Wild Horses, Book One

Author:  Satina

Pairing:  M/K

Rating:  R for violence.

Warning:  Dark!Mulder and Krycek!Torture  (with hurt/comfort)

Date written:  September 2007

Notes:  This takes place following Max, which happens after Memento Mori and Tunguska/Terma, near the end of Season 4.  Mulder is dealing with Scully's cancer, still unhealed, Max's death, and his traumatic trip to Russia with Krycek.  He hasn't seen Krycek since he rolled out of the back of the truck just before it careened over the cliff with Mulder at the wheel.  But he's been looking for him...

---

Mulder took the blood-spotted business card out of his wallet, where he'd been carrying it since Max's death three weeks ago.  He slid a gentle finger over the slightly soiled creases and then turned it over.  The back was bloodier than the front, and he let himself sink into the rust color there, becoming one with the Rorshach-like blots.  He felt his vision blur, the tears welling as the tightness came into his chest again.  But he swallowed it back, blinking his eyes dry, and slid the card back into his wallet.

...

As Krycek stepped out of the shadows, Mulder's heart skipped a beat and he stood up straighter, tightening his grip on his weapon.  He stayed in his own slice of darkness, holding his breath as Krycek scanned the area, searching for his contact.  Mulder waited until Krycek was a few steps closer, and then stepped out behind him, raising the gun.  "Get stood up, Krycek?"

Krycek whirled around, gun in his hand, eyes wide.

"Drop it," Mulder said, staring down the barrel.  "Now."

Krycek did as told, and the gun fell to the concrete with a clatter.  He lifted his right hand, palm out.  His left stayed at his side.

"Put 'em both up!" Mulder snapped, stepping in closer and kicking the gun away.  He reached out with his left hand and shoved at Krycek's left shoulder, but the arm attached to it just swung heavily and came to rest at Krycek's side again.  Mulder blinked, narrowing his eyes and studying the arm more closely.  Its angle was just slightly unnatural, and Krycek still hadn't raised it, though his right hand was trembling slightly where he still held it at his side.  Mulder stepped back, flashing on the image of the peasant woman's son, Misha, stepping into the room, his left sleeve tied off just under the shoulder, hanging empty.  "What happened?"  His voice was flat.

Krycek just licked his lips, inhaling and exhaling shakily.

Mulder's jaw tensed.  "Get into some trouble in the Russian forest, Krycek?" he said.  "Did the peasants that you and your friends are using for research subjects decide to help you out, the way they almost helped me out?"

Krycek's eyes tensed, but he didn't reply.

"What, did they cut your tongue out, too?" Mulder snapped, stepping forward and backhanding Krycek with his left hand, still holding the gun on him with his right.  "Good!" he said, watching the red mark spread across Krycek's cheek as Krycek turned his head back from where the slap had snapped it.  "Maybe that'll finally stop the lies!  Huh?"  He lifted his right hand, feeling a strong urge to let fly with another slap, this one weighted with his weapon.  "Say something!" he yelled, shaking the gun and restraining himself from cracking it across Krycek's mouth.  "Answer me!"

"No," Krycek said between gritted teeth, voice shaking.

"No?" Mulder yelled, leaning into his face and shoving the gun against his mouth, splitting his lips against his own teeth and watching the blood color them red.  "No you won't answer me?  Do you really think that's a good idea you stupid son of a bitch!"  He shoved the gun in harder, parting the bloody teeth.  Krycek's tongue pushed against the gun uselessly, trying to dislodge it, and he made an unintelligible noise around the gun in his mouth.  "What?" Mulder said, tiliting his head dramatically.  "What was that, Krycek?  I couldn't quite make that out."  Krycek's eyes closed for a moment, squeezing out tears, and he tried again, sounding more urgent.  Mulder yanked the gun out of his mouth, ripping more of the fragile skin there as he did.

Krycek quickly swallowed a mouthful of spit and blood, then gasped out, "No, they didn't cut out my tongue."  He swallowed more blood, licking at the cuts in his lips and mouth.  "And yes, they cut off my arm."  His voice was low and shivery.

"Am I supposed to feel SORRY FOR YOU?" Mulder screamed in his face, and Krycek leaned back, trying to turn his face, but Mulder reached up with his left hand and wrenched it back around.  "Grew your hair out, I see!" he said, holding Krycek's head in place.  Krycek just panted, eyes wide and wet, body shaking.  "I guess you weren't expecting to see me here, huh?" He said, gripping the hair harder, feeling it come out in his fingers, forcing him to regrip.  He held the gun against his ear with the right.  Krycek gasped and gritted his blood-stained teeth with the pain.  "Of course," Mulder went on, "You didn't expect to see me again at all, most likely, after you walked out and LEFT ME THERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"  Mulder screamed in Krycek's face, watching his saliva mix with the blood and sweat already there.  He let go of Krycek's hair and threw him away from him, then, after a glance down at this gun, threw that away from him, too.

Krycek frowned and watched the gun skitter across the cement floor of the empty warehouse for a second before Mulder grabbed him by the lapels of his leather jacket, jerking him in close.  "No guns," he said manically.  "Just me...and you..."  He threw Krycek backward, and Krycek stumbled for several steps before regaining his footing.  Mulder was on him in a heartbeat, shoving him again, and this time he slammed back into the wall, the smack of his head hitting concrete loud in the echoing space.  "I trusted you!" Mulder yelled, letting go with a hard right hook into Krycek's jaw.  "You son of a bitch, I TRUSTED YOU!" he screamed, following up with a punch to the gut.

Krycek doubled over with a loud grunt, spitting a fountain of blood down Mulder's front and holding his gut with his right hand.  Mulder slapped him in the side of the head, knocking him sideways.  "Nothing to say to that?" he gasped out, pulling back to punch Krycek in the kidneys.  Krycek cried out, hissing and bending lower, spitting more blood on the ground.  Mulder slapped him on the other side of the head, bringing him back over closer again.  "What, not gonna hit back?" he sneered.  "You still have one good arm, I'm sure you could do some damage."  He slapped him again, on the opposite side, then punched him again.  "You're a trained killer, Krycek, come on!  Fight back!  Show me what ya got!"  

Krycek just stayed huddled over, drooling spit and blood on the cement floor, holding his middle.  Mulder brought his fist up in a brutal uppercut, snapping Krycek's head back on his neck, bouncing it off the wall again.  "I said fight BACK, ASSHOLE!" he yelled, sinking a left into Krycek's gut.  Krycek slumped to the ground on his knees, hand still curled around his belly.  "Fight back!" Mulder screamed again, kicking him now, first in the ribs, then in the stomach.  Unable to stop now, he repeatedly sunk his foot into Krycek's gut over and over, connecting with the arm still wrapped there, as well as the chest and face, when Krycek curled into too tight a ball to reach his stomach any more.  "Fight back fight back FIGHT BACK!" Mulder screamed, kicking his now unresponsive body.  "FUCK YOU!!!" he screamed, kicking him again.  "Fuck you, you lying, murdering son of a bitch!"  The sobs caught in his throat and he fell to his knees over the still form and he began pounding on it like a toddler throwing a fit.  "Fuck you!" he sobbed.  "Fuck you fuck you fuck you..."  He pounded and sobbed, then simply collapsed over his bent arms, weeping into the leather of Krycek's jacket, wailing so hard he felt his throat tear with it.  He grabbed the leather in his hands, gripping and releasing it, then just went slack over the body beneath him, sobbing bitterly into the leather against his face.

After several minutes, his tears subsided, and he lifted his head, sniffing and wiping his face with his shaking hand.  He sat back on his knees, wiping his face again and watching the form in front of him.  He blinked, realizing he couldn't see any trace of movement.  He gasped and reached out a badly shaking hand, pushing the body backward a little in order to see Krycek's face, which was down against the cement, his body curled into a ball facedown on the floor.  The body rolled heavily, the head slack as the face came into view.

Mulder gasped.  It was drenched in blood, more blood still pouring from the slack lips, cuts and bright red swelling covering practically every visible inch of skin.  Mulder's hand went to his mouth, then he let out another gasp as he saw a bubble form in the blood drooling from Krycek's mouth.  "...breathing..." he whispered, putting his fingers to the side of Krycek's neck, feeling for a pulse.  "Alive," he said then, his eyes closing in relief a moment.  Another sob caught in his throat then, but he swallowed it down and opened his eyes again, surveying the damage.  

Krycek was badly hurt.  Maybe dying.  By Mulder's hand.  Mulder looked down at his fists, seeing the ripped and bruised skin on his knuckles.  If he called an ambulance, they'd see the situation and call the police, and Mulder would be jailed for assault.  Possibly murder, if Krycek didn't make it.  

But if he didn't, Krycek would have no chance.  His pulse was weak and he was barely breathing as it was.  Mulder felt bile rise as he remembered his foot impacting with Krycek's body again and again, face, chest, ribs, arm, stomach, legs, blow after blow, as hard as Mulder could kick until he couldn't kick him anymore.  The internal injuries could be...Mulder swallowed back the urge to vomit...substantial.

He brought his hand to his mouth, trying to think quickly, knowing Krycek didn't have much time.  He was already on the 'bad' side of town, where violence was the order of the day and muggings were practically a morning ritual.  He'd been here before, investigating a couple of disappearances.  His eyes closed as he realized who he was going to have to call.

"Sure, *Mister* Mulder," the man said over the phone.  "I think I can help you out.  I'll send somebody right over."

"Thank you," Mulder said sickly, disconnecting the call.  He leaned back over Krycek, checking for breathing and pulse again, and got both, though weak.  "Don't you dare fucking die on me," he said through gritted teeth, staring at the battered face.  "Don't you dare."

A few moments later, a large black van pulled up outside of the warehouse, and several men in plain clothes entered with a gurney and medical supplies, and Mulder stepped back while they took Krycek's vitals and loaded him onto the gurney and into the van.  "I'll follow you," he told the men, then he got into his car and pulled out behind the van, following it through the streets to a nondescript stone building on the outskirts of town.  The men took Krycek into the building and Mulder followed them in.  

"They only take cash here," a man said, climbing out of the passenger side of the van.  He was in his mid-fifties, tall and fit, dressed in a dark charcoal suit.  "Five thousand per day, plus expenses."  The man smiled, looking over Mulder from head to foot, lingering on his bloody knuckles.  "I'm sure with a ten-thousand dollar deposit, they can run you a tab for the rest."

Mulder nodded, swallowing.  "I can't get it tonight," he said.  "First thing in the morning."

"Fine," the other man said.  "I'm sure you'll be good for it."  He looked meaningfully at the knuckles again.

Mulder clenched the fist under scrutiny, well aware of the implied threat.  If he didn't pay, they'd tell on him.  He nodded again, accepting the terms.

"All right then," the other man said, getting back into the van.  "You just let me know if you need anything else, Mister Mulder.  You know where to reach me."

Mulder nodded again, then watched the van pull away from the tiny private hospital, feeling his soul go with it.  He turned and went through the doors, approaching the receptionist there.  "Excuse me?" he said, keeping his hands low and out of her line of sight.  The thirty-something woman looked up from her computer monitor, arching her darkly painted brows over heavily shadowed eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Is there any way I can go back there with the man they just brought in?" Mulder asked, trying to see beyond her, through the double doors into the examing rooms.  He definitely wasn't about to start flashing his badge to get his usual easy admittance.  The deja vu, the contrast between his visits to Scully in the hospital just months ago and this, making him feel weak and dizzy.

"Sure, *Mister* Mulder," the woman said, a cold smile playing around her lips.  "Mr. Donovan said to give you whatever you needed."

"Thanks," Mulder replied quietly.

The receptionist stood up, gesturing for him to follow her, and led him through the double doors into a small hallway.  She smiled, gesturing to one of the two examining rooms there, then left Mulder there, returning to the front desk.  Mulder nodded and slowly walked over to the door, looking in to see what was happening.

"...recent amputation...severe damage to the stump...broken jaw...lung is collapsed...crushed ribs...stop the bleeding...looks like massive internal injuries..."

Mulder wiped his hand over his mouth, then turned and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.  If Krycek died, he wasn't just going to have to cover up a private hospital stay, he'd have to hide a body.  Dear God, what had he done?  He opened his eyes after a few minutes and looked for a chair to sit in, but there wasn't one there, so he just wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the wall, waiting and trying to hear what they were saying.

"...head trauma...get him into surgery now..."

Mulder stepped away from the door and four individuals came through, wheeling Krycek on a hospital bed.  Mulder looked down at him as they passed.  His leather was gone, his pale bruised face nearly unrecognizable beneath the breathing tube and bloody gauze, the rest of his body from the neck down covered with a bloody white sheet.  Mulder fell back against the wall, closing his eyes and putting his hand over them.  The man on that bed didn't look like he had a good chance of making it, and the various comments Mulder had caught from the emergency doctors didn't reassure him.  He went back out to the waiting room, glancing at the receptionist on his way out.  She gave him another of those cool smiles and he went to the furthest corner of the room and sank down into one of the black vinyl chairs there.  He let out a deep sigh and slumped down, preparing for a long, tense night.

"Mister Mulder?"

Mulder was startled out of a restless sleep by a gentle tap on his shoulder.  He jolted awake, sitting up straight in the chair.  "Yes?"

"He's out of surgery," the doctor said.  "In intensive care."

Mulder let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes momentarily.  Alive.  He's alive.

"He has massive internal injuries.  We found small tears in his liver and right kidney.  We were able to repair these with surgery but he lost a lot of blood.  He also has damage to his lungs.  Seven of his ribs are broken, four of them compound fractures, and bone fragments punctured one lung and collapsed it.  We're draining off the air and fluid leakage with a chest tube."

Mulder swallowed, sure he was going to vomit.

"His right arm is broken in several places, and his recently healed stump sustained a great deal of tissue damage.  He'll probably have to be fitted for a new prosthetic, there's no way the old one will fit now."

Mulder closed his eyes again.

"But the damage we're most concerned about is the trauma to his brain.  He had an intracranial hematoma, causing a buildup of blood between the brain and skull.  We've had to induce coma in order to take the pressure off, and we've made a small hole in his skull to drain the blood and fluids."

"Is he going to make it, then?" Mulder asked, barely able to summon his voice.

"He's strong," the doctor answered expressionlessly.  "But we can't make any guarantees.  The...damage..." the doctor paused for half a second meaningfully, and Mulder blinked, feeling his stomach roll again.  "...is substantial.  He's in recovery now."

Mulder swallowed hard.  "Can I see him?" he croaked out, barely meeting the doctor's eyes.

"Certainly," the doctor replied.  "Right this way."  He turned and led Mulder back into the treatment area, down the hall and around the corner, then down another hall to a small, plain room.  "Call the nurse if you need anything."  The doctor turned and left, and Mulder nodded and stepped into the room.

Krycek was so pale that he practically blended into the white sheets, except for the vivid red and purple bruising over every exposed bit of skin.  He was in a whole-arm cast from shoulder to fingertips, suspended with pulleys from the ceiling.  His head was wrapped in bandages, his mouth obscured behind tape and a ventilation tube, with another tube coming out of his chest.  He had machines on both sides of his bed, including one to pump the air in through his mouth, the other to take it out through the chest.  Mulder walked very slowly to the side of the bed and looked down at him.  He wasn't even recognizable.  It could be anyone in that bed.  Mulder covered his mouth with his hand and inhaled and exhaled slowly.

He had done this.  This was his handiwork.  This was his victim.  He was the perpetrator of this violent crime.  

He stepped back from the bed, then looked around and spotted an emesis basin.  He grabbed it just in time and vomited into it, doubling over and struggling to catch it all in the inadequate small container.  When he was reasonably sure he had no more left in him, he went into the tiny attached bathroom and emptied the basin, leaving it on the floor there.  He rinsed his mouth out, then washed his hands for the first time that night, flinching as the soap stung his cuts and abrasions.  Finally, he splashed water on his face and wiped his hair back from his forehead.  He checked his watch and saw that it was a little after four in the morning.  He'd be expected at work today.  He'd have to call in and make excuses.  And he'd have to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time.  Maybe for good, but he tried not to think about that.   He walked out into the hall and then out into the lobby and into the dark parking lot.  He decided he'd call in sick for now, and figure out the rest later.  He put in a call and left messages with the main switchboard and the phone in his office, knowing Scully would check it first thing.  Then he turned off his cellphone and went back inside to wait.  For what, he didn't even know.  To see if Krycek lived through the night, he supposed.  He took off his blood-soaked shirt and jacket, leaving just a slightly spotted white t-shirt.  He couldn't do anything about the splotches on his slacks, and he didn't want to leave just yet, so he just pulled a chair over next to the bed and sat down in it.  Everyone here had already seen him, anyway.  And most probably knew what he'd done.

Nurses came in every little bit, checking the monitors and tubes, adjusting and replacing things, and Mulder was asked to leave a couple of times when they were checking his incisions.  He scavenged for food in the three vending machines in the tiny hospital's lounge, breakfasting on Pepsi and corn nuts, and when the banks opened, he went out and withdrew the ten thousand dollar deposit from his trust fund.  He paid the hospital in cash, then headed back to the lounge for a lunch of cheese crackers and Mountain Dew to wash down the shame.

Krycek made it through the day, and Mulder started to feel somewhat more hopeful about his situation.  He went outside into the parking lot again to call Scully after he knew she'd be home from work, feeling it was one small sin added to so many larger ones, as he lied about a virulent stomach flu and turned down her offers of Saltines and 7-Up.  He told her he didn't think he'd be quite ready to go back to work tomorrow, and she told him not to rush, that she certainly didn't want him giving it to her.  He told her he'd see her in a day or two, and then hung up, looking around the area to see if there was anywhere to get anything to eat nearby.  All he could see was a convenience store about a block away.  He walked down and bought a questionable burrito and a soda, then at the last minute, put it back and grabbed a Coors tallboy.  He finished his dinner as he walked back to the hospital, then washed his hands in Krycek's tiny bathroom and headed back over to the chair he'd spent the day in.  He sank down into it, feeling marginally more relaxed due to the beer in his system.

The nurses had said there was no change in Krycek's condition, which was somewhat good news, since it meant he wasn't getting any worse.  Of course, they didn't call him Krycek, but used the alias Mulder had provided them with, Andrew Taylor.  Mr. Taylor was strong, they said, and his chances were looking pretty good, although they had no way of knowing what effect the brain trauma might have on him in the long run.  He would survive, most likely, but they couldn't tell him much more than that, yet.  Mulder nodded, relieved to know that at least he wasn't a murderer.  No, his victim would probably live, so all that really made him was a batterer.  At least officially, anyway.  Inside, Mulder felt like a monster.  He sighed and leaned forward in the chair.  He had so much to say and no one to say it to.  Well, no one but his comatose victim, that is.  His voice came out cracked but gained strength as he continued, murmuring quietly and looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"I don't know whether to feel horrified by the fact that they let the perpetrator into the room with his victim, or grateful because they're so willing to look the other way in this unusual situation," he said, staring at a spot on Krycek's thigh beneath the sheet.  "I guess it's not so unusual for them," he went on, leaning back into the chair.  "You're probably wondering how I know these people," he said, staring off at the wall beyond Krycek.  "I had the misfortune to meet them when I was investigating some disappearances awhile back.  Possible abductions," he added.  "But it turns out they just wound up on the wrong side of the crime bosses and were recovering in a small, private hospital on the outskirts of town, unwilling to press charges."  Mulder closed his eyes.  "I tried to convince them, but they owed the guy money, and he offered to forgive their debts if they agreed to stay quiet."  He licked his lips and opened his eyes.  "Never thought I'd be the one hiding someone here."  He leaned forward again, sighing.

"If you're expecting me to say I'm sorry, you're gonna wait a long time," he said.  "You know you deserved this."  He looked away, then down at the floor.  "You've probably done this to people before."  He paused.  "Which doesn't make it right, of course, but..."  He trailed off, staring at the linoleum.  This wasn't what he wanted.  An unresponsive sack of meat to confess his sins to.  He wanted answers.  He wanted accountability.  He wanted Krycek to wake up and witness this.  It was no good this way.  No good at all.  But it was all Mulder had, and after several more moments of staring at the wall, he continued.  "I know you were behind everything," he said quietly.  "Carn-Sayer's death, the nursing home deaths...all to make sure that rock didn't fall into American researcher's hands."  His eyes fell closed.  "People are just tools to you.  Obstacles.  If it serves you to keep them alive, you will, but if they get in your way..."  He opened his eyes.  "Are you even taking orders from anyone these days, or is it your finger in all these pies, manipulating, lying, scheming, and killing to get a bigger piece?"  His jaw tensed.  "I guess I became expendable somewhere along the line, too, huh?"  He looked at the battered face, bruised and taped and stretched around the ventilator tube.  "No longer of any use to you, so you just walked out and left me there for them to do whatever they wanted to, while you..." he ground his teeth.  "...laughed it up with the camp commander who had just carried out my torture."  The anger inside bloomed fresh.  Anger at Scully's illness.  Max's death.  Krycek's additional betrayal.  He felt it fill the room and propell him up out of the chair.  He clenched his sore fists and stared into Krycek's bandaged, unrecognizable face.  "What did I do to make you stop using me," he ground out quietly.  "What was it that made you give up on me and decide to just let 'em have me?"  He looked down at the closed eyes.  He found himself marveling at the length and density of the dark lashes against the pale, bruised cheeks.  "When did you give up on me?" he said lowly, feeling sick again.  He sank back down into the chair.

Several minutes passed, then he got up and went to the lounge for a soda, bringing it back and drinking it next to the bed.  He set it on Krycek's bedside table.

"You saved my life in Hong Kong," he said quietly.  "You threw Kallenchuk outside, but kept me in with you," he went on.  "Why would you do that?"  He rubbed his hands on his jeans, looking at the floor.  "You had no reason to keep me alive, and every reason to kill me."  He inhaled and exhaled.  "I don't understand."  He spent several minutes staring at the floor, then sat back in the chair with a sigh, finishing his soda.  There was no television in what they called Intensive Care, so he got up and took a walk, stretching his legs and getting some fresh air outside.  He returned to the room just as the sun was going down.  

The nurse who came in on the night shift offered him a cot, which he accepted gratefully, stretching his cramped back and legs as he unfolded himself from the chair.  After she brought it in and fitted it with linens, he laid on his side, facing the wall, exhausted.  But he couldn't sleep.  He stared at the plaster in the dim light.  "Why did you give me the keys," he finally said very quietly.  His voice bounced back at him from the wall, overly loud and close.  "You could have told me to go fuck myself," he said even more quietly.  "You could have made an excuse."  He sighed loudly.  "You had to know those cigarette butts were in there.  You don't smoke.  And you knew I'd notice them."  He inhaled and exhaled, nestling into the thin pillow.  Several more minutes passed.  "You let me find them."  He spent a long time staring at the wall, then finally fell asleep after the nurse's first midnight checkup.

...

"No change," the doctor told Mulder, coming out into the hall after his noon examination.  "He's doing no better, but he's doing no worse.  He's holding his own."

Mulder nodded.  "Will he come out of the coma anytime soon?"

"We don't know that he'll come out of it at all," the doctor said.  "But we've drained the fluids that were pressing against his brain, and we're going to wean him off the drugs that are helping maintain the coma state.  After that, it's up to him."

Mulder nodded.

"I'll check in on him again tomorrow, barring any complications," the doctor told him.

Mulder nodded again, and the doctor walked to the next room to finish making his rounds.  Mulder steadfastly refused to think about who else's victims might be recovering in the neighboring rooms.  He went back into Krycek's and waited while the nurses went through their routine.  When they were finished, he walked over to the side of the bed.

"No more opiates for you," he said, watching the artificial breather pump air into Krycek's body.  "Fun's over."  He watched the eyes for movement.  There was none.  "I've gotta go home and shower," he told Krycek.  "I'm getting pretty ripe."  He looked at the clock on the wall.  "I have to take care of a few things, but I'll be back this evening."  He looked back down at Krycek.  "Don't go anywhere."  After a few more moments, Mulder picked up his jacket and bloody shirt off the back of the chair and walked out to his car.

He drove home, showered, packed a couple of changes of clothes and some reading materials, made a call to Scully to let her know he was going to go ahead and take off Friday, too, since he was still running a fever and there was a great Twilight Zone marathon on cable all day.  She told him she'd stop by this weekend to check on him, and because he could think of no way out of it, he said okay.  He hung up, checked his fridge for food, which was nonexistent, then stopped off at a drive-through on his way back to the hospital.

"How's he doing?" Mulder asked, when the night shift nurse came in.

"Well, let's see," she said, then she went through her usual routine of checks and adjustments.  "His blood pressure's up a little," she said.  "That's a good thing," she explained.  "And his temperature is normal.  There doesn't appear to be any infection anywhere."

Mulder nodded.  "So he's getting better."

"He seems to be responding positively to the reduction in his medication," the nurse agreed.  "We'll have to see if it continues."

Mulder nodded again, and she left.  He walked over to Krycek's bedside.  "You're getting better," he told him.  He looked down at Krycek's still face, noticing that the bruising was starting to fade in some places, turn green in others.  The wounds in his lips were dry and ragged, stiff around the tube and being damaged further by the tape.  Dried blood flecked the stark white adhesive.  He turned and sat down in the chair.  He dropped his gaze to the floor.  

"This wasn't even about you," he said quietly.  He stared at the floor several minutes before he continued.  "Not all of it, anyway."  He closed his eyes.  Then he opened them and sat back into his chair, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling.  "But I can't beat the hell out of the aliens who abducted Max, or the nameless government men who caused his death along with hundreds of others, and then killed a few more to cover it up."  He counted the small holes in the tiles.  "And I can't punch my father in the mouth for being weak and scared and letting them take my sister," he said softly.  "And I can't even *touch* the man who smokes the cigarettes..."  He closed his eyes.  "Who might actually be my *real* father."  After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and lowered his head.  "And I can't take a swing at Scully every time she makes fun of abductees or rejects my theories or even takes personal digs at me, can I?"  He sighed deeply and stared at his hands on his thighs.  "Especially since she's got cancer because of me."  He exhaled.  "Because of you."  He rubbed his hands on his legs, wiping away the sweat.  "But you, I can hit.  You deserve it."  He scratched his nails on his legs, listening to the small sound under the beeps of Krycek's monitors.  "I can do anything I want to you."  He closed his stinging eyes, feeling his stomach turn, and gripped his thighs.  "And then get help with covering it up from the very people I'm working to bring to justice."  His chin dropped to his chest.  "Fuck."

Several minutes later, he headed back out to the lounge and raided the vending machines again, choosing pretzels and 7-Up, hoping they would help settle his churning stomach.  He nibbled them slowly, sipping joylessly at the soda as he walked through the halls, trying not to think about what was being concealed behind every room door.  People who were hurting.  Suffering.  People whom other people had hurt.  It was different here on this side of that fence.  Different and nauseatingly uncomfortable.  Unable to even finish the bag, he folded over the top and headed back into Krycek's room.  He sat down and pulled some files out of his bag, settling in and trying to do some catchup paperwork.  The files lay unopened on his lap for several long minutes.

"I was going to work with him," Mulder said, looking at his hand resting on the stack of files on his thigh.  "The cancer man."   He grimaced at the phrase.  "I told Skinner to get ahold of him, because I was ready to deal."  He looked up at Krycek's face.  "Guess nobody's perfect, huh?"  He stared at the bruises, attention caught once again by the dark, thick eyelashes, making Krycek look so young and pretty.   So innocent.  "When did they get you?" he said very quietly.  Then, after a few moments, even more quietly, "How?"  His eyes trailed down Krycek's face, to his chest, where he watched the reassuring rise and fall of the sheet.  "Did you ever try to do it any other way?" he asked softly, listening to the rasp of the respirator and the beeps of the machines.  Several more minutes passed with Mulder being mezmerized by the repeating sounds.  Then, so quietly he could barely hear himself, "Would you ever?"  

His gaze moved up to Krycek's left shoulder, and the bandaging there.  "Not that you will now.  You'll probably bring me up on charges after this.  Or blackmail me.  I've been sitting here, hoping you live, just so you can wake up and ruin my life even worse than you already have."  He laughed mirthlessly, eyes still closed.  Then he opened his eyes and looked at the man in front of him.  After several more minutes, he decided to take another walk and pick up a snack from the store down the street.

He finished his burrito and beer, then walked back to the hospital and laid down on the bed, feeling sick.  He slept on and off throughout the night, then woke in the still-darkened room to an unfamiliar sound.

"Mr. Taylor?  Can you hear me, Mr. Taylor?"

Mulder gasped and turned over in the bed.  "He's awake?" he asked, sitting up quickly.

"I saw his eyes flutter," the nurse answered.  "Mr. Taylor," she tried again.  "Mr. Taylor, if you can hear me, try to open your eyes."

Mulder stood up, wiping sleep out of his eyes and joined her at Krycek's bedside.

"Yes, that's it," she said, and Mulder leaned in more closely.  Krycek's eyes fluttered for a minute.  "That's it, try again," the nurse encouraged.  Mulder watched closely as Krycek's eyes fluttered again, then opened just a slit, for about a second, before closing again.

"Good job, Mr. Taylor," the nurse said, patting his thigh gently.  "You'll be awake in no time.  Now just go back to sleep and get some more rest and we'll try this again later."

Mulder watched, but Krycek's eyes didn't flutter again, and the nurse finished her rounds and left.  Mulder stood over Krycek for a long time after that, watching for movement, but Krycek just slept quietly, looking no different than he had for the past few days.  But Mulder knew he *was* different.  He was waking up.  He was going to see Mulder and be terrified, most likely, and then he was going to start talking and get him arrested.  Mulder just stood there and watched Krycek breathe.  He was terrified at what Krycek could now do to him, but he had no choice but to stay here and deal with whatever it was.  He couldn't walk away and leave Krycek here.  Krycek could always find him later, unless he disappeared, and he wasn't ready to go that drastic yet.  And he couldn't put a pillow over his face and finish the job he'd started.  The only other option was to stay and try to talk to him when he woke up.  Mulder sat down in the chair, looking up at the clock which read 5am, and waited for the morning.

At 8am, the morning nurse came in.  "Has he shown any further signs of awakening?" she asked Mulder, seeing him sitting in the chair.  Mulder shook his head.  "Well, let's try again," she said, starting her routine.

"Um, I'm not sure I should be here," Mulder said, standing up.  "When he wakes up.  It might...upset him."

The nurse just nodded.  She was obviously used to things like this.  "You can wait in the hall, then," she told him, and went back to replacing Krycek's IV bag.  Mulder nodded and stepped around her, stopping just outside the door.

"Mr. Taylor?...Mr. Taylor can you hear me?  If you can hear me, open your eyes."

Mulder waited, listening.

"Can you hear me, Mr. Taylor?  My name's Debbie, and I'm your nurse.  Can you open your eyes for me, Mr. Taylor?"  A pause, then, "Yes, good!  That's good!  Hi, Mr. Taylor, my name's Debbie and I'll be taking care of you today.  Don't try to talk.  You have a tube down your throat and your jaw's broken.  We've set up a button for you at the foot of your bed.  You might want to practice moving your legs so you can press it.  See?  Right there.  Can you move your legs?  Good, good, just keep at it and it'll get easier and easier.  If you need something, press that with your toe, okay?  All right then, I'm going to leave now.  I'll see you in a little bit."

The nurse passed Mulder in the hall without so much as a glance, and Mulder exhaled and looked at the door.  Krycek was in that room, presumably awake.  It was time for Mulder to truly face what he did.  He wiped his hand over his mouth nervously and took a deep breath, stepping into the room.  Krycek's eyes were closed again.  Mulder walked over to the side of his bed and stopped, looking down at him.  He glanced down at the foot of the bed, where Krycek's feet were uncovered now, poised in front of a large, easy-to-press call button.  As he watched, they twitched, making Mulder jump a little.  He was so used to Krycek not moving.

"Are you awake?" he said quietly.

Krycek's eyes fluttered, then opened slowly.  They moved to focus on Mulder, then went wide as Krycek started to move a little on the bed.  His monitors started beeping faster.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Mulder said, then closed his mouth, gritting his teeth.  He looked around and stepped back, waiting for the nurse to come in and see what had her patient's heartrate going so high.

Krycek blinked madly, still twitching on the bed and driving his monitors even crazier.

"Mr. Taylor," said the nurse, coming in and glancing at Mulder.  "Is there something wrong?"

Mulder frowned as Krycek's eyes went to him again and then again, frantically.  "I'm not gonna hurt him," he told the nurse quietly.  "I wouldn't have brought him here if I was gonna hurt him again."  He cursed himself as he let 'again' slip out of his mouth, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"It's okay, Mr. Taylor," the nurse told him.  "He's been here the whole time."  Krycek's eyes widened.  "You need to try and calm down now.  You're going to hurt yourself."  She put her hand on Krycek's chest.  "I'll be back to check on you later, okay?"  With that, she turned to leave the room, not even giving Mulder a second look.  The hospital's odd mix of diligent medical care and willingness to look the other way left Mulder feeling ill again.  They provided care because Mulder paid them to and for no other reason.  Where did one find healing professionals willing to work under these conditions?  Mulder's bile rose as he realized the mob probably had something on every staff member here.  Fear, the greatest motivator in the world.  The only one strong enough to make human beings so insensitive to one another.  He glanced at the nurse as she passed, wondering what they had on her that made her so ready to leave this shattered and suffering wreck of a human being in the room alone with his obvious assailant, hour after hour.  After she left the room, he stepped back over to Krycek's bedside.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he told Krycek again.  "I'm the one who brought you here."  He looked down into Krycek's terror-filled eyes, which were glazing over with tears.  "I'm sorry," he heard himself saying.  He'd sworn he was not going to say that to Krycek, but now it was the only thing he could think of that might calm Krycek down.  "I didn't mean to..." he looked away, biting his lip.  He looked back to Krycek's face.  "I'm sorry," he said thickly, really starting to mean it.  He forced himself to look at Krycek's wild eyes.  He turned away, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from Krycek as possible.  But this was his mess to clean up.  He sank down into the bedside chair with a sigh.

"She's right," he said, looking at Krycek again.  

Krycek couldn't move his head, but turned his eyes to stare at Mulder.  

"I've been here for three days now," Mulder went on.  "If I'd wanted to kill you, all it would have taken was a couple of minutes with a pillow."  

Krycek blinked madly.  

"I don't want to kill you."  Mulder exhaled hotly, firming his jaw.  His voice came out small and full of meaning for both of them.  "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

The blinking slowed but didn't stop.

Mulder looked away.  "You can turn me in for this, I know that," he said without looking at Krycek.  "You could put me in jail for felonious assault and destroy my career and my life."  He breathed in and out slowly.  "Or blackmail me for the rest of it.  And you have no reason not to."  With another heavy exhale, he turned his attention back to Krycek.  "I haven't ever given you one."

Krycek looked away, then back at Mulder, still blinking.  Mulder supposed it was about all the expression he was capable of, besides kicking, which would probably pop his stitches and jostle his broken arm.  Mulder's eyes closed, his stomach rolling.

"I don't want to upset you," he finally said, opening his eyes.  He looked at Krycek, who was looking at him again.  "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet.  "Blink slowly once for yes."

Krycek's eyes immediately closed for half a second, then opened, fixing back on Mulder.

Mulder firmed his lips, nodding.  He bent down and picked up his bag, shoving the few things he had scattered on the floor and on Krycek's bedside table into it.  Krycek watched him sideways the whole time.  He stood up, slinging the bag over his shoulder.  "I'll give you a chance to get a little rest," Mulder told him.  "I'll come back later to check in on you."  Feeling helpless to do anything else, he turned and left the room.  He went out to the front desk and asked the nurse there to call him if there was any change in Krycek's condition.  She agreed to.  He thanked her and walked out into the parking lot and got into his car.  He didn't want to leave, but he knew it wouldn't do any good for him to stay now that Krycek was awake.  It would only agitate and scare him, and probably slow his recovery.  Mulder didn't want that.  So all he could do was honor Krycek's wishes and leave.  He imagined what it would be like to be arrested and put in prison for assault and battery, being a former federal officer and, let's face it, not exactly a bodybuilder.  He wondered if he'd ever be able to keep food down again.

It was Saturday, and sure enough, a couple of hours after Mulder had gotten home and taken a long shower, Scully knocked on his door.  He answered it wearing his comfortable sweats, bare footed with wet hair.

"Mulder, you look flushed and sweaty, are you still running a fever?" Scully greeted him, stepping across the threshold and putting a hand up to his forehead.  

"No, I'm fine," he told her.  "Just got out of the shower."  He smiled, feeling how out-of-place it felt on his face after the last few days.  He guessed it would be okay, since he was supposed to be sick, anyway.  He certainly felt sick.

"I brought you a little chicken soup," Scully told him.  "And some 7-Up and crackers."  She lifted up a grocery bag, giving him a motherly smile.

"Thanks," he smiled back, totally uninterested.  

"Do you want me to heat some up for you?" she asked, heading for his small kitchen.  He followed her in.

"No, not right now," he told her.  He patted his stomach gingerly.  "Still not real stable in there."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded.  "I'll just put it here on the table and you can have it later."

Mulder nodded.

"How was your marathon?" she asked.

Mulder's social smile faltered.

"Twilight Zone?  All day yesterday?" she clarified.

"Oh, yeah, that," said Mulder.  "Yeah, I...slept through most of it," he said, nodding.  "Been really tired."

She frowned.  "Are you sure it's just the flu, Mulder?  You've been feeling ill for three days now."

Mulder swallowed.  "Yeah, I'm sure.  I'm feeling much better now than I was," he said truthfully.  "I'm just not very hungry yet."

Her expression relaxed.  "Well, just take it easy, then, and start back slowly."  She looked past him toward the living room.  "Would you like me to stay and keep you company for awhile?"

Mulder licked his lips.  "I was just going to lie down, actually," he told her.  "And watch some great UFO footage I burned off the 'net."  He knew that would make her run screaming.

"Okay then," she said, smiling again.  "Call me if you need anything, or if you start to feel worse again."

Mulder nodded.  "I will."

"All right.  I guess I'll go then," she said.  "They're having a great shoe sale at the mall, and the Bureau owes me about five pairs."  She grinned.

Mulder tried his best to return it.  "Have fun spending government dollars," he told her.  "And remember, purple suede never truly goes out of style."

Her smile widened.  "I'll remember that."  He turned as she walked past him to the front door.  "Take care, Mulder," she said, turning the knob.

"You too," he said, all out of cute repartee and just wanting to be alone.  "Have fun."

She left, and he let his breath out heavily as soon as the door was closed.  He went back into the kitchen and got one of the sodas, opening it as he made his way to the couch.  He sank down, picking up the remote and turning on the TV for company, not paying much attention to the History Channel documentary he put it on.  He sank into the leather, sipping his soda and staring at the screen.

Krycek was awake, but he had a tube down his throat *and* his jaw was broken, as was his only arm, so there was no danger of him talking to anybody yet.  Plus, he was in a private hospital where they allowed whoever paid the bills to pretty much determine the treatment of whomever they brought in.  No one there was going to do anything except render medical care to Krycek, even if he did find a way to tell someone to call the police.  Mulder closed his eyes.  No, he'd put Krycek somewhere where no one was really on his side, but they would keep him alive if Mulder paid them to.  He took another sip of soda, grimacing.

He waited as long as he could, surfing mindlessly, sipping 7-Up constantly, then finally got dressed again and headed back to the hospital around 6:15, when he knew the evening shift would have just finished their visit to Krycek's room.  He stopped at the small nurse's station at the beginning of the hall.  "Is he awake?"

"Yes," the nurse answered him.  "Would you like an update on his condition?"

"Yes," Mulder answered, wondering what ever happened to patient confidentiality.

"He's doing well, and the doctor wants to take the chest tube out tomorrow, as well as the breathing tube."

Mulder nodded, quelling the irrational fear that Krycek would say something as soon as the tube was out of his mouth.

"As soon as he's stabilized following those procedures, they'll wire his jaw so it heals properly.  They've had to wait until he could breathe," she explained.  "The risk was low, because he wasn't moving, but now that he's awake, it needs to be done as soon as possible in order to avoid malformation of the bones."

Mulder nodded again, exhaling and imagining Krycek's face malformed because of him.  He swallowed painfully.  "What about the head trauma?" he asked.  "And the internal injuries?"  

"There's been no return of the fluid build-up on his brain," the nurse answered, checking the chart.  "And his incision appears to be healing well.  There is still some blood in his urine," she went on.  "But the white count is good, and that's to be expected at this stage of healing, anyway.  The contusions on his chest and abdomen are responding well to the treatment so far, but we need to keep icing them periodically to help reduce swelling."

Mulder nodded once more, closing his eyes and opening them.  "So, all in all, you'd say he's doing pretty well?"

"Considering the extent of the trauma, yes," she said, putting the chart away.

Mulder ground his teeth together.  "Okay, thank you," he told her, then headed down to Krycek's room.  He stopped just outside of it, listening for sounds.  He didn't hear anything but the beeping monitors and the respirator.  What did he expect?  There was no TV in Krycek's room and the man could barely move.  He wasn't exactly likely to be partying in there.  Mulder took a breath and entered the room.

Krycek's eyes flew open and fixed on him, widening.

"Hi," Mulder said inanely.  He walked over to the side of the bed, watching Krycek watch him.  "I spoke to your nurse.  She said they're gonna try and take the tube out tomorrow."  He licked his lips and swallowed.  "Of course, then they're going to wire your jaw shut..."  He looked around the room.  "Maybe once you're doing better, they can move you to a real room," he said, not exactly eager to meet Krycek's eyes again.  "Let you watch some TV."

There was, of course, no response from Krycek other than some agitated movement of his legs, and when Mulder could avoid it no longer, he looked back into his eyes.  "I told you I was sorry," he said quietly.  Krycek just blinked at him.  Mulder licked his lips and then pulled his chair back over to the bedside from where the nurse had moved it.  He sat down with a sigh.  He just sat there, staring at the side of the bed, listening to the machine breathe for Krycek, for several minutes.  Then he leaned back into the chair and spoke.  "I'm not sure what to do here," he finally said quietly.  "I guess you've probably figured out that you're in a rather unique hospital," he went on, referring to the way the nurse blew off Krycek's concern over Mulder's presence earlier.  "It's a private hospital, where if you pay in cash, they don't ask the wrong questions."  Mulder's gaze dropped to the floor.  "Not syndicate, as far as I know, but in the same zipcode, so to speak."  He let out a long exhale.  "I didn't know what else to do.  I don't want to go to prison."  He looked up.  "And I don't want to kill you."

Krycek's blinking sped up and Mulder firmed his lips in frustration.

"Damn it, Krycek, I'm not gonna hurt you!" he said, leaning forward.  "I mean it!  I'm not gonna hurt you again!"  Then he realized that getting angry at Krycek wasn't exactly going to reassure the man, and his accelerating heartrate beeps supported that realization.  "Why did you leave me there?" he asked, getting up and walking away from the bed, trying to tamp his anger down.  "I know we weren't exactly teamed up or anything, but...you were right," he said more quietly.  "I did need you."  He dropped his head and turned away from Krycek's bed.  

He waited for several minutes, listening to the beeps of Krycek's machines slowly come closer to normal.  He turned around, keeping his distance.  "Don't you get it?" he asked, feeling utterly helpless.  "I'm starting to think...maybe..."  He swallowed.  "Maybe I can't even do this without your help."  He looked away, closing his eyes.  Why had he said that?  He hadn't even let himself really think it before.  And now it was out there.  And Mulder felt somehow more vulnerable than the man on the bed.  Then he realized that was ridiculous, with what Krycek could do to him now.  There was no reason to hide it any longer. He opened his eyes and stared at the plain white paint on the wall for several minutes, then turned his gaze back on Krycek.  "Did you ever even think about it?" he asked, still staying away from the bed to give Krycek his space.  "Did you ever consider actually working with me, instead of just using me?"

Krycek blinked madly, frowning deeply.

Mulder looked away.  "I thought maybe..." he licked his lips and then bit the bottom one, shaking his head.  "You were serious.  In Flushing.  When you made your little speech."  He tried to smile at nothing but failed.  "I thought we wanted the same thing," he finally said.  "To bring him down.  Expose him."  He looked at Krycek.  "You know, destroy the destroyer."  He tried again, this time looking at Krycek, and smiled a sick smile.  "Yeah, you had me," he said.  "Don't pretend you didn't know that."  His smile faded and he looked at the clock on the wall.  "Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said, turning toward the door.  "They took my cot out, so I guess I'm back to sleeping on my couch."  Without turning around, he started out the door.  "I'll be back in the morning to check on you again and see how that procedure goes."  Unsettled by talking to someone and getting no response, he stepped out into the hall and visited the nurse's station again.  He told them, once again, to call him if anything changed.  Then he drove home and drank four beers before finally falling into a nauseous, nightmare-filled sleep.

He woke around 5am and staggered into the bathroom, where he threw up on and off for the next half hour, before crawling back to his bedroom and falling asleep for another three hours.  When he woke up at 8:30, he stepped into the shower with a pounding headache, and had only 7-Up for breakfast before driving to the hospital.  He headed back to the nurse's station.  "Is he up?" he asked.  "Is he awake?"

"He woke up during his checkup at 6am," she answered.  "His next one is in a few minutes.  You can see if he's awake yourself, if you like."

Mulder nodded, then waited impatiently while the nurse finished what she was doing and gathered what she needed to make her visit to Krycek's room.  Mulder let her walk in ahead of him, and he followed behind, staying by the door.

"Hello Mr. Taylor," the nurse said as she went about her business.  Krycek was awake and watching her and Mulder, alternately.  "You're doing well this morning so far.  The doctor will be in around noon to see if we can take those tubes out of your chest and throat.  That should make you a bit more comfortable."

Krycek just blinked up at her, fidgeting slightly.  "Then we'll have to wire your jaw shut so it heals properly," she went on, checking his tubes and wires, changing his IV bag and catheter bag, and then checking the bandaging on his head and stump.  Krycek kept his attention on her the whole time, and Mulder just stayed by the door, out of the way, and watched, trying not to make Krycek too nervous or get in the way.  "Everything looks good," the nurse finally said, making notes on his chart.  "I'll be back with the doctor in a few hours.  Buzz me if you need anything before then," she told him, gesturing to the button at his feet.  Mulder watched her go, then turned back to Krycek.

"I forgot to tell you," he said, walking a little closer.  "You're Andrew Taylor."

Krycek watched him, blinking, from his position propped up in the bed.  

"Hey, they raised you up a little," Mulder said.  "That's probably a little better, isn't it?  You can see better, anyway," he went on, shrugging.  "Not that there's anything in here to see."  He licked his lips, then took a few more cautious steps until he was standing at Krycek's bedside.  "I'm glad you're doing better," he told him, looking into the frightened, round eyes.  They looked a little less wild today though, and that had Mulder breathing better.  "If all goes well, maybe you can have HBO by nightfall."  He felt himself wanting to smile, and tried a very small one, feeling it fall flat.  He wiped it off with his hand.  "I could...bring you a radio or something..." he trailed off.  "If they let you have one in here."  He looked around the sparse room.  "I don't see why not, since you're the only one in here."  He looked back at Krycek.  "Would you like a radio?"

Krycek just stared up at him, blinking.

"Well, I'll bring one back with me when I come back at noon, then," Mulder said, turning to leave.  He stopped.  "I...don't have any idea what kind of music you listen to," he said, turning back slightly.  "I guess I'll just...bring a little of everything."  He turned back and stepped out the door, letting out a deep exhale.  

It was much harder to be in there with Krycek now that he was awake and staring at Mulder in fear.  Every second Krycek looked at him like that was like an accusation and a reckoning, and Mulder had to stop off at the restroom to throw up his 7-Up on the way out.  He drove home and dug in his closet for his boombox, then went through his CDs, filling up a case.  There were twenty CDs in there in all, a broad mix of everything he had to choose from.  Surely there was something in there Krycek wouldn't absolutely hate.  And it was a hell of a lot better than lying there listening to a machine breathe for him, counting the beeps of his heartrate.  Mulder decided he'd take it over early, and arrived around 10:30 with the boombox in hand.

"Hey," he said, walking over to the side of the bed with it.

Krycek looked up at him, then frowned as he saw the boombox in Mulder's hand.

"What, you didn't believe me?" Mulder asked, setting it down on Krycek's bedside table.  "I brought it for myself," he said, getting it situated.  "It's damned boring in here."  He pulled the CD case out of his pocket and held it up.  "Like I said, I have no idea what kind of music you like, so I just brought a mix.  I guess if you hate something I put in, you can kick your feet or something."  He tried another lame smile, but it faltered like the first, and he zipped open the case.  "Okay.  We have the best of Elvis," he started, flipping through them one by one.  "Hits from the 60's, hits from the 70's, hits from the 80's.  We have a home-burned Beatles mix and a home-burned Stones mix, and a disco one and some Elton John."  He looked up to see if Krycek was expressing any interest.  He just stared, so Mulder continued.  "Led Zepplin, Simon and Garfunkel, Dave Matthews, Depeche Mode...got three of those, actually, then a few more modern ones, Cowboy Junkies...I use that to relax...some Red Hot Chili Peppers, also home-burned...and three total mixed disks, with a little of everything, for those days when I'm feeling particularly schizophrenic."  He looked up, CD case in hand, then realized Krycek had no way of making a choice.  "Um, I guess I'll just choose one, and you can...you know, do the kick thing if you hate it."  He perused them again, then decided they could both use some relaxation, and put in the Cowboy Junkies CD.  When Krycek didn't start kicking, he sank into the chair with a soft sigh, listening to the ethereally beautiful, soulfully sad female voice fill the small room with the melancholy lyrics of 'Sweet Jane'.

Krycek just looked over at him.

"So I guess you don't hate it, then," Mulder said.

Krycek's legs shifted under the blanket, and he continued to look over at Mulder.

"Was that a kick?" Mulder said, frowning.  "Do it again, a little harder, if you want me to put something else on."

Krycek blinked, but his legs didn't move.

Mulder nodded, relaxing into the chair a little more.  "I thought we could both use a little peace," he said quietly, looking away and then back, unsettled by the way Krycek kept turning his eyes to watch him.  He slumped a little lower in the chair, closing his eyes to avoid Krycek's stare, and the next thing he knew, he was being awakened by the nurse.

"The doctor's here to remove Mr. Taylor's chest tube now," she said.  "You can wait in the lobby, and I'll come get you when we're finished."

"How long will it take?" Mulder asked, sitting up in the chair and getting his bearings.  The Cowboy Junkies were still playing.

"The procedure only takes a few minutes, but we'll want to watch him very closely for a little while afterward, to make sure the lung is functioning correctly."

Mulder nodded, getting up from the chair.  "Okay," he said, looking down at Krycek.  "I'll uh..." He swallowed and licked his lips.  "I'll be back in an hour."  He looked up at the nurse.  "Come get me as soon as you're finished."

"All right," the nurse said, and Mulder nodded and left the room, leaving the music playing.  He didn't hear it switch off, so he guessed they were going to leave it on.  He found himself feeling glad of that.  He walked out to the lobby, looked at the chairs there, then continued out into the parking lot, blinking into the sun.  It was certainly not a pretty part of town, but Mulder hated the look, feel, and smell of hospitals, and even an ugly parking lot was better than staring at those same walls.  He walked around, stretching his back, then headed back into the lobby so they'd be able to find him when the procedure was done.

After about a half an hour, the nurse came out and told Mulder they were finished.  He followed her back to the room, feeling both eager and anxious.

"We'll be in and out of his room, monitoring his condition very closely for the next few hours, to make sure he's breathing well on his own and that the tear in his lung is repaired enough that he's not leaking too much air into the chest cavity."

Mulder nodded slowly.

"As soon as we're sure he can withstand the procedure, we'll come in and wire his jaw shut so that it'll heal properly.  We'll need to monitor his breathing very closely after that, to make sure it's not affected too seriously."

Mulder nodded again, and stepped through the door after her, stopping in the middle of the room.

Krycek was unhooked from both the respirator and the chest tube, breathing roughly on his own.  The rasping, rattling sound of it made Mulder's gut clench again.  "Should he sound like that?" Mulder asked, and Krycek's eyes fluttered half-open, focusing in on him blearily before closing again.

"Yes, that's pretty normal," the nurse answered.  "It will get better as the lung continues to heal and Mr. Taylor can cough and clear it of mucus."

Mulder nodded, swallowing.  "He appears sedated," he said, looking at Krycek's face, which was placid and slack, his lips parted on the rattling breaths.  They were bleeding again, the removal of the tube having ripped open the healing wounds.  "And he's bleeding."

The nurse used a tissue to blot Krycek's mouth, and Krycek didn't wake.  "I'll bring in some lip balm," she said.  "We sedated him a bit for the procedure, to help him relax.  And neither procedure is pleasant, so they took a lot out of him."

Mulder nodded, stomach rolling.

"I'll be back in a minute with that lip balm," the nurse said, and after she checked his heart and blood pressure one more time, left the room.  The music was off.  Mulder walked over to the bed and looked down at Krycek's face, then turned to the boombox and hit play, turning the Cowboy Junkies back on.  The disk started over, and 'Sweet Jane' filled the room.  Mulder pulled his chair over and sat down with a sigh.

About fifteen minutes later, the nurse returned with a small tube of lip balm.  She squeezed some out on her finger and dabbed it on Krycek's lips, and though he flinched just slightly, he didn't wake up.  She set the tube on the bedside table.  "You can put more on if he needs it," she said, wiping her fingers with a disinfecting cloth.

"Me?" Mulder couldn't help but ask, incredulously.

"You're here more than I am," the nurse said, and with that, she walked out the door, leaving him alone with Krycek.

Mulder sat there, staring at the tiny tube on the table, then at the man in the bed in front of him.  "Can you believe that?" he said quietly.  "They...trust me enough to put lip balm on your mouth, even when they *know* I'm the one who messed it up."  He shook his head.  "I'm glad it's me, and not someone else who..." he trailed off.  Who beat you up and then stuck you in a mob-owned hospital?  Oh God.  Mulder lowered his sore head into his hand.  After several more minutes, he raised it.  "I guess they know by now that I'm not here to hurt you."  He looked at Krycek's face, at the fading bruises and bloody mouth.  Krycek was still unresponsive, the breathing still raspy, but steady.  "Jesus," he murmured, realizing something.  "They probably think I'm your abusive lover or something, the way I'm sticking around."  He sighed and shook his head.  "If only it were that simple," he said, sitting back into his chair.

Mulder listened to the rest of the CD, then got up to change it, putting in Dave Matthews.  He turned and looked down into Krycek's sleeping face.  The bleeding places on his lips had welled up and the blood made his mouth look worse than it was.  Mulder reached over and grabbed a tissue, blotting it very gently.  Krycek's lashes fluttered, but he didn't wake.  Mulder firmed his lips in frustration, then reached for the tube on the table, squeezing a little on his ring finger, the way he'd seen the nurse do.  Shaking his head at himself, he leaned over and smoothed it very carefully on the wounds on Krycek's lips, jerking back when he saw Krycek's lashes flutter again.  He quickly wiped his finger on his jeans and stepped back, but Krycek didn't wake, just frowning in his sleep a moment before settling again.  Mulder let out a relieved sigh, then turned and walked down the hall for a soda.  He stood in the small lounge, drinking it, feeling far away from any kind of world he knew.  He knew it was still there, that world back at the Bureau, cases and Scully and Skinner, and always the possible links to the truth about his sister's disappearance and the related government conspiracy to hide the existence of alien life, but his only real world right now was that world in that hospital room, a man whom Mulder had battered unconscious, who might hold the key to Mulder actually *finding* those hidden truths.

Mulder finished his soda, his stomach, at least for the moment, content to hold onto it.  He tossed the can in the recycling bin and headed back to the room.

When he entered, he noticed the song, "The Space Between" was playing, and he inhaled and exhaled deeply, listening to the lyrics fill the room as the song ended.  

The Space Between
What's wrong and right
Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you

He swallowed and walked over to the side of the bed.  As he did, Krycek's eyes fluttered open, and his head turned on the pillow.

"Hey, you can move," Mulder said.  "That's gotta feel better."

Krycek's eyes were round, and he swallowed, flinching.

"Don't try to talk," Mulder warned him.  "They still have to fix your jaw."  He looked down sheepishly, then back up.  "But at least you can move around some, huh?"  Krycek's stare turned into something resembling a glare, and Mulder nodded.  "You have good reason to hate me," he said.  "I don't blame you.  You look like shit, so I know it must feel worse."  He took a deep breath, then looked down at the CD player, which was now playing, 'Let You Down.'  Mulder closed his eyes and turned away as the lyrics confessed for him.

I let you down
Let me pick you up
I let you down

Then he remembered what he'd said about HBO and opened his eyes.  "I'll be right back," he said.  "Try not to miss me."  He went out to the nurse's station.

"Hey, are there any plans to move Kry...I mean Mr. Taylor to a regular room?" he asked.  "With a TV?"

"As soon as his jaw's been wired and he's stable, I don't see why not," the nurse said.  "But I'll have to ask the doctor."

"Where is he?" Mulder asked, looking around.

"He's doing his rounds," the nurse answered.  "When he's finished, he'll come in and check on Mr. Taylor again, and if he's ready, he'll do the jaw wiring."

Mulder nodded.  "How long after that will it be before you know he's stable enough to move?"

"If he's still doing well a few hours after the procedure, we can move him to a regular room and just keep a close eye on him."

"Okay, thank you," he said, and she gave him a cursory smile and returned to her work.  He walked back to Krycek's room.

"I'm working on the HBO," he told him.  "Maybe you can...think about that while they're...working on your jaw."  He clenched his own jaw in guilty sympathy as Krycek stared up at him, looking more curious than either angry or scared, now.  His frown was actually a welcome sight, and Mulder found himself smiling a little at it.  "Hey, you can shake your head yes or no, now, can't you," he said, swallowing down the fear that this little bit of communication could be used by Krycek to turn him in.  "So, do you like the Dave Matthews at all?"

Krycek blinked several times, and swallowed painfully again, still frowning.  Finally, he dropped his eyes, and then barely perceptibly, nodded.

Mulder smiled for real this time, unable to help it.  "Good," he said, nodding his own head.  "Good.  You can let me know you want me to change it by shaking your head no," he told him.  "There's other stuff to choose from."

Krycek just looked at him, blinking tiredly.

"You look like you could use a little more sleep," Mulder told him.  "I wanted to stick around and make sure you were...okay after the...jaw work," he went on, and Krycek's eyes rolled a little as he looked back up at him.  "But I can wait in the lobby if you want, so you can sleep."

Krycek's eyes drifted closed, and Mulder frowned, thinking he wasn't going to get a reply.  Then, his lips parted as Krycek's head moved on the pillow in a slight, but definite, 'no'.  

He didn't want Mulder to leave.

Mulder swallowed, and took a breath in and let it out slowly.  "Okay then," he said, turning around and lowering the volume a little on the boombox.  He turned back, and Krycek appeared to have already fallen asleep, his deep, raspy breathing falling into a steady, reassuring pattern.  Mulder slowly lowered himself into the chair, watching Krycek breathe as he listened to Dave Matthews sing 'Wild Horses.'

Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away

...

Mulder waited in the lobby while the jaw wiring procedure was done, then, once again, they came and got him when they were finished.  He walked slowly toward the room, knowing that once again, there was going to be blatant physical evidence of the harm he'd done to Krycek.  He stepped through the door cautiously and peeked in, but Krycek was deeply asleep and didn't wake, even when he put the Cowboy Junkies CD back on and pulled the chair up to sit down.  Mulder looked at Krycek's face, and could see the metal wiring through Krycek's parted lips.  He sat back into the chair, closing his eyes.  Several minutes later, the nurse came in.

"How's he doing?" Mulder whispered.

"He did well during the procedure, and he seems to be breathing okay," she answered, doing some adjustments.  She didn't bother to whisper.  "He probably won't be awake for several hours," she said, finishing up with her notes.  "The sedation was pretty strong, and he was very tired to begin with."

Mulder nodded, and looked back at Krycek.  "How long before he can have food?" he asked, still keeping his voice low.

"He can start on a clear liquid diet tomorrow and we'll see how he does," she answered.  "He does need to start getting up and moving around, so we'll remove the catheter tomorrow as well.  I'll bring a cup and straw and he can start taking some water that way tonight."

Mulder swallowed and nodded.  She left, and after watching Krycek sleep for awhile, he decided to walk down to the convenience store and grab something to eat and some Tylenol for his headache and Alka-Seltzer for his stomach.  While he was there, he picked up a copy of Jurassic Park off the dusty paperback rack, as well as copies of his favorite tabloids.  He ate some Saltines and more 7-Up before he left, then walked back and settled into his chair, opening up the Enquirer to check out the story of a woman who gave birth to a baby with a tail.

While he was reading, Krycek starting moaning and thrashing around a little.  Mulder looked around a moment and waited for him to settle down, but it only got worse, Krycek's brows arching and small whimpering sounds coming from his throat.  Mulder leaned in, setting his paper aside.

"Krycek?" he said very quietly.

The whimpering and moaning continued.

"Krycek," he said more loudly.  "Are you okay?"  He felt incredibly stupid asking it, because of course the man wasn't okay, he was recovering in the hospital from a severe beating.  Mulder very carefully reached out, trying to figure out where he could touch Krycek that wouldn't hurt him.  He rememered the nurse patting Krycek's thigh, and very gently laid his hand there.  "Krycek?" he said more loudly.

Krycek jerked awake, then hissed as the sudden movement caused him obvious pain.  Mulder grimaced and took his hand away, sitting back in the chair.  He wondered if Krycek had been having a nightmare about him.  The way Krycek was frowning at him, breathing heavily, it sure looked that way.

"Hi," Mulder said quietly.  Not knowing what else to say, he simply sat and looked at Krycek.

Krycek swallowed, grimacing, and looked back at him, still frowning.  The metal of the wires glistened through his torn, dry lips, which were bleeding slightly again.

Mulder had the thought that he needed more lip balm, but he certainly wasn't about to offer any.  He thought maybe he'd go into the hall with the nurse, where Krycek wouldn't hear him, and remind her to do it when she came by with the cup and straw.  Mulder sighed deeply, feeling completely at sea as to how to relate to Krycek.  He considered making small talk, but decided that was disrespectful of the gravity of the situation.

"The nurse said you could start drinking water tonight," he said, looking away from the glistening wires covering Krycek's teeth.  "You're probably pretty thirsty."  He swallowed.  "Oh, and you can move to a regular room tomorrow, since everything's going okay so far," he said, more cheerfully.  "You'll have TV there."

Krycek turned his head and blinked at Mulder, swallowing slowly again.

All Mulder could think to say was I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but he'd already said that several times, and he didn't really think repeating it like a mantra was going to help Krycek feel better any faster.  "And uh," he finally said, "You can have a liquid diet tomorrow.  Maybe a chocolate milkshake or something."

Krycek grimaced and closed his eyes.

"Sorry," Mulder couldn't help but say.  "Guess you're still queasy from the..." he trailed off.  Krycek's eyes stayed closed.  "How do you like the music?" Mulder asked, referring to the Cowboy Junkies still playing on repeat.  Krycek nodded slowly.  "Good, okay, well, I'm just gonna read then and you can...rest some more.  Maybe you can have some 7-Up later or something.  Helps me when I'm feeling queasy."  Like now, he thought to himself, then he leaned back and picked up his paper, going back to his so-called news story.

"Here we go," said the nurse twenty minutes later, setting a small, beige cup with a straw on Krycek's bedside table.  She took a pitcher of the same horrible color into his bathroom and filled it with water.  Mulder looked up and Krycek's eyes were slowly fluttering open.  The nurse poured some water in the cup and dropped the straw in.  "Would you like to try taking a sip, Mr. Taylor?" she asked, holding it up.

Krycek blinked several times, then nodded slowly, and the nurse put the straw up to his lips carefully.  They were still incredibly dry and it was obvious that Krycek was having trouble getting a good seal on the straw, and Mulder found himself getting annoyed at the nurse for not offering him some lip balm first.  Then he realized how ludicrous that was, given that it was his knuckles, maybe even his shoes, that had split Krycek's lips in the first place.  He swallowed and tried not to stare.  Krycek continued to struggle with the straw, getting more frustrated as he failed to draw water.  Finally Mulder couldn't stay quiet any longer, and he reached over and grabbed the little tube off the table.

"Here," he said, holding it up to her.  "This might help."

Krycek stared at him as the nurse nodded and took the tube, setting down the cup.  Mulder looked at him, then away as she applied the balm.  He looked back when she was finished, and she raised the straw back up to Krycek's lips, which were now glistening with balm and able to form a better seal.  Krycek sucked some water up the straw and then swallowed, grimacing.

"That's it, Mr. Taylor," the nurse said.  "Your throat is scraped and bruised from the breathing tube, but that should get better the more you can drink."

Mulder winced slightly.

Krycek took another drink, bigger this time, then suddenly choked, hissing with pain as he did so.

"Try to relax," the nurse said, putting her hands on his upper chest.  "Just relax, you're okay."

Mulder found that he was half out of the chair, hovering on the edge of standing, and he lowered himself, knowing he could do nothing.

Krycek coughed a few more times, making involuntary high-pitched sounds of suffering, and Mulder looked over to see tears streaming down his face.  Mulder frowned, firming his lips, and waited for the nurse to quiet him.  After a few more moments, the coughs had pretty much subsided and Krycek was starting to breathe more normally, though his eyes were still squeezed closed and his face was pulled into a grimace.  Mulder closed his eyes, unable to watch anymore.  He heard the nurse continue to quiet Krycek, probably wiping his face, and when Mulder heard her walking across the room to leave, he finally opened his eyes.

Krycek's eyes were still closed, but he looked more relaxed, though his eyes were still tight, and his expression strained.

"I didn't know you had a drinking problem," Mulder murmured, trying to inject some lightness into the situation.  Krycek just sighed tiredly.  Mulder echoed him.  He sat, watching Krycek swallow painfully and breathe hard for several more minutes, then spoke.  "I lost control," he said, looking down at the floor.  "I...I have no excuse."  He closed his eyes and put his head in his hand.  After several more minutes, he spoke again, without opening his eyes.  "It wasn't all about you," he said quietly.  "You were just a convenient target."  He breathed carefully for several more minutes, surprised to feel tears threatening.  He swallowed them back, but when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.  "I don't know what it is about you."  He cleared his throat, and after a few more minutes, continued.  "I just lose it."  He let out a heavy exhale, then finally raised his head.  Krycek had turned his head and was looking at him, and Mulder swallowed as their eyes met.  "I'm...not like that with anybody else," he said quietly, forcing himself not to look away.  "Maybe that's the problem," he said even lower, not able to stop from dropping his gaze.  "I save it all up for you."  He exhaled heavily.  "I sure as hell did this time."

He heard a deep sigh from Krycek, and looked up to see him frowning over at him.

"I mean..." he clarified.  "Yes, I'm angry at you, specifically, of course."  He let out a breath and swallowed, looking away.  He heard Krycek sigh again, but couldn't quite make himself look back.  His voice came out low and dreamy, as he voiced thoughts he was only now having.  "I think I...hurt you...because you're not what I want you to be."  He swallowed.  "Because it could be so much better than it is."  His eyes closed.

He heard Krycek breathing hard next to him, but couldn't look up, feeling his face warm with embarassment.  He felt the tears threaten again, and firmed his lips, swallowing them back angrily.  Finally, once he felt he'd regained his composure, he looked up again.  "It won't happen again," he said quietly.  "I'll never lay hands on you again."

Krycek frowned deeply, blinking rapidly.

"I may have to stop you again sometime, but I won't hit you," Mulder said.  "And I may have to shoot you to save someone else, but I'll never take my anger out on you with physical violence again."

Krycek swallowed, grimacing slightly.

"And in case it's not abundantly clear, I'm not going to take you in."  Mulder swallowed.  "As far as I'm concerned, this squares us at this point in time."  He licked his lips and added, "Whatever happens in the future is a clean slate, though, for both of us."

Krycek's eyes tightened as he breathed deeply several times, still frowning.

They looked at each other for several long moments, then Mulder looked away, checking the time.  He stood up, gathering up his tabloids.  "I guess I'll take off."  He looked at Krycek then started for the door.

"I have some things to take care of in the morning," Mulder said, not asking if it was okay to come back, feeling he would, no matter what Krycek wanted.  "But I should make it back before the doctor visit.  He usually comes around noon," he added, glancing back.

Krycek blinked.

"Make the nurse change the CD if you get sick of the Cowboy Junkies," Mulder said, then after a moment more, turned again to leave.  "See you tomorrow," he said without turning around, and he stepped out the door.  He had to stop just outside, letting out his breath and closing his eyes a minute.  

He went home and found himself restless, unable to concentrate on much of anything, wondering how Krycek was doing.  Was the nurse giving him water?  Did she remember the lip balm?  Would she really change the CD if asked?  Was Krycek sleeping again, or was he just lying there, feeling like shit, alone and unable to even shift his position much, due to the traction on his arm and the incision on his abdomen?

And should Mulder really be caring this much?

He sank down into his couch, head in his hands.  He cared about Krycek.  He couldn't help it.  That was the truth, no matter how little sense it seemed to make.  Krycek had gained his trust and betrayed him, helped get Scully abducted, murdered his father, been an accomplice in Scully's planned murder which ended up with Melissa dead instead, and he'd stolen the digital tape back from Skinner when it was the only leverage Mulder and Scully had to keep the Smoker from killing them.  And of course, he'd baited Mulder into going to Russia, and then walked out and left him in a cell to be tortured and used in black oil experiments.  Those were just the things Krycek had done that had personally hurt Mulder.  He was also responsible for the deaths of others, how many, Mulder couldn't even speculate.

But Krycek had also let Mulder find those cigarette butts.  Mulder couldn't help but remind himself of that.  He wasn't sure of the motive behind that, but it probably hadn't turned out well for Krycek, having to abandon his mission so suddenly.  And Krycek had saved his life in Hong Kong when he'd had every reason to want him dead, and two opportunities to see it done.  Krycek could have just shot him on sight when he walked into that dark office.  He'd certainly had the drop on Mulder.  But he hadn't.  He'd held the gun on him, looking about three months overdue for a good night's sleep and a couple of weeks overdue for a bath, screaming at his business partner when she made a comment interrupting him and Mulder.  And when people had shown up to kill him, he'd thrown Kallenchuk out the door and closed it, sealing Mulder inside away from the murderers, when he could have just thrown them both out and saved himself the trouble.

And Mulder had thanked him for that by smacking him around in the airport.  Mulder closed his eyes, unable now to feel anything but disgust at the thought of hitting Krycek again.  

Then Krycek had shown up later at the terrorist bust, claiming to have set them up for Mulder to take down.  So why, when they had ended up in the gulag, had he walked out and left Mulder there to be tortured and eventually killed?  He'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get Mulder's help, so what made him give up, once they got over there, and abandon Mulder to the tests?

Unless...  Mulder considered a new possibility suddenly.  Maybe he hadn't really abandoned him.  Maybe he had actually just been...playing the games they always play.  Teasing Mulder, as Mulder had teased him at the airport.  Scaring the shit out of him, yes, even allowing him to be tested on, but not really intending to leave him there.

Mulder raised his head, lips parted.  It was the only explanation that made any sense, given the facts.  Krycek had not intended on leaving him there.  He may have engineered the deaths in the States, and he may have been unconcerned with the fact that they had injected Mulder and then dumped black cancer on his face, but very likely, he'd been planning on coming back for Mulder, once he'd conducted whatever business he had with the camp commander.

And Mulder, buying his ruse, had thrown him in the back of a truck, which had led to Krycek losing his arm.  

Mulder let out a long exhale.  Yes, he'd wanted to hurt Krycek, then.  Had planned on it, even.  But never like that.

And not like this.

After a long shower, and a dinner of chicken soup and Saltines, Mulder curled up on his couch and watched infomercials before falling into a fitful sleep a few hours before dawn.

He got up in the morning and put on a suit and tie, then headed into the office with his plan firmly in mind.  He got there early, surprising Scully when she walked in the door.

"Mulder, good morning," she said, smiling.  "You're early.  Feeling better, I guess?"

Mulder smiled back.  "Yes, but I'm not staying.  I came to put in a request for two weeks of vacation time."

"Vacation time?  You?" she asked, brows arched high.

Mulder licked his lips.  "Yeah, I...saw a doctor when I started feeling worse again on Sunday," he lied.  "And he determined that my immune system was failing due to..." He put on a suitably sheepish expression.  "Stress.  He recommended that I take vacation time immediately, if I could, to rebuild it before coming back to work."

"Oh," said Scully, sounding partly convinced.  "Well, what are you going to do with all that time off, Mulder?"

Help Krycek to the bathroom and hold his straw for him, he thought.  "Not sure yet," he answered truthfully.  "Probably take a day or two to think about it."  He gave her a half-grin.  "Maybe a spiritual pilgrimage to Graceland."

Now she smiled.  "I see.  Well, okay, I guess I'll...get along without you."

Don't mess up my desk," he told her, heading for the door.  "I like it just the way it is."

"I make no promises, Mulder," she said.  "Your emotional attachment to dust is not something I can comfortably condone."

He smiled.  "I'll be in touch, Scully."

"All right," she said, sounding a little confused.  "Um...take care of yourself."

"I will," Mulder told her. "You, too."  With that, he headed upstairs to put in his official request, basically giving the same story to Skinner, who was busy enough that he swallowed it even more readily than Scully and signed off on it hurriedly.

That done, Mulder went home and changed back into jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed his leather jacket, and stopped off for an actual meal at a drive-through on his way to the hospital, his stomach feeling more settled than it had in days.  Maybe it was the finality of taking the time off, or the relief of figuring that Krycek didn't appear to want to press charges.  Or maybe, it was finally allowing himself to give in to his feelings of concern for Krycek's well-being, after the exploration of last night and its resulting revelations.  Whatever it was, Mulder found himself actually giving the receptionist a fleeting smile as he headed back into the halls.

"Hey," Mulder said by way of greeting, walking into the room.  Krycek was awake, and Depeche Mode's 'Policy of Truth' was playing.  Mulder smiled.  "I see you convinced the nurse to DJ for you in my absence."

Krycek's head turned on the pillow and he looked at Mulder intently.  His eyes, though ringed in fading purple, seemed the clearest they had since...

Mulder licked his lips and sat down in the chair.  "Well, you're still in this godforsaken room, so I guess the doctor hasn't been by yet."  Mulder arched his brows, imploring Krycek to reply to that, and finally, Krycek shook his head 'no'.  Mulder nodded and looked up at the wall clock.  "Yeah, it's only 10:30," he said, looking back at Krycek.  "He does his rounds at noon."  The bruising on Krycek's face was considerably faded, and his color looked better than it had in days.  His hair was matted to his head, though, and Mulder noticed a slight smell.  "So, you gonna get one of those hot nurse spongebaths?" he said, shifting in the chair.  "That brunette nurse is okay, I'd probably let her wet me down."

Krycek frowned slightly, but it looked more disapproving than upset.

"I'll bet they get one of those bright blue shampoo things and put it on your head, since you probably can't shower..." he said, the humor draining out of his voice as he thought about why showering was out of the question for Krycek.  Mulder had spent a few unpleasantly helpless stays in the hospital himself, and was more familiar than he'd like to be with the measures they used with bedridden patients.  "Maybe you can take a bath," he said, sobering.  "If...your stitches can...get wet."  He stopped and looked away, feeling like he was failing utterly at the attempts at small talk.  He didn't know if he was making Krycek feel worse, but he was certainly bringing himself down.  He was quiet a few more minutes, then sat up.  "Do you want me to put in a new CD?" he asked, already standing up to do it.  Again he waited, patiently, brows arched expectantly.

Krycek finally moved his head in a half-shrug.

"Maybe some Elvis?" Mulder tried, brows arched again.

Krycek looked at him for about three whole seconds, then slowly shook his head 'no', never breaking eye contact.

Mulder was shocked to feel himself letting out the slightest half-laugh, seeing the seriousness in Krycek's refusal.

Krycek blinked rapidly, breathing in and out slowly.

"Maybe we'll just stick with Depeche Mode for now," Mulder relented, setting the case back down and lowering himself back into the chair.  "Sure will be good to have that TV," he said.  "Especially since you can't hold a book to read..."  His voice trailed off again.  He ended on a deep sigh.  A few more awkward minutes passed before Mulder stood up.  "I'm gonna go check up on that room," he said.  "Make sure it's ready and everything.  Be right back," he added, as he headed for the door.

Krycek just watched him.

Mulder went to the nurse's station and caught her attention.  "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you had a regular hospital room ready for uh, Mr. Taylor," he said.  "So he can be moved as soon as the doctor sees him today."

"I'll check," the nurse said.  She picked up a clipboard and scanned it.  "I don't see anything on here," she said.  "Maybe he's not ready."

Mulder frowned.  "They said if he was breathing well off the tube, after the jaw wiring, that he could move to a regular room," he said.  "There's nothing to do in there."

"I'm sorry," the nurse said.  "It's not up to us.  The doctor has to sign off on any moves."

Mulder frowned, firming his lips.  "Well, make sure there's a room ready for him to move into," he said.  

"I will," the nurse said, putting the clipboard down and turning back to her computer.

Mulder nodded, feeling somewhat placated, then headed back into Krycek's room.  "It shouldn't be any problem, once the doctor's done with you," he told Krycek.

Krycek blinked, shifting in his bed a little to face Mulder as he sat back down in the chair.

Mulder sat there, once again at a loss for words.  He decided to go with the truth.  "This is...awkward," he said, glancing up and then away.  "It seems like anything I try to talk about just...reminds me of what I did to you."

"Whuh..." Krycek started, then carefully, wincingly, cleared his throat and started again.  His voice came out a raspy whisper.  Mulder leaned in to hear it, barely breathing.  Why aren't you at work?"

Mulder let out the breath he'd been holding and sat back slowly.  "I...took some time off."

"Why?" Krycek asked, frowning.

Mulder licked his lips and then bit the bottom one.  He wasn't even sure himself of the answer, and he really didn't know what to tell Krycek.  He looked away again.

"Sssquare...?"  Krycek said, swallowing audibly.

Mulder exhaled heavily and turned back, squinting.  Krycek was staring at him intently, frowning a little.  Mulder just nodded, swallowing.  Then he tried to put on a more cheerful face.  "You get milkshakes and TV today," he said.  Then, remembering, quickly asked, "Oh, how's your stomach?"

Krycek gave him a half-shrug, and Mulder nodded, relief flooding him at the small response.  It seemed to somehow start things fresh, seal the truce they'd struck.  Mulder found himself breathing better.  He smiled slightly.  "Let's hope they have a good cable package here," he said.  "If not, maybe I can smuggle in a VCR for you."

Krycek's eyes tightened, and he blinked several times.

"I have the original Star Wars tapes," Mulder told him, sitting forward a bit.  "Not the remakes with the crappy add-ons, but the real ones."

Krycek exhaled.  Then he nodded, and the gravity of the response, given the subject matter, was both amusing and an additional relief.  They were talking.

Mulder smiled and nodded, sitting back in the chair, feeling slightly dizzy.  His overture of...what...friendship?  He guessed that's what it was.  He was trying to make friends with Krycek.  Yes, his overture was motivated partly by the lingering fear that Krycek would turn him in, but mostly, Mulder just wanted...forgiveness.  And with the way his offer had been not only accepted, but hesitantly returned, maybe he was getting it.  It was a humbling, even slightly disturbing, relief.  He looked up at Krycek, who was swallowing painfully again.  "Do you want a drink of water?" Mulder asked, reaching for the small cup and straw.

Krycek looked at him for a second, then shook his head 'no'.

Mulder nodded, even though he could tell Krycek was thirsty.  He couldn't blame him for not wanting to have Mulder help him.  He didn't say anything else, and the two of them listened to Depeche Mode until the doctor came at around noon.  Mulder gave Krycek a tight smile and went to wait in the lobby while the visit was going on.  About an hour later, when Mulder had read an article on planting herbs on the window sill and another on a woman's harrowing experience on the side of a mountain in the Rockies, a nurse came out and told him they were finished.  He got up and gratefully followed her, then frowned as she led him back to the same room.

"I thought he was going to be moved right after the doctor saw him," he said, as they entered the room.

"The room's not quite ready yet," she said, starting out the door.

Mulder glared at her, and she hesitated under the weight of it for a second before continuing on her way.  He was still frowning as he walked over to the bed.

Krycek looked up at him cautiously.

Mulder relaxed his expression.  "So, ready for milkshakes and Power Ade yet?"

Krycek nodded.

"Did you already have something?  It's after noon now, time for lunch..." he looked at the clock.

Krycek shook his head 'no'.

Mulder frowned.  "Do you want something?" he asked.

Krycek swallowed, blinking.

"Stomach still unstable?" Mulder asked.

Krycek frowned and then nodded.

"Maybe a 7-Up?"

Krycek blinked, then after a second, nodded again.

"Great," Mulder answered.  "I'll go see if I can get you one."  Happy to have something to do, he went up to the nurse's station.  "Can he have 7-Up?" Mulder asked.

"Let me check the new orders," the nurse said.  She grabbed a clipboard and looked it over.  "Yes, looks like he's being started on clear fluids for today, so that would be fine."

"Is anyone going to offer him one?" Mulder said, getting a little irritated.  "Or should I go to the vending machine?"

"If you like, you can go into that room over there and get one out of the refrigerator," she told him cooly.  "That's where we keep them."

"Thank you," he said insincerely.  "And when is his room going to be ready?  I talked to you about it almost two hours ago."

"We probably won't have time to move him until around three," she answered, not looking up.

Mulder sighed angrily, but nodded, and turned to get Krycek's 7-Up.  He took it back to the room and took the straw out of the water, dropping it into the can.  Then he froze.  There was no one there but him to help Krycek drink it.  And just a moment ago, Krycek had refused water.  "Um..." he stammered, looking around as if someone was going to magically appear.

Krycek just looked at him, and then at the soda in his hand.

"Do you...want me to...I mean..."  Mulder gulped.  Can I...help you?" he finally asked quietly.

Krycek blinked, looked down, then back at Mulder, and nodded.

Mulder exhaled and nodded back, smiling tightly.  He stepped closer to the bed, lowering the can to a height Krycek could drink from and positioning the straw between his lips.  Once again, they were extremely dry and cracked.  "Oh," he said, taking the straw away suddenly.  He put the can down and picked up the lip balm, then froze again.  He stood there with it a second, then turned around, unscrewing the tiny cap and squeezing out the balm on his ring finger like last time.  Only last time, Krycek was sound asleep and didn't know what Mulder was doing.  This time, he was wide awake and was going to be freaked out, for sure.

"Um," he said, holding his finger out.  "You need some..."  He gestured with his hand.

Krycek frowned and blinked madly, his breathing speeding up.

Mulder's was speeding up too, but there was really no going back now, so after another quick look around for those magical helpers, he leaned in and very carefully applied the ointment to Krycek's lips.  Krycek panted the whole time, while Mulder held his breath, and when he was done, he let out a loud exhale, wiping the excess on his jeans.  "Okay," he said.  "Let's drink now."  Krycek was still breathing hard, and Mulder had to wait a minute for him to slow down.  He stood there, not looking at his face, until Krycek's breathing returned to something close to normal.  Then he picked up the can and positioned the straw again.  "Okay," he said, and Krycek sucked.  He spilled a little, still unable to get a good seal with his lips, especially without the use of his tongue, which was sealed behind the wires.  Mulder wiped his face carefully with the corner of his sheet.  "Careful," he said, remembering the choking incident from before.  "Take it easy."  Krycek's breathing was accelerating again, but he managed to successfully sip a few more mouthfuls before shaking his head 'no'.  Mulder took the soda away and set it on the table.  He listened to Krycek's breathing return to normal as he felt his own heartrate slowing, and he sat back down in the chair.  "Good?" he asked, after a few moments.

Krycek looked over at him and nodded slowly.

"Uh, they said they wouldn't have the room ready for another couple of hours," Mulder explained.  He looked around, then spotted the copy of Jurassic Park he'd picked up at the store.  "I could...read to you," he offered, feeling his face get slightly warm.  He reached for the book and held it up.  "It's even better than the movie.  You ever read it?"

Krycek blinked at him but didn't answer.

Mulder arched his brows, waiting for an answer.

"No," Krycek said.

Mulder nodded, then opened it to the first page.  "Just don't expect me to make the dinosaur noises," he said, and with another deep breath, he began to read.

He found it wasn't quite as awkward as he'd feared it would be, since he didn't have to look at Krycek at all while he was doing it.  He could just concentrate on the words on the page, forgetting who it was that he was actually reading them to.  He had to take a few sips of Krycek's soda from time to time, when his throat got dry, and once he stopped and gave Krycek another drink before going back to the book.  When the nurse came in for the 3pm rounds, he was almost surprised at how much time had gone by.  He put a napkin in the book to hold their place and got up out of the chair and stood by the wall to get out of the nurse's way.  He looked away when the nurse pulled the sheet down to check Krycek's stitches.  When she was finished, he stopped her at the door.

"Are you going to move him now?"

"Oh," the nurse replied.  "I don't think we'll have the available staff to do it tonight."

"What?" Mulder said.  "What do you mean you won't have the staff.  I asked about this hours ago.  You should have had this done already!"

"I'm sorry, Mister Mulder," the nurse replied haughtily.  "Moving this particular patient is a little more involved than usual, due to the extent of his injuries, and we want to make sure we have enough staff to set everything up."

Mulder stared at her.  She was now obviously playing on his guilt to take the focus off her own incompetence.  "What staff do you need?" he asked coolly.

"I need a technician to move the equipment and set up his traction pulley," she said.  "He went home an hour ago."

"Call him," Mulder said.

"I'm sorry?" the nurse said, blinking.

"Call him," Mulder said.  "This should have been done an hour ago when he was here, so he can damn well come back now and do it."

The nurse just looked at him, but Mulder's expression didn't change.  "I'll...I'll see what I can do," she finally said.  Mulder nodded, dismissing her.  When he walked over to Krycek's bed, Krycek was staring at him, wide-eyed.

Mulder just looked at the clock and waited for the nurse to return.  When she'd been gone ten minutes, he sighed in frustration.  "Be right back," he told Krycek.  He strode out to the nurse's station angrily.  "Well?" he asked, when she got off the phone call she was on.

"He'll be here in half an hour," the nurse said.  

"Good, I'll be here to make sure everything goes smoothly," Mulder told her, then he turned and went back to the room.  "Thirty minutes, or so she says," he told Krycek.  "Don't worry, I'll make sure it's all done right."

Krycek frowned up at him.

Mulder looked away, licking his lips, then turned back to Krycek.  "Don't look at me like that," he said.  "It's for me, not you.  I'll feel less guilty if I know you've at least got a damned TV."

Krycek swallowed, then nodded slowly.

Mulder waited another minute, a little too restless to sit down, made a trip to the bathroom, and finally took his seat again.  He picked up the book, and without checking in with Krycek, began reading where he'd left off.

About forty-five minutes later, two nurses and a technician came in and started preparing Krycek for the move.  Mulder stood at the door with his arms folded over his chest to make sure they didn't take out any anger at him on Krycek.  Being somewhat of an expert now on misplaced aggression, it was a concern.  It took about one hour to complete the move and make sure the monitors and the arm-traction were set up in a workable way, and to get Krycek into the new bed and as comfortable as he could reasonably get.  Finally, everyone left, and Mulder pulled up a whole new chair next to the bed.  He reached for the hand-held remote, which was one of two remotes, the other one being toe-activated, just like the call-button.

"Any requests?" he said to the tired-looking Krycek.  Krycek just shook his head 'no'.  Mulder nodded and flipped on the television, surfing to find something they could watch, although it looked as though Krycek was ready to doze off any minute.  "How 'bout a documentary on how penguins mate?" Mulder suggested.  "You have to wonder, with their lack of flexibility..."  He looked at Krycek, but the man was already asleep, his breathing deep and steady through parted lips and wire.  "Penguins it is," Mulder said, and he sat back to satisfy his curiosity.

About thirty minutes later, Krycek woke up grimacing.

"What?" Mulder said, muting the television.  "What is it?"

Krycek blinked his eyes open, still grimacing.  "Gotta piss," he hissed.

"Oh," Mulder replied, remembering that Krycek's catheter had just been removed a few hours previously.  "Did you push the call-button?"

Krycek shook his head 'no' and shifted in the bed, attempting to do so.

"Here, I'll get it," Mulder said, standing up and pressing the button behind Krycek's head.  He stood there, watching Krycek squirm, for another two minutes, then said, "I'll go get her," and headed out the door.  He strode to the nurse's station.  "We need help," he said.  "Right now.  We pushed the call button."

"We'll be right there," the one nurse at the station said.  "I'm in the middle of a call, and Debbie's helping another patient."

Mulder frowned.  "It's kind of an emergency."

"You didn't press the emergency button," the nurse said scoldingly, coming around the counter.

Mulder just looked at her, and she gave him an impatient look back and then headed for Krycek's room.  "What's the problem, Mr. Taylor?" she asked him.  Mulder was right behind her.

"Bathroom," Krycek ground out.

"That's right, no catheter, huh?  Sounds like you're ready for your first trip to the toilet," the nurse said.  "Can you help me, sir?" she asked, turning her attention on Mulder.

Mulder's mouth dropped open.  "Um, what...can I do?" he asked, watching Krycek frown at the nurse behind her back.

"Well, I'll get a sling for his arm, but I'll still have to help support it on my side, and I could really use someone to support him on the other side."

Mulder frowned.  "This is his first time, right?  Shouldn't someone else do this?"  

"Right now, there's no one else available.  He'll have to wait for the other nurse."

Krycek let out a sound of frustrated distress.

Mulder ground his teeth together.  He didn't want Krycek to have to wait.  Finally, he looked at the nurse and nodded.  He didn't look at Krycek's face.

The nurse got to work right away, and Mulder watched, a bit wide-eyed, as she fixed a sling for Krycek's casted arm.  The cast extended from just below the shoulder and totally covered the hand, leaving just the fingertips out.  It was quite a process getting the arm taken care of, and it wasn't until it was finished that Mulder realized he'd be supporting Krycek on the side with no arm.  He breathed in and out slowly, swallowing.  He glanced at Krycek's face, which was pale, sweaty, and drawn with pain, his eyes nearly squeezed shut.  Mulder wondered if Krycek had considered what Mulder just realized.

"All right," she said.  "Now I'll hold the arm, and you just sit up further and swing your legs over the side, nice and easy."

"Are you sure he's ready for this?" Mulder asked, getting worried.  "What about his stitches?"

"He's healing nicely," the nurse said.  "And he needs to walk a little every day to start getting the blood flowing so he'll heal properly."

Mulder ground his teeth, then nodded, and watched Krycek painstakingly swing his legs over the side.  As the nurse stepped back to help him stand, Mulder saw that he was dressed only in a short hospital gown, tied down the front.  His thighs were mottled with bruising, which made Mulder feel like he was going to throw up, wondering if he could do this after all.

"All right, sir, if you'll just get on his left side," the nurse said, pressing herself close to his right and putting a hand under Krycek's casted arm to help support it, wrapping the other around his back.  Krycek's head was bowed, his eyes closed.  He was breathing hard.

Mulder looked at Krycek's left side, at the fully bandaged stump, and froze.

"Just wrap your arm under the armpit," she said.  "The bandaging should protect the stump."

Mulder blinked, then took a steadying breath and stepped in.  Trying not to think about it at all, moving like a robot, he did what the nurse told him to do, and slid his arm under Krycek's armpit, locking his grip on the nurse rather than Krycek, since his ribs were bandaged, and when she told him to, Mulder straightened his back and lifted.

Krycek moaned loudly as he was pulled to a standing position, shaking badly.

"That's it," the nurse said.  "You're doing wonderfully, Mr. Taylor.  Now, one step at a time."

Mulder opened and closed his eyes, lips firmly closed, and tried as hard as he could to block out Krycek's sounds of pain right next to his ear, slowly helping him to the bathroom ten feet away.  They stopped at the door to let Krycek catch his breath.

"Now what?" Mulder said as quietly as he could over Krycek's bowed head.

"We help him sit down," the nurse said.  "And you can wait outside until I call you to help me with him again."

Mulder nodded, overwhelmed with compassion for Krycek's suffering, both his pain and his unavoidable embarassment.  After a few moments, Krycek nodded, head still down, and Mulder and the nurse led him into the bathroom, which had a double-sized doorway.  It was oversized, with space on both sides of the toilet, and in a few more minutes, they lowered Krycek onto the seat.  Mulder carefully disengaged himself and got out of the bathroom quickly, closing the double door behind himself.  He heard the urine stream start almost immediately and go on for a long time, then heard rustling sounds.

"We're ready for you," the nurse called, and Mulder swallowed.  He opened the door, keeping his face expressionless, and stepped back into his position.  Ten minutes later, Krycek was finally back in bed, breathing hard, and the nurse was checking all his bandaging to make sure it was all okay.  Satisfied, she finally left them alone again.

Mulder sat in the chair, arms on his thighs, staring at the floor.  He'd never felt such regret in his entire life.  He'd felt guilty before, and taken responsibility for some deeply horrible things, including the lost lives of others, but never had he been confronted so continually with the evidence of his own wrongdoing.  He wasn't sure he could handle it.  He blinked, trying to abolish the tears, but they weren't leaving this time.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, sniffing.  "I should have left."  He didn't look up.  He heard Krycek inhale and exhale loudly, so he knew the other man was still awake.  "I should have said no," he said, wiping his hand across his eyes.  "I should have gotten another nurse."  He sniffed again, putting his hand over his eyes, truly on the edge of letting out a sob.

"Thank you," he heard, so quiet it was barely a whisper.

"What?" he said, raising his face and wiping his hand over it.

Krycek's eyes were closed, but he repeated, a little more loudly, "Thank you, Muller."

"For what?" Mulder said, clearing the tears from his throat.  God, for what.

"Help," said Krycek tiredly, sounding nearly asleep.

Mulder sniffed again, blinking.  He looked at Krycek's still-bruised and swollen face, the wires visible through the healing lips, and frowned, unable to accept the gratitude.  He couldn't make his throat say anything, and he was afraid that if he did, he'd just start crying.  He sat and stared at Krycek's face, then looked at the bandaged stump, the casted arm and hand, the sheet under which he knew were bandages and stitches and so much bruising it was hard to tell what color Krycek's skin had ever been.  And Mulder had done that.  Mulder had inflicted all that pain and suffering, had done all that serious damage.  This wasn't like when Mulder acted too slowly and a man got shot or another child got abducted because he didn't figure out the case quickly enough.  This wasn't like when Mulder was paralyzed, unable to help, as he watched his sister taken by the bright light.  It wasn't like the times he'd tried and failed to protect a witness, or had people on their way to see him, like Max, who were killed for the trouble.  He had purposely caused serious harm to Krycek.  He had used his fists and his feet to hurt him, nearly fatally.  No one else was involved in this, it wasn't a mistake or a failure, it was intentional violence.  And it wasn't just going to go away now.  Alex Krycek was going to be suffering from this for a long time.  And it seemed Mulder was, too.

He swallowed, trying to keep his tears at bay and his stomach from revolting.  He had to walk.  He got up from the chair and paced in the room a few minutes, then walked down to the vending machine and got a 7-Up.  He sat in the corner of the lounge and sipped it slowly, staring at the wall, until it was gone.  When he got up to throw the can in the recycling bin, he had fully realized the true gravity of his responsibility here.  And he was resigned to it.  

He returned to the room to find Krycek lying with his eyes still closed.  They opened, though, as Mulder walked into the room, and Krycek inhaled and exhaled slowly.  Mulder realized that Krycek might have thought Mulder had left.  For good.  That what he'd had to do was too much for him and he'd finally bailed.  Mulder had to swallow, admitting to himself that he had come close.  But that was over, and now he knew what he had to do.

"Hey," he said.  He looked at the still-muted television.  "You missed a great documentary on penguin sex," he told Krycek.

Krycek exhaled softly.

"Did you think I'd punked out?" Mulder said quietly, still standing at the door.

Krycek didn't say anything, just looking at him and breathing a little harder.

Mulder licked his lips, then bit the bottom one.  He sighed, and walked slowly closer to the bed.  "Do you have anyone you want me to call or anything?" he asked softly.

Krycek swallowed, then after a moment, sh