Title: Becoming Judas
Author: darkstar (clone347@aol.com)
Rating: pg-13
Classification: see part one
Disclaimer: see part one
Summary: see part one

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becoming judas 10/12
darkstar
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She scrubbed a fresh handful of soap into her hands, the lather turning a pinkish red as it mingled with blood then rinsed away into the sink. The delivery had not been quick, or easy, but after sixteen hours of exhausting worry, both mother and daughters- she had been right about the twins- were on doing fine. "How did it go?"

Skinner looked up from the rifle he was cleaning long enough to ask the question. She looked tired, but happy so it must have went okay. Well, okay for child birth. That was one thing he was keenly glad that she had *not* needed his help on.

"Fine," she said, drying her hands on a towel and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "At least as fine as fine can be with limited medical resources and a shaman covered in white paint and feathers dancing around us the whole time."

He had to restrain his smile on that one. She must have meant the witch doctor. The wiry little Indian had been resentful of Scully when she first arrived on the scene, but now he had accepted her presence to the point of being helpful. How much benefit his herbs and potions actually were remained to be seen. Still, it was harmless and it kept the natives happy.

"What was it?"

"Girl," Scully looked over her hands carefully to make sure all traces of blood were gone before reaching into the refrigerator for a head of lettuce and some other vegetables. Even before colonization, electricity had been rare in the place they lived, but the house came with a fully self-sufficient generator that was more than adequate. "Actually two girls."

She began to slice the vegetables into paper thin strips to make a salad. Cooking had never ranked too high on her list of things she excelled in. It had always been a little too....domestic....for her tastes. But it wasn't like she had a choice. Skinner got lost trying to boil water, and generally avoided the kitchen like a plague. That left her to take the food supplies he brought home and turn them into something edible.

She had to admit, it wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be, and after a few primary mishaps she was starting to really get the hang of it. She still stuck to easy things like salads and sandwiches and pastas, but occasionally Scully could get up enough courage to try something a little more adventurous. She was even mastering the art of baking. Now that was something she never pictured herself doing- planning meals and baking chocolate chip cookies.

Or if she was going to be totally honest, she had thought about it on the rare occasion, but it always went along with thoughts of marriage to a certain man who hated his first name.

A man she had killed, just as surely as if she had pulled the trigger herself.....

After a moment of silent reflection, Scully cleared her throat and asked Skinner a familiar question, one that had kept her up yet another night.

"How did he die?" she asked, looking up while she continued to dice a cucumber.

Skinner sighed, not looking up from his gun. He had at least two that she saw- the rifle and his government issue handgun- and probably a great many more hidden from view. It must be a hangover from his military days, she decided, but he cleaned them with the same religious concentration she used to see in herself. Or at least the person she thought she was.

"I thought I told you."

"I want to hear again."

He dropped the cleaning rag and met her eyes. The story was a lie he had told so many times it felt like the truth. Every little detail was perfect. "Agent Mulder traded his life for your release."

"Why kill him? He had information they wanted." The conversation was very predictable. She would ask the questions and answer by answer he would debunk her hope back down to reality.

"They must have gotten it from someone else, or decided he wasn't going to break. You heard the gunshot."

"I know," Scully scraped the cucumber from a plate into a glass bowl and started work on some carrots. "But how do we know it was him?"

Now for the hard part. It was inevitable in these conversations, the time when he had to firmly dash the hopes he could tell she was hiding from him. He hated doing this, hated what it was doing to her, but there was no other way. If she even got a whisper that he was still alive, she'd be on her way to find him and nothing short of a small army could stop her.

"Trust me, Scully. He's not alive. He's not coming back. That's just something we live with."

The way she ducked her head instantly told him he had hit a nerve, and her voice wasn't quite as strong when she answered him. "And how do we do that.....sir?"

Skinner swallowed and picked up the rag again, his interest suddenly returning in his gun. It was the one question he had no answer to. Neither did she, he knew, and that was why he hoped Mulder got his letter.

Before she decided living with it was one thing she could not do.

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

"Commander Krycek, Commander Mulder, step forward."

Mulder moved in mechanical obedience to his superior. Today was supposed to be a red-letter occasion for him. The higher-ups had been so pleased with the cache of information stolen from the Lone Gunmen that they decided to bestow commendations on both him and Krycek. In the Enforcer regime, pats on the back were few and far between, which was all the more logic behind his happiness.

Except that he wasn't logical and he wasn't happy. Krycek, on the other hand, had turned his charm and his smile up to their highest wattage. The effect was blinding, and earned him the lion's share of the credit. To be absolutely fair, he had tried valiantly to give some of it to him, but Mulder hadn't wanted it and bounced it right back. If Krycek got a kick out of this, let him get the glory.

Mulder would settle for clean hands.

It was strange, the way blood and skin refused to part company once they had been joined. No matter how many times he washed his hands, scrubbing them until the skin was pink and raw, the blood from the murders he committed never came off. It was constantly before him, and he didn't understand why no one else could see it.

"On behalf of the World Coalition, we recognize your supreme effort for the good of the people and the State, in retrieving large amounts of data that can be used to strike a decisive blow against the forces of the resistance."

The officer beamed down on the two of them. Krycek stiffened to attention. Mulder tried to ignore the way his black uniform was making him itch and sweat around the collar. "In rewards of your efforts, we would like to award you with these commendations for your efficiency, as well as two week's paid leave."

Now it was Mulder's turn to stiffen with surprise as the statement struck home. In two weeks he could be a long way away. Heading south, and west, toward Scully. What was he thinking??? They'd follow him straight to her and then his nightmares would come true.

<Unless....> The wheels of his mind kicked into gear, spinning slowly and then faster as treason became hope. He didn't even hear the rest of the speech until Krycek's cough pulled him back to reality. Snapping out of his trance, he saw the officer standing in front of him, hand held out expectantly. He shook his hand, accepting his commendation with a stoic nod. As the man walked off, Mulder noticed that there was a smear of blood where his hand had been. When he blinked nothing was there.

Maybe the vacation was a good idea after all. Before the delusions caught up with him for good.

"Hey, man, what are you doing?"

Mulder looked up from the charred remains of his commendation to see Krycek standing behind him. "Playing with fire." he said. "I had some trash to burn."

"That 'trash' got us a two week leave with pay. You won't find me complaining."

"I wouldn't find you complaining if they ordered you to shoot your own grandmother."

"Ouch," Krycek opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. "You should be nicer to me, Mulder. I can make a worthy friend."

"Yeah well I haven't shot you in your sleep yet, so consider yourself an acquaintance." He poured a cup of water over the pile of ashes, watching the smoke curl into the air.

"I'm being serious. At least tell me where we're going on vacation so I can know what to pack."

He stopped short and turned around. "My hearing must be screwing up. I could have sworn you said 'we'."

"Oh no, I said it all right. W-e."

Mulder sighed. "What makes you think you're coming ?"

Krycek took a sip of his beer. "Because they don't kill deserters with nice, neat shots to the head. Believe you me, the penalty will make whatever they did to you back in Arizona look like a kiss on the cheek."

"You think I'm deserting."

"Actually you haven't gotten that far yet. You're considering it, but you haven't made the official decision."

He snorted. "You're pulling rabbits out of a hat. I'm not listening to this gibberish and I'm not taking you with me on leave." He started to walk toward his closet. "So find yourself a broad and be happy."

"But isn't that what you're going to do?" When Mulder turned back around, Krycek knew he had won a small victory, or at least a foot in the door. "I wouldn't go so far as to call her a broad- Scully's more of the ladylike type." he continued.

"If you ever say her name again," his voice dropped to the low pitch he usually reserved for Pavlov, "I will kill you."

"I know you want to find her, Mulder," He walked across the room until he was standing beside him. "And I know how you feel, but it's not worth it. Once we get out there I'll have to figure out some other way to stop you, but either I go with you or I make a phone call to Pavlov."

"Or we could open up a third option and I shoot you now,"

He took another swig of beer. "You could," he agreed. "But they're watching you. You're still considered high-flight probability. So I figure you have a choice of baby-sitters. Me or a Enforcer shadow unit."

"I'm not running away."

"Try telling that to them when they have a gun shoved in places where the sun don't shine." Krycek smiled at Mulder. "Face it. I'm coming."

He didn't answer for a moment, then turned around and walked to his closet. "We leave tomorrow morning. Five AM."

"For where?"

"Texas."

The look on Krycek's face said it all. "Haven't you had enough of the wild west? I was thinking more along the lines of Old Vegas. Gambling...vodka....blondes"

"Bring your cowboy boots." He said, throwing his suitcase on the couch.

"Cowgirls...." Krycek brightened at the thought and then headed into him room to pack, reminding himself to call the red-head and reschedule her "appointment".

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

"We have a situation."

Pavlov looked up with more than mild annoyance at the intruder. "You come unannounced, my friend. There are more proper ways of doing business."

"This can't wait. It concerns Mulder."

With a sigh of resignation, he stepped back to his desk, waving to someone in the shadows. "You can go, for the moment."

The Smoking Man was surprised to see a girl around the age of nineteen, her face streaked and stained with tears, hurriedly flee from the room. "My, my, my." He said, shrouding his smirk in a cloud of whitish gray smoke. "I didn't think your kind indulged in such decidedly *human* pleasures."

"I have no interest in the things you creatures define as pleasure." Pavlov smoothed his hair back into place and took a seat behind his desk. "My only attraction is her mind. How do you humans say it- a mind is a terrible thing to waste." He smiled in self-content. "What news do you bring of our mutual friend?"

"One of yours has given him two weeks leave."

"Yes, I know. Did you interrupt me for something as trivial as that ?"

"I think it is unwise to allow him so much freedom at this point in time. He has just killed three men he once called friend. He will be depressed. Depression leads to introspection, which, my friend, could very well lead to treason."

"Mulder has been beaten. I have profiled him extensively. He poses no danger to us as long as he remains blinded by his guilt." Pavlov yawned. "If this is all you have to tell me, leave and send the girl back in on your way out."

The Smoking Man regarded the alien coolly, taking a long draw from his cigarette before speaking. "I thought much as you did once. For years I plotted the destruction of Fox Mulder, plotted in careful detail until I knew he was beaten." he walked toward the door. "I underestimated him then. I shall leave you to do the same."

"Wait-" Pavlov's voice called after him. "What are you so convinced will pull him back into what he was?"

"You forget one tiny detail. Scully is alive. As long as she is alive, he has hope." He turned in smug satisfaction, pausing before he left the room. "Do you want the girl now?"

"No. Send her back to her quarters, unless you've taken a fancy to her." Pavlov waited until the door slammed shut to pick up his communication link.

"I need a shadow team to report in my office, full ensemble, in two minutes." He said. "Complete intel updates. We're moving out."

The final pieces in this, the grandest of his chess matches, were falling into place. He had not forgotten the only human ever to beat him at his mind games. And to add insult to injury, the offending creature was *female*. Revenge had long been his desire, but she seemed to have vanished. He had assigned shadow teams to the bald man who left with her, but three days away from the camp the teams sent reports that they had were nowhere to be found.

It was only natural that Mulder would know where she was. Pavlov was surprised that the man had kept his distance this long. The whole situation was made to order. If Mulder didn't bolt, it would proved that they had beaten him. If he did, sweet irony would take over and he would lead them straight to the woman he had hidden so well. After Scully was gone, his old enemy would be crushed beyond repair, and it would be Pavlov who restructured him into a vessel more worthy of the State.

The glory would be his and his alone- he would not share it. He would handle this incident personally, without telling any of his associates or superiors, who might want to share in his credit. The High Command itself might even grant him a promotion, the recognition he deserved.

The old man was right. Hope could be very dangerous.

Or it could be very useful.

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

"Not a bad place," Krycek dropped his bag on the floor and looked around the cabin. "Except of course for the fact that I'm spending the only leave I'll get until Christmas in the middle of God's outhouse." He looked out the window, wrinkling his nose at the drab expanse of forlorn desert. "Do you have a thing for self-torture or do you actually get some kind of perverted kick out of this ?"

"I like the solitude." Mulder had packed light, bringing only a duffel bag packed more with equipment than with clothes. He'd wait a few days, gathering supplies and checking for shadow teams, then slip out. Forever.

"We certainly have overstocked on *that*." He snorted. "I think the only speck of humanity for miles is that dust bowl of a town we passed through ten miles ago. And I'm sure the nightlife is less than interesting."

"Read a book." Picking up his duffel bag, he walked into the nearest bedroom and dumped it on the bed.

"Where'd you find this place?" Krycek's voice floated out of the hallway.

"Scully and I used it as a hideout once."

"Ahhh."

"Not *that* kind of hideout." he said, hiding a smile at Krycek's insinuating tone.

"Mulder," he appeared at the door, still holding his suitcase. "You can't tell me that you never-"

"No." Mulder cut him off. "We never."

"Man," Krycek shook his head. "You don't know a good thing when she's right beside you."

The thought was sobering, attended by the demons of old memories. "You're right," he agreed. "I don't."

The same strange note of almost pity darkened Krycek's eyes, but the change was gone before Mulder was sure it was really there at all. "I'm going to hit the shower. This place does have a bathroom, doesn't it?"

"Down the hall and to the left." Mulder said.

Once he was alone, he reached down inside his shirt and pulled out the slip of paper, reading it for the thousandth time.

72.5 degrees south.
39.5 degrees west.
Scully.

He was insane. But he was going to do it.

The sun glowed like a disk of molten gold, bleeding drops of scarlet and purple along the horizon as it fell into the night. His feet made tiny scooping noises in the sand as he ran, the cool air of a desert evening drying the sweat on his face and neck. The rhythmic in and out of his lungs matched pace with the beating of his heart and the pounding of his thoughts. Mulder could almost imagine that if he ran fast enough, he could catch up with the sun's chariot of flame and ride beyond the world.

This type of running did so much more than condition his body. It salvaged pieces of his mind, dredged them up from darkness to light. He lived for those moments, if only for the scant glimpses of sanity they provided.

Part of him remained alert, refusing to totally shun reality. His gaze probed the desert in search of the slightest indication that something was amiss. Nothing looked out of place, but he wasn't blind to the camouflage skills of Enforcer teams. He had been a part of them once. But no more. As soon as the sun finished drowning in itself he would leave it all behind. Death awaited him if he failed. Death awaited him if he succeeded.

It was not a life he was living. The part of him that had made him alive died the moment he shot Samantha. The flesh and bone shell that remained was simply carrying out leftover commands. He had to make his peace with Scully and then the ritual of dying would be complete. He had even laid aside a special bullet, hollow pointed to make sure he blew his worthless brains out on the first try. And it would not be defeat for They had already won. They won every time he took another life in Their name, and this was the only way he could strike back them.

Mulder corralled his thoughts to the narrow island of Logic as he ran a mental check on his equipment listing. The past two days had passed in the slow drawl of desert time, more than long enough for him to prepare. He had everything from maps to ammunitions to a hand-held GPS finder, courtesy of his old employers.

Tonight was the night.

The desert floor ended in a cascade of rust red rock as a ribbon of water carved a gorge through the sand. He slowed to a stop, watching a sprinkle of dust and pebbles skitter over the edge from his feet. The sun was nearly gone, throwing it's last rays over the canyon like ropes of gold through the black shadows shrouding the walls. Mulder let his eyes fall as far as they could, standing as he caught his breath. It would be so easy for his body to travel where his gaze had paved the way. To fly until he fell and to fall until the rocks made him forget who he was and what he used to be.

His hand touched the cross around his neck, a loving kiss of flesh on metal. She had given it to him on a sunset not so different from this one, and the memory was bright, like a speck of gold among soot in his mind.

<Keep this for me. Wear it and know my thoughts will stay with you even when my body doesn't....>

<Ok, I'll keep it but only until we see each other again.>

<What makes you think we will ?>

<What makes you think we won't ?>

No, he would not heed the call of the desert and of his own guilt. He would find her and he would give her back her cross. He would kiss her hello and goodbye all in the same breath.

And then he would die.

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

"We have visual, sir."

Pavlov looked up from the maps he was studying to see a scout in full paint-and-brush camouflage gear step into the building. He had established a temporary headquarters in the only town around, located around ten miles from the cabin Mulder and Krycek were staying. "And?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. He went for jog, then went back. Just like he has every day."

"Keep up surveillance of the cabin in two man shifts. Don't get too close. I want a full status report every two hours."

"Yes sir." The scout saluted and then ran back to his desert.

Pavlov watched him disappear, then turned back to his maps. "What are you planning Mulder?" he mused to himself. "What are you planning..." ****************

He opened his eyes. A symphony of silence greeted him. For a moment Mulder lay in the darkness, letting his ears search for any sound or movement. Nothing. Krycek was asleep. Now was the time.

His feet hit the floor without sound, his hands at the same time feeling under the bed until they met a canvas back pack, already packed. He pulled it out, setting it on the bed and opening it for a last minute once-over.

Gun. Check. Ammo. Check. Maps. Check. Rations. Check. Coordinates. Check. One dose of complete insanity. Double Check. Well, the last item wasn't in the bag but he carried it with him nonetheless. He pulled out one of the maps and a flashlight, shining it along the thin red line that designated the Mexican border. It was about eighty miles to the south west of the cabin, easily reached in a matter of days if he hurried. Even faster if he picked up a car from somewhere. Krycek's old Jaguar sat in front of the house, but Mulder didn't want the attention it would bring.

He would cross the border at the tiny town of Soledad. It was a good site- one he had visited before on a mission right at the beginning of things. They wouldn't be expecting him there. Although he was hoping that they wouldn't be searching for him at all until he was safely over the border and on his way through South America. His flash light traced the way he was to go. It ended on a tiny red X on the west coast of Chile.

That was where she was. That was where he had to go.

A not so small puzzle began to form in the back of his mind as to how to dispose of Krycek if he woke up. Despite his good-natured complaining, the man had actually proved himself something of a worthy companion. It hadn't been Mulder's choice to bring him along, but it certainly wasn't his intent to kill him. Although he was sure Krycek wouldn't balk at shooting him to keep him from escaping. It was just that he was tired of killing.

He zipped his pack shut, tucking the map in his pocket, and sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. He moved with caution through the house, walking on the balls of his feet to minimize the creaking of timbers. Down the hallway, past the dark shadows of Krycek's bedroom, into the living room. So far so good. Past the couch, past the kitchen. Now he was at the door, a thin fingernail of moonlight visible from underneath it. Mulder took a deep breath, reaching for the handle...

"Going somewhere, Mulder?" The lights came on to reveal a very wide awake Krycek sitting on a stool in the kitchen, a gun trained with aim that was also fully alert on Mulder. "Step away from the door."

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

Mulder sighed heavily as he did so, the sound meant to portray disappointment and cloak his real actions. His hand slid toward the silenced 9 mm hidden underneath his jacket.

"Why don't we just leave that there," Krycek said. "Hands on your head. Shed the pack and take a seat."

He put his hands behind his head, but made no other move. "You're making a mistake, Krycek," he told him. "I don't want to kill you just when I found out you could cook." The man laughed. "You should thank me. I'm saving your life."

"You got a funny way of doing it,"

Krycek rose to his feet, gun hand unwavering. "How far do you think you'll get before they're on you like hounds on a rabbit ?"

"Far enough." Mulder said.

"C'mere." He motioned Mulder over to the side of a window. Some people never learned. Here he was trying to do his good deed for the century and the man he was wanting to help was giving him nothing but garbage. "Look past the car out at the clump of brush."

"I see a clump of brush." His tone was impatient- he had no idea why Krycek wanted to play these games.

"You're right- one that *wasn't* there three hours ago."

The implications of the sentence promptly left Mulder speechless. He leaned against the wall by the window, hands in his pockets. His gaze met Krycek's in cold accusation.

"You set me up."

"No," Krycek's reply was simple. "They moved in the evening after we did, but I had nothing to do with it."

"And you didn't bother telling me,"

"You didn't need to know then."

Mulder looked away in a mix of disgust and annoyance. When Krycek spoke again, there was an edge to his voice as well. "Hey, listen Mulder, I could have let you walk out there and get your butt blown off."

"Instead you're going to blow it off yourself? Get yourself another commendation and two weeks more leave that you can blow on some cheap whore? I'll have to hand it to you, Krycek, you've got the makings of a real company man."

"You think I enjoy this?!? That this is what I wanted my life to come to? I didn't want to sign up with these monsters."

"That's crap and you know it. You've always been on their side from the day you walked into my office. I trusted you once, and I won't make that mistake again."

"That was a different time and a whole lot different world. The men I worked for tried to stop this from happening! Sure they weren't boy scouts about it, but they fought. And I said *worked* for, Mulder! I never swore my allegiance to them, or to the aliens."

"Then why do you continue to work for this government? Why don't you fight?"

Krycek's eyes were burning now, twin pools of black oils that snapped and crackled with his anger, as he took a step closer to Mulder. "You want to see why I work for them Mulder??? You want to see it?!?" He turned around, pulling his shirt and his t-shirt over his head. Highlighted by the moon, the skin on his back was criss-crossed with a web of scar tissue, enough that his real skin was barely visible.

Mulder couldn't quite find words as he felt his anger disintegrate into shock. That type of scars were very familiar- he bore them on his back as well, but Krycek was marked with even more than he himself had.

"You've got them too, don't you Mulder? From the camps? From the interrogation rooms?"

"What...happened?"

Krycek turned back around, his voice hardening with bitter memories as he began to speak. "Everything I did before Colonization was for me, to ensure my well-being. It was my goal, and I sacrificed my life and literally my limb-" he glanced down at his prothestetic arm. "to the god of survival. The ultimate ideology, or so they said.

"After the invasions began, I began to break into containment facilities, searching for the ultimate pawn- the vaccine we both know exists. In one of those places, I found Marita."

"Marita Covarrubias?"

"Yes." he nodded, his voice momentarily softening. "You didn't think I could feel, did you Mulder? That I could care for anyone else but yours truly?" He laughed but this time it was sharp and hard like his face. "She was my pupil, my protege. I taught her how to survive the game we both played and she did it so well. But she made a mistake. She wanted out and she betrayed me and the Consortium in a gamble for her freedom. She lost." He shook his head.

"Do you know what they did to her ? The experiments they performed on Scully were nothing compared to the hell she existed in. I found her and I took her with me. Why? I loved her, Mulder. Me! Alex Krycek! Loved another human being! We were going to find the vaccine and trade it to both the aliens and resistance in the greatest double cross of all time. It would make us free forever."

"What stopped you?"

"A squad of Enforcers at midnight. They took us to the camps. I tried to bargain with them to leave her alone..." The razor edge to his voice and face faded into sadness as he continued. "But they didn't. They did things to her you wouldn't ever want to imagine, and I'm not just talking about the routine interrogations. I killed a guard for trying to hurt her, and they sent me straight into solitary, into this little four foot cell and threw away the key."

Mulder fought back a shudder at the memory of his own time in solitary. He knew what Krycek was talking about, better than the man expected.

"They wanted me to work for them. When they finally pulled me out of solitary, the torture began. They used all their favorite "persuasions" on me for eight days straight, without so much as a pause. In the end my old survival ideologies won out. I signed over. Just like you did," There was a heavy pause. "I shot her Mulder. I shot Marita. Because they told me to. And it might surprise you to know that I'm just human enough to hate myself for it."

The truth was much harder than the misconception he had been clinging to. Mulder could still hate Krycek, but not as readily as he once had. Not when they shared so many of the same demons. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to hate him anymore.

Krycek's voice had fallen down to a thin whisper When he spoke again. "Who did they make you shoot Mulder? What took away your will to fight back?"

His shoulders sagged and he sank to the floor as he answered, almost unable to speak around the guilt he felt. "My sister. I killed Samantha." His own words screamed back at him, hitting him like fists to the face.

They shared in the silence until Mulder looked up to see Krycek extend his hand to him. "Get up." He said, pulling Mulder to his feet. "Get up and get out."

"But the shadow team...."

"Use this." He handed him something that looked like a compact cell phone. "It's a satellite feed disrupter. It will mess with their communications systems, as well as the searcher satellites they'll try and hunt you down with it."

Mulder flipped the device open to see a keyboard and a screen with red and green alternation lights. "I'll take a wild guess and bet that this isn't something you just happened to have in your pocket."

"No, um, I checked it out of Requisitions before we left." His rakish smile returned, dancing a tango with the night. "I told you I knew you were escaping."

"Come with me." Mulder took a risk and made the offer.

"Nah," Krycek said. "I'm a survivalist, remember? Besides, someone has to stay behind and cover your butt. The disrupt's only good for twenty four hours at a time. Any longer and it has to be recharged."

"How do I turn it on?"

"The red switch in the corner. I'd suggest trying it now, that way the sand man will be distracted by the time you get outside."

"Why are you doing this?" He had to ask, had to know why the man who was so much of an enemy turned friend in the last moment.

"We all have to fight back somehow. I don't have a taste for heroic causes and dying in battle. I'd love to see Pavlov's face when he finds out you're gone. And also...I need to avenge her some way."

"We all do." The rest didn't need to be spoken. Both of them knew without saying the need that came underneath the Enforcer steel. A need to gain revenge for those you were made to destroy, for the pieces of your soul ripped away by your own hands.

Mulder picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, punching the red button on the disrupter before securing it in his pocket. A moment passed, and then a glance out the window showed the "bushes" moving, two forms just visible in between sand and sky, heading in the direction of town. "Thanks." he said, finding the moment suddenly awkward, and wishing he was out in the desert taking his chances with the Enforcers. "Don't mention it. But are you going to stand here all night or are you going to find her?"

In response, he drew his gun and then held out his hand. "Take care of yourself." he said.

Another smile accompanied Krycek's handshake. "Hey, don't sweat it. That's what I do."

Mulder released his hand, taking a handful of heartbeats to collect his thoughts before walking towards the door. <This is it....there's no time to turn back or change your mind....this is insane.> He smiled to himself. It was good to know some things hadn't changed about him. Here he was, taking yet another impossible risk against impossible odds that would probably wind up with his butt in a sling.

The only difference was, Scully wasn't there to catch him if he fell. That last sobering thought stayed with him as he stepped outside.

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

Morning came amid a thousand aches and pains from joints he hadn't even expected to work anymore, much less register pain. Krycek peeled one eyes open, squinting as an assault of bright yellow-white hit his senses. Morning, definitely, and a long time past sunrise.

He had overslept.

In the middle of the floor no less.

A screech of brakes sent his internal alarms blaring, and he was on his feet before he could blink, gun in hand as he crouched in front of the window. The black uniforms of Enforcers swarmed toward the cabin like spiders on the march. So much for his good intentions of keeping watch on Mulder's behalf. How far did the man think he would actually get? He had often wondered exactly what made Mulder risk everything on a slim chance at what might be nothing. Krycek remembered he used to hate him for that very thing, among other reasons, but now he admired him.

And wished him good luck, because he would need it.

Backing away from the window, Krycek straightened to his feet and noticed a piece of folded paper lying on the table. A closer look revealed it to be one of Mulder's maps, his intended destinations marked in nice neat red marker.

The Enforcers were at the door.

<Oh God...if they find this they'll be able to beat him to Scully.> Visions of Mulder walking into his safe haven and being greeted by her body filled the picture screens of his mind and it wasn't pleasant. The crash of splintering wood and jamming cartridges returned animation to his body. Krycek bolted for the pot-bellied stove, ignoring the sear of hot metal on flesh as he pulled the door open barehanded and stuffed the map inside.

"Step away from the stove!" Strong voices preceded strong hands as members of the team shoved him away from the stove, keeping him back at gunpoint as one of the soldiers pulled the map out of the fire and doused it with water from his canteen.

Krycek peered around the bulk of the man guarding him to see with some relief that the bottom half of the map was seared beyond recognition. The tiny red X that marked Scully's location had fallen prey to the fire. Another smudge of water logged red caught his attention, a mark on the border between the United States and Mexico, but he hoped that it would blend in with the soot and not attract attention.

"Building a bonfire, Mr. Krycek?" The muscles in the back of his shoulders tightened at the voice calling his name. Even with the hissing quality, he could tell Pavlov anywhere. The alien was the first person to ever call him "Mr." and walk away from it alive. And that was only because Krycek just hadn't had the opportunity to kill him yet.

"He was trying to dispose of this document, sir." A fresh faced guard whose Uzi looked older than he did spread the remains of the map on the table. "It looks like a map."

"Why don't we give our friend a seat?" Pavlov gestured to his minions, and they unceremoniously hauled Krycek off the ground and into a chair. "I'm sure he's going to tell us all about the whereabouts of Agent Mulder and a certain satellite disrupter. Both have gone missing."

"Gee, did you check your other pocket?" Krycek asked him. The baby faced soldier landed a blow hot with indignation across his face.

"You will address your superior with the respect due his office!" he demanded.

Krycek turned and met the boy in the calm stare he had used so many times before, on the Smoking Man and others. It had penetrated their jaded exteriors, so it was no surprise when the soldier began to shift his weight from side to side uncomfortably. "The next time you hit a Commander, boy, I suggest you decide how you want to die in advance. I am your superior and you will treat me with the respect of my position."

"Yes, sir." The soldier gulped, tacking a salute onto the end of his words. "Of course. . .sir."

"Enough." Pavlov's voice commanded both of their attentions. "There are more important matters at hand. He focused on Krycek, his face eerily unexpressive as he spoke. "When did he leave?"

"I wouldn't know. I woke up this morning to find me, myself, and I but no one else." He remembered an old proverb from his Consortium days. <A lie is most easily swallowed when sandwiched between two truths.> That was truth number one.

"Did he do or say anything that would make you think he was planning a desertion?"

"No. Last night he said he might take a day and head up north to check out an old friend of his." That was the lie.

"And what about the satellite disrupt my men experienced last night? The one that is still troubling us?" Pavlov's tone made it clear that whoever had caused the problem would indeed pay.

"That was Mulder. He suspected you guys were shadowing him, and thought that it might throw you off the trail." That was truth number two. Now all he had to do was throw in a little bit of imaginative thinking and presto! One lie, ready to swallow. "Now that I think about it, he did seem rather disturbed before he left. Preoccupied you could say. Kept muttering her name over and over."

"By her you mean the woman." From the look on his face, Pavlov wasn't hungry even for the most appetizing of lies. The early chills of dread began to wrap themselves around Krycek's stomach when he thought of the last time he and the creature had played question and answer.

The scars on his back ached with the memories.

"Scully, yeah, that's her name."

Pavlov paced the floor, his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration as he walked toward the stove. Borrowing a glove from one of his men, he shoved a pair of iron tongs into the heart of the fire. For a moment he held them inside, then withdrew them, the tips red hot. A demon smile whisked around his face, moving from his eyes to his cheeks to his mouth and then back again, as he held the tongs in front of Krycek's face.

"You never fail to spin an entertaining story when the mood strikes you. But I see through your lies and your greater lies. Tell me where Mulder went."

"I don't know." A truth fell from increasingly desperate lips as the tongs edged closer and closer to him. At a nod from Pavlov, two of the soldiers pinned him to the seat while a third pulled the glove off his good hand.

"It must be strange, only having the sense of touch in one hand," Pavlov said. "But then I would think it would make you appreciate it all the more. And that you would want to preserve that sense from things like, oh say, burning, which would deaden and harden the nerves." He lowered the tongs until the glowing tips rested mere inches above the skin of his hand, his voice a mere whisper as he spoke. "Where is Mulder?"

"I told you- I don't know! You've got to believe me---" Krycek sealed his words off to contain the surge of pain that burned through him as the tongs sank into his palm, eating hungrily at the flesh. He wasn't doing this for Mulder. He was doing it for Marita, for the one thing in his life that had been truly his.

Until Pavlov had taken it, taken her.

He chose a new course of action, letting his pain out in a roar and a rush of adrenaline, pushing aside the guards and landing on Pavlov. Before the alien could move, Krycek grabbed the tongs and pressed the heated end into the creature's face. A scream different from humans though it was in human voice pierced the air, and for one moment the façade of skin wavered to reveal the true face of the monster.

He was still filled with the drug of anger and didn't realize he was no longer on top of Pavlov until he crashed into the table, surprised at the casual strength of the throw. Pavlov had fully regained his human costume, pushing away the hands that tried to offer help. One side of his face was now horribly disfigured in a ragged red burn, but the alien barely noticed the pain. He took a step forward, and the cold menace in his stride told Krycek that he had just done something incredibly rash. <You envied Mulder for this???>

Something squished under Pavlov's foot, and he looked down to see the map lying in a dirty puddle on the floor. Not taking his eyes off Krycek, he stooped and picked it up, holding it close for examination. Something in his eyes changed and turned to victory.

"You may count yourself fortunate, Mr. Krycek, that you were able to be of service to us after all." He tossed the map to one of his men. "Match that map with another. The red x on the border tells us where he's going."

Krycek watched, something that tasted cold like the early stages of fear clinging to his every breath as the soldier spread a new map over the counter, comparing it to the old one. "Soledad, Mexico." He said. "Eighty miles from here. He's got a days head start but we can beat him there easily. It would help to know which route he was taking, but with the satellite disrupt still on, it could be hours before we can determine that."

Pavlov smiled back at the man in patronization. "You humans are so weak, so dependent on your technologies. My people have advanced to other ways of tracking down those who would escape our justice." He turned his smile to Krycek, and his eyes became even more black, intensifying the air of utter "un-humanness" about him. "Surely you are going to see us off."

"I'm comfortable right here, thank you so very much. Just do me a favor and open the door before you go out this time."

"Your career as a Commander is over. If you are lucky I will spare you your life, now !stand to your feet!."

Biting his lip at the pin pricks and stabs of pain shooting through him, Krycek rose to his feet. He remained silent as he walked beside Pavlov until they reached the doorway. There he chose to lean against the frame, kicking at fragments of wood while the rest of the soldiers filed past. Pavlov was last, staring him straight in the eye with a warning.

"Once I have Mulder, and the High Command knows what I and I alone have accomplished, you will be nothing more significant than a pitiful little worm to be squashed under my thumb. I do not have the time to properly enjoy your death, so consider this a stay of execution." He stepped off the porch and into the sun.

The true meaning of his words sunk into Krycek Slowly, and then gave birth to a smile he had to work at concealing. <The deluded freak thinks he can take Mulder in alone. He's making a bid for power- no one besides him and his team know the truth. I'm fine if Mulder beats them...> The smile drained as he counted the members of the shadow team. Seven soldiers, if he counted the team leader. Eight total if Palov was included. Against one man With those odds, maybe he should head for the border too. If it was any other human besides Fox Mulder, he would have.

But Krycek knew that the man was good at what he did, with years of both resistance and Enforcer training to back him up. Even the experience was dwarfed by the intense drive he saw in Mulder. The same kind of fire that had gotten him out of a Russian prison camp so very long ago, and had kept him alive this long when the world's most powerful men were trying to kill him. <What's changed about that?> he thought to himself, a wry tint to his words.

"How are you going to find him?" he said, throwing the words out as a challenge to Pavlov. "Call the mothership?"

"As I said before, Mr. Krycek, our race is gifted far beyond the limits of your kind."

A soldier's gasp and a sickening sound of something Peeling away accompanied his words as the man shell fell away to reveal an undisguised alien. The creature was lithe and muscular, with huge black eyes that darted back and forth like lizards. A flick of his wrist revealed wicked black claws that shredded the sunlight into thin ribbons.

Out of the corner of his eye, Krycek saw the young faced soldier race to the nearest bush, his breakfast and probably dinner from last night making an impromptu appearance on the lawn. It was all he could do not to gag himself, to look away at the pure evil and primal cunning that radiated from the beast.

The other soldiers were holding their ground admirably, hands gripping and re-gripping their guns uneasily as the alien Pavlov leaned back on his haunches, head lifted to the sky as he sniffed the air. The creature almost seemed to fall into a trance as it wandered around the yard, stopping when it seemed to pick up something from the west. It shook its head, sniffing the air again, and then before Krycek could blink regained it's human form.

The ever-smiling Pavlov turned to his men and waved toward the cars. "He went in a south western direction, heading in a straight line from here for about thirty miles. There the trail hits a river, but we can assume he's going to Soledad. We'll come in from the opposite direction and lay an ambush scenario. Any questions?"

No one so much as breathed. They were all too busy trying to hold their jaws off the ground, and to remain on the right side of sanity after what they had seen only seconds before. Finally they recovered life enough to pile silently into the cars. Pavlov met Krycek's eyes one last time, and though his "new" face lacked the scar tissue, the memory remained in the eyes. They were his true eyes, only smaller and more compacted to fit the smaller head. The same evil and cunning swam inside their murky depths.

<We'll be back. . .> his voice hissed the final ultimatum even though he did not speak, breathing his thoughts as it were into Krycek's mind as he and his henchman drove off in a cloud of dust.

"And he'll be ready for you." Krycek answered aloud, feeling the need to speak if only to reassure himself that this was reality and not an episode of the Twilight Zone.

As cocky as the alien was, there was one thing that would drain the smile off his face. Krycek had seen the stiletto tucked away in a pocket of Mulder's pack. He also knew something Pavlov didn't. He was positive the creature didn't know because he had removed it from Mulder's history file himself.

Mulder hadn't just led the resistance. He had taken an active part in the fighting. And his area of expertise had been summed up in one word.

Assassin.

The title had been granted him freely after only one event. The very messy, very public scandal in which three of the members of the High Command had been reduced to green stains on the plush carpet of the White House they were visiting.

No, Pavlov didn't know what he was walking into. But then again, neither did Mulder, which made it even. Krycek shook his head as he remembered the creature underneath Pavlov's human skin. The black, glistening claws, the silver fangs, the coiled muscles. The unearthly mix of cunning and intelligence.

On second thought, it wasn't even at all.

And he was afraid Mulder was on the losing side.

to be continued... part 11