Mulder slammed his front door and shook his soaked hair like a wet dog. He didn't bother to flick on the light switch, the flashes of the lightning storm through the living room windows illuminated his apartment enough for him to make his way to the couch and the eerie, white strobe effect suited his mood to perfection. He'd spent the several hours since leaving Scully in a completely pointless search for Krycek.

When the rain had finally forced him to abandon his meanderings around dark, dangerous alleys and seedy motels, he'd widened his net to visit bar after nameless bar, brandishing the now dog-eared photograph. It was only when he finally realized that he didn't even know whether Krycek drank anyway that he had admitted defeat. Several times, he'd sensed eyes upon him and had spun around, convinced that Krycek was following him, laughing at him possibly from the shadows. He'd found himself gazing at rooftops for a glint of green eyes, or the flick of a feline tail.

And, finally, he'd accepted that Krycek was where any *other* cat was on a stormy wet night; curled up somewhere warm and dry. He'd been forced to acknowledge that if he saw Krycek again it would only be at Krycek's chosen time and place, not before.

It hurt to accept his helplessness in the situation. It was just another layer of hurt that fitted all too easily over the other aspects of his life that he had no control of. Whichever direction he turned, he found doors slammed in his face and backs turned against him. He didn't trust Skinner, he couldn't trust Doggett, his parents had been a closed book to him since Samantha's abduction and  his only friends were three self-acknowledged paranoids. He couldn't even trust himself, not when he just seemed to dig himself into a deeper hole with every decision he made.

The only person he truly trusted was Scully. She was the only element of complete stability in his life. Her skepticism, her honesty and her unfailing loyalty were the thin lifelines that were the only things that were giving him the strength to keep fighting when the rest of the world seemed to be allied against him.

Yet, he'd spent the evening chasing a dream, an illusion, a person so dangerous that just the memory of Krycek's green eyes were enough to make him tremble with a combination of terror and arousal. He hated himself for the fascination he felt towards the shape-shifter. He felt like a moth, flying knowingly into a flame, so desperate for the brightness that he was disregarding the obvious, probably fatal, danger of his attraction. He cursed whatever it was inside him that yearned for Krycek's darkness instead of cleaving to Scully's goodness and he wished, not for the first time, that Scully was a man so that he could find the solace his body craved within her arms.

"Damn you," he snarled, through the rain-tears that poured down his window-pane, and he stared blindly out into the city knowing that, *somewhere* beneath one of the darkened roofs, Krycek was out there, taunting him with his absence. He laid his forehead against the glass, welcoming the coldness that soothed his over-heated skin, trying to ignore the low ache in his groin that was a constant reminder that he was a slave of his own body's desires.

Desires for a creature who was as likely to kill him as to fuck him. Mulder couldn't even pretend to believe any sexual contact with Krycek would be anymore than animalistic fucking. He had no illusions that Krycek had love to offer, just a dark and sensuous depravity that would undoubtedly destroy him because even if Krycek didn't physically kill him, Mulder suspected that to be touched, then inevitably abandoned, by Krycek would be enough to rip his soul apart.

"I need Scully," he almost sobbed, turning his back on the window, on Krycek, on dreams of a man-monster whom he half-suspected appealed to some previously unsuspected suicidal wish in his own psyche.

He stumbled towards the answer phone, drawn inexorably by its red winking eye, knowing without doubt that Scully's calm, reasonable voice would be on it to draw him back from the brink of incipient madness. He pressed the play button with the desperation of a junkie giving himself a fix and felt the knots of tension begin to unwind as soon as Scully's voice filled the empty apartment. Mulder sank down on his sofa, a half-smile on his face, and drank in her familiar tone.

"Mulder, it's me. I just had something incredibly strange happen..."

He frowned slightly, his smile slipping as he heard an edge of confusion in her voice. Scully wasn't supposed to have strange things happen to her. She was his rock, his solidity.

"This piece of metal that they took out of Duane Barry," her voice continued,  "it has some kind of a code on it. I ran it through a scanner and some kind of a serial number came up. What the hell is this thing, Mulder? It's almost as if... it's almost as if somebody was using it to catalogue him."

Mulder felt a thrill of excitement, his self-pity rapidly evaporating as Scully dangled the irresistible bait of 'proof'. Yet, he barely had time to absorb the promise of her statement before his apartment filled with  Scully's loud gasp of shock and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

"Mulder! I need your help!" Scully screamed.

And, as Mulder surged to his feet in panic, he heard a man's voice growl; "Shut up!"

"Scully!" Mulder yelled, racing towards the door and fumbling for his cell-phone as he ran.

"Mulder!" Scully's voice shouted after him, and the fear in her voice almost made his knees give way.

By the time Mulder reached Scully's house it was already cordoned off with crime-scene tape and surrounded by the silent-flashing sirens of a half-dozen police cars.  Dry-mouthed and stone-faced he ducked under the tape, waving his ID at the police. Somewhere during the drive to Scully's house, he'd gone numb, so terrified of what he would find that his brain had switched into pure profiling mode as he had subconsciously shut down all emotions to draw purely on the only talent that he still had faith in. The only talent he had that might save the only person he truly cared about; his ability to enter a crime scene and *see* what had happened..

He mounted the steps, noting the broken window with  professional detachment. He saw the blood staining the inside wall but remained immune to it. Just another fact, just a clue, he reminded himself coldly. He caught sight of his own reflection in the glass and he barely recognized the face that stared back at him. Then, before he even registered his own detachment from himself, he visualized Scully pull open the blinds and Duane Barry peering through.

He wandered around the room, not seeing the Scene of Crimes officers who moved around him. All he could see was Scully crawling across the carpet, calling his name, begging for his help, and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, an insidious voice was screaming at him that while Scully had needed him, he'd been looking for Krycek and his guilt and self-loathing at that thought was enough to almost shatter his careful illusion of calm.

FBI HEADQUARTERS; WASHINGTON, D.C.; 8:03 A.M.

Although the tension inside him was as tightly coiled as a spring, Mulder's exterior still managed to portray the same almost unnatural calmness as he sat in Skinner's office and pretended not to notice the insidious presence of his boss's cigarette-smoking 'friend' who slouched in a far corner, observing the meeting with a sardonic, secretive smile on his crinkled face.

Skinner was prowling around the table, glaring darkly at all the assembled Agents and making no effort to hide his own anger at Scully's abduction.

"According to the reports I reviewed, Agent Scully's research states that Duane Barry's propensity for violent, deviant behavior is due to brain damage from a bullet wound in the head. Is this the operational opinion?"

He stared pointedly at Mulder for an answer. Mulder just pretended to be fascinated by the wood grain pattern of the table.

"Yes, Sir," Doggett muttered, frowning at his atypically silent partner with combined confusion and irritation.

"Is there another?" Skinner demanded, and now it seemed to Doggett that the AD was deliberately trying to make Mulder bite.

Doggett risked a furtive glance at his *other* boss and saw a flicker of amusement dancing in the dark eyes. At that moment, his vague suspicions solidified. The smoker *was* behind Scully's disappearance, somehow, and his presence in Skinner's office suggested that the AD might also be in on the kidnap. In which case, discrediting Mulder in this meeting was presumably their way of trying to keep Mulder off the case and Mulder knew it.

*That* was why he was refusing to bite because, for once, Mulder's concern for his former partner was giving him enough self-control to avoid his usual self-destructive tendencies.

It was in that moment that Doggett's wavering loyalties finally decided which side of the fence they wanted to settle.  He couldn't trust the smoker. He couldn't trust Skinner. But he could trust Mulder because, crazy or not, the only person in this room that Doggett *knew* had no hidden agenda as far as Dana Scully was concerned was Mulder.

And Doggett *liked* Scully.

It wasn't just the fact she was a babe. He'd never let a pretty face and a nice pair of legs sway him in the past, and he wasn't going to think with his cock now. But Scully *was* a 'good-guy'. That was the one, unarguable fact, and by definition that meant that anyone who would harm an honest, hard-working Agent like Dana Scully was *not* on the side of the angels. CIA or not, the smoker had crossed the line and Doggett wasn't prepared to follow him.

"He's convinced he's going to be abducted by aliens. That by taking someone to the abduction site, he won't be abducted himself," Doggett announced, carefully stressing that the aliens were *Barry's* fantasy, not his or Mulder's. He heard the smoker release a furious hiss of breath and hid his own smile under an innocent expression.

"That he's following orders from alien voices in his head?" Skinner asked for clarification.

"Yes," Doggett agreed blandly.

"Well, that's an interesting spin on the Nuremberg defense. Which explanation do you subscribe to, Agent Mulder?" Skinner demanded.

Shit, you bastard, Doggett thought, praying that Mulder wouldn't jump at Skinner's obvious bait..

"There's a question of how he could've gotten to her in the first place," Mulder replied, taking obvious care of his choice of words.

"And you think these alien voices told her?" another Agent challenged.

Doggett winced internally, wondering if *everyone* in the room had been primed to make Mulder discredit himself. He felt a deep burning resentment at the fact that his poor choices up to this point had presumably made the Smoker confident he'd simply fall in line to help in Mulder's self-destruction.

"Agent Scully was carrying a small piece of metal that was removed from Duane Barry's abdomen, an implant he described as a tracking device," Mulder said. His hazel eyes were sparking with barely-concealed anger but, to Doggett's relief, he realized that Mulder was obviously well-aware of the attempt to set him up and was far too clever to fall into the smoker's trap.

Perhaps guessing Mulder was on to them, the other Agent changed tactics slightly.

"Agent Scully thought that you had made a major miscalculation in Duane Barry's psychosis. Is that true?

"Yes," Mulder replied, with a self-depreciating shrug, "but that still doesn't explain how he could have found her."

"Where would he be taking her?" Skinner demanded.

Doggett looked at the AD thoughtfully, then risked a surreptitious glance at the smoker to check his expression. The annoyance he saw there confirmed his suspicion that Skinner wasn't playing completely by the smoker's rules either.

"I don't know. He talked about a mountain but he wasn't specific about the location," Mulder said.

"Well," Skinner shrugged, "however he got to her and whatever his motives, he took Agent Scully's car and weapon. I think we all understand the seriousness of this matter and should proceed ahead quickly with all possible resources. I need you to turn over your files to H.R.T."

"I'd like to brief them myself," Mulder protested.

"Go home, Agent Mulder, you've been up all night. Get some sleep."

Ah, Doggett thought, as Mulder surged to his feet in anger. So, Mulder was *never* going to be allowed to be part of the investigation. All this meeting had been about was an attempt to discredit him. Despite Mulder's avoidance of the trap, the smoker was still going to win the round.

"Sir, I know Duane Barry. I've been in his head, I know how he thinks..." Mulder argued.

"You're too close to this case. If we can use you, we will," Skinner replied.

"Sir..".

"That's an order, Agent Mulder," Skinner barked, then glared at Doggett. "Make sure he gets home safely."

You mean make sure he doesn't set off on his own investigation, Doggett translated behind an expressionless face. You mean remember which owner holds your leash. Well, forget it, because this dog's just decided to bite the hand that's been feeding it.

"Come on," he said aloud, flicking his head towards the door and silently urging Mulder to keep his cool long enough for them to both escape the smoker's suspicious eyes.

STARBUCKS COFFEE HOUSE, DC.  09:23 A.M.

"They were all out to get you," Doggett said.

"No shit, Sherlock," Mulder snarled, gazing morosely into his mocha latte.

 "I was surprised how well you handled yourself."

"I expected it," Mulder admitted, with a pained smile. "I hoped I was wrong, but I arrived prepared anyway. It's bad enough getting shafted at every turn without helping the bastards do it to me."

"I think...well, I think what just happened was just the tip of the iceberg, Mulder."

"How so?"

"Scully's abduction. It's a bit too convenient for certain people. I'm not saying they're behind it, because I'm not sure, but it's certainly in a lot of people's interest that she shouldn't be found. That's why you aren't being allowed on the investigation."

"You talking about Skinner?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. I don't know if he works for the smoker or just wants to stay firmly on the fence, but the smoker definitely wanted to keep you and Scully apart."

"How do you know?" Mulder asked suspiciously.

"Look, hear me out before you go crazy. Then, if you still want to punch me, I'll stand still and take it," Doggett urged.

Mulder's eyes narrowed in dawning suspicion and Doggett's throat tightened as wondered whether the more likely scenario was Mulder pulling his weapon and shooting him.

"I work for him, well I did until this morning."

Instead of erupting with fury, Mulder exuded a soft, unsurprised sigh and sat back in his chair, although his eyes turned colder.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Honestly, I don't know. I don't even know his name. He *claims* to be CIA. He recruited me at Quantico and set things up with Skinner so that I got the Grissom case."

"Why?"

"Because he said you were a rogue agent, a national security threat. He said he needed to find enough evidence of your incompetence to get rid of you quietly."

"Why not just kill me?" Mulder demanded bitterly.

"He said he couldn't risk you becoming a martyr. You had to be discredited or the harm you had already caused would just keep spreading."

To his surprise, Mulder laughed. At his look of astonishment, Mulder chuckled ruefully and explained.

"That's how I got Scully too. Only she turned out to be less controllable than they expected. So I guess you were the second wave. Did you enjoy it, Doggett? Setting me up?"

"I believed him," Doggett replied unapologetically. "I had no reason not to. You've never bothered to try and play the game by the rules, Mulder. You set yourself up by the way you behave. The smoker said you were crazy and nothing I've seen so far has convinced me he's wrong."

"So why are you telling me all this shit, if I'm crazy?" Mulder challenged.

"Because although I'm not convinced you're firing on all cylinders, I'm as sure as hell positive that you're working on the right side of the fence and that means the smoker obviously isn't. I'm not sure if I trust you, I'm definitely uncertain whether I believe in you, but I trust Scully and I believe in her judgment. She wouldn't stick by you if you weren't an honest man."

"How do I know whether this sudden 'change of heart' isn't just another of the smoker's tricks?" Mulder demanded. "You already knew I didn't trust you, so you had nothing to lose by this confession. For all I know, it's just a double-blind. You admit you were sent to spy on me so now I am supposed to believe you've stopped spying on me, while all along you're still working for *them*."

"Them," Doggett repeated with disgust. "Do you have any idea how fucking paranoid you sound?"

"Considering what you've just admitted, not fucking paranoid enough," Mulder snapped back.

Doggett blushed to the tips of his ears.

"Look, I'm not good at apologies, okay? Let's forget this crap. If you want to punch me out over it later, feel free. In the meantime, we need to find Scully."

"I'm not on the case," Mulder reminded him bitterly.

"When's that ever stopped you?" Doggett challenged. "Besides, I am so I've got access. Let's go back to the Hoover and find out what's happening."

"Then Skinner bursts into the room, sees I'm there and fires my ass?" Mulder challenged.

"Cut the bullshit. You'd be there anyway, whether I was going to help you or not. You've got nothing to lose by working with me on this."

"Just tell me one thing," Mulder demanded.

"What?" Doggett asked cautiously.

"I lost something recently, a file. Did you take it?"

"The Grissom file you hid under your passenger seat?" Doggett asked evenly.

"You bastard," Mulder snarled.

"I gave it to the smoker," Doggett confirmed. "I told him about Krycek too. Told him your theories on Krycek's abilities. I thought...well, at the time I thought it proved you were as crazy as he said you were."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because if you see Krycek, I think you'd better warn him who's after him."

Mulder gave a bitter laugh.

"How can I? I don't know who the hell the smoker is myself."

"No," Doggett agreed. "But I think maybe, when we've gotten Scully back, we should both have a 'chat' with AD Skinner."

Mulder looked at him thoughtfully.

"Know something, Doggett? That's the first decent idea I've ever heard you utter."

"Yeah? Well, maybe now I'm not working against you, maybe I'll surprise you with how decent my ideas can be."

Mulder just snorted and rose to his feet, but Doggett was certain a little of the ice in his expression had begun to thaw.

FBI HEADQUARTERS; 4:08 P.M.

Mulder stared thoughtfully at the photograph on his desk. Earlier that day a patrol car had pulled Barry over. The unfortunate state trooper was now lying in a morgue but his death had been recorded by his car's on-board camera and a close-up of the open truck had shown that Scully was still alive. As much as it hurt him to look at the way Scully had been bound and gagged in the trunk, and despite the absolute terror he could see in her eyes, the picture gave Mulder both hope and determination because it proved that she was still alive. Or at least she had been three hours previously.

His first inclination on seeing the photograph had been to dive into his car and race to the deserted road where the trooper had been murdered, but the trail was cold and he knew the wide manhunt that was already occurring in that region wouldn't be helped by his presence. Out there he'd just be another impotent man in a car, hoping to get lucky. Here in DC, on the other hand, he had access to the resources that might just allow him to guess where Barry actually was heading.

He listened, over and over, to the recording of his conversation with Barry in the travel agents. Although every word was already permanently etched into his memory, he kept playing the recording in the hope that something new would occur to him, something in the timbre of Barry's voice maybe.

"A mountain. We went, uh, up... and up. Ascending... ascending to the stars," Barry had said, and at first Mulder had put it down to nothing more than mad rambling. Yet, the more he heard Barry's voice repeating the sentence, the more he was certain some illusive deduction was attempting to leap from his subconscious.

"Ascending... ascending to the stars"

Something...something on the very edge of his mind, something he could reach out and snare if only he could control his whirling, panicked fear for Scully  long enough to concentrate on what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

"Coffee?"

Doggett's voice broke into his thoughts and the illusive connection eluded him, spiraling back into  the ether. Mulder glared at him, then focused on the coffee cups, and gave a tired sigh of defeat.

"Yeah," he groaned. "Thanks."

He rewound the tape once more, pulled out the earphone, and let Barry's voice emerge into the room.

"A mountain. We went, uh, up... and up. Ascending... ascending to the stars."

"Where was that patrolman killed again?" he asked Doggett.

"Rixeyville, Virginia. Route 229."

"Doesn't Route 229 lead to the Blue Ridge Parkway?"

"I don't know," Doggett admitted.  He watched in bemusement as Mulder stood up and walked over to a shelf over laden with telephone books, reached for one decisively and flipped through it until he found the page he wanted.

"Look," he said, showing the advertisement to Doggett..

"Ascend to the Stars. SKYLAND MOUNTAIN"

Mulder ripped the page out and waved it in Doggett's face.

"You know where he's going?" Doggett demanded.

"Get your car and meet me downstairs."

"I've heard that line before," Doggett grumbled. To his surprise, Mulder grinned and chuckled.

"Just get your car. Trust me."

Doggett stared at him for a long time, then shrugged.

"Well, I guess *one* of us has to be the first to test the trust theory," he drawled. "Guess I get the first go."

Mulder just smirked.

ROUTE 211; WARRENTON, VIRGINIA; 5:43 P.M.

Doggett didn't realize Mulder had fallen asleep until the panicked honking of an air-horn alerted him to the fact that they were on the wrong side of the road.

"HEY!" he yelled, thumping Mulder in the ribs.

Mulder snapped awake and swerved the car out of the path of the approaching truck. Doggett gasped and had to remind his lungs how to breathe before he managed to speak again.

"You're dozing off. Maybe I should drive," he suggested.

"I'm fine," Mulder snapped.

"You know, Chernobyl, Exxon Valdez, Three Mile Island... they were all linked to sleep deprivation," Doggett muttered. "The U.S. Department of Transportation estimates that over 190,000 fatal car crashes every year are linked to sleepiness."

"Did they estimate how many people are put to sleep listening to their statistics?" Mulder retorted sarcastically.

"I'm just trying to keep you awake," Doggett protested.

Mulder just grunted.

"How do you..." Doggett paused, struggling for the right words. "How does Krycek handle it?"

"Handle what?"

"Not sleeping."

"I don't know," Mulder snapped. "I never got the chance to ask him."

"Can you imagine it? Never, ever sleeping?" Doggett persisted.

"No," Mulder admitted finally. "It would make you crazy, I think. Even crazier than me," he added with a grin.

"Seriously, Mulder," Doggett warned, "I think it really *would* make someone go insane. I don't know if I believe the shape shifting part, or the idea that Krycek can alter reality, but I read enough of that file to believe he really doesn't ever sleep. I took this class once, back in the marines. It was one of those 'what to do if you get captured and tortured' things..."

"Oh," Mulder interrupted. "one of those 'special forces' kinds of things?"

Doggett flushed and looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the scenery outside of his window.

"I'm sorry," Mulder apologized. "I know that's something you can't talk about. Tell me about the class."

"We spent three days without sleep," Doggett explained. "After the first twenty-four hours, it took cold showers and a klaxon going off every fifteen minutes to stop people dozing off. It was hell, at first. Then at about thirty hours we all got a second wind, felt so high we could have been taking drugs. Over the next day we alternated between exhaustion and euphoria. But then...towards seventy hours, people started seeing things, getting delusional, kind of dreaming while they were wide awake. It was pretty terrifying."

"Hypnagogic hallucinations," Mulder muttered.

"Hell," Doggett complained. "Why am I trying to tell *you* this? You're a psychologist. You know perfectly well what I'm trying to say."

"Look, I appreciate your warning but since I'll probably never even see Krycek again, I don't see what it matters. I'm not very good at keeping hold of people, in case you hadn't noticed."

"We'll find her, Mulder."

"If she's not already dead," Mulder snapped.

SKYLAND MOUNTAIN; SKYLAND, VIRGINIA

"Scully's car isn't here," Mulder said, as they pulled up to the deserted tram station.

"Maybe we beat him here," Doggett suggested. "You said he wasn't sure where he was going. He could still be driving around the mountains, trying to remember."

"There's someone here," Mulder blurted, throwing his car door open and spilling out onto the car park. Doggett dove out of his own door, reaching for his gun, only to relax and feel a little ridiculous when he realized Mulder was just walking up to a guy in a tram operator's uniform. Doggett straightened himself and pulled Barry's photo out of his inner pocket with deceptive casualness, as though that had been the only reason his hand had reached under his jacket.

"You seen this guy?" he asked,

The tram operator took a long look at the photograph, then shrugged.

"Yeah, he was here."

"He's wanted for kidnapping a federal agent. Did you let him go up in the tram?"

"No way, it's shut down for the summer. I told him to take the back road up."

"How long ago?"

"About forty-five minutes."

Doggett and Mulder exchanged excited, triumphant grins.

"How long does it take to drive to the top?" Doggett asked.

"Little over an hour," the operator replied.

"You gotta get me up there," Mulder demanded.

"No, no way. We just got done refitting the cable. It hasn't been tested with passengers yet. You'll have to drive."

"I don't have the time." Mulder replied.

"You don't have a choice," the tram operator replied snidely.

"No, you don't have a choice," Mulder said, pulling back his overcoat to reveal his weapon and unhooking the holster meaningfully.

"Shit, Mulder," Doggett started to complain but the words died in his throat at the look in Mulder's eyes. .

"I can't stop you from going up there," the operator grumbled, "but if there's a problem with the cable, I'm shutting this down. I'm not going to be responsible for your death."

Mulder climbed in the tram and bolted the door behind himself.

"What are you doing?" Doggett demanded. "What happened to 'trust'?"

"I am trusting you, " Mulder replied. "To stay here and, whatever happens, don't let him stop the tram."

Doggett stared at him thoughtfully, then nodded.

"Okay. Good luck, Mulder."

Mulder nodded back, his face taut with tension.

"Okay, you hit your "run" and "up" button on the panel. Speed indicator controls your ascent. Now when you want to slow down..." the operator's voice trailed off as Mulder started the tram up its path. "Don't crank it faster than fifteen," he yelled after the disappearing Agent.

"Doggett," Mulder's desperate voice screamed down the radio. "What's happened? Why's it stopped?"

Doggett looked out of the cabin window. The tram had frozen only about ten meters from the summit.

"I don't know. You okay? You're almost at the top. You should be able to make the rest of the way yourself."

"Yeah, but I fell when it stopped so suddenly. I think I've sprained my left wrist. I can't even try to climb out of the tram, let alone pull myself along the cable."

"Shit," Doggett cursed.

"You've got to get the tram started again," Mulder yelled. "I can see Scully's car in the car park. They've already arrived."

"Start it up again," Doggett snarled at the tram operator.

The operator flicked various switches, then shrugged.

"There's no power," he said. "I told him not to go so fast. He must have burned out the generator."

Doggett shook his head in disbelief. "We'd have heard something, wouldn't we? Wouldn't an alarm have gone off?"

"It should have," the operator admitted. "But try it for yourself. All the controls are dead."

"Doggett?" Mulder demanded.

"The power's gone off," Doggett told him. "We don't know why..."

His voice trailed off as a huge dark shadow seemed to cross over the roof of the cabin, plunging them into total darkness.

"Is it an eclipse?" he wondered out loud.

Then the floor began to shake under his feet, as though the whole mountain was shifting.

"What the hell's going on?" Doggett demanded.

The tram operator just whimpered.

Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the shadow passed, the earth stopped shaking, and the generator whined back into life once more.

SKYLAND MOUNTAIN SUMMIT; 8:46 P.M.

Mulder groaned and slid to a stop as the door crashed open to reveal a severely pissed-off Skinner accompanied by three suited strangers.

"You got Duane Barry?" Skinner demanded.

"Yes, sir," Mulder acknowledged shortly. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Skinner's failure to ask about Scully's whereabouts.

"Agent Mulder, you disobeyed my direct order," Skinner growled.

Mulder was still trying to decide whether it was even worth replying to Skinner's comment when one of the guards shouted out in panic for a paramedic. He raced back to the room where they were holding the prisoner, Doggett, Skinner and the others hot on his heels, and saw two guards kneeling over Barry, who was lying on the floor choking.

"Duane? Duane?" Mulder yelled.

Barry turned agonized eyes towards him, his body tense with pain, then wheezed a final, rattling breath and died.

Mulder waited helplessly while the paramedics attempted to revive Barry. Only when it was obvious that they were wasting their time did Mulder turn around and see Skinner staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

FBI HEADQUARTERS; WASHINGTON, D.C.; 10:36 A.M.

"Victim appears to have expired from prolonged hypoxemia, secondary to asphyxiation. Several possible etiologies and most likely strangulation due to the presence of contusions and a bruised larynx. Do you want to speak to this, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder glared at Skinner, no longer even pretending to hide his anger, despite the presence of the mysterious smoking man in the corner of Skinner's office.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're suggesting."

"But you attacked him?"

"I was interrogating him about Agent Scully. He wasn't cooperating so I pushed him."

"And you lost control," Skinner accused.

"Momentarily. But then I left the room. He was very much alive, I spoke to him. Agent Doggett spoke to him. Is he asserting that I killed him Barry?"

"No. He corroborates your story. But the fact is, we've got a dead suspect, Agent Mulder."

 "We also have a missing Agent, Sir. While I acknowledge the necessity to establish the cause of Barry's death, it mystifies me that not one person has yet asked me what happened on Skyland Mountain."

"Agent Doggett has already told me what happened. When you reached the summit, Barry was there, Agent Scully was not. We have several teams combing the area within a ten-mile radius of the mountain to discover where he left her body."

"Her body?" Mulder demanded furiously.

"The only reasonable explanation for her not being found on the summit is that Barry left her somewhere en route. Expert examination of her car suggests that she would have asphyxiated in the trunk several hours before you apprehended the suspect. The assumption is that Barry disposed of her body."

"He *said* she was on the mountain with him."

"Before she was abducted by the aliens?" Skinner scoffed.

Mulder glared at him, turned to stare pointedly at the smoking man, then rose to his feet.

"Unless you have any further questions, I still have a report to file," he stated coldly.

Skinner nodded.

"You can go, Agent Mulder."

In the corner, the smoking man cleared his throat warningly.

Skinner ignored him.

"I said you could go," he snapped at Mulder.

Again Mulder saw something unreadable in Skinner's eyes.  He wanted to grab the AD by the lapels and shake him until some of the secrets he was obviously keeping were shaken loose. Instead, all too aware of the smoker's silent presence, he simply gave a short nod and stalked out of the room.

"You okay?" Doggett asked worriedly, peeling himself away from the pillar he'd been leaning against and intercepting Mulder as he strode furiously towards his car..

"Okay? Okay?" Mulder demanded. He reached out, grabbed Doggett by the throat and flung him viciously against the nearest car. "Scully's missing, maybe dead and now Skinner and your 'former' employer have just told me they're closing the file on her. How the fuck am I supposed to be okay?"

"She's alive," Doggett gasped, as Mulder's fingers tightened around his throat.

Instead of the calming effect he'd intended, his words released Mulder's full fury. He gasped in pain as Mulder's fist connected solidly with his solar-plexus, then doubled over with a groan as Mulder followed the punch with a left-handed jab into his stomach.

"Feel better now?" he rasped sarcastically, as Mulder stepped back, rubbing his sprained wrist and grimacing in obvious pain.

"What do you mean 'she's alive'? What do you know?"

"Nothing," Doggett swore. "Except I know these people, Mulder. They aren't stupid enough to waste the only control they have over you. If separating you from her isn't enough to stop you, they'll need her again to use as bait or maybe they'll  blackmail you, hold her hostage against your good behavior."

"Why should I believe you?" Mulder countered. "Skinner told me he's already spoken to you. You've reported to your masters like a good little doggy, haven't you?"

"What did you want me to do?" Doggett challenged. "If I openly come out in support of you, I'll just find myself transferred."

"And that should worry me why?" Mulder growled.

Doggett shrugged.

"Better the devil you know?" he suggested.

Mulder thought about it and nodded. Then he moved so quickly that Doggett didn't see it coming before he was pinned against the car again, choking under Mulder's fingers.

"If I ever find out that you were involved in Scully's abduction, or that you know where she is and aren't telling me, I *will* kill you," Mulder vowed.

"I know," Doggett gasped.

Mulder released him.

"I'm going home. Don't call me. I'll call you," Mulder snarled, then turned and stalked towards the lift, leaving Doggett rubbing his bruised throat.

FBI HEADQUARTERS; WASHINGTON, D.C.; 1:48 P.M.

"Would you care to explain this?" Skinner demanded.

Doggett stared at the surveillance recording and swallowed heavily, unconsciously rubbing his throat again.

Skinner sighed.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Agent Doggett," he warned.

Doggett stared pointedly at the corner where the smoker usually sat.

"I could say the same about you, Sir," he said, stiffening his shoulders bravely.

"You don't have any idea of what is going on, Doggett. Be very careful before you commit yourself irrevocably in any direction."

"I don't find it particularly comfortable to sit on the fence," Doggett replied. "It's a talent I haven't acquired yet. Perhaps you should give me some pointers."

Skinner's face darkened.

"Don't presume to judge me, boy. You have no idea of the stakes of this game."

"I do know that whoever it is that man who smokes those cigarettes works for, whether it's the CIA or some other covert government organization, is either directly or indirectly responsible for Agent Scully's disappearance."

"Agent Scully was abducted by Duane Barry who, I assure you, was only under orders from the voices in his head," Skinner countered.

Doggett shrugged his acceptance.

"Nevertheless, Sir, someone told Barry where she lived. The same people who presumably put a tracking device on her car so that they could retrieve her from Skyland Mountain. I don't know how  they did it, how they created an illusion that satisfied Barry's expectations of an alien abduction, but *someone* was on that mountain and managed to take her off him in a manner that left him still spouting nonsense about aliens. And both you and I know that the only people with those kinds of resources work for our own government."

"Why would they do it?"

"Because Agent Scully got too close to whatever it is they're trying to deny. Because she had hard and damning evidence, that metallic implant in her possession. Or more probably, simply because her termination would prevent further involvement with Mulder. They want him stopped, by any means possible, but they don't dare actually kill *him*."

"I know what you said to Mulder, but do you think Agent Scully's dead?"

"I don't know. How far do *you* think they'd go?"

Skinner just looked away from him.

"Who are these people who can just murder with impunity and we can't do anything about it?"

"Let it go, Agent Doggett. This isn't your fight. There's nothing you can do."

"What can *you* do about it?" Doggett challenged.

Skinner gave him a tight smile.

"There's only one thing I can do, Agent Doggett. As of right now, I'm reopening the X-Files. That's what they fear the most."

"Will you let me work with Mulder?"

"I'm sure our cigarette smoking friend will expect you to," Skinner replied.

Doggett stiffened.

"Like I said, Agent Doggett, don't be too quick to antagonize the smoker. Sometimes the only way to beat these people is to play them at their own game. It's not something that Mulder can do. His search for the 'truth' leaves him dangerously exposed. If you really want to help him, keep your support for him low-key."

"Like you do?" Doggett dared.

"That will be all, Agent Doggett," Skinner snapped. "I'm sure you can find the door by yourself."

MULDER'S APARTMENT. D.C. 16.45 PM

Mulder shifted in his sleep, turning fitfully as though subconsciously trying to muffle his whimpers against the back of the couch. An illusion that was shattered when the agent suddenly twisted onto his back and pointed his weapon directly into Krycek's face.

"Not quite the welcome I was expecting," he purred, rocking back on his haunches with a broad grin on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing here, and how did you get in?" Mulder demanded coldly, although the stirring in his groin made him all too aware that the hammering in his chest wasn't purely fear.

"You're sad," Krycek replied, ignoring the gun as he reached out to touch Mulder's tear-stained face.

"And you're here to cheer me up?" Mulder mocked, then caught his breath as he watched Krycek slide his fingers into his mouth and lick at Mulder's tears.

"You need me, Fox. So I came," Krycek said, with a shrug.

"I needed you yesterday," Mulder replied bitterly. "Yesterday you could have helped me. Today's too fucking late."

Krycek reached out and took the weapon out of Mulder's trembling right hand. Then he swapped his attention to Mulder's left hand, his fingers creeping up to the wrist, pushing back his sleep-rumpled shirt sleeve to expose the purpling bruise. He stared at the mark for a moment, a shadow seeming to pass over his intense green eyes, and then he lowered his face to the wounded flesh. Mulder shivered as Krycek swept a hot and curiously rough tongue over the sprain. He flinched slightly, trembling with both arousal and fear.

"I'm sorry," Krycek whispered, his warm breath sending a tremor of reaction up Mulder's forearm.

Mulder shrugged, his eyes haunted and remote.

"Why? It's not your..."

His voice trailed off as understanding struck him. Ripping his arm from Krycek's embrace, he stumbled backwards, his face contorting with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he accused. "*You* were there. You stopped the tram. It's your fault!"

Krycek straightened so that Mulder could look directly into his inhuman eyes, then he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"You BASTARD," Mulder screamed, launching himself at the younger man. He swung his right fist at Krycek's jaw, bracing himself for the pain that would explode against his already bruised knuckles.

Then time slowed, or at least that's how Mulder perceived the way Krycek's body seemed to flow into motion and slide around Mulder's punch. His own movements were agonizingly sluggish, a second of time fractured into a thousand freeze-frame images of his body twisting, turning, and falling to the ground, so slowly that there was no pain, no impact, just a gradual sinking of his flesh to the floor, while Krycek blurred around him like molten metal, and Mulder found himself lying on his back, his hips straddled by Krycek's thighs.

He looked up into the face that hung over his own, expressionless and inhumanly perfect except for the intense elliptical eyes and felt the anger bleed out of him to be replaced by a bone-weary sense of futility.

"Why?" he rasped.

For a moment, Krycek looked lost and confused as though the answer eluded even him, then a slow predatory grin crept over his face.

"You're mine," he purred.

Mulder digested that, struggling between rage and glee at Krycek's comment.

"You were protecting me," he announced.

Krycek nodded.

"You had no right," Mulder snapped. "I could have saved her..."

"You couldn't," Krycek replied softly. "All you could have done is die on that mountain."

"Die?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek's gaze grew distant, as though he was seeing into some other place, some other reality.

"Your death was on that mountain, Fox. I saw it. I stopped it. You're mine."

Mulder shivered at the certainty in Krycek's tone.

"And Scully?" he asked. "Was her death on the mountain?"

Krycek shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't *look*."

"You mean you didn't *care*," Mulder accused bitterly.

Krycek shrugged.

"Why would I?" he asked, his tone unapologetic.

Mulder erupted in fury, jerking his torso up to smash his forehead into the bridge of Krycek's nose and struggling futilely to break free of the hands pinning his wrists, while blood-tears splattered his face from Krycek's nose.

"I loved her, you bastard. *That's* why. I loved her," he wailed, dropping his head back onto the carpet and surrendering himself to Krycek's retribution.

He flinched as Krycek's mouth opened in a sharp-fanged grimace of pain, and he closed his eyes in fear, already visualizing those fangs ripping into his jugular. Instead, he felt a hot, rough tongue swiping his blood-stained cheeks, laving over his nose, teasing his mouth, thrusting between his lips. He tasted the metallic sweetness of Krycek's blood, a heady, musky wine, and then Mulder's own tongue darted out and wrapped itself around Krycek's probing flesh. He sucked, drinking in Krycek's musky, feral scent, biting hungrily against the moist heat, drowning in a wave of such intense arousal that his body writhed under Krycek's weight as need flooded him.

He gasped in distress as Krycek abruptly pulled away.

"I didn't know," Krycek admitted. "She didn't have your scent. I'm sorry."

For the first time, Mulder heard a genuine note of confusion in the other man's voice. Mulder's eyes flew open and he gazed into Krycek's face. The emerald eyes were dilated with lust, yet dull and lifeless. Although Krycek made no move to release him, Mulder could feel Krycek pulling away, drawing into himself, his confident air somehow shattered despite the passion of their kiss. And he knew that he was losing Krycek, just as he'd lost Scully, just as he'd lost Samantha. Krycek was still in the room, yet in some way he was already leaving.

And something inside him broke, in that moment. Some barrier shattered, some defense inside him crumbled as he realized that whatever Krycek had done, if he let him leave, he'd never survive the abandonment.

"She wasn't my lover," Mulder blurted. "She was my partner, my friend, and I loved her. But...but she wasn't my lover."

Krycek's eyes flickered, but his expression remained remote and aloof. Mulder felt his gut twisting in panic.

"Please," he begged desperately. "Don't leave me."

"Why?" Krycek demanded.

Mulder took a deep breath, ignoring the voices in his head that screamed he was making a terrible mistake. He almost laughed aloud as it occurred to him that perhaps this decision *was* just another way of eating his gun. 

"Because I'm yours," Mulder whispered.

A slow, sensuous smile crept over Krycek's features.

"Do you have even an inkling of what that means?" he asked.

"No," Mulder confessed. 

Krycek's smile twisted and Mulder could sense him drawing away again.

"Show me," he urged. "Please. I want it. Whatever it is. I want *you*. I...I need you."

Krycek shook his head. "No you don't," he replied. "You just need *someone*."

Mulder gave a bitter, embarrassed sob of assent and turned his head to the side, unable to watch Krycek leave.

"But that's okay," Krycek purred. "Because you're mine, little fox, so I'll give you what you need. I just wanted to be sure it's what you *want* too because, after tonight, I won't ask again. I'll just take."

Mulder shivered at the dark promise of Krycek's words. He felt as though he was tottering on the edge of a precipice, staring out into space, unable to move backwards but too terrified to leap into the darkness. He laughed, a wild, high-pitched wail of sound.

"What?" Krycek demanded.

"Do you know what sailors used to write on maps of unchartered waters?" Mulder asked.

Krycek just blinked.

"'Here be dragons'," Mulder explained, his eyes fever-bright. 

"Is that what you fear, little fox? The unknown?"

"It's what I want," Mulder replied. "I'm so cold, so...so alone. I'm lost, Alex. Lost somewhere that I can't find my way out of anymore. Scully was...she was like my anchor. She was the one who  pulled me back whenever I drifted too far out of my depth. Without her, the darkness lures me. I'm like an addict needing a fix. It's not the world I need protection from, Alex. It's myself."

"And you think *I* can save you from the darkness?" .

"Oh, no," Mulder replied, shaking his head. "You *are* the darkness."

Krycek smiled.

"Then, perhaps, you *do* understand a little of what it means to be mine," he purred.

He flowed to his feet, a blur of sinew and muscle. Mulder struggled to re-focus his eyes, but the air of the room seemed to thicken, becoming cloying, pressing down on his lungs like a heavy weight. The room dimmed around him, fogging his vision, clouding his brain, and then he felt himself lifted in the air although there was no sensation of being touched. He was floating, perhaps. Traveling without moving. Off the precipice and falling, falling, falling.....

He screamed without sound, tumbling blindly, his body free-falling.

/Where am I? What's happening? Help me!/

"It's the nothing," a voice purred inside his head.

/Alex? ALEX?/

His body was spinning, twisting, writhing, as he fell and fell through the nothing, his lungs collapsing as he gasped desperately for breath against the thick, foggy air. 

And then he hit the ground face first.

His body convulsed with agony, fire blazing through every nerve ending, his limbs shattering, and he screamed again but this time the sound of his terror was so loud that it reverberated around him. Abruptly the pain ceased. He tried to move, but no part of his body responded. He was paralyzed, lying face down and spread-eagled, his face buried in something soft and yielding.

/My neck's broken/ he told himself, his breath coming in short, tight gasps of absolute horror.

Yet, as the ground seemed to sway beneath him, he gradually became aware of sensation throughout his body, the feel of sweat-drenched cotton clinging to his chest and thighs, the whisper of cold air trickling over his back and buttocks, the comfort of the pillow against his face.

/PILLOW/

And, suddenly, awareness came to him. He was lying face down in his own bed. 

"You bastard!" he yelled into the pillow, as he realized that all Alex had *really* done was carry him to his bed and strip him. There had been no falling, no shattering of his body, just the impossible reality of Krycek somehow divesting the mattress of several years worth of old files and the fact that he still couldn't move. There was no sensation of restraints, no pain, just a heaviness in his limbs that made movement impossible. He trembled, realizing how vulnerable he was in this position, feeling a cold draught trickling between his spread legs.

/Drugged/ he told himself, although even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true in any normal sense of the word.

"Alex?" he pleaded.

A low, dangerous growl rumbled through the room, making the hairs stand up on the nape of Mulder's neck and causing goose-flesh to prickle over his naked flesh. Whatever was in the room with him was no longer even *pretending* to be human and, whatever it was, it certainly sounded a hell of a lot larger than a cat.

"Alex? Please. You're scaring the fuck out of me."

Perhaps Alex understood, because the next loud rumble was a deep, reverberating purr.

"Alex?" Mulder whimpered, giving up his futile effort to move his limbs and instead struggling to at least lift his head from the pillow.

Something huge and heavy crashed onto the mattress, rocking Mulder's helpless body, and Mulder screamed in terror as the creature purred again, its warm breath teasing the bare flesh of his back. Then he yelped as a hot, almost dry tongue swept across his lower back, its texture rough as sand-paper. Mulder's skin squirmed under the sensation. It wasn't uncomfortable as much as ticklish and, despite his terror, Mulder had to stifle an hysterical giggle as the huge tongue laved slowly over his waist. 

"Shit, Alex. Stop it. Please," he begged, as the tongue began to sweep lazily down to his ass. Then he cried out in combined shock and self-disgust, as his cock surged to life the moment  the creature's tongue began to delve between his buttocks.

"Please, Alex. Not like this," he pleaded, then was stunned by his own acceptance that his creature *was* Alex Krycek. 

"Is this just an illusion?" he demanded desperately. "Am I just imagining this?"

Alex purred, and Mulder groaned at the sensation of hot, rolling breath rippling over his ass. He felt Alex shift, felt Alex settle himself down between his open legs, felt the tongue lapping at him, pressing against his ass, pushing against the tight muscle, its rough wetness sending tremors of excitement into Mulder's groin. He felt the unmistakable texture of fur tickling his inner thighs, of whiskers twitching against his buttocks, and still the tongue teased and delved, forcing him open, demanding his surrender.

"Oh, shit," Mulder wailed, as his neglected cock strained and wept against the unyielding mattress.

The tongue slid inside him, impossibly broad, unbelievably long, thrusting in and out of his ass in a slow, languorous  rhythm as though Alex was lazily  licking ice-cream out of a cone.

"Please," Mulder begged, almost mindless with need, his whole body quivering with arousal. He was past caring whether it was reality or illusion, whether Alex was just *pretending* to be some huge panther-like creature or truly was that beast. Lying there helpless, his whole body thrumming with sensation, his cock straining with need, it no longer seemed to matter. "Please, Alex. Do it. Do it to me. Please. I need more. I need *you*."

He sobbed in terror as Alex responded with an ear-shattering growl, as he felt Alex shift and flow up his body, as needle-sharp claws raked into his shoulders and pinned his already motionless body in place. He moaned in excitement as something pressed between his buttocks, then gasped as it drove inside him with one fast, brutal thrust. He screamed as his passage, raw from the rough, laving tongue, was breached with a violence that lifted his hips off the bed, then whimpered with pleasure as each pounding, eager thrust bounced him back and forth across the mattress, finally allowing some friction against his aching cock.

And, suddenly, his limbs were free, the paralysis gone. He could move, he could fight, he could flee the creature ravishing him.

Instead, he pushed on his palms, his biceps straining against Alex's weight. As Alex's cock forced his hips off the bed, Mulder pulled his knees under him and thrust upwards, ignoring the fangs biting into his neck, the claws digging into his shoulders, the fire slamming into his ass, as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, dropping his head between his arms and thrusting his ass back in invitation to Alex's assault.

"Harder," he begged. "Please Alex. Harder."

With a growl of triumph, Alex began to slam into him with a force that knocked Mulder's shoulders back down to the mattress. Mulder felt the claws release his shoulders, felt Alex's left hand grasp his waist, felt the fingers of Alex's right hand curl around his cock and pull against the turgid flesh.

"Come for me," Alex purred. "Now!"

And, with a scream, Mulder erupted into his hand.

Mulder came so hard, he almost blacked out. He was barely aware of Alex's final triumphant roar as he flooded Mulder's ass with his hot semen, he hardly felt the last desperate thrusts that hammered into him as Alex found his release, he wasn't even truly aware that it was sweat-drench flesh that collapsed over him, not fur.

All he was truly aware of, as his body sank into the mattress under Alex's weight, was the fact that he was no longer alone.

Go to Part Four