See disclaimers and notes in Part One.

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

Seconds
By Tiramisu

Part Three:

"I blew it, Jem," Alex said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "I practically handed the Zeus lab over to them…"

Smith passed the coffeepot across the table to the younger man. He hadn't yet taken his windbreaker off, but he sat on one of the hard wooden kitchen chairs and faced Alex placidly.

"You don't know that, Alex. It's quite likely they were already aware of the experiments at Zeus."

Alex shook his head adamantly. "That Rohrer…replicant…thing." A chill ran through him, though he tried to contain himself. "That thing didn't know about Zeus. What kills me is that I knew he wasn't acting right. And still I pointed him right at that damn lab."

He ran his one hand through his short dark hair, and added in a mutter, "And I went there to get information from him."

"Let it go, Alex. You can't undo it, so we'll just move on with what we've got." Smith sipped his coffee calmly. "I'm not worried about the doctors at Zeus, anyway. The military will do what they can to protect their project."

Their project. Which, at the moment, included Scully. Alex glanced toward the archway into the living room, half expecting to see Fox coming down the stairs. Smith followed the gaze, a curious expression shading his eyes.

"You didn't tell him about Agent Scully, I assume?" he asked.

"Tell him what - that she's carrying a baby lab rat?" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think we can tell him that, at least until we have some way to protect Scully. If we can't offer him that much,…"

"We can't," Smith corrected him simply. "You said yourself, the military is placing clones around their subjects to guard them. That includes Agent Scully. If they plan to perform tests on their subjects, they quite likely are already in a perfect position to do so."

"Their fake Mulder is still unconscious in the hospital," Alex reminded him. "I haven't administered the stuff they gave me to save him."

"You will, though," Smith told him. "Today, when you go back to DC. You must. Besides," he added, "there's no guarantee that they haven't already placed other clones in positions to watch everything. They do intend to go on with these experiments, Alex. You need to maintain their trust. We need that line of information."

Alex said nothing. He was well aware that if he didn't get that vaccine into the Mulder clone, McCarniss would simply have someone else do it. And that would be the last time Alex could count on McCarniss for anything.

But he refused to believe that there was no way to protect Scully and that baby she was carrying. If he could keep them safe, maybe Fox could forgive him for the rest of it. For everything that had happened, and for what still could happen. Believing in a future with Fox was all that kept Alex Krycek fighting.

God, it had felt so good last night, just being near him.

When he had first smuggled Fox and Smith out of Montana, Alex had taken on much of Fox's caretaking. He couldn't do the actual healing, of course, but he had done what he could. He sat with Fox, tried to get liquids into him, cleaned up after him, gave him sponge-baths. He changed linens and pajamas. And when Smith gave the word, he helped walk Fox around the room to improve his circulation. But Fox had been only semi-conscious during those long weeks, and he had shown no signs of recognition toward either Alex or Smith. Once he had begun to, Alex had faded into the background. Smith never asked why, but Alex was pretty sure he knew.

And last night, Fox had known who Alex was, and had talked to him, and had even turned to him for comfort from his fears. It probably wouldn't last, Alex knew. But it had been nice.

So if there was a way to protect Scully, for Fox's sake, Alex would have to find it.

He looked again at Smith. "What if we hide Scully here…?"

"It wouldn't work," Smith told him sadly. "The military only has a half-dozen of these embryos successfully implanted. They won't just allow one to go missing. And if they trace the child to this house-"

Alex paled visibly as the realization hit him. "They find Mulder," he finished. "And kill him to protect their clone."

Not an option, then, Alex thought. Whatever else might happen, keeping Fox alive was his first priority.

Smith stood and took his coffee cup to the sink. Alex watched, his mind racing. When Smith returned to the table, Alex continued quietly, "And now that I've tipped off Rohrer about Zeus, the replicants will be after the babies, too. Only, it'll be to kill them."

Smith nodded somberly.

"So those women are in danger now from both sides." Alex pushed his coffee away, nauseous.

Smith nodded again.

"And they'll stay in danger as long as they're carrying those babies," Alex reasoned. "And what about after they give birth?"

"The women become totally expendable to the military, at best." Smith explained. Alex nodded bleakly. "If they get in the way of the tests, they become a threat to be removed. Assuming the military doesn't want to experiment on them, along with the children. We have only your contact's word for that. Do you trust him?" Smith asked.

Alex shook his head emphatically.

"So the women may actually be subjected to further tests, even after they give birth," Smith continued. "And of course, the replicants wouldn't hesitate to kill them, under any circumstances. Though their real goal will be to eliminate the children."

"So the only way those women might be safe," Alex concluded bleakly, "is if…"

"Is if they were not going to have those babies," Smith finished for him. He looked no happier at the thought than Alex himself was.

Oh God, Fox. You'll never forgive me for this one.

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

Twice during the night, Mulder had awakened. The first time, Alex had still been awake, working feverishly at something on that laptop of his, the fingers of his right hand applying soft rapid keystrokes while the artificial left arm held the small computer steady against his propped-up knees. Mulder had opened one sleepy eye and seen Alex glance away from the green computer screen to smile at him, and had fallen contentedly back to sleep.

The second time, Mulder awakened to a darkened room. Alex had turned off the overhead light, but the hallway door was open, and the dim cast of the nightlight had provided a hint of illumination to the room. And Alex was gone.

Mulder lay listening to the silence until sleep again overtook him.

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

Alex wondered sometimes whether it was determination or just plain insanity that made him face things that terrified him. But riding up and down in that elevator, waiting for Skinner to show, had pretty nearly drained him. And by the time Skinner had shown, Alex knew that the proposal he had in mind would have to be made elsewhere. He simply couldn't do one more ride.

So instead, he had led Skinner down the familiar dark basement corridor, and into the office of the X-Files.

"Word on the street is he's back from the dead. He's a regular Houdini." Sitting in Fox's chair, Alex pulled open desk drawers casually, and discovered Fox's old nameplate, discarded and dusty. A surge of resentment flooded him. God, this was going to be tough. He sure wasn't going to give anything away to the man in front of him, though. He tossed the nameplate lightly onto the desk.

"Tell me what you want," Skinner demanded. Alex was unimpressed.

"What I want," Alex told him mildly, "is to give you the chance to save Mulder's life." When Skinner only glared, Alex asked innocently, "You don't believe me?"

"No, I don't."

Alex scowled. He didn't like or trust this man. For too many years, Walter Skinner had taken orders from anyone with the right credentials, without asking why. The man could be controlled entirely too easily. But he cared deeply about both Scully and Mulder, and at the moment, that might make him useful. If Alex could manipulate him just right.

He leaned slightly forward in the chair, playing his one hand over the electronic controller. "I can push a little button," he explained simply, "and send thousands of nanobots lying dormant in your bloodstream sizzling to your brain stem. And all I want to do with that power is save a man's life."

A brief flicker of interest lit Skinner's eye, but it faded almost instantly. "I don't think his life can be saved."

Well, what did you dig him up for, then? Alex wanted to ask.

But he had to play this right. Too much was at stake. He took his hand from the controller, but kept it near him on the desk as he spun out the offer.

"I have a vial that contains a vaccine," he began. " Mulder knows of it. His father developed it to fight the alien virus." He observed Skinner's reaction carefully, but if the man knew the truth about the vaccines, he certainly was a hell of an actor.

"There's no vaccine that can help the man I found in that grave."

The resignation in Skinner's voice troubled Alex. He had to make Skinner believe there was a way to save the man in that hospital. The nanobots alone weren't going to be enough of a bargaining chip this time. Skinner wouldn't put Scully through hell for his own sake, but he just might do it to save the life of Fox Mulder. But why was the man acting so disinterested?

"You found him," Alex started, fighting his frustration, "and you don't even know what you've got."

Skinner gave Alex a brief glance, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned as if to leave.

Damn. Alex eyed the AD with suspicion. He hadn't really expected him to take the bait right away, but…

With surprisingly speed, Skinner spun around and made a grab for the controller still sitting on the desk.

Alex was there first.

Grinning maliciously, he leaned across the desk toward Skinner, near enough to see the panic in Skinner's eyes. I could almost respect you for that one, old man, he thought. Not that you'll ever know it.

Moving in close to him, he warned the AD, "Push of a button, Walter." Picking up the controller, he strode casually out of the room.

Oh, yeah. He just might take the bait after all.

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

Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror no longer shocked him, but the gaunt, sallow face wasn't quite enough to inspire confidence. Still, Mulder had made the walk from Krycek's bedroom diagonally down the corridor to the bathroom unassisted, a fact of which he was inordinately proud. When Smith had brought him his breakfast, he hadn't seemed surprised to find the agent in Krycek's room. But Mulder had been profoundly uncomfortable; he had no idea what, if anything, Krycek had told the older gentleman to explain the fact that Mulder had spent the night in Krycek's bed.

In Krycek's bed.

The very phrase, echoing through his mind, was enough to stir the same old need that his dark-haired demon always roused in him.

God, Mulder, he thought as he stared into the dull hazel eyes reflected back at him. Your father must be spinning wildly in his grave. It's not enough that you let his killer walk free - do you have to want him so much?

And what about Scully? And Skinner? Their lives suffered because of Krycek. They were Mulder's friends. His loyalty should be to them. He hadn't seen them in months - he should be missing them, not the one who hurt them. Not the one blackmailed them, who betrayed them, who threatened their safety and their lives. And not the one who lied so easily - who had again last night said he'd stay, but hadn't.

Mulder leaned his hands heavily on the bathroom sink, still staring at himself in the mirror. If he could just keep remembering all the wrongs Krycek had committed, maybe he could get over this. Maybe he could quell the desire he felt for him. Maybe he could forget the need the man's scent stirred in him.

But he didn't think he'd ever forget the look he'd seen last night in those perfect green eyes when Alex Krycek said, "I'll stay if you want." Or the way he felt when he woke up alone.

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

The hospital room was surprisingly dark, even with the glow from all of the monitors, but Alex saw no reason to put on a light. He wouldn't be in here for long.

Listening first to be sure no one was approaching the room, he moved soundlessly toward the bed. He'd seen this clone only once before, and it had been dead then. But it had been only recently killed when Alex had dumped it in that field. Now, it was suffering signs of mild decomposition - amazing, really, that it was recognizable at all, especially since the body had never been embalmed, according to McCarniss.

He knew that the military had kept an eye on all of the funeral arrangements, that General McCarniss himself had arranged for the so-called "autopsy" and funeral tasks to be done by someone less emotionally involved than Scully. To spare her, he'd said. Presumably they were just being careful - at the time, they'd had no reason to suspect that the body in question was their own clone, and not the real Fox. McCarniss had been furious upon finding that out, but even now he had no suspicion that Alex had been the one to sacrifice the clone and leave it out in the Montana farmland.

But once Scully and the others had pinpointed the Hoese woman in Montana, Alex didn't see much of a choice. He knew that Fox's location at Smith's compound would be discovered eventually, and he had to get the two of them out of the area. He hadn't particularly wanted to have the clone killed - it might have been useful later - but it was hardly as valuable to him as the genuine article. So he hadn't hesitated to call in a favor and have the clone's lifeless body delivered to him in Montana.

Well, McCarniss sees his chance to have this clone reincarnated, and I suppose I owe him that much, Alex thought. He ran his fingers over the clone's throat, pressing until he located the butterfly shape that verified the location of the thyroid. Once he determined the ideal spot, he took out the syringe McCarniss had given him, ripped the rubber cover off of it with his teeth, prepped it to remove the excess air from the top, and injected the pale fluid into the clone. Even with only the one hand, the whole process only took a matter of seconds.

Alex checked for changes on the monitors, but there didn't seem to be any. From what he understood, all of the equipment and tubes and IV drips were irrelevant to the health of the clone once the injection had been given. The machines continued with their harmless little beeps, and Alex turned away from them.

He gave the clone another quick glance. Scary, really, how much it looked like Fox. It shouldn't. Fox was more than an assortment of genes and chromosomes. Alex would have sworn he'd know the real Fox from a fake, no matter what. But looking at this thing on the bed, he realized how possible it was to be fooled. He'd have to be careful.

A footfall in the corridor caught his attention, and he dove silently behind the room's large door. The familiar silhouette of Walter Skinner appeared. Krycek paused, then stepped out of the protection of the shadows. Skinner turned, startled, and Krycek gazed at him placidly.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it... that Mulder could ever possibly get out of that bed?"

Skinner threw a quick glance in the clone's direction, then looked back in desperation to Alex. "I need the vaccine, Alex."

Oh, so now I'm Alex, am I? Well, maybe we can get somewhere now.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Time is wasting."

"What do I have to do?" Skinner wanted to know.

Alex took another small step forward. "Oh, it's simple, really. Make sure Scully doesn't come to term."

Skinner stared at him in shock. Alex merely watched him, keeping his face a mask of unconcern. He was afraid he knew what Skinner's answer would be, but he had to try. Scully would never abort that baby based on anything he told her himself - not even Fox's life would come before the baby's. But there was a chance that Skinner could come up with something that might convince her.

So he hoped, but he wasn't surprised by Skinner's answer. "You're out of your mind."

"She can't have that baby." For a moment, Alex thought about telling Skinner the truth - that the baby Scully carried was not a miracle, but a feat of genetic engineering. That it was a test subject and a prototype. And that after it was born, it would be subjected to further testing, and its mother would be deemed expendable if she tried to prevent it.

And that it was a threat to the aliens, who wouldn't hesitate to remove it along with Scully.

But Skinner was looking at him as if he were the worst kind of monster. "No," he told him, appalled. "The answer is no."

Alex moved another step closer to Skinner and the exit. No, he thought. Skinner just couldn't be trusted with that much information. Besides, he wouldn't believe Alex Krycek, anyway. If Skinner was going to persuade Scully to give up the baby, it would have to be to save a life already born. A life that mattered to him, and to Scully.

Take it slow, he told himself. Give him a chance. Maybe he'll think on it and change his mind.

"We all have a life in our hands," he told the man coolly. "I have yours... you have Mulder's... and Scully has her unborn child's. Let's see who's willing to sacrifice."

Skinner only stared in mute horror, so Alex let it go for the moment and strode out of the room. He had maybe forty-eight hours before the clone showed signs of improvement, no matter what anyone did to him now. That gave him two days for Skinner to change his mind and offer a trade. He doubted it would take that long, though. Either Skinner would jump soon, or not at all.

Alex strolled casually through the double doors at the end of the hospital corridor, turned left, and with easy confidence, turned the handle of the heavy white door marked "Staff Only". Scanning the shelves until he spotted the collection of empty medication vials, he helped himself to a handful and calmly let himself back out into the corridor.

He was sitting in his Lexus in the hospital garage, watching Skinner's car and sipping what was left of a bottle of cranberry juice, when he saw Scully's new partner in his side-view mirror.

Damn. So much for plan A.

He gave his ignition key a vicious twist and gunned the engine angrily.

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

Smith had found a chess set in the linen closet downstairs, much to Mulder's delight, and they were playing their third match when the Lexus pulled into the driveway. Mulder had returned to his own room earlier in the afternoon, and from where they both sat, they could see Krycek's dark form moving soundlessly up the stairs.

When he reached the landing, he peeked into the room, then entered softly. Shedding the jacket he was wearing, he crouched beside the bed and eyeballed the chessboard. "Who's winning?"

Smith was winning, but he merely smiled at Krycek and said, "There's some leftover spaghetti if you're hungry."

Krycek shook his head, returning the smile crookedly. "I ate with the fishies," he said with a wink at Smith.

Mulder didn't understand the reference, but he noticed the wink. He didn't like it. He'd wondered before just how close Krycek and Smith might be. But even with Smith sitting right there, Krycek turned to Mulder, and the expression in those green eyes was undeniable.

"How are you feeling today?" He brought his good hand to Mulder's forehead, as if checking for a fever they both knew was not there.

Mulder drew back coolly, silently.

He had noticed the new bruise on Krycek's face immediately. His fingers itched to touch it, to trace the raw red line across his lower lip, and stroke the discolored flesh over the left side of the jaw. Instead he turned to the chess pieces.

"Mulder?" Krycek, still sitting back on his heels, peered up into Mulder's solemn face, concerned. "Everything alright?"

Mulder scowled into the green gaze. "Who hit you?" he asked quietly.

Krycek smirked at him good-naturedly. "Some guy. Name's Doggett, I think. Ever meet him?"

"No." Mulder studied Krycek, puzzled. "Should I have?"

Krycek shrugged and glanced briefly at Smith, then back at Mulder. "Guy's an agent."

"At the bureau?"

"Yeah." Krycek's head bobbed up and down. "You know him?"

Mulder shook his head. "Why did he hit you?"

"Don't know," Krycek shrugged again. "I was just sitting in my car, minding my own business, and he shows up, weapon drawn and everything."

Smith listened thoughtfully. Mulder frowned.

Krycek continued, "So I started up the car, figuring I'd better get out of there, and this nutcase leaps right through the car window and starts pounding on my face and trying to grab the steering wheel and all."

"Why?" Mulder asked him. "What did he want from you?"

"I don't know." Krycek insisted. "I never even met the guy before. He just began pounding on me for no reason."

Mulder, unamused, merely raised an eyebrow. At the other end of the bed, Smith duplicated the action.

"Well, why would someone just start 'pounding' on you for no reason?" Mulder wanted to know.

Krycek sighed. "Happens to me all the time, Mulder."

If Krycek meant anything by that, he certainly gave no indication of it. But Mulder felt his cheeks flush slightly.

"So how do you know the guy's name, if you've never met him?"

"I said I never met him," Krycek clarified simply. "I didn't say I never heard of him." He threw another curious glance at Smith, who gave the slightest shrug but said nothing. Turning back to Mulder, he added almost petulantly, "I'm not lying."

"You must have done something, Krycek. He wouldn't have hit you without a reason."

Krycek rose. "You don't even know this guy, but you'll take his side over mine, huh?" He glared at Mulder for a moment, but Mulder knew too well how to read the real emotion in those eyes. He'd hurt Krycek.

He turned back to the chessboard dismissively, saying, "I don't have to know him, Krycek. I know you."

The silence in the room took on a new tone. Across from Mulder, Jeremiah Smith fingered a white bishop absently; Mulder could feel the older man's eyes on him, questioning. But Mulder didn't return the gaze, didn't glance up at all from the chess game.

It was Krycek who finally spoke again. "I guess you do, Mulder," he said quietly. "You sure know where to put the knife, anyway." He turned, the jacket in his hand swinging into the nightstand with a heavy thump. The gun in his pocket, Mulder assumed.

Mulder looked up in time to see Krycek's dark form walking away. Tight jeans and hiking boots. It would have been a nice view, he thought wryly, if only it weren't so typical. Krycek was always leaving him. Never mind that Mulder himself so often gave Krycek good reason to go.

Knife, hell. Damned thing was a double-edged sword.

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

Alex stared out into the night long after Smith's pick-up had disappeared in the direction of the compound. He was disappointed, though not really surprised, that Skinner hadn't taken him up on his offer for the vaccine. Not that it would have been the real thing, of course - Alex wasn't about to risk that - but it would have saved a lot of trouble if Skinner had somehow been able to find a way to convince Scully to end this pregnancy.

So now it fell to Alex to come up with some other way to protect Scully. And he had no idea if that was even possible.

Overhead, a floorboard creaked. Fox must be getting out of bed. Alex listened, heard the slow progress of footsteps from the bedroom to the bathroom, heard the bathroom door close with a click. The hallway and stairwell were lit, and Alex had left the bright overhead light on in the kitchen, but the living room, where he stood at the window, was in darkness. An old habit, making it easier to see out into the night, but more difficult to be seen. Alex had long ago learned to rely on the darkness for protection.

But now, as he looked out, his eyes panning the sky for unusual lights, Alex thought about the replicants. Smith's people found abductees in all sorts of places. Some had been found not too far from this little house, in fact. And the ones that weren't found in time evolved into the replicants. Like Rohrer.

Alex shook off the terror that crawled across his shoulders, and peered out again at the night.

"Alex?"

Alex's breath caught in his throat, even as he identified the so-familiar voice. He turned toward the archway into the hall and another shiver creeped along his skin. Fox stood precariously at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, leaning forward slightly.

"Krycek? Are you down there?"

And Alex was at the base of the stairs instantly. "What is it, Mulder?"

Fox looked uncertain. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I was standing, actually," Alex corrected him, forcing a lightness into his tone. But Fox was still at the very edge of the top step, and Alex didn't like that at all. "You really shouldn't be there, Mulder," he remarked gently. "You might fall."

Fox shook his head. "No, I won't. I was…I was wondering, would it be alright if I came down and watched some television or something?"

"Sure," Alex answered easily. "If you feel up to it. Can't you sleep?" he asked, concerned. He climbed the stairs as he talked.

"I was asleep," Fox told him. "I do practically nothing but sleep."

Alex grinned, but Fox only gazed soberly at him. "And I want to talk to you," he admitted.

Alex's smile turned into a smirk, but he kept his voice light. "About whatever you're mad at me for this time?"

"No," Fox replied seriously. "About what happened to me."

Alex studied Fox for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he agreed. "But can we wait until Smith gets back? There are some things he can explain better than I can. He's only gone to check on the folks at the compound," Alex reassured him as the agent opened his mouth to protest. "He should be back in a little while." He wrapped his arm around Fox's too-thin waist and motioned at the railing.

"I've tried to ask Smith," Fox told him sulkily. "He won't tell me anything."

Gripping the banister with one hand, Fox threw his other arm around Alex's shoulder and together they began the descent.

"He just wants to focus on your recovery first," Alex explained. "He - both of us, really - want to make sure you're okay." He kept his eyes down, watching with concern as his former partner took one shaky step, then the next.

On the fourth step, Fox paused to catch his breath. A trickle of perspiration slid along his temple. Taking his arm from the other man's waist, Alex reached up and brushed the little bead away. His hand lingered against Fox's face, as melancholy hazel eyes watched him in silence.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked him softly. Fox nodded, his gaze still on Alex's face.

The rumble of Smith's pick-up startled them both. Alex turned his head as headlights flared brightly, filling the living room with giant dancing shadows. Seconds later, the lights died as the engine fell silent, and the living room was again cast into darkness. Alex shook off a chill as the thought of the replicants again skittered through his brain.

Beside him, Fox also shivered, and Alex wondered what the sudden bright light had stirred in him. The stories of the abductees were burned into Alex's mind; he could only imagine what Fox was thinking, but it was enough to chill him again. He slid his arm back around Fox's waist protectively.

"Maybe you should sit and rest a minute," Alex suggested.

Fox lowered his eyes to the long wooden staircase. "I think so," he agreed. Holding onto Alex's arm for support he lowered himself carefully onto the step, then slid closer to the railing, and patted the space beside him.

Alex sat as beckoned, as a key turned the front door deadbolt.

Smith entered, a small leather bag in his hand. Cool blue eyes swept over the two men with only the mildest curiosity. "Is everything alright?"

Alex nodded wordlessly, then returned his attention to Fox. Those solemn eyes still gazed at him, troubled. He drew a tentative hand across Fox's brow, brushing back the dampened hair. When Fox didn't pull away, Alex slid his arm around the other man. Fox leaned into him, fatigued, his head coming to rest against the younger man's shoulder. Alex drew him in more tightly, felt the brush of his former lover's lips against his ear.

"I don't want to feel like this."

And Alex closed his eyes against the pain, and murmurred, "I know."

But God, that hurt. It was hard enough living with the possibility that Fox might never love him again - the thought that maybe Fox did still love him, but regretted it, was almost too much to bear. He desperately wanted not to cause this man any more pain, but it seemed he couldn't stop.

From below them on the stairs, Jeremiah Smith spoke in his usual placid tones. "Actually, Agent Mulder, you're mending quite nicely…"

Alex gave a vague shake of his head. "I don't think that's what he means, Jem," he muttered.

Ascending the first several steps, Smith continued as if Alex had not spoken, "…but I really think you should be back in bed."

Fox lifted his head from Alex's shoulder then, but didn't pull away from the embrace. His eyes went from Alex to Smith.

"I don't want to go back to bed," he told the older man. "I want to talk about what happened to me. Sooner or later someone's going to have to answer my questions."

Smith studied the agent thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "But I really don't think that this is a good time for it. In the morning, perhaps…"

Fox turned to Alex with a scowl. Reading the 'I told you so' in those eyes, Alex shrugged sheepishly and looked up at Smith.

"I kind of promised him, Jem," he explained. "I told him we'd go over the whole thing when you got back."

"When you got back from the compound," Fox emphasized. "You're healing people there, aren't you?"

Curious, Smith glanced at Alex before answering.

"Yes, we are."

"Abductees?"

"Yes," Smith said again. "Now why don't we get you settled into bed, and we can continue this conversation later?"

But Fox ignored the suggestion, shifted his eyes back to Alex.

"I'm one of them, aren't I? An abductee?"

It wasn't really a question, and Alex didn't answer it. He brought his hand once more to Fox's face, a feather-soft touch against the other man's cheek. It was Smith's somber voice that brought the answer Alex couldn't give.

"Yes."

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