Krycek opened his eyes again, the drugs coursing through his system didn’t allow coherent enough thought to try to catalogue his physical condition; other than he was on the floor, lying on his side. White. He could see white. White walls, or white light, he couldn’t tell which. Clean, clear, white. Unbroken, unchanging, unchallenging, unrelenting, unforgiving white.

-oo0oo-

"Fox... Foxy... Foxy Loxy..." Mulder could hear his sister’s voice, calling him, teasing him over and over. He was in his parent’s living room, in his bedroom, his sister was leaving, being carried out of the window of the living room, calling out from her bedroom down the hall, being taken by a tall man… He was helpless to stop them, helpless to prevent it from happening. He didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t understand, it was all his fault... "Fox..." her voice, little girl clear and piercing... low and masculine... taunting. "Foxy..." a man’s voice, mocking him. A man’s hands: pushing, pulling... no, leaving. The bad thing was leaving. Being taken away... they were taking his sister away. Losing, losing...

Mulder sat up, the sweat of his skin making him stick to the faux leather sofa. This dream hadn’t been so bad, not as bad as they sometimes were, when he woke up screaming, tasting blood and terror in his own mouth. But the dreams were changing. Damn Krycek! he rubbed his eyes, hating the feel of sweat as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Even as he damned the other man, he missed him. He hadn’t trusted anyone enough to fall asleep beside them since... he couldn’t think when. Certainly not since college, maybe before, maybe never. Of all the people to trust, the last he would have expected would have been Krycek. I miss you, Alex, you back-stabbing weasel. Damn me, too, but I miss you.

But ever since Krycek had made that ridiculous claim about his sister the dreams had been coming back. He hadn’t had them so much recently, and not at all after he’d met Sandy. Now, with Krycek away and without the sex, without the warmth of another body to help him sleep at night - the best cure for insomnia - he found they were more frequent than they had been since he’d been a teen. And more disturbing. Krycek may have been lying to keep me off balance, or just spouting more of the crap they fed him, Mulder thought, but I really wish he hadn’t. It hurt to think about these things, leaving him hollow deep inside. He got up. There was no point in trying to sleep anymore tonight. He had to get ready to move again anyway, a new safe house tomorrow, with Scully somewhere else. It was increasingly difficult to run the investigation while they were both on the move, but there was the ever present threat of a bullet, and Skinner kept them all moving all the time. Even the Lone Gunmen had shifted themselves to another state. Frohike had been asking him about Krycek that last day, worried for his new friend - You won over even the most paranoid of people, Krycek, I don’t feel so bad now that I fell for your line back then, if you could make Frohike trust you.

Mulder wondered if Krycek was also being moved around; or if he was being held in one place only; what he was thinking, who he was with. Whether they were treating him well, or if he was being held in restricted circumstances. He hoped it wasn’t too bad, he knew Krycek wouldn’t take being boxed in too well. He smiled a little to himself, Bet you’re making their lives miserable, wherever you are.

The thought that someone else besides himself could be miserable cheered him somewhat, and he made coffee, his anticipation for the day’s hunt already building. Two weeks until they were to go in front of the Committee. He licked his lips with at the prospect.

Krycek made aimless invisible patterns on the soft friendly walls with his finger. A few days earlier he had chewed his finger tips so he could draw visible patterns. Nothing fancy; horses, birds, fish, things that were free.

But the attendants hadn’t liked having to clean the blood off the walls after it had dried for a day or so, and now he was so full of sedatives he couldn’t find the energy to do it again. He wished the doctors would increase the dose, or do anything other than leave him here, day after day. All he could hear was the voices. Terrible things they whispered to him. But at least now he could tell that’s what they were. He’d had enough time in here that he could hear all the different voices, and know that they were not his own. He couldn’t make them go away, but at least he could recognise, then ignore them. The only difficulty was, for days on end they were his only company. Trays of simple, nutritious, low fat, uninteresting food came in through a slot near the floor every morning, and he was expected to replace those trays with his own mess every evening. Unless he managed to injure himself again, he’d have no visitors. No human contact whatsoever. So I bit one of the orderlies, I just wanted him to stay and talk to me for a while, would have held his hand if they hadn’t had me in a straight jacket at the time.

He sighed softly to himself, indulging in a spot of self pity. If only someone would tell him why he was here, when the experiments would start, what they wanted. But no one ever spoke to him. Maybe this was his punishment, to leave him here, alone, until he died or went even more insane. Death of body or death of self.

He would sing to drown out the voices, but it was so hard to remember the words to things now. It was easier to hide in his mind, slowly tucking away bits of himself deeper and deeper, trying to hide away the bits of himself he could remember, and that seemed to be his. This left the voices free to roam around the empty white room: Three of them, three people. There are three people in my head that are not me, I’m sure of it. He turned his head to see if he could follow them around the room, but they seemed forever just outside of his vision, even though he could hear them moving and follow their voices. If he could just isolate them fully he could fight them.

"I know who you are!" he told them, softly, letting threat enter his voice. "I can kill you. You taught me how to do that." Krycek wondered if the attendants were watching him. He didn’t think so, there was often such a long delay between his actions and their reactions, he didn’t think they had any kind of surveillance set up. If they could see me now, talking to the voices in my head, they’d think I was quite mad, but that’s what I’m fighting. I’m going to hide myself so far down the voices won’t find me any more, deep down where it’s quiet and dark, away from the white, away from Mulder’s betrayal, until there’s just me.

He raised his fingers to his mouth again, awkwardly as it was hard to find his mouth in a face numb with sedatives, and started chewing himself another drawing nib.

-oo0oo-

It was good to be away from Mulder for a while. Skinner flicked the car radio station from talk back to easy listening. It was good to get away from Mulder’s driven mission and his antagonistic attitude. Skinner knew it was partly because Mulder was worried about Krycek, not that the agent would admit to that, but it was getting difficult to not lose his temper with Mulder’s belligerence. Even Scully seemed to be finding excuses to stay out of her partner’s way, so Mulder had lost even her calming influence. It was unusual for her to want to avoid Mulder, she was usually there to tackle his every weirdness, but it appeared to Skinner she was not doing too well at working her way through Mulder’s latest relationship, no matter how calmly accepting she appeared to be.

Skinner had to admit he wasn’t doing too well on that front himself, although it honestly didn’t bother him to see the two younger men together. Part of him was pleased to see Mulder happy for once, and he no longer wished Krycek any ill. In fact, thinking of those two together... He let his mind wander over the image of their bodies entwined; hard, young, masculine flesh writhing together. He wondered if Krycek played his incredible games with Mulder. He wondered if Krycek pretended not to want it, and felt his arousal throb at the image of Krycek protesting and crying, while Mulder raped his sham-unwilling flesh. Somehow he couldn’t see Mulder getting off on that type of role playing. He remembered the games Krycek had played with him. Seducing him with subtle looks and quiet need. Playing the innocent puppy-boy for everything he was worth; dragging Skinner deeper and deeper into a level of depravity he had only ever dreamt of. They hadn’t been together that long, but he still had managed to garner plenty of fantasy material to last him through many future wet dreams. Tying the man - who played the boy so beautifully - with strips of leather until he was nothing but a conveniently placed orifice for Skinner’s use and abuse... and the time Krycek had handed him the collar and leash, kneeling at his feet so subserviently...

Oh god, those photos! Krycek had confessed everything, and handed over the evidence he had gathered against Skinner from cameras hidden in his own home. The ultimate humiliation. He had trusted Krycek implicitly; no one allowed the types of things Skinner had done to that young body unless they really wanted it. Like Mulder, he had fallen for the pretty face and sweet, adoring attitude. Then to find out it had all been a set up... Skinner wasn’t angry anymore though. Now he wondered sadly what would have happened if he had forgiven Krycek. If lives would have been spared, wondered how his own and Krycek’s lives would have turned out...

"Don’t lay that kind of crap on yourself, Walter Skinner," he muttered angrily. A soldier doesn’t regret decisions made in a time of war.

The only thing he should worry about was how Krycek had got such good information on his seducible weaknesses. Was there someone in the Consortium who knew Skinner’s taste for young men; his taste for doing certain things to young men? Or had Krycek simply ‘known’? Obviously, Krycek hadn’t found the role-playing too distasteful, not if he’d handed the evidence he’d collected back to Skinner, but on the other hand, the depth of perversity the younger man had been willing to sink to in order to seal the trap around Skinner had to be admired. Krycek would obviously do anything to get what he wanted.

Skinner pulled up outside the complex where Krycek was being held. With the Committee being called to sit in a couple of days, Skinner had decided it was time to bring the black sheep back to the fold. He’d heard little about Krycek's stay here, apart from a stream of abuse from the Director over not letting her know exactly how dangerous Krycek was, although Skinner believed she may have been exaggerating due to her anger. Krycek had been remarkably malleable to his way of thinking.

The Director met him in her office, and he recognised the cold line of displeasure in her posturing as she led him down many corridors.

"We had to keep him in the medical wing, as he posed some considerable threat to the operatives here."

"He’s all right, isn’t he? He has to testify soon."

"He has been kept sedated, in fact we had to stop an escape attempt with a tranquilliser gun. It took more than double the normal dose to bring him down. After that, though, he has been kept in isolation."

"He’s been isolated the entire time he’s been here?" Skinner was hard pressed to keep his voice level.

"Yes. He’s not a child that needs constant stimulation. You gave us no indication that he was sociopathic. After he attacked and injured two of my operatives...

"You don’t understand, he has been..."

"No, I don’t understand! And why? Because you didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about this man!"

"I told you what I thought you needed to know!"

"It wasn’t enough."

Skinner dismissed her with an irritated gesture, she had always been too much for him to handle, although his body remembered how exciting she was, the rise in his blood pressure was as much due to remembered arousal as to frustration and worry.

"He’s been... interfered with... mentally." He struggled to explain without giving too much away. "He needs a certain degree of stimulation to keep him from withdrawing. Has he been reacting normally?"

"I have not personally involved myself with his care and feeding. The medics who have been looking after him have reported that he has been quiet and has given them little trouble – after some initial difficulties. They would have been interacting with him to ensure he eats and is kept clean, so it hasn’t been total sensory deprivation."

Skinner pursed his lips. For Krycek to be giving no one any trouble... meant trouble.

"He’s in here," she slid open the observation panel on the door so Skinner could check the cell occupant. The room was basically a padded cell, a mattress on the floor, soft white padded walls, artificial lighting. Designed to allow nothing that would cause undue distress to an occupant, or allow them to injure themselves.

Krycek was kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped around his middle, his forehead near the floor. He was rocking himself very slightly forward and back.

"Shit!" Skinner exclaimed, "Get this door unlocked now."

The Director gave some hand signal to a guard. She could see now she should have put her anger aside and dealt more personally with this case. Another mistake, and she didn’t allow mistakes.

Skinner grabbed Krycek by the hair, jerking his head back. Krycek’s eyes moved, but didn’t focus properly on Skinner and he didn’t unroll from his self-protective position. "Shit!" Skinner exclaimed again, and grabbed Krycek by the arms, marching the unco-ordinated man out of the cell and back along the corridors they’d just come down. Krycek moved along with him, but the movements were puppet-like, he was moving because he was being dragged, there seemed no self-will in his gait.

The Director signed them both out, and Skinner held her arm for a moment, saying thanks without words. She’d kept Krycek alive, if not totally whole, which was more than they could have expected from any other organisation right now. He dragged Krycek outside to his car and pushed him inside, but only drove them to the edge of the compound’s grounds before stopping. Dragging Krycek out of the car, he dropped him onto the grass.

"Hey, Alex," he said softly, clicking his fingers in front of the other man’s eyes. Again a slight reaction, but the face was slack and blank. Too long with only minimal stimulation – hearing nothing but the voices he was programmed to hear, or possibly deliberately willing himself to withdraw from reality. I should have stayed here until he regained consciousness, made sure he was handled right and understood why he was here. Skinner chastised himself. He grabbed Krycek’s head in both hands, started turning his face towards the ground and the sun, making him look at the colours, the shades of light. Trying to stimulate him into acknowledging his changed circumstances. He didn’t want to shock Krycek’s system, but he had to get some reaction,

"Come on, Alex, look around you. See? Flowers." Skinner grabbed some of the bright orange flowers, their smell unpleasant and mustardy, and rubbed them across Krycek’s lips and face. Krycek moved away from them slightly, but didn’t make any other reaction.

Skinner grabbed handfuls of the rich loamy earth of the flower bed, and started to rub it across the white hospital style clothes Krycek wore, smearing it around until Krycek had to see the white disappearing under the dirt. Krycek’s eyes were now freely following the motion, although he made no move to stop it. He can’t be buried too deeply, Skinner thought, not if he’s starting to react already. Skinner finally started smearing the dirt across Krycek’s face, trying to irritate him out of his stupor. "Come on, come on," he repeated. "Try and stop me, for Chrissakes."

He stood up, dragging the other man behind him, started marching him around the garden, forcing him to kneel, then pulling him upright again, no patterns to the movements, just trying to wake him up. Krycek made some noise of aggravation, pushing away from him, and finally Skinner simply picked him up and dumped him bodily into a small but deep decorative fountain. "Sink or swim, Krycek," he said.

There was no motion for a while, and Skinner wondered if Krycek would rather die than face reality then suddenly Krycek’s arms flailed as the water cut off his breath and he finally started to fight. Skinner waited until Krycek finally stood up under his own power, using the stone angels to lever himself out of the water. He reached over, offering a hand, waiting until Krycek reached out before helping the younger man out of the water.

"Run now," he ordered, his hand on Krycek’s bicep as he jogged them back towards the car, trying to keep Krycek moving and thinking now that he’d started to react. He popped the trunk on the car, "Talk to me," he ordered, but Krycek only frowned. He started to strip the other man off, dropping the wet clothes onto the grass, before grabbing a towel out of his suitcase to rub him down. If Krycek had a problem with this, let him complain and stop it.

"Hey." Krycek finally started to respond, cold and wet and embarrassed at being stripped naked in a more or less public place.

"Here, dress yourself." Skinner handed him clothes from his case, letting Krycek slip on an old pair of his jeans and a long sleeved shirt. The clothes were ill-fitting, but better than hospital whites. He grabbed Krycek’s jaw, making him look Skinner in the eye, "You back with us now?"

"Yeah."

"Say it, then."

"I’m back, okay? I’m back. I’m cold and I’m hungry and I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m back."

Skinner repressed a small smile. Back and complaining. "Think warm thoughts. We’ll get something to eat later. Get in the car."

Skinner had hired another chartered jet, from Vancouver to Washington, but he had no intention of taking it. Instead he drove towards Seattle, hoping, as long as there was no trouble, to be there by the end of the day. They’d take a public flight from there, under the phoney identities Skinner had organised.

Mr. and Mrs. Emby go to Washington.

He hadn’t yet witnessed Krycek make a gender change and was looking forward to it. He’d felt ridiculous trying to chose female clothing for Krycek, and wasn’t sure how Krycek would feel about travelling as a female, but this should help to keep them both safer - just a couple of Canadian tourists, complete with maple leaf T shirts and caps, off for a few day’s shopping in the States.

Every now and then Skinner reached out to push Krycek, or pinch him lightly, trying to keep him from vaguing out again. After a while Krycek tried to slap his hand away whenever Skinner moved to touch him, although he didn’t verbally protest. In fact, he was smiling slightly, treating it as a game, and Skinner was heartened by the reaction, reaching over to push him again.

Krycek reached over, but instead of returning the push, his hand rested against Skinner’s arm for a few seconds, his eyes searching.

"No," Skinner didn’t need to elaborate. Krycek might be desperate for human contact, for stimulation, but there was no way Skinner was going to allow this to progress.

Krycek’s hand fell, his finger tips trailing down Skinner’s arm, resting lightly on his thigh.

Skinner grabbed the hand, gave the fingers a gentle squeeze and put them back on Krycek’s side of the car. Instead of turning to look out of the window, as he’d started this journey, Krycek was beginning to stare at Skinner, his eyes now bright and clear, his posture back to its normal knife edge alertness. Again he reached out, finger tips trailing down the side of Skinner’s cheeks, nails softly scratching his throat.

"I said ‘no’, Krycek," Skinner’s voice was irritated, but his body was already stirring. He couldn’t help but remember how great it had been, back when they had enjoyed each other. Krycek was good, he knew how to use his body – almost like a weapon. Skinner had been somewhat suspicious then, of the sex if nothing else, no one was that good unless they were after something. Krycek had never sought his own pleasure, but instead seemed to derive his satisfaction from wringing every possible ounce of ecstasy from Skinner’s own body. Skinner had taken his suspicions out on the young man’s firm flesh, purging both of them with straps and paddles. It had been addictive, to be almost consumed by the younger man’s sexuality, and he couldn’t help but remember...

"Stop it," he smacked away Krycek’s questing fingers, he recalled what he’d read of the Kindred file, how they used touch to seduce their victims. Mulder had assured him Krycek couldn’t do that, didn’t have the ability, but the speed Skinner was becoming aroused was surely not natural. A man of discipline, Skinner had always held himself under strict control, but now he was starting to sweat, his penis lengthening and growing down the leg of his trousers.

"No..." Krycek’s answer was soft as breath, his eyes intent. He put the fingers of his left hand into his mouth, licking them obviously. His right hand on Skinner’s thigh, he took those wet fingers and ran them across Skinner’s lips, and Skinner couldn’t help but let the tip of his tongue taste the moistness, and gasped helplessly as he sucked those fingers into his own mouth. He remembered those fingers, remembered the magic they had worked on his flesh. He remembered the joy he had found in this young man’s mouth and body, when Sharon and he had been fighting again, when it had been months without human comfort, and Krycek had been there. Mulder’s new partner, all innocence and knowing skill...

He shoved Krycek roughly back to his own side of the car again, and pulled the car off the road. He was losing control, and the car skidded into a field of some unidentified farm crop. Where are my cuffs, he frantically tried to find them in his jacket. Get Krycek restrained in the back seat before I lose all control. Take a walk, get away from him, get my head clear, but Krycek was leaning across, his seat belt off now, his tongue making wide wet trials across Skinner’s neck and face, his hands moving up Skinner’s thighs, cupping his crotch.

Skinner couldn’t tell if it was pheromones, or if it had just been such a long long time, but he could feel his thighs relax, part, let those clever fingers undo his fly. Krycek was kissing him now, his soft lips pushing at Skinner’s, trying to force a response.

"Touch me," Krycek begged quietly, "touch me."

Skinner hit the seat release, letting the car seat slide back to its full capacity, and immediately Krycek was on his lap. Awkward: Krycek’s legs too long to allow this, and the steering wheel pressed painfully into his back. He tried to cover all of Skinner’s body with his own, one hand caressing Skinner’s head, his lips and tongue devouring Skinner’s face. "Touch me," he asked again, pushing his hips forward, rubbing their groins together.

Skinner reached between them, undoing the buttons on Krycek’s borrowed shirt, Krycek’s skin was cold, still, from his unexpected dip, and Skinner rubbed and warmed it with his hands. Young, firm, boyflesh, the old perversities flowed to the surface, and he pushed Krycek’s shoulders back letting his lips explore the young man’s chest. He wasn’t so boyish now, his chest more developed than the last time he’d feasted on this flesh, but the skin was just as soft, smoother perhaps, and he hunted out to gorge himself on those tiny pink nipples. Krycek hummed with pleasure as his flesh unfurled into Skinner’s warming mouth, and Skinner echoed the noise in his own throat.

The denim of the jeans Krycek wore abraded his now freed cock, so he undid Krycek’s fly, trying his best to push the fabric away, and grasp their two erections together. His own dry flesh was moistened by Krycek’s precum, and he started a steady pumping, spreading the moisture around, his other hand slipping underneath to cup their balls, mashing them together into one throbbing mass.

His hands never still, seeking out every sensitive place he could reach, Krycek pumped himself into Skinner’s hands, moaning softly, "Touch me," he repeated.

I am touching you, Skinner could feel the pressure building, and pushed one hand around Krycek’s back, caressing the hard flesh of his buttocks, slipping fingers between the cheeks until he pressed one finger into Krycek’s body.

Krycek let one hand cover Skinner’s where it jerked them together, speeding up the rhythm for a moment, before caressing the heads of both their cocks together, his narrow fingers pulling and tugging, trying to make one misshapen lump of flesh from their combined pleasure. His body lurched back onto Skinner’s intruding fingers, and snapped forward as he thrust against Skinner’s flesh, the heat and pressure building between them.

Krycek threw his head back, the cum started to pulse from his body, splattering over his own chest, over Skinner’s shirt.

"Uh..." he groaned, "Ahhhh..." the final pulses dribbled over Skinner’s fingers, slickening his own flesh, and Skinner thrust his hips forward and up, letting Krycek’s cum lubricate his own fingers, the incredible heat of it over the head of his cock sending him over the edge.

He bit into his own tongue, coming silently, as he’d learned to do in army barracks, hardly moving as Krycek’s chest heaved against him. His balls turned themselves inside out pushing his own cum up and spraying Krycek’s abdomen. He inhaled the smell of sex, his head spinning with the cloying ammonia scent of their combined semen.

Relaxing against him, Krycek again took Skinner’s face between his hands, pressing soft kisses across his eyes and forehead. He reached up a little, and licked the top of Skinner’s head. Skinner would have told him to stop if he’d been able to find the breath, but right now he didn’t even have the strength to unravel his fingers from around their flesh. Krycek was licking Skinner’s scalp with long damp strokes.

"Oh, god," Skinner sighed, "What have I done...?"

Krycek laughed very softly, "That was awful, wasn’t it?"

"That’s not what I meant. This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let this happen."

Krycek shrugged, smiling a little, unperturbed. He scooped a little of his own cum onto his finger tips, and took it to Skinner’s mouth, smiling as Skinner groaned helplessly, sucking Krycek’s fingers, his tongue flicking to taste every drop of white.

"You taste different..." Krycek’s cum was saltier, less sweet, than he remembered.

"You can remember that? After all this time you can remember what I tasted like?"

Skinner looked up, meeting his eyes squarely, "Yes. I remember."

Krycek’s face crumpled a little, and Skinner was sure he was going to cry, but it was only fleeting, "We could have made it work, couldn’t we? You and I, we could have been good together."

Grabbing the other man around the waist, Skinner easily lifted him and put him back on the passenger seat. He grabbed some tissues from the glove box, "Here, clean yourself up."

"Hey, Walter," Krycek grabbed his hand, "Do you want to fuck me? You know, for old times sake?" he was smiling again. It didn’t take much.

"Alex, I’m not superman! I’m in my 40s!" but he couldn’t help smiling back.

"Hey, you’re only 42. I’ll give you 20 minutes."

"No, we can’t do this again," but he didn’t stop his grin, "I’ve got to get going anyway, before highway patrol stops to see what we’re doing here. What do you want for lunch?"

-oo0oo-

They ate an uninteresting lunch at the airport. "You know, Walter, for my first meal out of that hole I would have really appreciated something better than this." Krycek pushed his pre-wrapped sandwich away in disgust.

"You can eat something on the airplane."

"Ooo, airline food, I can’t wait!" Krycek pantomimed.

"I don’t care. Come on." Skinner grabbed Krycek’s arm, hauling him into the rest rooms. The two occupants already there didn’t argue with the large forbidding man with the impressive wingspan when he told them to leave ‘now’, and Skinner locked the door.

He handed the younger man the clothes he had bought: "You will wear these. Put your own clothes into this bag. These are the papers you will be travelling under."

Krycek checked them out, "Emby?"

"You’re name is Roberta Emby. I am your husband, Cleve Emby. When they ask you why we are travelling to the United States, you will tell them we are taking a short trip to visit your mother. They will assume we are planning a shopping trip to purchase GST free goods, so don’t try to be too convincing."

"Back to being a woman then, huh?" Krycek didn’t seem too enthralled by the idea as he pulled out the clothes he was supposed to wear. He shucked the borrowed shirt, and changed then and there, letting Skinner see the change. Skinner was trying hard to hide his fascination, but big brown eyes went as round as his glasses as Krycek stood there topless for a few moments before pulling the T Shirt over his head, "Take a photo, it will last longer," Krycek said without malice.

"Sorry." Skinner blushed and looked away. Krycek was no less seductive for having changed gender.

"I’d offer to let you touch them, but they belong to Mulder."

"You were not so monogamous an hour ago."

"You’ve had ‘him’, but you haven’t had ‘her’. I’ve got to save something for Mulder."

"That’s your idea of fidelity? You’re a very strange person, Krycek." Skinner supposed he couldn’t really fathom the way Krycek would have to think to deal with his own differences now.

"You don’t know half of it, Walter."

-oo0oo-

 This safe house – one of the finest in Washington, supplied by an embarrassed government – was far more pleasant than the bungalow Skinner had supplied on his own salary. Too big, Mulder thought, going through the house, too many rooms to protect. This isn’t going to work. There was no way they could keep Krycek safe in a place like this. Unless they kept him in the one room, not allowing him near windows or doors. Even so, Mulder knew that any room he couldn’t see would hold demons for him.

"You make lousy coffee, Mulder," Scully said from the kitchen, she held a mug close to her face, letting it steam up her spectacles.

"All those years at the Sorbone, wasted!" He clasped a hand to his wounded heart.

She smiled and started to say something else, stopping as she caught the sound of a car engine pulling up. They both pulled their guns, and moved cautiously to the window. Scully twitched aside the curtains. Mulder could tell who it was by her release of tension, before she spoke: "It’s Skinner."

Mulder moved to the door to cover the new arrivals as they left the car. "Good afternoon, sir... madam," he greeted them, making a mock bow.

Skinner didn’t respond, and pushed Krycek in front of himself. He handed the young woman a duffel bag, "Top middle bedroom," he pointed, "There is only one window – stay away from it, you have your own bathroom. Leave your door open and unlocked. Stay in female form. Agent Scully, did you bring the items we discussed?" He headed upstairs after Krycek without waiting for her answer.

"What’s this?" Mulder leaned down to ask his partner. She’d been here for the past couple of days, setting things up, organising everything prior to their arrival. He wanted to know anything she may have learned.

"There’s no way we could successfully protect Alex, but we can protect Sandy. As far as we know, the Consortium doesn’t know who she is, or what she looks like. If any of them suspect Krycek can change gender, at least they haven’t seen what he looks like when he does."

"So he’s to remain female all the time now?"

"While he’s not in front of the Committee, yes."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She had to ask, "Mulder, do you prefer him male or female?"

"Yes."

She rolled her eyes, and grabbed the plastic bags she’d brought with her, going upstairs to the room assigned to Krycek. Skinner nodded to her and left the room. "Carry on, Agent Scully," apparently somewhat uncomfortable with Krycek as a woman.

She dropped the bags onto the floor beside the small dressing table, and gestured Krycek over to herself. "Pull up a chair, Alex."

"What’s this for?" he asked, curiously starting to rummage through the bags.

She showed him clothes – including undergarments, a selection of cosmetics she’d purchased, and a wig. Shoulder length, softly curled, a dark chestnut, it was close enough to his own colour to look natural, but different enough to be a competent disguise.

She waited for his protest, but instead he picked up a lipstick:

"Show me how to use this stuff?"

It took longer than she expected to get Krycek aware of the theories behind cosmetic deceptions. "No, don’t smear that around, you’ll look like a clown," after a lifetime of using make up, she’d forgotten the learning steps necessary, "Careful, Alex, you’ll put your eye out," but she had to admit it was kind of fun, "Try this shade, it will bring out your eyes," being the one to be teaching, rather than little sister learning from someone else, "That’s an eye liner, not a lip liner... let me wipe it off," and Alex seemed to have no macho problems with this, he was sticking his fingers in the paint and smearing things about with great enthusiasm and no skill. "You don’t need much, not with your colouring, but we need to make you look different." When did I change? When did I accept this guy... girl... whatever? Knowing he saved my life, probably twice, albeit unwillingly? Did that make me forgive him?

That didn’t ring true to her, but, although she couldn’t trust Krycek, not really, it seemed easier and easier to just accept his presence, and that he was going to be around Mulder for a while.

"If you’re to pass as an FBI agent you are required to have a certain standard of presentation."

"I am an FBI agent."

"Not a female one." She brought herself up shortly, since he obviously was female, but she didn’t want to point out he could hardly consider himself an agent anymore, "We have a dress code, and discreet cosmetics are a part of that."

"And you do this every day? Don’t you get bored with that?"

She thought a moment, "No, I like it."

"Why?"

She wanted to say, ‘that’s personal’, but his curiosity was genuine, not mocking, "I put on all of this, and no one can see the real me. It’s not my real face," she felt ridiculous saying this to the man who stared at her through a young woman’s face, "It’s... it’s almost a disguise..." she faltered, "Do you understand?"

Krycek smiled at her, and changed genders, male, then back to female quickly, "Of course."

That was so disconcerting… yet… fascinating… Maybe she could almost learn to understand Mulder’s fixation…

"Come on, let’s try these clothes."

He’d pass. There’d been some trouble with the brassiere, until Krycek had become so frustrated with the damn thing he’d thrown it to the floor, refusing to wear it. One of the perks with being a gay guy was never having to deal with bras (as long as he didn’t date a trannie) and he refused to deal with them now. The stockings had been enough of a trial, and they itched like crazy now.

He studied himself in the mirror, pleased with their final results. There was no way they would recognise him now, the wig changed the apparent shape of his face, the make up looked totally natural, and the clothes – some Chanel-copycat style suit – flattered and feminised.

Scully interrupted his narcissism, "Can you walk in the shoes? I bought reasonably low heels, but you might want to practice."

He walked up and down the room a few times, they were no harder than a good pair of bondage slave boots. "Do you think I’ll have to dress like this often?"

"No, only when we are travelling."

There was a knock against the door frame, "Hi girls," Mulder lisped, "Mind if I interrupt?"

"Hi Mulder," Scully turned to her partner, she didn’t want to be with them when they were together. Mulder’s obsession with Krycek was making her increasingly uncomfortable, "I’ll leave you two alone for now. When you’re ready, Alex, I’ll show you the best way to get that make up off."

He nodded his thanks to her and returned to his own reflection, fascinated by the difference.

"Hi," Mulder smiled, entering the room proper.

"Hello." Krycek didn’t turn to look at him.

Mulder walked over, standing behind Krycek, and touched the soft curls, "You look nice. I prefer the natural you, but you do look nice dressed like this."

Krycek reached up and flicked Mulder’s hand away, and kicked off his shoes.

Mulder put his hand on Krycek’s shoulder, "What’s wrong?"

"Don’t touch me," it wasn’t an angry tone, just matter-of-fact.

Mulder didn’t remove his hand, but tried instead to turn Krycek to look at him.

Krycek flicked back to masculine, and gave Mulder a shove, knocking him back easily.

Mulder missed his footing and slipped, landing on his butt on the floor, looking at Krycek, who looked no less menacing, despite the now too tight short skirt and stockings on a man’s frame. Mulder knew full well why Krycek was angry, being drugged and dumped in Canada without warning must have been unsettling to say the least. I should have told him, given him some semblance of free will, but he didn’t know why Krycek should be carrying such a grudge. He smiled slyly, knowing how to stop any fight Krycek might try to start. Use his Kindred sexuality against him – short circuit his brain.

He grabbed Krycek’s ankle, letting his hand slide up the inside of Krycek’s leg.

Krycek struck the hand away, pulling his fist back to punch Mulder, really angry now. But Mulder’s other hand was up under the skirt, cupping and massaging at his groin, and he could feel the fight going out of Krycek as hormones and need took over.

Krycek stood there, his mouth working in voiceless anger, one fist still pulled back, while Mulder worked both hands between his legs, pulling aside the crotch of his underwear to caress and fondle his genitals.

Mulder knew he’d won when Krycek’s hands moved to his shoulders, and he reached up and slipped the underwear down, letting Krycek step out of them. He pushed the skirt up around Krycek’s waist... Garters... he felt his mouth water. Male or female, nothing beat stockings and garters... There was no argument as he grabbed Krycek’s hips and pushed him backwards onto the bed. He undid his own fly, rubbing himself against the fabric of the bed spread as he urged Krycek’s thighs apart. He licked around Krycek’s shaft, feeling it start to lengthen...

"Alex, I wanna lick you, make a cunt."

He’d heard of the ancient Chinese art of sucking your balls up into your ass, but this was incredible, watching the change happen... So swift though... he wondered if Krycek could do that any slower, so he could study the transformation... later...

He grabbed Krycek behind the knees, pushing his legs up and out, "I want to look at you," he said, displaying the sensitive lacy pink tissues where he could admire them, lust after the pleasures they would bring to his flesh, enjoying his own personal peep show, before burying his face in Krycek’s flesh. He sucked on the soft labia, tugging it away from Krycek’s body with his lips, feeling Krycek’s hips start to gyrate as he nuzzled into, then clamped down on his clitoris. His clitoris, that seemed such a strange thing to say, even after this time, do I call you him or her...? He kept sucking and licking until Krycek was wet with excitement, wiggling slightly, flesh flushing pink, before dragging his own body up to cover Krycek’s. It had been too long, and he couldn’t take the time to get himself undressed, so he simply drew his penis out through his fly.

He held Krycek’s thighs apart as he pushed into the hot flesh that enfolded his own, drew him deeper, wanting him, even if Krycek’s will rejected him. Don’t tear the blouse, he told himself as his fingers fumbled with tiny buttons, Scully will be furious...

Holding Krycek’s hands pinned to the mattress, he tried to mesh their mouths together, but Krycek jerked his head away, Oh, you’re still angry, but you can’t help yourself, can you? Mulder smirked. You want this as badly as I do. You can’t even say no. Krycek’s hips were pushing against Mulder, as if he was trying to fuck himself on Mulder’s cock, even though his face was turned away, his expression still stricken.

Mulder reached down, trying to push his pants down further, and Krycek used the opportunity to wrap his legs around Mulder’s hips, and flip them both over. He sat still for a moment, still gripping Mulder’s cock with strong internal muscles, pulling his wig off and throwing it onto the floor. Looking up into Krycek’s face, Mulder wondered if Krycek was going to try to punch him again, but Krycek wrapped his legs around Mulder’s hips, dug his heels into Mulder’s buttocks, and started to ride him like he was a horse.

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