek's ribs. "No, I was just thinking..." He smiled, looking embarrassed. "It 
doesn't matter. I'm not grossed out."
It did matter. Very much so. But Krycek wasn't going to press his luck. He slid 
his hand up Mulder's thigh until he could touch Mulder's balls. "Let's get on 
the bed. I don't feel like getting any carpet burns, do you?"
Once on the bed, their touches became more insistent, more demanding. Krycek was 
about to risk a kiss when Mulder put his lips to Krycek's right nipple and 
sucked on it. Krycek bit back a moan and ran his fingernails down Mulder's back. 
Mulder's fingers were expertly teasing Krycek's balls and cock, turning his 
hunger into a desperate ache. If they didn't fuck soon...
Fuck? Fuck.
With a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer, Krycek dug his fingers 
into Mulder's hair and whispered, "Do you have lube? Condoms?"
Mulder looked up, not needing to say anything, because the blank look on his 
face said it all. Krycek eased Mulder's head back down and Mulder resumed 
sucking. Of course, Krycek had everything they needed back in his room, but if 
they stopped now... Too much of a risk. He had Mulder naked in bed with him. He 
wasn't about to tempt fate. 
*** 
They weren't going to fuck. Mulder was disappointed for a split second -- why 
was he never prepared for these things? -- but the disappointment disappeared as 
he crawled over Krycek's body, jerking him off and watching him writhe. They 
were naked, they were touching, and his mind was broadcasting about a hundred 
other things they could do. 
Krycek squeezed Mulder's ass, kneading and rubbing. Mulder hummed in his throat 
and undulated over him, tightening his hold on Krycek's full, gloriously hard 
cock. Krycek squirmed and shifted, urging Mulder down with his hand, until they 
were on their sides, tangled together. Mulder felt their cocks touch and arched 
closer with a breathless groan. Krycek's skin was burning hot, strong muscles 
flexing as he moved, pushing them together. Heat, lips, hair, flesh -- 
everything that Mulder could touch and taste, he did, and in return Krycek's 
hand and lips and teeth and chest and cock and legs covered his body.
Just sex? Not in a million years. But, oh, it didn't matter, did it? Not now. 
Not ever...
He could feel Krycek's heart beating faster. It reverberated with the rhythm of 
his own pulse, a driving beat in his head, veins, lungs, and cock. So fast, so 
hard, echoing throughout Mulder's body until he started to thrash and thrust 
with it. Krycek gripped his ass and held him painfully tightly, grinding into 
his thrusts. Rough and tender at the same time. It was exquisite.
Mulder dove into the swirling pool of sensation and immersed himself in the 
ecstasy that poured through him. He hugged Krycek closer and shared every 
crashing wave of his release. Krycek wasn't letting him go, anyway. His hold 
intensified, and Mulder opened his eyes to see the look -- the unreadable, 
breathtaking look -- on Krycek's face.
Without stopping to consider his motives, Mulder slid his hand around Krycek's 
neck and pulled him into a deep, thorough kiss. Krycek shuddered as he 
responded, drawing Mulder's tongue into his mouth and feasting on it. Krycek 
pushed against him sharply, and Mulder felt the hot, sticky spatters on his 
belly as Krycek came.
Just sex. If that was just sex, then what was this? Mulder wondered as they lay 
there, catching their breath, still wrapped in each other's legs and arms. 
Krycek was rubbing the back of Mulder's neck. The tough pads of his fingertips 
circled in a lazy massage. Mulder pressed his face to Krycek's chest and inhaled 
the tangy but pleasing scent of musk and sweat. Whatever this was, he didn't 
want it to end. Not yet.
"Mulder?"
Mulder moved his face, rubbed his cheek against Krycek's damp, smooth chest, and 
whispered, "Yeah?"
There was a hesitation. Mulder could feel Krycek drawing breath. "What were you 
thinking? When I took off the arm?"
What was I thinking? I was thinking that could've been me. I was thinking how 
strong your arms and hands were. I was thinking how much I wanted to feel you 
holding me with both hands.
Mulder ran his fingers along Krycek's side, and traced the outline of a rib with 
his thumb. "I was thinking... Once I would've wanted that for you. To be maimed, 
scarred for life."
"And now you don't?" Krycek's fingers ceased their massage.
Mulder looked up. "Seeing that? No. I don't want that for anyone."
Krycek gave a brief nod, then resumed rubbing Mulder's neck. Mulder laid his 
head back down, rubbed his jaw over Krycek's nipple. He felt a humming vibration 
in the body beneath him as Krycek spoke.
"It's not so bad. I've gotten used to it. It's no picnic or anything, but, you 
know, it could be worse."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Mulder tried to fight the 
sadness that overwhelmed him because Krycek was lying to him about this. And 
lying so badly. He waited for silence, let the silence surround them and wear 
away the sharper edges of emotion, then shifted more comfortably and relaxed. 
Krycek was still rubbing his neck. It felt so good. Mulder fell asleep. 
*** 
If he moved, Mulder would wake up. Krycek could just tell. Mulder seemed like 
the type who'd be a light sleeper. So Krycek didn't move, although he wished 
Mulder's knee wasn't digging into his leg like that. Jesus, what bony knees.
Still, all in all, he couldn't complain. He'd just had sex with Fox Mulder. 
There were not too many things left in life that could be better than that. And 
it was good sex, too. Good, hot, sticky, male sex. With kissing.
Here his mind tried to shy away from the topic, look for something else to think 
about, but that was impossible. He couldn't undo the fact that his dreams had 
just come true. That, no matter what he and Mulder told themselves, this was 
more than just sex, although how much more, he had no idea.
There was certainly something in that kiss. And in this, now, holding Mulder 
while he slept. In deciding that he would stay and sleep, too.
He didn't dream that night. 
*** 
Mulder woke up with his face in a pillow and a weight against his back. He 
shifted a little and saw Krycek's arm draped around his waist. Something tickled 
his shoulder. It was Krycek's even breath as he slept.
Too bad I can't say I was drunk last night. Or drugged. Or crazy. Well, maybe 
crazy. 
However, try as he might to feel wretched about the whole thing, he didn't. The 
sex had been too good for that. And it was just sex, right? Riiiight.
It was morning. Mulder carefully shifted onto his back and sat up, yawning as he 
checked the clock. He had to meet Scully for breakfast at eight.
Scully. Mulder looked down at Krycek, who looked surprisingly boyish and 
innocent in sleep. What in the hell was he going to do with Krycek? Somehow 
chaining him up had lost its appeal, but he knew he couldn't drag him down to 
breakfast. Scully would know. Somehow, some way, she'd know, and he'd have to 
face her damning disapproval for the rest of his life. Not that he thought he 
could escape that fate, but he wasn't ready to meet it just yet.
He should arrest Krycek. That's what had to be done, right? His hands wandered 
idly over Krycek's back as he imagined calling the local field office, having 
Krycek hauled off to some jail, or sent to Washington so the government could 
find an underground bunker for him to rot in, something they'd tried before.
Everything logical and practical inside him told Mulder that this was what he 
had to do. What he did instead was get up, shower, and dress, and leave Krycek 
in bed, with a note on the bedside table: "I'm at breakfast. Don't leave." 
*** 
Scully was not in a good mood. She looked like she'd had very little sleep, and 
she greeted Mulder with a "where have you been?"
Mulder checked his watch. He was half an hour late. He joined her at the table 
and said, "Overslept. You know those damn hotel clocks."
Scully accepted his explanation without comment, although he could tell from her 
look she didn't believe him. As she turned her attention to her waffles, she 
pushed a file folder across the table at him.
"They faxed those to me at 6 a.m., Mulder. After I'd stayed at the lab until 
midnight. I say, if there's nothing here, we're going home today."
Mulder ordered coffee and looked through the faxes. "I think there's something 
here, though. What if those bodies we found weren't completely human?"
Scully set down her fork and looked up at him. "You're telling me they were 
aliens?" Her voice had that flat don't-do-this-to-me-Mulder tone.
"Not necessarily. They could be alien-human hybrids."
Scully went back to her waffles. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Mulder, but the 
lab results don't support that theory. These were perfectly normal human beings, 
with perfectly normal DNA. Our best guess is that this was some biochemical that 
leaves no trace, or dissipates in air. The results aren't showing anything 
unusual, and the local authorities are starting to question our jurisdiction in 
this case."
Mulder watched her. Although she was, in effect, saying they should give up, he 
knew she wasn't happy with the results. Her scientific answers weren't 
satisfying her, but she was reluctant to let him run wild with his alternative 
theories. They'd done this dance hundreds of times. It was why they worked so 
well together.
He scooted his chair closer to hers and said quietly, "There's something in 
these reports that you don't like. What?"
Scully took the folder from him and put it away. "They're doctored."
"What? How? How can you tell?"
She sighed. "That's just it. I can't. There's no way to prove it. On the face of 
it, they're perfectly valid, acceptable lab results. Nothing's out of place."
"Which is why you think they're doctored."
She turned to him. "You saw those bodies. This isn't a normal case. There should 
be something there. There should be some clue in the results, and there isn't 
one."
Mulder sat back, considering what to tell her. He should give her everything 
Krycek had told him. But that would mean bringing Krycek into this. He had to, 
he knew... But once he did, it was all over. Then all it really was was just 
good sex in a hotel room in Pittsburgh.
"Is there anyone at the lab you can trust?" he asked her. "Or some lab where you 
can run the tests yourself?"
"Why?"
He took a sip of coffee and avoided her gaze. "Maybe I can get you another 
tissue sample for analysis."
"Mulder--"
"Scully, don't ask me how. I don't even know if I can get it. But if I can...?"
She gave him a brief frown, then sighed. "If you can, I think I can find us a 
lab."
Mulder smiled at her. He finished his coffee and got up, saying, "You go find 
the lab."
"I thought you said you weren't sure," she called after him as he left the 
table. 
*** 
Krycek was not all that surprised to wake up alone. He'd slept deeply, 
untroubled by dreams. Now, waking up, having sex with Mulder seemed distant and 
unreal. He spotted the note next to the bed, read it, and sat up, wondering what 
to do. Leaving seemed the most sensible choice. He could find another way to get 
those DNA results. He didn't need Mulder. Not for anything.
Except to have sex with. And hold. And be held by.
Now those were thoughts that would get him exactly nowhere. No, he had to leave. 
Get going while the going was good. Before he had to face Mulder with his 
goddamned beautiful eyes, delicious lips, quirky humor, seductive intelligence, 
and sexy body. Krycek didn't move.
Now it was too late. Mulder came back from breakfast, quietly shutting the door 
behind him and walking into the room, looking at the bed almost reluctantly. Is 
he afraid to see that I'm still here, or afraid to see that I'm gone?
Mulder sat down on the foot of the bed. "You're a heavy sleeper."
Krycek shook his head. "Not normally. I think it's this heat."
"Yeah. The heat." Mulder was staring at him. Krycek stared back. If this was 
Mulder's usual morning-after routine, he could see why Mulder didn't get too 
many dates.
Krycek got out of bed and started to get dressed. Mulder watched him, no doubt 
morbidly curious to see how he managed with the fake arm, and said, "I need a 
tissue sample from the scene. One that hasn't been tested yet. Think you can get 
me one?"
Krycek paused in putting on his shirt, then continued neutrally, "If I can, 
what's in it for me?"
Mulder flashed him a smile. "I knew it. You were there, weren't you? What did 
you do, pretend to be campus security? FBI?"
Krycek inwardly sighed. How could Mulder make these lucky guesses? "You haven't 
answered my question."
Mulder shrugged. "You want to know if the victims were hybrids. I need an 
untainted sample to tell you that."
So. They'd already interfered and given Scully fake reports. That in itself told 
Krycek practically everything he had to know. On the other hand, knowing what 
was really in that tissue sample could be useful knowledge.
"I can get you a sample," Krycek said. Mulder stood up, made a show of 
retrieving his handcuffs from the floor, and stuffed them in his pocket.
"How long will it take you?"
Krycek successfully prevented himself from laughing. "Five minutes" was not the 
answer Mulder should hear. He made a show of thinking it over, then told Mulder 
he'd meet him back here in an hour. Plenty of time to relax, get breakfast. 
*** 
Mulder was on the phone to Scully when Krycek returned with a tissue sample. How 
he'd managed it, Mulder didn't want to know. Whether it was real or not, he also 
didn't want to know. But as long as there was the possibility that it was, he 
was going to have it analyzed. Scully had found a lab on campus where her FBI 
credentials had opened some doors with few questions asked. She gave him the 
directions and hung up.
Mulder held up the glass vial, looked at the nondescript fleshy tissue, then put 
it in his jacket pocket. Krycek leaned against the door frame and asked, "How 
long will it take?"
"I don't know. We may have some answers by tomorrow. It depends on the lab."
Mulder could tell Krycek was weighing the risk of staying that long against the 
risk of not knowing what he wanted to know. For a moment, Mulder tried to come 
up with imperative reasons for Krycek not to leave, then stopped himself. Why 
did he want him to stay?
Disturbed, Mulder headed out without another word. If Krycek wanted the results, 
he'd find a way to contact him. That was Krycek's problem, not his.
Outside, the heat blasted him. He was drenched in sweat just from walking to his 
car. He got inside and jacked up the a/c. Goddamned heat wave. It's too hot to 
think. 
*** 
Krycek peered out of the window of Mulder's hotel room and watched Mulder drive 
away. Now what? Mulder hadn't told him to stay, but he hadn't told him to leave. 
The understood agreement between them, as far as Krycek was concerned, meant 
that he would stay until Mulder came back with the information he wanted. He 
glanced back at the room. He could wait here. It had been years since he'd had a 
day off to vegetate and watch television. It almost sounded appealing. 
He had just made up his mind to stay when something caught his attention in the 
parking lot below. A man in a suit got out from the passenger side of a blue, 
late-model Ford. The car drove away and he watched it make the same turn 
Mulder's car had. The man was carrying a metal briefcase, and he walked across 
the street and sat down at an outdoor cafe, watching the hotel. If he'd had the 
words 'Hit Man' tattooed on his forehead, he could not have been more obvious, 
in Krycek's professional opinion. 
The question is, which one of us is the target?
No point in taking any chances. Mulder had confiscated his gun -- such a quaint, 
Mulder thing to do -- so Krycek went back to his room to get his other one.
There goes that quiet day of watching TV. 
*** 
Mulder stayed in the lab, despite the fact that he wasn't helping. If he went 
back, Krycek would be gone, proving how empty their little foray into mutual 
insanity together had been. Or, worse yet, he wouldn't be gone, and then they'd 
probably end up having sex again, and Mulder didn't want to think about that too 
hard.
So he stayed, keeping company with Scully, who was in no-talk, all-work 
scientist mode, and Gregory, an eager-beaver grad student with bushy hair and a 
cheesy moustache, who obviously had the hots for Scully. Mulder decided that 
Scully needed him here to play third wheel, lest Gregory make some rash move 
like ask her out on a date.
Along with the doctored reports, they had received IDs on the victims. Mulder 
read through the identification documents and background information the 
university and local police sent over, although he knew he wasn't likely to find 
any patterns. When he was finished with those, he sat there, trying not to look 
too obviously useless, until he dozed off.
He jerked awake with Scully standing over him and saying, "All right, we can go 
now."
Mulder rubbed his eyes. "That's it? You're done? Already?"
Scully sighed and gave him an exasperated look. "Of course not. It'll take hours 
for the computer to analyze everything we've collected. But Gregory here--" she 
flashed a winning smile at Gregory, and Mulder thought, Scully, you little devil 
"--has volunteered to stay up all night and run the analyses for us."
Gregory blushed and smiled back at Scully, stuffing his hands in his lab coat 
pockets. "Oh, it's nothing. I would've been up all night anyway, you know. 
Studying," he quickly added.
Scully turned back to Mulder. "Besides, if I don't get dinner and some sleep, 
your life won't be worth living," she told him in a manner which left no room 
for argument.
Dinner? Mulder glanced at his watch. He couldn't believe it was late afternoon 
already. He nodded good-bye to Gregory and grabbed his jacket, following Scully 
out. They took their separate cars back to the hotel and split up so they could 
shower and relax before dinner.
When Mulder entered his hotel room, he caught a fleeting whiff of a familiar 
scent, but before he could stop and identify it, his attention was drawn to the 
far corner. Krycek stepped out of the shadows, pulling off his shirt.
No. Don't do this to me again. He couldn't be sure if his silent plea was to 
Krycek, or to his own desire. It was too late to negotiate with his body.
"Come here, Mulder," Krycek whispered, in that rough way he had that made 
Mulder's gut twist with anticipation. If Alex Krycek ever gave up murder and 
mayhem, he could have a good career in phone sex. 
*** 
Ah, Mulder. You're so Pavlovian.
The apparent effects of his invitation were gratifying, but Krycek wanted more. 
Clothes and arm discarded, he slithered onto the bed, watching Mulder follow his 
every move. He allowed himself to ogle appreciatively as, after a brief 
hesitation, Mulder stripped and revealed his beautiful, lean body, bit by 
precious bit.
"I brought supplies," he murmured as Mulder slid onto his lap and faced him, 
giving him a look so laden with carnal intent that he had to remind himself to 
breathe. Krycek ran his hand between Mulder's legs and teased his balls with the 
backs of his knuckles, pleased when Mulder shuddered in response. He leaned back 
against the headboard and reached for the lube, hoping he wouldn't spontaneously 
climax just from greasing the tight flesh of Mulder's ass, or from Mulder's 
fingers carefully wrapping his cock in the condom.
Mulder inhaled sharply and said, "You always come prepared, huh?" His voice 
sounded shaky.
Krycek flashed him a grin, slipping his fingers free and grasping one round, 
firm buttock. "Always," he murmured.
Mulder inched forward, and Krycek thrust up and was in him, and the feeling was 
too intense. Too incredible. His mind evaporated, unable to register the 
sensations. Heat and smoothness and tightness and strength. Such strength, 
holding onto him and demanding and taking. Wanting more. Wanting everything.
Everything?
Krycek gave him everything. Rammed and crashed into him, pushing deeper into the 
inferno embracing him, moving so hard his whole body jumped against the bed. 
Everything. Every ounce of desire, of longing, of lust. And, before he could 
stop it, something terrifyingly like love. He pumped harder, fucked Mulder with 
furious, angry thrusts, wanting to incinerate any vestiges of caring, of 
affection. Mulder consumed it all. Kept taking and kept demanding, clutching 
Krycek's shoulders and riding with him, making rough sounds of pleasure.
Krycek hammered into Mulder's body, watching and feeling his reactions: the 
planes of Mulder's body shifting as his muscles tensed, the grip of fiery, 
silken flesh, Mulder's moist lips parting and forming obscene non-words. Sublime 
beauty and fierce emotions coalesced in Mulder's eyes as ecstasy hit, and Krycek 
came with him, propelled into shattering light and drenching heat.
The high lasted for what seemed to be several eternities, all spinning in 
dizzying circles. When the spinning stopped, Krycek felt hot breath blown into 
his face and blinked his eyes open. Mulder was panting over him, sweat dripping 
down his skin. Krycek ran his hand down Mulder's back and over his hip. 
When Mulder could move, he slid half off of him, settling with languid 
satisfaction. Krycek sank his fingers into Mulder's hair, rubbing until it was 
an unruly mass. He drifted on the lingering buzz, effectively keeping the 
coldness of reality away until Mulder got out of bed and headed for the 
bathroom. 
Krycek sat up. "Wait--"
Fuck. 
*** 
Mulder stood in the doorway and fought to breathe. Across the tiles lay a man's 
body, bent into awkward angles, eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. There was a 
red hole in his forehead, and streams of drying blood drained away from his ears 
and mouth. Mulder stepped away from the bathroom door.
As soon as the sight of the corpse left his vision, the shock disappeared. He 
rounded on Krycek. "What the hell's this?! Who is this? What the hell have you 
done?"
Krycek looked uncomfortable, but said calmly, "He came to kill you."
But Mulder hardly heard him, the fury was exploding inside him. He grabbed 
Krycek off the bed, holding him by his throat. "You killed him. You killed him 
and left him in there and then... then we fucked in the next room, you son of a 
bitch."
Krycek just looked into his eyes, face taking on a placid, cold expression.
"You're a sick fuck," Mulder muttered, and Krycek's mouth twitched into a 
half-smile. 
"You don't know the half of it."
Mulder hit him. Once. Again. Again. Trying to destroy the creature before him, 
remove it from his life once and for all. He hit blindly, not even aware of 
where he struck or what he was doing. Then he felt an arm around him, gripping 
tightly, and a quiet voice in his ear, "Mulder, stop. Stop it. It's okay. I'll 
take care of everything."
I almost trusted you. And it wasn't just sex.
Mulder let his hands fall to his sides and blinked. Krycek's nose was bleeding, 
and there was a bruise across his lower lip, but other than that, he looked 
unharmed. Mulder was vaguely disappointed. "I hate you."
Krycek sighed. "I know. I know you do. I hate you, too. Now listen to me. Will 
you do that? Will you listen?"
Mulder nodded silently. Krycek said, "Good," and took a breath. "I saw him come 
in after you left. Whoever he was with followed you. I waited for him, he broke 
in with his gun drawn, and I shot him. Gun drawn, Mulder. He came to kill you. 
You know I'm telling you the truth."
Mulder didn't say a word. His mind was accepting what Krycek was telling him, 
but his body was starting to feel numb. Krycek continued, "I'll take care of 
everything, but you have to listen to me."
Krycek reached for Mulder's clothes. "You're going to go to Scully's room and 
take her out to dinner. You're going to be gone for three hours. When you come 
back, you're going to stop at the front desk, tell them the air conditioner in 
your room isn't working, and ask to be moved. When you come back here, your bags 
will be packed and ready, and the a/c will be busted."
Krycek handed him his underwear and trousers. "I'll be gone. He'll be gone. 
There'll be no sign. But I need three hours."
Mulder looked down at the clothes in his hand. This was too unnerving. Krycek 
had killed a man in his bathroom and was now speaking to him as if he were a 
lost child. Krycek had... He looked up.
"Does death always make you horny?"
Krycek lifted his eyebrows. "No. You do."
Mulder didn't buy that answer at all. Too convenient a response. Horniness was 
one thing, but fucking in a room next to a dead man... This was one for the 
textbooks. Except that, try as he might to put a clinical distance on it and 
label Krycek some practitioner of aberrant sexual behavior, the analysis fell 
short. Sex with Krycek was about life, not death. Hot, earthy, explosive life. 
It was something he'd let his mind puzzle over later. Right now he had to get 
out of this room.
He started to step into his undershorts when Krycek caught his wrist. "You have 
to wash up."
Mulder stared at him. "No way I'm going back in there."
"Mulder. You can't show up on Scully's doorstep smelling like sex, okay?"
Oh christ. How could I let this happen? He needed to call the police, have 
Krycek arrested and sent to DC, do everything to make sure this never happened. 
They never slept together. Never.
Except they had.
Mulder clenched his jaw and set his clothes on the bed. Krycek walked past him. 
"Okay. Stay there." He heard water running, and Krycek returned with a wet 
washcloth. He shivered as Krycek started to mop it over his stomach, working 
down, then Mulder grabbed the washcloth. 
"I can do that myself. Go get a towel." When Krycek returned, Mulder dried 
himself and dressed. He looked rumpled, but not like he'd been fucking an 
assassin. He hoped.
He avoided glancing at the bathroom as he walked out, hearing Krycek say behind 
him, "Three hours." 
*** 
He could have done it in two hours, if he'd still had his left arm. It was times 
like these...
The plaster around the tiles was a little dark, but it looked like normal 
wear-and-tear. The body was bundled in a laundry cart Krycek had heisted from 
the service elevator, Mulder's bags were packed, the air conditioner's wiring 
had been frayed, and everything was ready to go.
He stood and looked at the room. They'd fucked here. Touched each other, and 
kissed, and it had been better than Krycek's dreams. But like his dreams, it had 
ended on a disturbing note.
Next time, I stick with hookers. 
*** 
Mulder couldn't touch his dinner. At his insistence, they had dined away from 
the hotel, in a small, funky cafe down the street. Pretending everything was all 
right, that Krycek wasn't in his hotel room trying to get rid of a dead body, 
that Krycek hadn't given him that tissue sample, that Krycek hadn't held him and 
made love to him...
Mulder took another drink of ice water and tried to keep his thoughts from 
straying into that particular topic. Scully was watching him, looking concerned. 
Just being here and not saying anything was lying to her. Lying to Scully, and 
for what?
He sat up and pushed his dinner plate to one side, leaning forward. "Listen, 
Scully--"
He stopped. What had Krycek said? Someone had followed him when he left the 
hotel. Mulder pulled out his cell phone.
"Mulder? What is it?"
"Number of the lab. Quick."
Scully frowned, but was already picking up her purse. "I don't know it." She 
left some money for the bill and they hurried from the cafe together, Mulder 
already certain of what they'd find. Gregory missing, or dead. No samples, no 
results. No answers.
All because of him. 
*** 
The same annoying woman from the university president's office was standing in 
the middle of the hallway with two policemen as Mulder and Scully approached the 
lab. "Why are you here?" she said, obviously unhappy to see them.
Scully showed her badge to the policemen and faced the woman. "What happened?"
The woman started to protest that it was none of the FBI's business, when one of 
the policemen said, "The lab assistant here, Gregory James, jumped off the 
Forbes Avenue bridge onto the train tracks, about an hour ago. We're looking for 
anyone who might have seen him last, anyone who might know him. Was he involved 
in your investigation?"
Scully and Mulder exchanged looks. "May we go inside the lab?" Mulder asked.
The policeman shrugged. "Sure. There's nothing there, though. We already 
checked."
They walked past the annoying woman and the policemen and entered the lab. 
Everything was spotless. No sign of the work they'd done earlier. No vial of 
leftover tissue sample, either. 
Damn it. Mulder took one last look around and stormed out. He could hear 
Scully's heels clacking against the tiled floor as she hurried after him. The 
door at the other end opened, and a scrawny young man in baggy jeans came in, 
carrying a large pile of oversized printouts. Mulder slowed as the kid walked 
past and paused near the lab door.
"Hey," the kid said. "Is something wrong? Where's Gregory?"
Before the cops could overhear, Mulder turned the kid to face him. "You know 
Gregory?"
"Yeah. He asked me to run this stuff on the mainframe. Said it was really 
important." He held up the printouts.
Scully looked down at the paper. "May I?" The kid handed the printouts to her. 
She scanned through the topmost sheets, then glanced up at Mulder, nodding.
Mulder produced his ID badge for the kid. "Gregory's dead. We have to take these 
printouts for our investigation." He nodded at the cops down the hallway. "You 
should talk with them."
By this point, the annoying woman had noticed them. She was pointing and saying 
something to the policemen, who started walking in their direction. Mulder 
grabbed the printouts from Scully and they rushed toward the door. 
"Hey," one of the cops yelled. "You can't take that. That's evidence."
"Contact the FBI in Washington," Mulder called back. "We'll have this in safe 
keeping." 
*** 
Mulder looked up from the report Scully had handed him earlier, took off his 
glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He sat back in his chair and looked around his 
office, now mostly hidden in shadows. Reduced to numbers, chemical symbols, and 
trace compounds, the Carnegie-Mellon victims gave little information. All Scully 
could say for certain was that there were elements present currently unknown to 
science. 
It was enough for Mulder. They had been hybrids, he was sure of it. But there 
was no proof. No evidence left, so it devolved to speculation, and what Krycek 
had told him.
Krycek.
Thinking about him was like touching a bruise that was healing too slowly. 
Everything that had happened in Pittsburgh now seemed like some fever dream, an 
illusion caused by the heat. In some ways, Mulder wished that was all it was. 
In other ways, when his skin remembered the feel of Krycek's body, and he could 
see in his mind's eye how Krycek looked at him, and hear those whispered words, 
You're beautiful, Mulder wished the dream had never ended. 
  
April 1998-July 1999 
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