Author's Notes: Let me begin by sending out a huge public thank you to the three brave ladies who worked with me to make this sequel a reality-- Suzanna, Do, and Lixy. I've told them before how incredible they are, but I want everyone else to know it as well. I didn't originally plan a sequel, but I had several requests and felt a general lack of resolution in Becoming Judas, so I began to consider the idea, and before long, I was hooked. This will most likely be my last long work of X-files fan fiction. It saddens me to say that, but the demands of my senior year of school and of college preparations are filling more and more of my time. I hope to continue writing short fiction and poetry, but this is my last novel. I hope that it will be a viable contribution to the post-colonization genre, a field of fan fiction that I have come to respect and love. There is one point about Resurrection that I want to bring up in advance. I wrote the original novel, Becoming Judas, the summer before season seven. Samantha was still alive and Mulder's abduction Scully's pregnancy, and Krycek's untimely demise had not yet occurred. The sequel is set in the same universe. I hope that will clear up any confusion over the many references to Samantha and the fact that Scully is still childless. I will be posting this on a schedule of three chapters per day, and four chapters the last two days.

Dedication: To all the writers of post-colonization fan fic who have inspired me over and over again, particularly Darkstryder and Rocketman for their incredible Emissary stories. And to my fellow philes on the Poetry and XF list-- you guys keep me going.

Summary: He sold his soul. Now he wants it back. Disgusted with the life he is living and the man he has become, Mulder breaks from the Colonists and risks everything for one last chance at humanity with Scully. But redemption, like betrayal, has its own price.

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The Legal Stuff: Disclaimers

Any characters in this story previously affiliated with the X-files belong to Chris Carter, and I'm not trying to make any money off them, so please...no lawyers. The following songs or poems are either quoted in relation to the story or as a part of it, and are the property of their respective artists. I am merely borrowing their genius and inspiration ---

1) "One Man Army" by Our Lady Peace
2) "Inferno" by Dante Alegheri
3) "The Hollow Men" by TS Eliot
4) "Preludes" by TS Eliot
5) "You Must Love Me" From the Broadway musical "Evita";
Lyrics by Tim Rice; Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber
6) "The Sky Is Broken" by Moby
7) "Run To The Water" by Live
8) "Paradise Lost" by John Milton
9) "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)" by Fuel

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Resurrection (1/8)
by darkstar
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Long is the way and hard, that
out of hell leads up to the light.

- John Milton
"Paradise Lost"

In the last rites of darkness before dawn, a man picked up his pen and began to make conversation with his ghosts.

Dear...

No, not quite enough. She had been life, at one time, the brace that kept his veins from collapsing. Yet....she was gone and how quickly he had fallen when left alone. Three strokes of ink on paper corrected the injustice.

Dearest Samantha,

He paused, waiting for the tears that were not to come. The calluses must have grown stronger, for tonight there would be no facade of humanity, however slight. The corners of his lip twisted the moonlight into the tiny curves of irony. Tonight there would only be himself, alone where no light shone. The dead had no need for such comforts, and neither did he. Flesh and flesh alone separated him from their world; his spirit had taken residence there for quite some time. The grimace stretched into a thin laugh. To think at one time they had all called him a passionate man. A true believer. My, my, how things had changed. Had the thought come a few hours later, under the sanity of the daylight, he would have felt a loss and perhaps even a bit of fear. The sun had not risen. Darkness blended well with the color of his mind-- neither required him to be sane.

The pen scratched on paper as his demons scratched at their cages. Patience, he whispered, as he attempted to exorcise them the only way he knew how. Thoughts took shape and began to fill the paper with words.

I've never really considered what they would do if they ever got their hands on one of our letters. Probably throw me back into the Neuropsyche ward, only this time for the full brain rinse. They'd make sure I didn't remember who you were. Not to worry, love, they won't steal you away this time. I won't allow it. No one will hurt you again. No one....

I don't know if you even care what I write. You shouldn't. I am your monster. The one who destroyed everything about you.....why should you play priest to my lunacy?!?

Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to yell. You hated it when I screamed at you. Sorry for that too. You know how I am when I get back from the missions. It was light work tonight. Only two men died. Did you hear me say only? I am laughing now because I think I really am one of them. A regular paid-by-the-head killer. I used to wonder what it would be like to play with the big boys. It isn't fun. We kill in tens and twenties but we die by degrees. Life is an odd creature, you know. Every time you destroy it, it destroys a little of you. I tell myself I am redeeming the loss because I filter information to the Resistance. Because it is something that humans do, and like any human I can die if I am caught.

I tell myself many things.

Maybe I write to pretend I can get well. Can I, now? I just suppose I can't stop hoping you will look at me *just* for this moment not as what I am. Not as the errand of death, but as the man who loved you and spent most of his life trying to save you. As- dare I ask?-- your brother.

Only I didn't save you.. You are lost and I am cursed and the truth is even sadder. Do you want to hear, sis? Do you? I don't even know if I *could* have saved you, or if I would make the same choice a thousand lifetimes over. I tell myself I would have found another way. Deep inside I know it is a lie. I only loved two things in life, and they demanded one of them. They would have ripped her in piece, body to soul.

Forgive me, please, for tearing you instead. And do you hate me when I say I still love you just as much? More, perhaps. I dream of you so much it hurts. It is always summer and you are always young. Beautiful. We play hide-and-seek for hours in endless forests, swim for hours in lakes without shores. Sometimes I see you as the woman you were, only in these worlds you smile and introduce me to your family. To the husband you never had, and the baby you always wanted.

Then they disappear. You are left alone with me. In all my dreams, there is but one end. I watch myself take the gun my enemy put in my hand; I close my eyes; and I shoot you. Always in the heart. Always. I've tried everything to stop it. Warning you, destroying the gun, turning it on my head. Nothing changes. History truly must be written in stone.

The pen began to tremble slightly between his fingers but he forced himself to finish the thought.

You die. I kill you. No matter what I do, I can't bring you back or stop myself. I will never tell you how many other lives I have stolen since that time. Only this...

Help me, Samantha. Please....I can't stop myself. Sam, I can't stop myself.

Your loving brother,
Fox.

He closed his eyes and threw the paper into the fire. Already he felt the grit of ash and betrayal between his teeth.

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Four hours into a sunless dawn, he watched the limousines move as sharks through the sea of human flesh and misery that was the streets of Washington DC. A prophecy of rain hung in the air, clinging to his skin and forming mists of hopelessness over the people. And then there were the voices.... He had grown used to shutting them out, but today, with so many pressed so close, that was impossible. Their cries ebbed and flowed against the walls of Mind like waves crashing on a cavern wall. Mulder could not make out words. Despair needed none. If one took a step back and surveyed the crowd, it seemed indeed like an ocean, rippling and surging against the police barricades that kept them off the street.

/Help us./ The collective conscience moaned. /Help us./ Something inside him stirred to half-life with momentary pity for them all. For the starving idealists who clung to the belief that the new government would not let them simply die in the streets. After all, wasn't this still America?

/Yes./ He could have told them. /Only the flag burned a long time ago. Why didn't you help me stop it? Yes, that's right. You never believed. But you do now, oh you do./

The faces were strange, but he could tell the stories by heart. There would be a pale young man seeking antibiotics for his deathbed ill wife. A mother, holding her listless baby against her dry breast and pleading for a carton of powdered milk, just one. A father, white-haired and trembling in the joints, hoping to approach the Synod to plead mercy for the life of his last son. The tales went on forever, but very few saw any happy ending.

"Look at them all." His earpiece buzzed to life and a familiar voice scraped across his brain. "Reminds me of the Motherland before she fell. Different language of course, but the same stupidity. I stood in those crowds, as a boy..." The laugh of a cat on his seventh life. "And to think I came here with the notion that it would be different."

"Funny." Mulder turned his head to make eye contact with the man across the street. "All this time I was thinking it was our unique employment opportunities. You know, that part of the Ellis Island experience where you sell your soul to a smoking man in exchange for a shiny new gun and a bag of cash?"

Another laugh. "Several bags, my friend. Several."

The skin on his lips curled up into a wry grin at the thought. "Alex Krycek, filthy capitalist at heart. Marx would be crushed."

"Marx is dead. I don't plan on joining him any time soon. Besides," Krycek's finger stabbed behind him in the direction of the crowd. "I don't see you sending any of *them* your paycheck."

"Well." His smile changed until it was something else entirely. "I guess that makes me like you."

"No, comrade, not like me." A misplaced beam of sunlight bounced off his Russian grin to play in Mulder's eyes. "You aren't that good-looking."

"Mobile to Ground Control." A new voice cut in the conversation before Mulder could form his comeback. Grudgingly, his mind shifted gears back to the mission at hand.

"Commander Mulder. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is the security escort for His Excellency Chancellor Sarkis." The words were spoken in a monotone, the only inflection being that of occasional condescension. Guardians. Mulder snorted in disgust. They were the personal guard of the Synod members, each genetically created to protect their master to the death. It went without saying that they were quite good at what they did. Better than any human, certainly, and even than most of their alien brothers.

They also had a habit of acting as if they were the only life forms in the galaxy to possess an IQ level above ten.

"We had reports of containment problems in your area. Is this going to be a problem, Commander?"

"The crowd flared up a little while ago." He admitted. "But it is under control. Everything seems to be holding."

"Seems to be is not good enough. for His Excellency. Initiate a sweep for hostiles."

"We just finished one five minutes ago."

"Reports indicate a high probability of Humanity Corps activity in your location." In plain English, you stupid humans better watch for suicide bombers. "Sweep again."

"We'll be arriving in exactly two minutes. Have the location secure."

It took all his common sense not to make his final "Yes, sir." sarcastic, but he'd learned a few things since he'd first become an Enforcer. One was never to annoy a Guardian, if you wanted to keep your limbs firmly attached to your torso.

And the alien was right-- a lot could happen in five minutes. This was the third day of the Synod Conference, the annual meeting of the alien dictators and their human (at least in the biological sense) counterparts. It was also the Day of Amnesty-- which meant for three hours the tyrants would play mercy games with a small number of the peasants lining the street. If you were lucky enough to obtain an audience, you could ask for anything from extra ration marks to medicine to a limited political pardon. If any of the many undergrounds wanted to make a big, bloody statement, today would be the day.

Two years ago, he would have been helping them. She would have fought beside him..... In fleeting dreams of blue eyes and red hair, she still was. But then he woke up-- he always woke up-- alone but for his demons. What was it she had said to him so long ago? Those who live by the gun, die by the gun?

He gave the orders for another sweep off-handedly, his mind suddenly very far away. Yes, those had been her words. / "This is our future." she had whispered, with a tremble in her hand and a pain in her eyes. "We will run and we will fight and we will kill until we die, and then it will be over./ She would never know how right she had been. Of couse that was the point-- that she never knew the extent of his fall. All that mattered was that Scully was safe, even if her oblivion cost the lives of at least five men a week, plus tax.

"Put on your happy faces, boys. The kingpin has arrived." Krycek's sarcasm came through loud and clear on the general frequency channel. The fact that he managed to say whatever he wanted and keep his tongue was a testament to his survival prowess. Most men envied him. They hadn't heard the way he screamed in the middle of a nightmare.

The limousine glided effortlessly through the crush, a sleek black torpedo cushioning the deadliest of warheads deep inside. The fiery gold insignia of the Synod seduced the sunlight out from behind the clouds until the metal glowed with its own brilliance. His eyes detected a flicker of movement behind the heavily tinted windows, and just as quickly the door opened. Every agent around him stiffened into attention.

Mulder did not move.

The first creature to get out embodied perfection in both design and deadliness. He possessed the build of an Olympic wrestler, but the contemptuous intelligence in his eyes warned that the real threat lay inside the pretty package. That if someone chose to assault his master, the Agent K machine gun in his hands was the least of their fears. Before he was five steps from the car, he had scanned the crowd twice and the buildings around three times.

So this was the Chancellor's Guardian. Impressive. Mulder's eyes flicked to the interior, landing on a figure the shadows fed from, darkness to darkness. The creature moved with the languid grace belonging to one who owns it all and knows it. He wore his human body well, without the awkwardness some of his kind could never overcome. Tall, but not too tall. Handsome but not ridiculously so. His sharp, aquiline features, and graying hair played a striking contrast against his completely black eyes-- the telltale mark of his true nature. He looked every bit his part of the emperor of the world. And its destroyer.

/Walks like a man, talks like a man...bleeds like Satan./ Mulder had killed his kind before. With his own hands. His gut clenched with a sudden urge to do it again, to do it now. In his mind's eye he saw the stiletto deep in the alien's neck, felt in his fingertips the dark electricity of waning life. Humanity avenged! His own crimes paid for! Absolution, his spirit whimpered. At last.

He did nothing. It would take a lot more to save the world than one grandiose display of patriotism, played out on a whim in the city streets. It would take a lot more, he knew, to save himself.

As the Chancellor turned to face the people, a deafening (and of course, spontaneous) cheer erupted from his subjects. Right on cue. The Enforcers Krycek had placed throughout the crowd must be giving their "encouragement" just as planned. He swallowed his disgust whole as his Excellency turned to favor them with a nod and a patronizing smile. The fantasy of murder was still hot in his veins; it took work to keep the hate inside, where it didn't show.

"Murderer!" The condemnation hit as soon as the cheers quieted, sparking a backlash of shock throughout the crowd. His gaze cut across the street to see a young woman standing on the base of a statue, a bullhorn in her hands and impassioned anger on her face. Beside her, an equally as young man held up a sign picturing the Synod insignia covered over with a skull. Both of them looked like they belonged in college. Mere kids, with no idea what they were doing.

Krycek had already dispatched his men, but for a few seconds longer all eyes were on the two protestors. They appeared determined to make the best of it.

"Down with the Nazi monsters!" She screamed, fist raised in the direction of the Chancellor. "And with their human lap dogs!"

/Start running..../ He begged her. /You don't want to find out what we do to pretty little girls when they cause trouble./

Now she had turned to the crowd. "Don't ask for amnesty! Ask for justice! Your families, your children demand it-"

The police baton caught her full in the face, shattering the bones and driving her to her knees. The boy gave up fighting, trying to shield her with his body as the agents dragged them into the crowd.Headed, most likely, for an alley and a more "complete" punishment. For thirty seconds he saw himself and Scully in those brave, stupid kids. For that long he missed it. "I thought you said you would sweep." The Guardian's words were laced with steel and meant to cut to the bone.

"We did." Mulder met his stare without flinching. "The machines only pick up those with weapons." He carefully considered the consequences of his next words and decided to go ahead anyway. "But if Sir is threatened, we can arrest more children."

The Guardian's eyes tightened. "Arrest who you like, but if the Chancellor is disturbed again, I will not be the one feeling a threat."

/Oh my,/ Mulder couldn't help but think, /scary. You want to intimidate me you're going to have to do better than that./

Yet there was something else, sticking in the back of his mind like a thousand pins and needles. He had come to recognize the feeling from a hundred different cases, a base instinct that had made him the Bureau's best profiler back in the golden days. The wheels of his mind began to grind into motion, flipping through possible and implausible scenarios alike. What was wrong with this picture? Apart from the obvious soldiers and dictators...

His Excellency the Chancellor seemed to be the least affected of them all. His smile only broadened as he turned to greet the flash bulbs and photography of the press.

Unnoticed by the Enforcers who were still occupied with the rebels, a scrawny boy crawled underneath the barricade. The gleam in his eye was entirely too old for his body, however it might have explained the distinct bulge underneath his worn coat. A tinge of a child's sadness tugged at his insides for his two fellow soldiers. Both had sacrificed their bodies to distract the forces of the enemy. They had been so nice to him on the way to the city, almost as nice as the older brother and sister who died when the Bee Swarms came. He shoved the sentiment away.

Bodies were made to be offered to the Cause, they had taught him. He learned well, so they had picked him for that great honor, the final step of manhood.. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk toward the cluster of reporters where the Chancellor would be stalled. Beneath his load, his bones trembled from days without food, or was it from the fear in his gut?

He must not fail now. He must not be found weak. /What is weakness?/ The voice of his teachers rang through his head.

/Weakness is death./ A chorus of school-children voices answered.

/What is life?/

"Life is Humanity." His sandpaper rough lips barely formed the words. "Life is Humanity...Life is..." Over and over and over again.

Three days ago, he had turned eight years old.

When the pieces finally clicked into place, they did so at the speed of light fibers. It had been too easy. Those kids hadn't even tried to run. If they had been the impulsive teenagers they looked like, they would have bolted at the first sign of armed soldiers. No one stood and took on Enforcers. No one was that stupid.

Unless...you wanted to move them out of the way so someone else could get through.

"Krycek--" He spoke quietly, eyes scanning the crowd as his hand reached for his automatic. "I have a question for you."

"What's that?"

"How do you sneak someone past a police barricade?"

"You cause a distraction...." Krycek's smile disappeared and his words faded from English to something sharp and nasty from his mother tongue. He flipped to the general communications frequency. "All units return to the main street. We may have a hostile in the perimeter."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw something small and foreign moving toward the gathering of the press. "Krycek, did you just see a kid?" The mist must be playing games with his mind.

"A what?"

"A...little boy... he was moving toward the Chancellor. It's impossible, but--."

"I'm on my way."

The boy stumbled away from the crowd onto the open street, eyes focused intently on the bright lights of the cameras. Was this what heaven would look like? It wouldn't be long until he knew. His hand reached inside his coat pocket to take hold of the detonator.

/What is weakness?/

"Weakness is death."

/What is life?/

"Life is Humanity." The muzzle of an automatic stared him dead in the eye. A man's voice told him not to move then asked if he was lost.

"Please, mister," His eyes grew large and innocent, just like they had taught. /Weakness is death. Weakness is death./ "Can I please see the Chancellor? Please? My mommy is sick. My mommy is sick."

"Go home, son. You don't want to talk to a man like the Chancellor." This man did not speak roughly, as the others. His words sounded oddly human. Impossible. /The Corrupted are not human. Only the Pure are human. Only those who honor the Cause may be cleansed./

Someone spoke from behind them, in silken, haughty tones. "Let the boy come. His picture will look good in the papers. A sufficient example of the utter dependency of humanity on our benevolence."

There was pause, then "Yes Your Excellency."

The boy smiled.

Mulder reluctantly stepped aside to let the child pass. The boy wore a thick winter coat despite the heat, the skin in his face and hands stretched taut over his bones. His eyes stared blankly toward the Chancellor, but not really *at* him. No, they were glazed over with a look he had seen somewhere before. Never in a child. Never.

The pins and needles began to tingle again until his brain was buzzing with them.

"Take off your coat for the picture, son." A reporter nudged the boy toward the Chancellor.

/Your coat./ he thought. /Your hot, heavy coat that you are wearing in ninety-degree weather. To hide the bulge that sure isn't baby fat/ Then it hit, ice water on the spine. His finger jammed his earpiece. "God, Krycek, the kid's a bomb."

The boy raised his eyes toward the alien. Always look your enemy in the face when you defeat him. They had built his life around this single moment of glory. /Life is Humanity./

"Mister Chancellor." he said. "I have a message from my people for you."

His Excellency smiled warmly. "And what would that be?"

"Die."

His finger pressed the detonator.

Before the realization had fully hit Mulder, he was flying through the air in the direction of the boy, hands stretched out in a desperate bid against time. The world bent around him, a distorted blur of sound and light in which the only clarity was the downward motion of a little boy's finger. His tense muscles could already feel the searing heat, the elemental fury that would tear his body apart along with everyone around him. So soon he could see his flesh and bones separating as the invisible bullets of atoms and neutrons stripped him to the soul.

No! He would not die now! Not without her. For two heartbeats he saw fate and his only thought was that he did not want to die wearing the cursed uniform.

Then his hands found the boy, fingers locking around fingers in iron grip. The detonator remained in the down position, armed but not yet released. It was in that moment that Mulder found himself eye to eye with the.....hostile? Impossible. This was no battle hardened warrior. No sucidal fanatic. It wasn't even one of the teenage guerrillas who ran around blowing up cars and stealing from warehouses. The face was that of a child, a little boy who had suddenly realized what he was doing and was very, very scared.

/I am not going to let you die like this./ A weak promise at best.

Security moved in to grab the boy, but he threw a hand back to stop them. "Get back! There's about fifteen pounds of C-4 here waiting to blow up in our faces so GIVE ME SOME ROOM!"

The child flinched at the roughness of his voice.

"It's all right. It's all right." What else could he say? He felt the boy's pulse through his skin, a mad race of life beating furiously toward the finish line. If he could just get the bomb off, he could persuade them to let him live.....he knew it.

"Everything will be fine. Just let me hold onto this for you, okay?" He tried to pry the boy's fingers away from the detonator.

The kid shook his head, a glimmer of tears in the corner of his eye. "Weakness is death. Life is Humanity." His whisper did not even believe itself. Slowly, minutely, his grip began to waver. His fingers uncurl, releasing his hold on death.

Mulder smiled. Then choked.

Over the boy's shoulder, a blur of wicked black metal arced through the sunlight as the Guardian lowered his gun. His face was set in the killing mask, his finger already squeezing the trigger.

And there was nothing to stop him.

"Son of a-"

A sky-splitting CRACK! tore his words off before he could finish them. The boy's body was driven into his as if by some unseen freight engine, knocking him to the ground. Mulder waited for the bullet to pass through the boy and into his own body, but there was no exit wound. Hollow point bullets, he realized in anguish. They exploded once inside the body.

Two seconds after impact, that is exactly what happened.

Mulder caught what was left of the boy in his arms. The streets had fallen silent as the belly of a tomb, a tomb that never should have been. For the first time since he could remember, he was shocked. For the first time, all the memories came back. He wet his fingers with the blood soaking his uniform and it was Samantha's blood. He looked at the boy's eyes and there she was, innocent and dead.

/What are you doing, Mulder? What are you doing here?/

The hatred came from the marrow of his bones, a hundred sleepless nights of guilt and murder boiling up through his skin until he could breathe it with the air itself. The Guardian's stone face never cracked. He wasn't the one wearing the child's heart.

Justice, the blood screamed. Samantha's voice.

His gun hand moved automatically, up, up, dead level with the monster's face. They would shoot him dead, but he forgot why he wanted to live. All he heard was Her call, as clear as it had been the day he shot her. Avenge him. Avenge me. Avenge me. A spin of motion hit him from the left, knocking his gun from his hand and pinning him to the pavement. Krycek's angry voice hissed into his ear. "You can't bring him back, Mulder, so don't get yourself killed trying!"

"Get off me." Mulder whispered through clenched teeth.

" *No*."

Then it was gone. The anger, the passion, all of it. His husk lay motionless on the city street, drowning in blood and pieces of broken child. The gun clattered to the cement beside him.

Just as soon, Krycek was back on his feet, making sure to keep a boot firmly pressed on Mulder's back in case he changed his mind. "You'll forgive my partner for his miscalculation." He nodded curtly in the Guardian's direction. "Suicide bombings are always heavy on the nerves."

The alien simply nodded, but his eyes said that he knew otherwise.

His Excellency came out from behind his shield of bodyguards, visibly red. "We extend to them our grace! Our kindness! And this is how we are repaid! This!" The heat left his tone, replaced by the coldest kind of ice. "Very well. If they want to kill their children, we can certainly accommodate that." He waved the Guardian in the direction of the crowd. "Five should do nicely."

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Mulder's spine tightened with sudden horror.

/Five....no..../

"No!" He rose halfway to his feet, but the boot slammed him back down and made sure he stayed.

The Guardian and six of his men-- all identical worker clones--moved at once to the crowd. Mothers, clinging desperately to children, were selected at random and dragged into the streets. Fists pummeled the clones, fingernails raked across skin that felt no pain. Raw pleading begged the Chancellor, begged God, begged anyone to please save their babies. A few well-placed tear gas cannisters silenced any momentary indignation of the crowd.

He could only watch, only listen to the rising crescendo of Her voice in his head.

/Fox, what are you doing? Why are you letting them hurt those children? You're not one of them...../

Oh, but he had the gun and he wore the badge and he wore the blood....

/Fox, you said you love me. If you love me stop them..../

"Krycek," he growled. "Let me up."

"Are you suddenly out of your mind? You lay still and keep your mouth shut and maybe, just maybe, I can talk them out of sending you to Neuro."

Mulder spit a curse in his face.

The gunfire began, barely audible over the fever-pitch screaming of the women. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the pavement. Was it too much to ask that the earth swallow him whole?

/This is not worth it. No life is worth this./

Red hair, blue eyes, soft lips....

Truth, justice, freedom....

The struggle between the two was going to rip him into pieces right there where he lay.

In three minutes the carnage was over. The Guardian returned to his master's side, oblivious to the blood spattering his face and clothes. Behind him, Mulder could see the aftermath. The mist in the morning air had turned scarlet, blood spray caught up in water vapor. It gave the scene the flavor of some surreal nightmare, but the wretched sobbing of those left alive placed it all too firmly in reality.

This, he remembered, was why he had fought Them.

"Get your man out of here." The Chancellor addressed Krycek, a slender finger pointing to Mulder. "Your Director ensured me only the best Enforcers would be present here today. I assumed that meant those who had learned which side to point the gun at."

/Oh, I know. I know just who, you slimy little spawn of hell./

Only there was the vow he had sworn to himself, long ago in the barbed wire and dirt of a prison camp. It promised his allegiance to only one cause. To Scully. To keep her safe. He had sealed it with the blood of his sister, and at that price he dared not break it now. Yet when the cost was this great, and lasted this long.....

As Krycek half-led, half-dragged him to a waiting car, Mulder chanced one last look back at the graveyard street. His breath crystallized in his lungs.

*She* was there.

Samantha.

She wore a simple white dress and her hair fell down around her shoulders as she walked. /I sent a woman to heaven and an angel fell in her place./ In one arm was the boy who had worn the bomb.Her free hand gently held the hand of one of the other murdered children, a little girl, with pale blue eyes and curly black hair. They were all there. All of the freshly slaughtered innocents whose bodies had not yet grown cold on the ground. "Sam...."

She turned when he called her name, but he knew his voice had not been that loud. Her eyes burned into his. Staring, silent and reproachful, with the rest of the children. The contours of her face seemed to waver between pity and condemnation. Eyes frozen together, for the longest breath in eternity.

Until he blinked, and the specter was gone. He didn't want to turn away.

"C'mon Mulder." Krycek push-pulled him toward a waiting car. "Let's go get drunk."

At once his limbs were weighted with lead, and he made no further protest as they moved. So the insanity had, at last, set in. All he could say was it's about time.

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

Hard drinking was an art form. You had to throw it all back in a swallow, before it really started burning through your tongue, then hope it stayed put once it hit your stomach. That had never been a problem with him. A little gift from dear old Dad, he supposed. He could remember watching his father down half a pint of Scotch a night. An entire pint, once Sam was gone. He had never been one of those little boys who wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, but here he was. Slightly different demons. Slightly different drink. Same desire to forget.

S-A-M. His fingers traced her name in the condensation on the side of his glass. Mulder stared at it pensively a moment, eyes filled with white dresses and angel hair, before wiping the glass clean. When the moisture began to return, he shaped a new name.

S-C-U-L-L-Y. A school boy impulse urged him to carve her initials beside his on the bar counter. D.K.S + F.W.M Friends Forever. And all the little children go to heaven......

He shoved his empty glass toward the bartender who had been instructed not to say when.

"What were you thinking out there today?" Krycek, running neck and neck with Mulder on his eighth glass, opened a conversation he had no business touching.

But who cared, anymore. "Pretend you're a human being long enough to remember that they were kids. Not soldiers. Not rebels. Little kids who were supposed to be back home eating peanut butter sandwiches and cookies."

"Look at it this way. The boy knew what he was doing. He wore the bomb-- obviously he wanted to die."

"You didn't see his face." The memory required another gulp of whiskey before he could stand to have it inside his brain.

"The undergrounds must be pretty desperate if they're using little boys to run their errands now." Krycek took a small sip of his drink and chuckled. "Ha, maybe we killed off all their men."

"I'm glad you find it amusing." he growled, his voice slurred so that the disgust was smeared into annoyance.

"What is it with you, Mulder? This whole wounded hero bit you're dragging around on your shoulders like your own personal cross. Why can't you just drop it? You've had it way better than you deserve.....believe me I know."

"Oh yeah, I'm real lucky. Playing hit man for baby killers, yeah. That's the charm of the gods." Suddenly his glass was empty. "Bartender!" he waved his hand. "I can see the bottom again!"

Krycek yanked his arm back down to the counter and jerked his face so they were eye to eye.

"Get your face out of your booze long enough to look around you. You were supposed to die years ago, but you're alive. That's lucky. The men who once would have shot you on sight now pay you a weekly salary plus benefits. That's lucky. If you're too weak to do the job, that's your own problem." It had to be his imagination, or else he heard resentment and envy in the tone of the man who had everything. "At least try to act like you're man enough."

"Man enough?" Mulder snorted, the insult mixing with the whiskey in his blood like powder in a keg. "Maybe not, but at least the woman I love is still alive. What about yours? Does she visit you in dreams, with blonde hair and secret smiles and blood on her shiny silk nightgown? Marita, you scream in your sleep. I always wondered what little Russian boys dream about when the lights go out in Moscow...."

"So Scully's alive." You could cut diamonds with that tone. "Too bad for your sister though. I saw her once or twice, back in the old days. She was barely out of her teens then, but still........a great piece of work, if you know what I mean. Who knows, if you hadn't wasted her, I might have had the chance to relive old times--"

Mulder choked on his drink and his fist exploded up from the counter. Right into the middle of that cocky Russian smirk and he hoped he broke teeth. Three seconds later, a glassful of hot whiskey caught him square in the eyes, followed by a piledrive to his kidneys. Krycek, he remembered on the way to the floor, never took it lying down. Good. Neither did he. There was enough loose hatred floating in the air for both of them to breathe.

He lashed out in a blind fury at in Krycek's general vicinity, hands swiping frantically at the acid in his eyes. /Leave it to a Commie to play dirty.../ The kick must have missed, because the next blow came from directly overhead, plowing savagely into his booze-heavy gut. Once, twice, and now he was starting to get mad.

His fist rocketed in the direction of the blow, and a definite fleshly thud resulted, along with a mangled Russian expletive. Must have hit his chin. His fingers found something squishy and jabbed. Eye for an eye. Speaking of which, the whiskey-colored blur that had been the world was now just a semi-blur. He could see again, at least enough to dodge the uppercut that would have splintered his jaw. So they were doing faces now. Fine. His knuckles cracked across the bridge of Krycek's nose, the broken skin oozing blood.

Unfortunately, he did not notice the sucker punch coming.

That is, until his kidneys were screaming and his lungs had suddenly become some sort of vacuum chamber. As he doubled over, clawing the air for !breath!, an elbow caught him smack in the center of the face. His top lip split in two, filling his mouth with a taste of copper that didn't mix well with Jack Daniel's. Mulder fired three rapid fire punches in retaliation, only managing to get one past Krycek's blocks. The little rat was using his Enforcer techniques now. And here he was thinking this was just a good clean bar brawl.....

Fine, if that's how it was going to be....

He feinted a jab at Krycek's chin, at the same time bringing his foot up to catch the man in the solar plexus. The blow connected solidly, a nice WHOOSH! escaping the man's lungs along with his air. /Yeah, feels nice, don't it./ To his credit, the man came out of it rather quickly, swinging away at anything within reach. Mulder danced away from a nasty left hook, only to be caught by its even nastier right-handed cousin. It took him by surprise, although he knew Krycek had traded his prosthetic in for a brand-new-and-improved limb, courtesy of the biotech labs.

It was an unfair advantage, really. Tensing the muscles in his shoulders, he prepared to dish out what he had taken in, but now his arms were pinned behind him. His first thought was how in the world Krycek had moved around him until then he looked to see his opponent in similar straits.

A quick look confirmed the identity of the meddlers. Black uniforms, double lightning insignias......ah, betrayed by their own fellow comrades-in-arms. But since when did Enforcers go around breaking up bar brawls?

"Unhand your superior officer." Mulder ordered with righteous indignation, still full of fight and fuller of whiskey. You are interrupting a private matter between gentleman."

"Speak for yourself, Mulder!" Krycek called from the middle of the three soldiers who were attempting-- perhaps successfully, perhaps not-- to keep their hold on him as the other three dragged Mulder outside.

"You boys better start running when you let me loose...." He muttered, once they were out on the sidewalk.

"The Director of Intelligence wants to see you in his office." One of them informed Mulder, handing him a handkerchief. "Wipe your mouth and get in the car."

The Director. In his office. Well, he'd have to congratulate the Guardian. The little sucker sure moved fast. What would they do to him this time? Send him to his room? Take his toys?

Send him to Neuro.....

In the end, he went quietly. But only because they had stun guns.

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

The warm comfort of his liquor buzz was considerably dampened by the indecent amount of black coffee they pumped into him on the way to Headquarters. /Little boy scouts never seen a man drink./ An insistent voice tugged at the back of his head and asked him why he was proud of it.

They were probably just worried that he would pass out before the Smoking Man got a chance to sink his fangs into him. The snake had a more official title now-- Director of Intelligence-- but just because he had shed his skin didn't change the brand of venom underneath. Someday, Mulder knew he was going to kill that man.

Today was not that day.

He tried not to look at the secretary who led him into the office. It was a Samantha clone, yet another perfect facsimile of the original in every way. This one was a little too perfect, he noticed. Must be new. He could swear the old man kept them around just to screw with his head. Mahogany doors opened into a room that stank of cigarette smoke and corruption.

"Commander Mulder, how nice to see you.....sober." Twin dragon tongues of smoke curled from the man's lips.

"Consider it an accident."

"You seem to have had your share of them this morning. Sit down."

The synthetic happiness was just about gone, and right before he obeyed he noticed he was still wearing his bloody uniform. A few splotches were still a bit wet. Maybe some of it would come off on the seat. Ruin the Italian leather upholstery.

"Your name has been coming across my desk a lot these days. Along with it are words that don't speak well for your career. Clouded judgment. Emotional instability. Showed up drunk for assignment......which obviously seems to be a hobby for you and Commander Krycek."

"We get the job done."

"Not well enough. Today's fiasco is only one of twenty incidents I can bring up which prove how drastically your productivity is slipping. Would you like to answer for that or would you prefer I did?" A puff on the cancer stick, a smile.

"By all means, enlighten me."

"You are losing your focus. Not a terribly uncommon thing in this line of work, but I know you, Mulder. When your mind wanders, it rarely stays on safe ground."

Mulder remained silent, waiting for the punch line. Something in the old man's eyes set his nerves on edge. The Smoking Man only wore that particular gleam when he was about to yank someone's strings. Hard.

"Our agreement-- you do remember that, don't you?-- stands only as long as you are of use to us. You decide that you're tired of it, that you don't want to play ball anymore, that's fine. We can set you up on the very next train for the Arizona camps. I'm sure they'd love to have you back, and we can find a seat for her as well."

A scornful laugh cut the threat short. "Don't you try that crap on me." Mulder told him, shaking his head. "You have no clue where she is and we both know it."

"And you are sure, Agent Mulder?" The man's voice softened, his beady eyes crackling with black lightning. "Are you so very, very sure?" You could almost see him coiling, preparing to strike.

/He's bluffing./ Mulder forced the thought to every corner of his brain, trying to repel the cold dread that smothered every neuron as he watched the old man reach into a desk drawer and withdraw a plain manila folder.

"This is your story I'm about to tell, so correct me if I'm wrong. About a year ago, during your leave, you decided to take a little side trip. Down south, you'll remember. Director Pavlov got nosy but you took care of him. Oh, don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I happen to appreciate his job very much. Sad to say, I doubt any of the members of the Synod would share my enthusiasm. Pavlov was one of their best men...they might take it all the way to the High Command. Whenever the Command gets involved, you take a long time to die. As would your female accomplice."

His muscles began to tighten, hardening into steel around his joints. Sweat, cold and clammy, began to mildew on his palms and between his fingers. No, this could not be. He had hidden her well. He had made her safe. Mulder suspected his fear showed in his eyes, for the Smoking Man looked pleased.

"You went to see her, didn't you." By now it was a rhetorical question. "Addictions are deadly, and she is yours. All that trouble you went to, concealing her from us so you could have her all to yourself, and then you leave us a roadmap straight to her. What you didn't know was that the device you used to scramble our transmissions was tagged. A sort of homing signal, capable of lingering in the atmosphere for quite a long time. All too easy to follow it anywhere on earth. Even, say, Chile?"

/Bluffing!/ Panic broke the cohesion of his mind into fragments. /Trying to get you to hint where she is!/

"You're going to have to try harder than guesswork and innuendo if you're expecting something from me." There. That sounded Mel Gibson enough.

"Suit yourself." The old man tossed him the folder. "Some of the photos are a bit grainy, but others are quite good, really. She is a beautiful woman."

Mulder's stomach rollercoaster dropped to the base of his spine as he opened the folder. The first photo inside was a black and white satellite picture, of a tiny house on a secluded beach. Of a woman sitting on the front porch, barefoot and freckled from sun, her eyes fixed somewhere far above the sea. There was no denying it was indeed Dana Scully. His eyes latched onto her face as instinctively as a starving man craved bread. She made his veins burn. He remembered standing on that porch, the wind in his hair and her taste on his lips.....

"That one is about three days old." The Smoking Man said, clearly enjoying himself. "We'll be getting some newer images tomorrow. She looks healthy, doesn't she? When we first started surveillance, she was a bit thin. But that's life in the camps for you. Never kind to a woman's body.Your old friend Skinner must have put some weight on her-"

"What do you want from me?" The words died before they left his mouth. He didn't look at the man, didn't want to, focusing solely on the photographs as he leafed through them. Scully eating. Scully walking on the beach. Scully sleeping. Scully *smiling*.

/Ignorance is not always bliss, but sometimes it means everything./

Skinner appeared in most of the pictures as well. Both of them did look well. Happy. Totally oblivious to this danger hanging over their heads.

"Only what I know you are capable of." Another deep drag of his cigarette turned his voice to sandpaper as he continued. "Improve your mission productivity; make me believe you're still loyal to your end of the deal......and I won't be forced to take this anywhere but my drawer."

"And if I refuse?" It chafed against his soul, but Mulder had to know. If he didn't, the very possibilities would give him nightmares.

"Our helicopters can get down there in ten hours. She and Skinner will be taken into custody and immediately transported to one of our processing facilities.....in Texas, most likely. From there, you know what happens." As if suddenly bored of his smoke, he crushed his cigarette into a small onyx ashtray.

Yes, Mulder did know. He had lived through it second by second. So had she, and it nearly killed her. If she were to be thrown back into that sort of hell, without warning....."

"How do I know you will leave her alone?"

"Have I ever broken a promise I've made to you?"

/Have you ever made a promise that didn't demand more?/

Mulder touched, his fingers brushing her skin and nearly feeling it through the paper. /Do you dream of me???/

"Consider me back on the job." He threw the folder down and stood to his feet.

"Oh, take it with you." The Smoking Man pushed it toward him. "I have plenty more." He smiled like any other dirty old man, with a kind of leer that implies a thousand lusts but admits to none.

When Mulder picked the folder up again, the muscles in his trigger finger were twitching. "You might want to remember one thing." The tone of his voice was soft menace, a danger warning few people recognized.

"And what would that be?"

"What happened to the last Director of Intelligence."

The man's smile grew thinner. "I do hope that wasn't a threat, Commander Mulder."

"Why yes, sir, it was."

"Bravado is cheap when you have nothing to back it up with."

"Funny. Pavlov seemed to think the same thing. Guess he learned, huh?"

"I am not Pavlov."

"You're right. He was better."

"I'm alive."

"For now." As Mulder turned to go, The devil's voice hooked him in the back, one last harpoon.

"If you want to challenge me, try to do it when you're sober. In the unlikely event that should happen."

Mulder walked out like he hadn't heard.

As the doors closed behind him, he remembered he hadn't been dismissed. He would have liked to chalk it up to direct insubordination. Truth was, if he had stayed in the snake's den just one more minute, Spender might have seen his hands shaking, might have smelled the fear on his breath, mingling hard and sour with the stench of booze.

All of it......for nothing. A year's worth of blood on his hands, in vain. She was unprotected. Exposed. Another, less painful thought struck him in the small distance between the office and his car. If the Enforcer uniform he wore no longer served to keep her safe, then he could at last take it off.

Permanently.

He had not yet asked himself if he really wanted to see what lay beneath.

I remember falling.
I remember marching.
Like a one man marching army,
through the blaze.
I remember coughing.
I believe in something.
I don't want to remember falling
for their lies.

- One Man Army
Our Lady Peace

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Without hope, we live in desire.
--- "Inferno"
Dante

Midnight in the city. The glow from a hundred streetlights spilled over him as he stood at the open window and let the slight breeze of evening drive the heat from his skin. One day there would be no city. There would be no Colonists, there would be no humans and there would be no war. Nothing at all but ruins in a field of wild grass. Would it matter, then, who had been on whose side? What lives had been sacrificed for what cause? Certainly there was no one left who cared what he stood for.

That was a lie and Mulder knew it. She cared. He glanced back at the spread of photographs covering the bed where he had held them one by one between his fingers. Trying, with all customary desperation of a dying man, to remember what she felt like in his arms. He had his memories, had them hoarded away as a miser's gold, but in moments like these, shadows just didn't suffice. And she was just too far away.

His fingers toyed relentlessly with a small golden cross around his neck. She had given it to him when he left her, back when he was so sure he could survive on his own. Even after so many months, he could hear her voice. /Keep it. You need it more than I do anyway./ Right again, Scully. Mulder pinned a silent Hail Mary on the cross, just for her sake.

Maybe she did the same for him. Saint Scully, sending prayers to her heaven for a soul already halfway in hell and slipping fast. That part of her had never changed. Not on the streets, not during the beatings, not even in the camps. She still had her faith. her God. All he had was her. He refused to share her with any petty dictatorship, or smoking power-monger.

The black and white images on his bed challenged that sentiment.

Mulder walked over to the collection of pictures and began stuffing them back in the folder. He'd have to find a place to hide them before Krycek got back, whatever ungodly hour of the night that turned out to be. A thousand fragments of her slid past his vision, cracked and chipped pieces of the whole. Eyes, hair, fingers, lips. At times he wondered if he could even recognize her if he was to see her again.

When....he was to see her again. Always "when" and never "if".

He crossed the hotel room to his bed and slid the folder between the mattresses. Not much by way of ingenuity, but anywhere was better than plain sight. Eventually he would have to burn most of them, he knew, but not tonight. Tonight he needed her close.

It'd been too long since he'd had a drink. There was a bottle of something on the nightstand by Krycek's bed, which meant it was probably vodka. The man couldn't sleep unless he had at least two glasses of the stuff rumbling around inside him. There was only a little bit left in the bottom; certainly he needed it more than his partner did. And what was a little bit of happy juice between comrades?

His fingers twitched as he poured the clear liquid into a glass. Suddenly his mouth was cotton dry. Every nerve of his brain screamed for the alcohol, the sanity that let him live without feeling. He raised the glass to his lips. The cool relief of the liquor flowed toward his mouth, so much closer to his brain... Right before he began to drain it, Mulder realized something that stopped him cold in his tracks.

His hands were shaking. Just a quiver, as slight as a leaf in a gentle wind, but it was there. His father's hands used to trembled that way when he reached for his Scotch. The Smoking Man's tobacco stained fingers shook like that every time he prepared to light up a new cigarette. The outward sign of the inward need.

No, he wasn't that far gone, surely not!

Mulder hurled the glass and its contents against the wall. He did not need it to survive. He did not! His nerves writhed beneath his skin, twisting and coiling until he wished to tear them out with his fingernails. When had a simple wish for a drink turned into such craving?

His eyes lit on a gleam of moisture of his hand, a stray drop of vodka glistening against his skin. He brought it to his mouth, his tongue greedy and desperate as he attempted to suck every drop of moisture. The taste of liquor in his mouth served only to heighten the frenzy.

The bottle, where was the bottle? Empty. No wait, there was a bit clinging to the bottom. He turned it upside down over his mouth, eagerly awaiting the trickle of satisfaction. Not enough. Not enough. His hand released the bottle but he barely heard it hit the floor as his steps took him to the shattered glass.

Most of it had sunk into the carpet, but...there was a bit splashed up on the wall... His fingers captured it and there was a two second relief. More, more..... The glow of the streetlights glinted off the broken glass, off the moisture still clinging to the shards. In his haste to wipe the vodka onto his fingers, his thumb snagged a rough edge. A wide line of blood welled up through the torn skin, yet no pain.

Breathing a curse at his clumsiness, he reached for a stray piece of paper on the floor and wrapped it around the cut. The grain of the paper rubbed in an odd manner against his fingers; he realized it was one of Scully's pictures. Yes, the first one Spender had shown him of the porch and the beach. It must have fallen from the folder when he put the rest away. Every line of her face stood out with vivid clarity, its tranquility marred by the tiniest wrinkles of worry and concern. Even in paradise, the past haunted her in the corners of her eyes and the slight downward curve of her lips. Now his blood soaked through her. Ruining her.

Realization of what had just happened seeped through his pores until he was saturated with it. Every time he had watched his father work up a buzz, he had promised himself it would never happen to him. That he was stronger than that. It seemed he had followed Daddy's footsteps after all, and they had led him to a heap of broken glass and spilled liquor.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists until the skin turned white and his hands stopped quivering. Logic, smothered at first, was now beginning to breathe again. With it came disgust at the grown man who sat groveling on the floor like a dog, pawing through debris in search of a stray bone. This wasn't who he was. This weak, pathetic little shell, stitched together like a montage of himself. Modern art, baby. The Walking Dead Man, on twenty-four hour exhibit. Get your tickets now. He could keel over any moment.

He wearied of the freak show.

Mulder noticed he was bleeding on the carpet. A smattering of it had fallen on the glass to be refracted a thousand different ways as in a child's kaleidoscope. Cradling his thumb carefully to avoid anymore damages to his hotel bill, he made his way to the bathroom. The dirty vanity light shone harsh and yellow in his face after the comforting semi-darkness of the other room. He laid the picture carefully on the toilet seat cover. Yes, he should throw it away, but he couldn't. It was part of her, a little part but the only thing he'd be seeing for quite a while. He couldn't pitch it out any more than he could toss out her finger or her hand.

/She waited for him under his bed, shattered into a hundred paper pieces. Come put me together, Frankenstein. You can show me your dreams of smiling little sisters and I'll show you how ugly you really are./

The tap water ran cold under his skin, shocking the nerves into at last registering some degree of pain. From what he could see under the blood, the cut wasn't very deep. A sliced capillary, nothing more. The first-aid it in the dresser drawer would take care of everything. Did they make Band-Aids for ideals too? He would need a big one. Before he turned to go, he raised his eyes to the mirror. A man looked back at him who was in many ways a stranger. Who had done things Mulder couldn't recognize as being in him. Who now wanted out. Not tomorrow, not a week from tomorrow, but tonight. The decision had really been forming in his mind since he'd left Spender's office; now it was cemented.

He had just finished bandaging the cut when the door opened and Krycek's voice carried to all corners of the room.

"Mulder, hello Mulder, ya here?" Boy, he sounded unusually enthusiastic. Was there some kind of two for one special down in the red light district?

"Right here." Mulder stepped from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hand.

"Why are the lights off?"

"I was trying to sleep off this hangover."

"Oh." Krycek flipped a wall switch and the semi-darkness vanished. "You should take the pill. The guys down at meds promised me it detoxs your entire system in ten minutes. They're in the first aid kit."

"No thanks." Mulder glanced over Krycek's shoulder to the outline of a woman in the hall. She had nice curves. Not as nice as Scully, but as a whole, not a bad catch. He just hoped she was over fifteen this time. Something in him still rebelled at the thought of someone that young in that line of work. Krycek seemed undaunted by the ethics of it. In fact, Mulder suspected he rather preferred the girls to the women. /They say everybody looks for innocence somewhere. Some of us want to keep it...../ He looked back at Krycek's face, at the eagerness behind his eyes.. ./Some of us want to take it away./

"How'd the meeting with our smoking buddy go?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Missing any important body organs?"

Mulder half-smiled. "None whatsoever, small thanks to you and your right hook."

"Ah, that reminds me. How's the gut?"

"Better looking than that busted lip of yours." A fat cut split Krycek's lower lip down the middle, and the left side had swelled since Mulder had last seen him. (Serves him right, the playboy.)

"Good."

That ended their exchange of apologies. The insults always stung, but they were part of a frequent game that involved poking each other's tender places and waiting to see who screamed louder. In the process, it kept them both from losing all concept of human emotion. Call it a twisted form of therapy; call it a contest to see who was still alive, but it worked.

"So do you mind taking a walk for a while?" Krycek jerked his thumb back toward the woman in the doorway. "We don't want to bother you. I mean, if you want to stay you can but--"

"Not my thing." Mulder brushed past him on his way toward the door. "I'll be downtown if you need to reach me."

"Wait a sec." Krycek grabbed his arm, the tenor of his voice coming across with something akin to concern. It wasn't quite convincing enough, however, and fell on the ear more like pity. Pity Mulder did not want. Especially not from a man thought you paid for love by the hour and rotated it every night. "Look, why don't you find someone? You've had a hard day. Think of it as relaxation therapy. It's ten times as good as the bottled kind, and you don't have a headache in the morning." His face split into a grin. "Well, not usually. I'm sure she has a friend she can call..."

"I'm sure she does." Mulder broke his grip. "Although if I'm ever interested, I'll do my own shopping. But I told you. Not my thing."

"Still pretending to be loyal to her, aren't you? She's five thousand miles away, Mulder. In case you haven't noticed, you're stuck here. Just find yourself a red head and close your eyes. She won't care if you call her Scully--"

"Shut up and play with your toy." Mulder said, pausing at the door long enough to grab his gun. "We were something you'll never understand. I don't care what you think you and Marita had."

"We had just what I wanted." That wasn't defensiveness he heard in the Russian's tone, was it? Regret? No, not Krycek.

"Sure you did."

"Pretend all you want but I know what you do when you're not in the bars. She came by the Enforcer office once looking for you and complaining you had left too drunk to remember her fee. Dead ringer for the woman whose name I won't mention. Big blue eyes, lots of curly red hair--"

"You don't know what you're talking about. I never-"

"Right. I paid her to leave before your shortcomings were made public. So you were a little too drunk that night to remember. When I get good and plastered, I wake up in all sorts of strange places. Or are you afraid I'll rat on you to the bosses. That's it...isn't it??"

Mulder ignored him, barreling full speed out the door and right into the woman in the hall. She staggered back from his weight, nearly falling until he grabbed her arm. He mumbled an apology that was only half-meant until he actually looked at her. She wasn't his usually Marita-wannabe, but short and petite with short dark hair and wide green eyes flared with some fear the mascara could only partially hide. Underneath the makeup and the silver halter dress, he judged her not a day over seventeen. Maybe even younger. The girl broke his gaze, staring down at the cracked tile of the floor as she collected the items that had spilled from the purse she'd dropped. Her movements were stiff. Awkward.

/She must be new to the job/

There wasn't much else for a girl to do in DC these days. He noticed that her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary on a wallet-sized photo of two twin boys. Too old to be her kids. Brothers, maybe? So someone else knew what compromise meant, after all.

"I'm sorry, mister, real sorry." The girl flinched back against the wall like she expected him to backhand her at the slightest breath. Krycek yelled for Mulder to stop flirting with her and let her into the room. Her eyes darted to the doorway and there was that fear again. The dread.

"That's ok, don't worry about it." For a strange reason he wanted to reassure her. She was nobody but she could have been Scully and she might have been Samantha.

"My friend is a rich man." He said, smiling in a way he hoped was harmless. "Charge him enough to take tomorrow night off. He'll pay it."

The palest shadow of a smile broke through her maroon lipstick. "I will. Thanks for the tip." Her face hardened into the mask of fake happiness as she walked into the hotel room, closing the door behind her.

He hoped Krycek treated her right. She had looked like she deserved better. But then, so did most everyone else and he couldn't start feeling sorry for them all, now could he. /You did at one time./ The annoying voice had returned. /So much you're afraid of it now. Afraid it'll undo the knots that hold your excuses together./

"Hey, I said I was leaving, didn't I?" He muttered to himself, taking the stairs down into the city street. The night air outside hung heavy with humidity, and he undid the top two buttons of his shirt. A cool glass of Jack Daniel's would feel just great...

/Whoa, Mulder, don't go there. No more happy juice for you tonight./ He needed his head on straight. There was strategy to be formed. Contingencies to be planned for. Out of habit, his eyes scoured the night for evidence of any surveillance. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary, but that guaranteed nothing. It'd be just like His Smokiness to dispatch a shadow team just to make sure he behaved. They'd be dressed as one of the many homeless, invisible right before his eyes.

Paranoia was a dear friend. He decided to keep moving, to walk and think and see if anything happened. If it didn't, jolly good. If it did, the clip in his gun was fresh and fully loaded.

As he began to move from shadow to streetlight to shadow, his thoughts went back to Krycek's rambling about the prostitute at Headquarters. The little rat thought he knew everything. He had to be mistaken. Unlike the girl in the hallway, Ivy had been in the business a long time. She knew better than to pull that sort of trick. And no matter how much she wanted money, she would never be stupid enough to show up at Headquarters. Any Commander caught associating with a woman of her "profession" was docked one week's pay. The woman would be sent to a labor camp, to make a decent contribution to the new society. She knew all that.

They'd met three times, and his instructions had always been the same. /Keep it quiet. If you see me on the street, don't turn your head. If you think you need something, go to someone else. I'll contact you when I need to. Not vice versa. That's how it works and that's how it's gonna stay./ He'd been nothing if not crystal clear. Now it seemed he'd have to make sure she understood things. His eyes roved the streets once more. No one seemed to be paying any special interest to him. Just to be sure, he'd take the long route.

It took him five minutes to hail the taxi and pay the driver's fare, plus ten dollars extra for the "detour route." Fifteen minutes later, they reached the downtown area. It had changed very much from the pristine Washington of yesterday. Now the night danced with the sound of a hundred bars, blatantly violating curfew without any fear of retribution. Most of the police were their best customers. A tangled mess of buildings hid between the restaurants and taverns, decaying apartments that made the Bronx ghettos look like Beverly Hills. Most of them belonged to families, but a good portion belonged to DC's newest form of businesswoman. She wore a mini-skirt and pumps, and would smile nicely for you if you had enough money. Ivy said she made five hundred on a good "shift." To look at her, you could tell why.

The cabbie dropped him off in a rotted little alley known as Lincoln Street then promptly left. Mulder couldn't blame him. The very air smelled of filth and menace. He passed through the alley quickly, ignoring the homeless man that begged for a credit and the stoned kids that offered part of their dope. She had an apartment on the corner of Lincoln Street and the main road, right over top of a fetid little tavern known as the Alibi Lounge. Although it was pretty good living for a working girl, he knew she could afford upper town housing if she wanted to. But, she'd told him when he'd asked, Uptown was Enforcer territory, and they were harder to buy off than cops.

He spotted her as soon as he cleared the alley, her long red hair standing out like a tangle of fire against her black leather dress. As he drew closer, he saw she had just snared a customer, a greasy little Mexican, probably a drug runner judging from his gaudy jewelry and the five-hundred credit booklet he was handing her. She must have been pleased with herself, because the smile painted onto her scarlet lips was wider than normal.

"The lady's got a date for the evening." He snatched the booklet from the Mexican's hand, and tossed it in his face. "Buzz off."

"Find your own-" Before the man could even get the switchblade out of his pocket, the barrel of Mulder's 9 mm dug into his ribs.

"I kill men for a living. Don't make me work overtime."

The man turned white around the eyes, all bravado melting as he turned and disappeared into the maze of streets.

Ivy watched him go, then flashed Mulder a half-playful, half-scolding smile. "I do certainly hope you're worth ruining my shift. I could have gotten seven hundred from the greaseball."

"It'll be worth your while."

"Isn't it always?"

His stomach twisted into a pretzel as her smile focused totally on him, her eyes smoky blue. It was a lie to say she simply looked a certain way or walked a certain way that just happened to jog his memory and excite his desires. No, it went way beyond that.

Ivy was a clone. For all intents and purposes, she *was* Scully, from the skin down to the genes. Never quite the same. No replica could hope to be. Still, it wreaked havoc on his mind. Not as bad now as when he'd seen her for the first time, but enough to make him seriously uncomfortable whenever he was in her presence.

"C'mon, lover." She pulled his arm around her waist and led him toward the door of the Alibi. "We can go upstairs and get all comfy while you tell me why you chased away an actual paying customer."

Oil lamps lit the inside of the tavern-- electricity was a thing belonging only to the very rich and the very few-- although it was arguable how much good they did between the strong smell and the thick black smoke. Fans rigged on the ceiling attempted to chase the soot out the windows, but inevitably some of it lingered like a second atmosphere. It murdered the lungs. Few of the patrons cared, too deep into their booze or their drugs to notice anything about the outside world. Scantily clad waitresses made sure no one ran out of anything.

Well, that's what places like these were for. You want to forget your kid died from starvation? We got a pint of homemade beer with your name on it. Better than Busch. The little wife not treating you well? Have some crack. You'll meet the girl of your dreams inside your head.

It repulsed him but Ivy thrived on it. "Hey Mike." She tossed the bartender a nuclear powered smile and a ten-credit mark. "Send us up two beers. One for me and one for the gentlemen you never saw here tonight."

"I don't anything, Ivy." The burly Irish grinned. "Nothing at all. You know that. Just make sure he behaves, or I'll have to pretend I didn't see myself beating him into a pulp."

"Don't worry, he's got nice manners." She leaned on tiptoe and pressed a warm kiss on Mulder's neck. He stiffened.

"Good."

Ivy laughed, a light graceful Scully sound, then they were up the stairs and standing at the door to her apartment. "Don't let Mike bother you. It's a scare tactic he pulls on all my customers. Thinks he's my big brother or something."

Mulder didn't bother a reply. /Just get in and get business done and then leave./

A runny-nosed toddler wearing a dirty blue nightgown stood in the doorway across the hall and stared at them for a moment before his older sister pulled him back inside. What a place for kids.

"You know your face wouldn't crack if you smiled." She turned back to look at him as she unlocked the deadbolt. "It may be against the law for you Enforcer boys to have fun, but relax, baby. No one's gonna catch you here."

She walked in first, switching on a small gasoline lamp. Gas cost twice as much as than oil, but it burned a lot cleaner. The furnishings of the room indicated that she could afford a lot of extra things. The place had two rooms, a bedroom and a combined kitchen-living room. Hardly elegant, or even what would have been middle class in the old days, but the little things meant a lot more now.

As soon as the door shut behind them, as soon as no one could see, all facades dropped. Mulder disentangled himself from her arm and took a step back, needing the space. No more playing customer. It was hard enough to keep his focus and remember that no matter what his eyes said, this wasn't Scully. His mind believed him.

His desire did not.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

/Think cold shower. Think icy, icy, shower. Think of the Smoking Man.../ Eww, that did it. He shuddered in disgust.

"Sweep for bugs." The words came out like an order, and she glared at him like Scully used to when he said something rude.

"Yes, Commander, *Sir*." That was Scully's sarcasm too. "I was about to anyway." She crossed to the wall and punched in a three digit code into a keypad hidden behind a sliding panel. A metallic humming filled the air for a moment then died into silence.

"We're clear. I'm going to go get out of this crap." She headed for the bedroom. "Make yourself comfortable. The beer should be here soon. Then we'll talk."

He watched her go, guilty for staring so long. Of all the people the Resistance could have set up as his contact, they had to pick the living breathing doppelganger of Scully. What had they been thinking? That he'd respond better? In a way, the opposite was true. He wanted to respond in certain ways so badly that he tried to keep his distance whenever possible. After a while, he limited their meetings to once a month. It took him that long to rebuild his self control.

A knock on the door sent razors along his nerves, and his gun was in his hand immediately, a finger on the trigger and ready to shoot. He glanced through the peephole to see a waitress standing at the door with two bottles of brownish-yellow beer. Mulder lowered the gun but his fingers did not leave the trigger as he took them from her.

"Do I get a tip?" He could barely hear the words over the incessant smacking of her gum.

"No."

Her eyes raked him from head to toe. "How bout after you get done with Ivy?"

Mulder pulled a five-credit mark from his wallet and handed it to her. "Stay away from this room and keep everyone else clear. We like our privacy. You think you can do that?"

"For you, doll, anything." Her tone let him know that she meant "anything" in the truest sense of the word. "My name's Crystal. I get off at two."

He shut the door quickly. This was not the ideal place to carry out Resistance business. The cold bottles began to numb his fingers, and he sat them on the table. It was tempting to go ahead and open one. Just drink a little bit to loosen him up. His fingers played alongside one of the bottles.

He picked up the bottle, open the window, and casually tossed it into the street. A homeless man yelled something unintelligible and vile up at him. The finger he was waving translated his words easily enough.

"Not thirsty tonight?" Ivy's-Scully's voice caught him by surprise and he turned to see her walking back into the room. The black leather number had disappeared; in its place she wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a gray t-shirt that bared her tiny waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that left a few strands falling free around her face.

"No." He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the breeze would cool his fevered thoughts. Dressed like that, she looked almost exactly like Scully. When he opened them again, she was taking a cigarette out of her pocket and placing it between her lips. A tinge of relief. The real Scully hated smoking. Always had.

"Hand me that lighter, darling." She pointed to a small silver lighter on the counter. When Mulder picked it up, he noticed an engraving. Trust No One. It rang familiar notes inside his memory, and on impulse he turned it over. In little block letters were the initials C.G.B.S. CGB Spender.

"I see you've made friends in high places." He tossed her the lighter.

She laughed as she lit the cigarette and blew a kiss of smoke toward him. "That's what I'm here for. Director Spender is my current assignment. He likes my face. Says I remind him of a woman he used to know."

/I'll bet. Between his little picture files and that face, he's got himself a regular charade./ The thought soured in his mouth when he remembered that now the Smoking Man could get the real thing if he wanted it.

Which brought him to the point of the meeting. After he cleared a few questions from his mind.

"My partner says he saw you at Headquarters last week. That you were looking for me."

"I needed to meet with you."

"No, you didn't. Not that bad. I told you and your people, I'll work for you but only on my terms. It's not just my life on the line."

"Orders are orders. They said to find you, so I tried. When your tasty little Russian friend paid me off, I took the money and figured I'd try again later."

"What do they want?"

"They were going to alert you about the assassination bombing." Her eyes caught his flinch, and her voice softened. "But I guess you already know."

"What's to say I was involved?"

Ivy rolled her eyes and took a sip of her beer. "Everyone is talking about the dark lanky man who saved the Chancellors life then went a bit nutty and tried to knock off the Guardian. I figured you'd be stopping by soon to find out why you hadn't been informed."

"Did you know it would be a little boy?"

"No." His face said he didn't believe her. "Honest. They just told me to keep all my girls clear of the Capitol because there'd be an attempt. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I'm just the errand girl." She slid onto the couch, leaving her beer half-finished on the counter. "Is Krycek all you came here to discuss or do you have something else for me?"

She left that comment wide open for his private interpretation.

"I have what you asked for last time." He pulled a disk from his pocket and set it on the table. "These are the complete schematics for the weapons facilities. Three of them are biotech, so watch out. I included all the clearance codes so they shouldn't have any trouble getting in." She rolled off the couch to go pick it up when he held out his hand to stop her. "First you do something for me."

"So you're asking for payment now." A sardonic twist of her eyebrows. "I wondered how long the free donations would last. How much do you want?"

"I don't want money."

"Then what?"

"Certain...circumstances...have come about that make my position here useless. You are going to get me out. Tonight."

She stared at him for a minute, inhaling a deep lungful of smoke from her cigarette. "Baby, it ain't that easy."

"We'll make it easy. You pick up the phone and tell them to figure out some way for me to defect. I'll still work for them. But not here."

"Just because of some kid that died in front of you? Children die every day in this city. It's sad but you don't let it interfere with the mission-"

"It's not just that." The sharp edge of his voice cut her off. "You didn't approach me with this job. I volunteered. And
now I want it changed. Can you do that for me?"

Ivy shrugged. "I can try."

"There's something else. Two friends of mine are currently living in Chile. I need you to bring them back here. They are both members of the Humanity Corps, just like me, and they'll die if they stay there."

"I'm not sure if we can do that."

"If I shred this disk, you won't be doing anything."

"Boy, you don't ask for much. You sure you don't want money like a reasonable person?"

"Just tell me if you're willing to cooperate or not."

She looked at him, her eyes reading his resolve, then crushed the butt of the cigarette on a ceramic ashtray. "I'll make the calls. Nicolas is going to have to okay this one personally, so it might take a while."

Mulder leaned back in his chair. "We have all night."

It took three hours of waiting and exasperation, but finally Ivy handed him the phone and told him it was Nicolas. She seemed more than a little surprised they had gotten through. "This line isn't totally secure." she said, handing him the phone. "It's protected by a scrambler code, but it's an older one. You've got five minutes to state your case."

"Hello, Commander Mulder." The voice reminded him a little of the Chancellor's. There was that same quiet assertion of power that need not be mentioned, because it was sensed. But yet there was something more, the barely contained electricity of a man who carried his passions at the forefront of his mind, just one breath away from his words. It was not hard to tell that he was speaking to the single most powerful man in the Resistance. Nicolas had united several of the largest undergrounds into one common unit, the Humanity Corps-- priority one on the Enforcer hit list. Rumors said the Corps actually dominated a few of the western states. Revolution waited just around the corner and Mulder refused to sit on the sidelines.

"Just Mulder will be fine, thank you." Be polite, be polite.

"That's what Ivy told me. You want to seek new employment."

"Not new. Just different. I am no longer of any use to the Corps as an Enforcer."

"You continue to supply us with valuable information. That is a use."

"Things have changed. I...can't do it anymore. I won't."

"Those are strong words, Mulder. But I have a feeling you're the kind who wouldn't speak them lightly." Something in Nicolas' voice made Mulder feel like the man understood him. Empathized with him. He decided to press his point.

"I took this job to protect certain interests which I can no longer guard where I am at."

"By that you mean your two friends in Chile. General Skinner and the woman Scully."

"How did you-"

"I have my ears and eyes even in the Capitol. What would you have to offer the Corps if you defected ?"

"The full military and tactical knowledge of an Enforcer."

"We have strategists already. And good ones."

"But none that have an inside knowledge of the enemy." (C'mon, buy it. Accept it. Let me out.) "I have spent a year looking at the world through their eyes. That's a view I'm sure you'd like to have in your battle plans."

A pause, deep with thoughtfulness. "All you want in return is to fight with us?"

"There is one more thing. Scully and Skinner are to be evacuated from Chile immediately if I am to defect. Once I disappear, the Enforcers will go after them. Your people need to get there first."

Another pause. "Thank you, Mulder. Please hand the phone back to Ivy now."

When he obeyed, he noticed his palms sweated. The man was just a voice on a phone, but that voice had the power to fulfill or deny. Mulder knew he would eventually find a way to Scully no matter what the answer was. But with that came full awareness that if he didn't have the help of the Corps, all that might be left for him to find was skeletons in the sand next to a burned out cabin.

Even though it was a distant nightmare, it chilled him.

Ivy had walked into the next room, her words too jumbled and quick for him to pick up. How long had she been talking. Seconds, had they become minutes yet? It felt like an hour. The half-full beer bottle on the counter seduced him as he waited.

He turned his back to it. /Not now!/

After a few eternities had taken their toll on his sanity, she walked back into the room and sat the phone on the counter. He waited. She picked up her beer. He waited. When she started to finish it without so much as a word to him, Mulder decided enough was enough.

"What did he say?"

"That you're too impatient."

"That's it?"

"Of course not." She shook her head, a not-quite smile pulling her lips apart. "You really need to take a vacation."

"Just get to the point." He fought the urge to throttle her, no matter what she looked like.

"Ok, here's the deal. He's going to help you. But like I said, it's not easy. Especially because you don't exactly have the history of a company boy-"

"Will he get Scully?" Mulder couldn't contain the question until she finished.

"Take it easy. Yes. And your friend Skinner too. As soon as Nicolas receives the schematics disk, he'll dispatch the helicopters--"

"That's not soon enough."

Now she glared at him, as if annoyed with his interruptions. There was enough of Scully in her eyes to shut him up. "I'm sorry if we're not up to your timetable, but this is the way it's going to be. You can take it or you can leave it and start walking to Chile."

He bit his tongue to keep back his sarcasm. It wasn't nice to anger the people responsible for smuggling you out of Washington.

"Go on."

"It'll take at least two days for you to reach Freedom City-- the capital of our western territories and location of our base camp. Most of our people live there too. You'll be working in the psych division of Tactical."

"Psych." He hadn't expected that one, although he should have seen it coming. Sometimes he suspected that a transcript of his entire life had been handed out in general to the world at large, with his sensitive spots highlighted in red. /Push this button to make him squirm. Use this talent to your advantage./

"Nicolas says you have some sort of knack for it. And a degree, which makes you good as gold." She said it like she wasn't sure whether to take her boss' word for it or not. "But back to our travel plans. You're leaving tomorrow morning."

"You people don't waste any time-"

"We need the disk as soon as possible. In fact, it will probably be sent ahead of you." This was Ivy's "operative side." She talked fast, thought faster, and expected you to keep up. "Listen quickly and listen well. In three hours, you will leave this building and return to your building. We need Krycek to see you there, even better to talk to you, before you leave again, ostensibly to follow a hunch on the suicide bombing. You will be "captured" by our agents...we'll make sure there are lots of witnesses, of course. One hour after the initial reports have reached Director Spender-- probably through Krycek-- a ransom note will be delivered. I guess we'll ask about a million for you, given that you're a Commander. It ought to screw with their heads quite nicely."

"That's not going to work. I know the Director of Intelligence. He will see through it in a moment."

Ivy shot him the kind of look his high school calculus teacher used to give him when he said something exceptionally dumb. "The purpose isn't to convince. It will only distract them for a day, if that, but it's is all we need to slip you under their radar."

"What about satellite scans? They can pick up our location easily..."

"We have dark cover technology. One of your Enforcer buddies sold it to us last year. It will let us move without their knowledge for up to three days. Again, more than necessary."

"And what about my friends?"

"With any luck they'll get to Freedom City ahead of you."

He tossed her the disk. "Tell Nicolas I look forward to working with him."

She looked at him for a minute, her eyes changing color from light blue to a burning sapphire. "Don't leave until you absolutely have to. Make a convincing show."

"I planned on that."

Now she was standing, moving toward him as she pinned him down with the Scully eyes. "Since we're here...." She ran her hand down his chest and he shivered despite himself. Her voice was smooth as caramel syrup and twice as sweet. "You might as well take advantage of my other services."

"What, do you want my money as well as the disk?"

Scully-- he meant Ivy-- leaned closer until all he could see was her face. The face that wasn't her face. Scully's face. "No charge."

For a moment he forgot who was who. Until he smelled the smoke on her breath. It managed to jolt him from the enchantment of living memory. "No. Thank you."

Ivy (He was certain now who it was.) leaned back, disappointed. "Baby, it's your loss. Whoever she is that's keeping your heart all locked must be some woman. I remind you of her though."

The irony was not lost on him, and he nodded, grinning just a little. "You could say that."

"Tell her she's lucky." Ivy smiled again, but this time it seemed genuine. Not a Scully smile, but pretty. "Tell her she's very lucky." From the back of the bedroom, a baby began to cry. It seemed to shake her out of her thoughts, because she turned away.

"I'll be right back. He's probably hungry."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up. "Yours?"

She paused, the self-assurance in her voice cracking for the first time since he'd met her. . "Mine. I usually let him stay with the lady across the hall, but her kid's got a cold and I don't want my baby to get infected. That's why you haven't seen him before."

"Why didn't you-"

"Why didn't I kill it?" A defensive bite edged her tone. "Remove the inconvenience? The annoyance?" That edge faded into a sigh. "Mulder, I do what I have to do to survive. It turns out I can serve the Corps while I'm at it. I make no claims to be an angel. Nothing like the one who's living inside your head. But you know how we all have one redeeming grace?" The ever-ready smile turned bittersweet. "He's mine."

He couldn't think of a fit reply as she walked into the bedroom, his mouth sore from sticking his foot into it and his brain busy digesting her words. One redeeming grace, she'd said. Even for people like her. For people like him.

In two days, he'd find out if that grace was strong enough to save him. Even if Scully wasn't, he would gladly burn forever if he could do it at her side.

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

As dawn began to break, as hope began to breathe, a man picked up his pen to share the news with his angel.

Dearest Samantha,

I write this to you on the way to rejoin the resistance you so bravely supported, long ago. Would you like it to be your legacy? Say but a word and I shall wear you on my heart into every battle, my shield and my emblem. My armor may be dented, my sword dulled, but your fallen knight loves you still.

Soon I will be back where I belong, back with the woman who belongs with me. Do you think I will frighten her, Sam? Her soul has stayed pure while mine rots inside of me. Part of me wants to turn back and let her live with the illusions of the man I was.

The rest of me cannot breathe without her, so I go. Escape, at last.....

But for how long?

Love Always,
Fox.

to be continued... part 2