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Title: Seconds.
Archive: Yeah, sure. But please let me know first. This is my firstborn, and I'm kind of protective. Pairing: The true one. M/K. Warning: This is slash !!!!!!!!!! (Now don't say you weren't warned!) Spoilers: Oh, yeah. For everything. Disclaimer: Supposedly most of these guys belong to CC and Co., but two of them were tired of all the abuse, so they ran away this season and came to live with me. In exchange for them, I'm willing to give CC my character, General McCarniss.
Notes: This is what really happened during the eighth season. CC and his cronies got all confused, but I didn't. So I fixed it for them. Series/Sequel: Well, it's a multi-part, but not necessarily a series. Yet. Feedback: This epic is my first serious attempt at fanfic, so I'd love to know what y'all think about it. tiramisukamio@prodigy.net ---------------------------
Seconds
Part One:
"They dug him up."
Alex Krycek finished closing he laptop before looking up. The figure in the bedroom doorway waited patiently.
Finally, with an indifferent glance, Alex responded. "Who dug what up?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned to the map spread open on the bed in front of him and attempted to fold it one-handed, pinching the center crease and letting the large page fall in on itself, then repeating the process as two more creases aligned themselves.
In the doorway, the older man continued to wait until Alex, irritated, repeated himself. "Who dug what up, Smith?"
"The AD and his friends." That caught Alex's attention. He gave up on the map and turned his attention to the speaker. "They dug up the other Mulder. The clone."
Stunned, Alex could do nothing but stare. Jeremiah Smith crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently took the map from Alex's hand. He began to re-fold it neatly along the original creases as Alex's brain broke apart this new information.
"Okay," Alex finally murmurred, more to himself than to Smith. "Mulder doesn't know, does he?"
"No."
"Do you think he can handle it?"
"Do you?" Smith countered. "You know him better than I do."
"Come on, Jem," Alex spoke impatiently, "Is he well enough yet? If we tell him, it won't send him over the edge or anything, will it?"
"I don't think so, no. But if he doesn't actually need to know yet, then it may be wiser not to speak of it to him. He may be strong enough to walk across a room now, but that's about it."
Alex thought a moment, then nodded with a sigh. "Alright. I'll see what I can find out. We won't say anything to him unless we have to."
Smith rose and handed the folded map back to Alex, who accepted it with a nod. "Thanks, Jem."
"You're welcome. Good night, Alex."
" 'Night." Alex tossed the map into the nightstand drawer as Smith turned to leave.
"Hey, Jem?"
From the doorway, Smith glanced back into the room.
Alex asked, "How did you find out? About them digging him up?"
"It was on the news." Smith answered, smiling slightly as Alex mouthed a soundless 'Oh, fuck'.
"Don't worry. Agent Mulder doesn't have a television in his room, and he's not strong enough yet to make it down that flight of stairs. He won't learn of it unless you or I tell him. Good night, Alex."
Alex nodded at the retreating form, sighed, and reached for his cell phone as Smith disappeared down the hallway. It looked like he was going to be traveling tomorrow.
**************************************************
A heavy rain was pelting the window as Fox Mulder awoke. Early morning, he realized groggily. For several weeks it hadn't mattered to him what time it was, or what day. He'd been too exhausted to care and in too much pain. But Jeremiah Smith was tending to him, and he was just beginning to feel more normal.
He still couldn't remember much about how he'd gotten here. Images faded in and out along the edges of his consciousness, lights and darkness and screams and bright fiery pain. And fear, subsiding at times into a cold apprehension but never really leaving him. The knowledge - the certainty - that this, whatever this was, was what Scully had gone through once. And it had been his fault, somehow. He remembered screaming her name until his voice was raw, desperate with the need to tell her how sorry he was for it, for putting her through this, before he died. And he was sure he would die.
But then he was away from all of it - somehow taken from the dark place and the searing light and the awful pain. And he was riding along miles of highway, wrapped in something warm and familiar. And Krycek was driving.
Krycek.
It was Krycek who had told Mulder how to find something...
Mulder shook his head impatiently, then winced at the ache the motion caused. The headaches were much less severe now, though, and his teeth had stopped hurting altogether. He was even able to handle solid food again. Much better than those liquid supplements Smith had been straw-feeding him for a while.
The scars were healing, too. When he'd first seen them, Mulder had been badly shaken by the mass of red gashes across his torso. They'd been bandaged prior to that, and the first few times that Smith had changed the dressings, Mulder had been too weak to pay much attention. By the time he'd really noticed, the scars had already begun to heal. Still, he was shocked. His chest was covered in deep small wounds, dominated by a single long cut as though he'd been split down the middle. On first seeing it, Mulder had had an instant of recognition - of remembrance. But then the white terror had flashed through him, and the memory was gone again. The clinical side of his mind knew that this forgetfulness was self-protective, but it still frustrated him.
Footsteps and the aroma of coffee drew Mulder's attention toward the bedroom door, which was still always left just slightly ajar in case Mulder needed to call Smith for anything, though Mulder had been able to get at least as far as the bathroom without help for more than a week now. For a few days, Mulder had begun to close the door himself whenever he could. But Smith, ever solicitous, would check on him many times each day, and always left the door open partly open. So, for the time being, Mulder had given up the game. The door remained ajar.
This time, though, the footsteps did not approach the door. They, and the scent of the coffee, continued on past his room, down the hall toward the bathroom, and further past. Mulder had noticed the other day that there were two more doors down that way; his own room was the nearest to the staircase, but he assumed that the other doors belonged to two other bedrooms. From what little he had seen of the house, he didn't expect that either of the other rooms was likely to be much fancier than the one he was recuperating in - plain, clean, sparsely furnished, with bare hardwood floors. He couldn't see any of the downstairs from the top of the staircase, but he had checked the view from his window and seen the chimneys of a few other homes through the trees. He'd also seen the old pickup truck in the driveway, and the new Lexus. That in itself wasn't too surprising to Mulder. He thought he'd heard voices on more than one occasion since he'd been here, and while Smith denied it, Mulder had known that there was someone else in this house at times. And he had a strange suspicion that he knew who it was.
**************************************************
Alex jammed his cell phone into his coat pocket, slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, and snatched up his empty coffee cup. He moved quickly and quietly up the hallway, resisting the urge to peek in on Fox as he passed that door. On the stairs he met up with Smith.
"Finally taking him some breakfast, huh?"
"Well," Smith pointed out calmly, "you ate everything I fixed earlier. If you were that hungry..."
Alex shrugged. "I was. Besides, I've got a busy day ahead of me. People to talk to, places to be…" Alex shrugged again, then added in a quieter tone, "Take care of him while I'm gone, Smith."
He moved to pass Smith, but was stopped by a hand on his arm - his prosthetic arm. He jerked his entire body away reflexively, grasping the banister as he did, nearly knocking the breakfast tray from Smith's other hand. "Damn it, Jem!" he hissed, " Don't do that!"
"Sorry." Smith did look contrite as he calmly used a napkin to mop up a bit of coffee that had sloshed over the side of the cup. His expression sobered, however, as he returned his gaze to Alex. "Are you going to talk to Agent Scully?"
Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I need to scope out what's going on first. I may talk to Skinner, though. I'll know more after I talk to my contacts at Wiekamp. Why?"
"Call me before you talk to Scully. I may have some information soon. There's a chance that the doctor she's been seeing is not quite honorable."
"She's not dating him, Smith," Alex pointed out. "What is it you've heard?"
"There's a good chance that Dr. Parenti is one of them," Smith told him. "At least, the Zeus facility is definitely under suspicion at this time." His blue eyes caught Alex's green ones as his meaning struck home to the younger man.
"God, Jem." Alex leaned hard against the railing. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Smith glanced quickly up the stairs toward Mulder's room, then turned again toward Alex. "I don't know for sure, even now, that there's anything to worry about. I'll be receiving a phone call later today that should bring some news."
Nodding, Alex told him, "Okay. I'll call you after I get done at Wiekamp. We can figure something out then." He motioned with a jerk of his head toward the upstairs. "Take that coffee up to him before it gets cold. Not that he won't drink it that way, God knows," Alex added.
Smith continued up the stairs, his mask of serenity back in place. "Take an umbrella, Alex. It's raining," he advised quietly. If he heard Alex's muttered response, he showed no sign of it. But he waited until Alex let himself out before gently pushing open the door to Mulder's room.
***************************************************
"Good morning, Agent Mulder," Smith smiled as he entered. "Do you feel up to a little breakfast?"
Mulder nodded absently. "Who were you talking to before?" He didn't really expect an acknowledgment of this, but even though the words had been muffled, he'd recognized the timbre of Alex Krycek's voice. He'd heard those tones too many times, and in too many circumstances, to be mistaken. Still, he wasn't surprised at Smith's placid answer.
"No one. " Smith put the tray down on the nightstand beside Mulder's bed. As soon as he let go of it, Mulder took the little wicker tray and brought it to his lap. The scrambled eggs were a little bit runny for his taste, but he didn't care. He was famished. "I'm afraid the coffee may be a bit cold. Why don' t you start on your eggs and I'll go reheat it for you? I'll bring you a fresh napkin, too," he added.
Through a mouthful of eggs and soft bread, Mulder murmurred, "No. Stay, please." He swallowed and continued. "Talk to me."
When Smith looked reluctant, Mulder sighed. "About anything. I'm just bored. If you don't want to tell me about Krycek being here, fine. I'll pretend I don't know. Tell me about the Knicks or something."
"I don't know how the Knicks are doing, Agent Mulder. I'll try to find out for you, though." Smith smiled again and sat lightly on the edge of the bed. "Now that you're able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, I suppose your recuperation is beginning to seem monotonous. Would you like me to bring you some books, or maybe a jigsaw puzzle? I think I saw a few around here somewhere."
Mulder nodded. "I'd love it." Jigsaw puzzles weren't the easiest thing in the world for him, especially in the poor light of this room, but at least it would kill some time. "I don't suppose there's a television around here?"
"There's a large one downstairs," Smith told him. "I don't think there are any on this floor, though."
At this, Mulder paused from shuffling eggs onto his fork with his bread. "You don't know, though? Isn't this your house?"
"No. It belongs to some people I know. They're letting me use it for a while."
"Do they know that I'm staying here, too?" Or Krycek? he wondered.
"No. But don't worry about that. They wouldn't mind."
Mulder swallowed some of the cold coffee and studied Smith. How much could he ask without driving the man into silence? "Look, Mr. Smith, I know that you've been taking care of me here - wherever 'here' is - and I don't want to seem ungrateful, but why am I here instead of in a hospital? And why won't you tell me what's happened?"
Smith began to rise, but Mulder's hand shot forward and stopped him. "Please. I've got to know."
Smith nodded somberly. "You will know. But for now, just get some rest." As Mulder opened his mouth to speak, Smith continued, "I'm really very glad that you're feeling stronger. But you've been through quite an ordeal, you know."
At the word 'ordeal', an instant of bright terror jolted Mulder. But before its source could be identified, the sensation was gone, leaving only a cool vague shadow inside Mulder.
Jeremiah Smith observed this calmly. "Give yourself another day or two, Agent Mulder, and we'll see how you're doing. I do promise you, you'll have your answers soon."
*******************************************************
Alex drove rapidly away from the base, his mind digesting what he had just learned. The General had been well aware of the exhumation, which didn't surprise Alex. But that resurrecting a clone had seemed to present the military with an opportunity...
"He'll make an ideal replacement, Mr. Krycek, if they can resuscitate him." General McCarniss had said. "The new Agent Mulder is already well-trained - "
" 'New Agent Mulder'?" Alex repeated. "And what about the old Agent Mulder - the real Agent Mulder? What happens if he's ever found alive?"
"I'm afraid he would not be re-accepted at the FBI anyway, should he ever turn up alive. Which is unlikely at this point. Unless you have additional information on his whereabouts?"
"No," Alex mumbled dejectedly. He'd given the General his best weary look, and continued, "I searched the entire Pacific Northwest, but nothing turned up. I even followed the FBI team out to Arizona..."
"And found no more than they did?" the General wondered. "Surely, there was something to be found there. AD Skinner is not the sort of man to spend the FBI's money on travel unnecessarily."
"AD Skinner apparently felt that alien spacecraft run on Amtrak schedules." Alex didn't have to pretend the bitterness in his voice when he spoke Skinner's name. "There was nothing to be found in that desert. Believe me - I looked."
And Alex had looked. And he had found Fox before the bounty hunter had shown up, and before the FBI had shown up. For four days, he'd kept a semi-conscious Fox hidden in an old mining shaft, sharing what little water he had. Until the FBI and the bounty hunter had cleared out of the area, and he could get Fox to the car he'd left miles away.
He'd gotten Fox to Smith's compound in Montana, driving day and night, frightened, terrified, that he'd be too late. Blaming himself for telling Fox about the spacecraft in the first place. Blaming himself further for not going along to keep an eye on him. He'd never forgive himself for that one if Fox didn't survive. And he'd never forgive Skinner either way.
It had been Smith who had noticed the additional scars - the small, deep one on Fox's left arm just below a patch of torn and discolored skin, and the peculiar burn mark behind the left ear. So Alex had posed a few questions, traded in on a few favors, and taken a few lives, and had learned about the military's cloning operation.
They still didn't know that it was Alex Krycek who had sacrificed their clone one Montana night in order to rescue Smith and Fox from discovery by the FBI. They couldn't possibly know that. Because Alex Krycek was still alive, sharing a small Pennsylvania farmhouse with his two rescuees.
And now his highly placed Wiekamp contact was just one more enemy. Only the General didn't know it yet.
******************************************************
"Hi, Jem. How's Mulder?" Cell phone to his ear, Alex dropped down onto the dark leather sofa.
"Hello, Alex," Smith's cultured voice came through the telephone, and for a brief moment Alex remembered another gentleman he had worked with. "Agent Mulder is sleeping at the moment. He and I played cards earlier this afternoon, though."
Alex grinned. "Sounds like he's really finally getting better. Did he win?"
"He's not that much better." There was a rough grating sound; Smith must have dragged a chair across the floor. "Where are you, Alex?"
"Still in DC. I'm at the apartment. Figured I'd drop off this month's rent. Looks like his little FBI friends have been combing the place again."
"I take it you've made certain that this line is secure, and that the apartment is not wired?"
Alex nearly growled. "Don't insult me, Smith."
Smith chuckled. "Very well. I know you're careful. Incidentally, Agent Mulder has been asking about those little FBI friends, as you call them."
Alex swore. He knew that subject would come up, now that Fox was doing better. "What did you tell him?"
"Just what we agreed upon. That, for his own good, his whereabouts were currently not being revealed to anyone."
"Good." And not even a lie, Alex thought. "I don't expect he liked it too much."
"True."
Alex could picture Fox's frustration at Smith's cool, placid demeanor. If Alex had been the one to tell Fox that he couldn't see Scully, there would be puddles of Krycek's AB-positive all over the floor. But Smith had a way about him.
"What did you find out today, Alex?" Smith queried.
Alex propped both feet up on Fox's coffee table. "That the military is in favor of this whole thing. They figure that once their Mulder is out of the hospital, they've got a combination informant-bodyguard to put near Scully, at least until the baby is born. They were going to try to place someone else in that spot, anyway, but given Mulder's relationship to Scully and the FBI, they see this whole thing as a blessing in disguise."
"I don't wonder." Smith paused, and Alex gave him a moment to digest this information before prodding him on. Alex swallowed hard and closed his eyes as a dark premonition swept over him.
"Jem, what did you learn?"
Smith didn't answer right away.
"Smith?" he tried again, more harshly this time.
A sigh came through the phone line. "Dr. Parenti and his team think that they have succeeded where the other teams have failed. They believe that they've manipulated human DNA to a point that those who possess it can heal spontaneously from injuries and recover from illnesses with no after-effects. They've implanted embryos with manipulated DNA in six women so far."
"Just human DNA?" Alex wanted to know. "This sounds like..."
"It sounds like me, Alex? My informant tells me that the DNA being used at the Zeus facility is primarily human."
Alex shook his head, though the gesture was lost over the phone. "I've been in that lab, Smith. There are aliens in jars all over the place."
"Yes," Smith concurred, "but according to my source, the alien DNA is being used only as a blueprint. The goal, supposedly, is to make certain that this new breed can be developed with no dependence on any alien sources at all."
"I don't think I believe that," Alex said. "Some of the cases I've seen in there - those women did not give birth to human babies."
"True. But if you manipulate DNA the right way just a bit, the result won't necessarily look human. Manipulate it a bit more, and the result won't, by definition, be human." Smith heard the doubt in Alex's sigh. "I cannot promise you that my contact has all of her information correct. I can only tell you that as far as she is aware, this is the truth."
"You trust her?"
"Yes," Smith said simply.
"Okay, then." Alex shifted his feet from the coffee table to the arm of the sofa. "I'll keep it in mind. Do you have the names of the six women?"
"Yes. And one of them is Dana Scully."
Damn, Alex thought. Fox'll go nuts if he hears about this.
"Anything else?"
"Only that all six of the women live in the DC area, and all are due in late spring. My source claims that there are no risks to the health of the women, although none of them were told that there was anything unusual about the embryos."
"And the military is sponsoring this one, too?"
"Yes," Smith told him. "Although my informant clearly has no idea that the purpose of this has anything to do with fighting off an extraterrestrial invasion."
"What's she think those things in the jars are, toys?"
Smith remained silent. Alex moved over to the aquarium and turned the overhead light on. Peering in, he scratched at the glass for their attention.
"Okay," Alex sighed. "Well, maybe I can find out more later. After the little fishies and I have some supper, there's someone else I'll need to meet with."
"Military?"
"Not exactly. Guy's a liaison between the Pentagon and the CIA. Name's Knowle Rohrer."
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