TITLE: Blood Ties V: Legacies
(Blood Ties Series)
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Gossamer - others are fine, just let me know
SPOILERS:  Anything up to Biogenesis, especially Tunguska/Terma
RATING: PG-13 -- for disturbing images and violence
CLASSIFICATION: XA, AU
KEYWORDS: MSR, Mytharc
SUMMARY: Grey finally obtains first hand knowledge of the Consortium,
and more than one old enemy resurfaces.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and the gang belong to Chris Carter and 1013
Productions, I just can't seem to stop playing with them. Grey McKenzie
is my own creation.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the latest installment in the Blood Ties series.
You can find the others on my Web page at:
http://members.tripod.com/~dawnsunrise/index.html

I don't think I fully realized what I was getting into when I took on
the mytharc. It's been a challenge - to say the least! Thanks as always
to Donna and Laurie, the best betas ever, and to Nikki for keeping me
consistent with CC's vision (as confusing as it may be!)
FEEDBACK: Love to receive it, always respond to it. 


Blood Ties V: Legacies (1 of 20)
By Dawn


Alexandria
Friday
6:30 p.m.


"And the crowd goes wild!"

Bent over and panting with his hands braced on his knees, Mulder
regarded Grey's victory dance with wry amusement. Straightening up, he
used the bottom of his sweatshirt to swipe the perspiration from his
face.

"Didn't your mother ever give you the talk on being a poor winner?" he
asked dryly.

Grey favored him with a large grin, spinning the basketball expertly on
the tip of his index finger. "How many times have I put up with losing
to you? At last, my reputation has been vindicated!"

"Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, slouching off the court. "I think this is
what's known as 'dumb luck.'"

"If you say so, little brother," Grey replied smugly as he fell into
step with Mulder. "I prefer to think of it as a return to the natural
order."

"Speaking of nature," Mulder said, waggling his eyebrows.  "What's up
with Agent Harding?"

"Nice segue," Grey snorted, shooting him a sharp look.

"Thanks. You going to answer the question?"

Grey sighed deeply and tipped his head back to gaze up into the darkened
sky. The city lights obscured many of the stars, but a nearly full moon
illuminated the clear November evening. Kate had loved the fall with the
passion of a child -- raking piles of brightly colored leaves only to
scatter them with a belly flop, carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns,
evenings sipping tea in front of the fireplace.

"You aren't thinking of Kristen, are you?" Mulder asked quietly.

Grey dribbled the basketball, the thwack, thwack of vinyl against
pavement soothing to his suddenly restless spirit.

"Kristen is terrific. She's beautiful, and smart, and fun to be with."

"But...?"

Grey caught the ball and tucked it up under his left arm, running the
fingers of his right hand through his damp hair. "But when I'm with
her... This is hard, Fox," he said abruptly, frustration written in the
clench of his jaw.

"I know. Take your time."

Grey sucked in a long draught of air and blew it out slowly. "I thought
I was over the hard part, that I'd weathered the worst of the pain from
losing Kate. But dating Kristen -- it's like someone sharpened the
knife. I'll be with her, having a great time, and then  -- God, it
sounds so cold, but I find myself comparing her to Kate and..."

"And she doesn't measure up," Mulder finished gently. "Try not to beat
yourself up over it, Grey, it's a completely normal reaction. Grief is a
process, you can't rush it no matter how much you might like to."

"It's not fair to Kristen, though," Grey pointed out, shoulders hunched
guiltily. "I've considered breaking things off, telling her I can't see
her any more, but..."

"But?"

Grey closed his eyes briefly, then turned to gaze at his brother. "But
I've been so damn lonely. And in spite of everything else, it feels good
to have someone in my life again." He shook his head ruefully. "Pretty
selfish, huh?"

"Depends. Have you talked to Kristen about what you've been feeling?"
Mulder asked carefully.

"Yeah, I've been up front from the beginning. She knows all about Kate
and she's been really understanding. Like I said, she's terrific."

Mulder shrugged. "Then I think you need to stop feeling guilty and do
the best you can to move forward -- whether that ultimately means with
Kristen or with someone else. You know, it isn't a crime to be happy
with someone who's not the least bit like Kate, Grey."

Grey's smile was pale but genuine. "Yeah, I know it's not a crime. It's
just difficult to accept. Can you honestly picture yourself with anyone
other than Dana?"

A kaleidoscope of images cascaded through his mind, melting from one to
the next. Phoebe Green, Bambi Berenbaum, Kristen Kilar, Diana Fowley --
attractions that at best could be described as empty, at worst painful.
All insignificant sparks eclipsed by the supernova that was his Scully.

"No," he admitted softly. "I guess I can't."
 
Grey's gaze softened. "I had what you have, Fox. Once you've experienced
it, you don't want to settle for less."

They arrived at Mulder's building and he fumbled his keys from the
pocket of his sweats. He started to slip one into the lock, but paused.
"What Scully and I have didn't happen overnight, Grey. Give it a
chance."

The tickle in the back of his throat hit just as the elevator doors
closed. Mulder braced one hand on the wall and surrendered helplessly to
the wave of dry, hacking coughs. They abated a bit by the time the
elevator reached his floor, though sporadically one would sneak past his
defenses.

"You all right?" Grey asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," Mulder assured him, blinking tears back. "It's just the tail
end of a cold that I can't seem to shake."

"Maybe we shouldn't have been shooting hoops like that, it is pretty
chilly out there," Grey persisted, still frowning.

"I said I'm fine. Really. I've already got Scully on my back about this,
I don't need you too," Mulder replied impatiently. He twirled the
keyring on his finger. "That is, unless you'd like to concede that the
only reason you beat me tonight was because I'm still under the
weather..."

"Nice try, little brother."

Mulder opened the apartment door, emitting a waft of warm air and a
delicious smell. Scully stood at the stove, stirring the contents of a
large pot which seemed to be the origin of the mouth-watering odor.
Casually clad in jeans and a pale blue sweater, she tucked a strand of
copper hair behind one ear and flashed them a welcoming smile.

"'Bout time, you two. That must have been some game."

Mulder glared at his brother and held up a warning finger. "Don't say
it."

Grey's eyes widened and he pressed one palm to his heart. "Me? Joke
about the fact that not only did I beat you, but by six points? It never
entered my mind, Fox."

"You are so not funny," Mulder grumbled, but any further response was
cut off by another series of coughs.

Scully's eyes narrowed and she set down the spoon and walked over.
"Mulderrr."

"It just started!" he said defensively, holding up both hands as if to
ward her off.

Scully contented herself with folding her arms and glaring. Mulder
squirmed under the force of her gaze.

"Sculleee! I swear, I was fine until I came back inside. It was just
triggered by the switch from cold to warm air, I'll be fine in a
minute." His protest was unconvincingly punctuated by another cough.

"He's right, Dana, he didn't cough while we were playing," Grey spoke up
when Scully looked less than satisfied.

She pursed her lips. "Fine. But if this thing hangs on much longer
Mulder, you *will* see a doctor. You've been nursing this cold for a
month."

"It's a deal. Now get back there and finish my dinner, woman!" Mulder
returned, pasting on a look of mock severity.

"Watch it, Mulder. That wasn't funny the first time," she warned, but
resumed her stirring.

"Smells delicious, Dana. What is it?" Grey asked curiously.

"Irish stew. My mother sent it. She knows it's one of the few ways to
get Mulder to consume vegetables. With all the gravy, he doesn't really
notice he's eating them."

"Ha, ha." Mulder growled.

"Well as the victor, I'm claiming the first shower," Grey announced,
ignoring his brother's rolled eyes. "Be out in a few."

When he'd ducked out of sight around the corner, Mulder moved to stand
behind Scully, slipping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin
on the top of her head. With a soft puff of air she leaned back into his
embrace.

"It does smell wonderful, babe," he said, tilting his head to press a
kiss to her temple. "Thanks for sharing."

Scully turned her own head to return the kiss on his lips. "I wasn't
kidding, Mulder. She makes this for you, not me. My mother has made it
her mission in life to help take care of you ever since..." She
faltered, then resumed cheerfully. "Anyway, what's mine is yours --
within reason."

Mulder grinned and pulled her soft body closer to his own. "Same here,
Scully. I'd be glad to give you anything I've got," he said in the husky
voice he knew drove her crazy.

Her lips quirked. "Later, Mulder." Realizing she had the perfect
introduction for a topic that weighed heavily on her mind, Scully
plunged ahead. "Mulder, I noticed that your lease is coming due."

She didn't need to see his face; his entire body became rigid. Hurt vied
with annoyance and Scully struggled to smother them both.

"Yeah, next month," he said woodenly.

Scully lowered the flame on the burner and turned in his arms. Just as
she'd expected, his face was studiously blank. Times like these she
wondered what she was doing with this man whose mercurial moods could
shift in the blink of an eye. One moment he would offer her his heart on
a silver platter, the next, guard it as jealously as a miser hoards his
gold. Mulder was the first person to admit that he carried a fair amount
of baggage, and at times Scully found the load almost unbearably heavy.

"I thought we'd discussed a more permanent solution to the living
arrangements," she said quietly. "It seems crazy to pay double rent when
we're essentially living together."

Mulder shrugged, his eyes skimming hers but never quite meeting them. "I
know what you're saying, Scully. I just don't think we should rush into
anything. Anyway, I'm not sure all our stuff would fit into your place."

*Patience. Remember who you're talking to. The man has been either
emotionally or physically abandoned by everyone he's cared about.*

Scully reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. "Mulder, we don't have to
live in my apartment. We can find someplace that belongs to both of us.
I don't really care where we live, as long as we're together."

Mulder pressed his own hand over hers, closing his eyes and swallowing
hard. When he opened them, she was stricken to see fear mingling with
love in the hazel depths.

"I want that too, Scully," he murmured. "I just need a little time to
get used to the idea."

With a soft exhalation of resignation, Scully slipped her arms around
his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest. The sweatshirt was
soft under her cheek, the faint smell of his sweat mixed with the
residue of his cologne oddly comforting.

"Take all the time you need, love. Just don't shut me out."

Mulder's answer, another kiss pressed to her forehead, was followed by
Grey's reappearance in the kitchen doorway. "Shower's free."

"Go," Scully urged, sending Mulder an unspoken look of reassurance when
he gazed uncertainly into her eyes. "Dinner will be ready in five
minutes so make it fast."

He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute before squeezing
past Grey, who was lounging against the doorframe.

"Can I help, Dana?"

Scully smiled warmly. "You could pour our drinks. I'll have water and
I'm sure Mulder will want iced tea."

Another series of barking coughs erupted from the direction of the
bedroom and Grey watched Scully tense. Pulling three glasses out of the
cupboard he crossed to the freezer for ice.

"You're worried about Fox's cough," he observed.

Scully pursed her lips and somewhat reluctantly nodded. "Not
specifically the cough. His health in general, I guess."

"Why? What's going on?"

Scully hesitated, casting a guilty look at the doorway before answering.
"It's hard to put a label to it. He never really bounced back after his
injuries from Cole. He's had one illness after another."

"Well, it *is* the cold and flu season now," Grey remarked.

"Yes, but Mulder is normally disgustingly healthy. And it's more than
that. His energy level is all wrong. You know what an insomniac the man
is, but lately he's just the opposite. He's conked out on the couch
after dinner on more nights than I can count, and I still have to
practically drag him out of bed in the morning."

Grey studied Scully's troubled face. "You've confronted him about this?"

Scully snorted and rolled her eyes. "You saw him just now. He refuses to
acknowledge even the possibility that something could be wrong. We've
had more than one discussion turn into a fight about this. He claims
it's just job stress and he needs a vacation."

"Maybe he's right. Maybe some time off would take care of everything,"
Grey replied reasonably. "I'll agree, he looks a little tired. But you
have to admit, Dana, that as a doctor you may be more apt to suspect the
worst."

Scully sighed, then managed a little grin. "I'm not used to the voice of
reason coming from a Mulder. Thanks for providing a sounding board.
Mulder and I have both put in for vacation time over Thanksgiving. I
hope it will do the trick."

She peered into the pot and glanced at the clock, frowning. "This is
ready and I still haven't heard the shower. Would you please find out
what he's up to?"

She chuckled quietly to herself as Grey left the kitchen, muttering
good-naturedly about being his brother's keeper. She extracted three
bowls from the cupboard and lined them up on the counter, using a ladle
to fill the first with some stew. She was just filling the third when
Grey returned, his expression troubled.

"What's the matter? Is he almost ready?" Scully asked, brow creasing in
confusion.

"Umm. I'm not sure what you want me to do. Come see for yourself," Grey
replied uneasily.

Fine tendrils of dread twisted in Scully's stomach as she followed Grey
out of the kitchen to the bedroom. The sight that met her eyes did
nothing to ease her disquiet.

Mulder lay sprawled on the bed, sound asleep and oblivious to the
illumination flooding the room from several lamps. It appeared he'd been
in the process of stripping for his shower -- his shirt tossed
carelessly on the floor and both running shoes lying beside his feet
where his legs folded over the end of the bed. Face slack with slumber,
his breathing deep and even, he didn't twitch when Scully walked over to
lay the back of her hand against his forehead.

"I noticed he felt a little warm when I touched him earlier, but I
didn't mention it," she murmured. She grimaced. "It didn't seem worth a
fight."

"Should we just let him sleep?"

Scully nodded, pulling an afghan from the back of a chair and covering
Mulder's bare torso, gently tucking his arms underneath. Mulder mumbled
something unintelligible, then quieted when she stroked his cheek. After
turning off two of the three lights she slipped out of the room, leaving
the door ajar.

Grey had collected his bowl and glass and seated himself at the kitchen
table. She joined him, but found her appetite had deserted her. Grey
watched her stare blankly at her stew for several minutes before
speaking.

"Would you like me to put his in the oven?"

Scully shook her head, dismayed to find she was precariously close to
tears. "I'll just cover it up and he can nuke it. I'll wake him in an
hour if he doesn't surface on his own. He needs to eat."

Grey detected the tremor in her voice and reached out to lay his hand
over hers. "Dana, don't make more of this than it is. He's been under
the weather and I probably just wore him out playing ball. I'll talk to
him tomorrow, see if I can convince him to get checked out."

Scully blinked rapidly, then managed a real smile. "Thanks, Grey. I'd
appreciate that."

Grey held up a hand. "Hey, I didn't say he'd *listen*! But I'll give it
my best shot. In the meantime, you need to eat too, darlin'."

Spirits a little lighter, Scully picked up her spoon. But the stew
tasted like sand, and the little voice in the back of her mind refused
to be silenced.


Continued in part 2

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (2 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Alexandria
Friday
11:03 p.m.


Scully was a creature of habit. Mulder lay in bed, resisting the pull of
sleep and watching the nightly routine with heavy lidded eyes.  She
completed each step in strict order -- use bathroom, don pajamas, wash
face, brush teeth. Mulder noted with fascination that teeth never came
before face, pajamas before bathroom. Crazy as it might sound, he found
comfort in that small stability amidst the flux of his life.

Scully pulled back the covers, letting in a brief puff of cold air
before she climbed under and moved to snuggle up against his warm body.
Not too warm, she observed -- the Tylenol she'd forced down him earlier
must have done the trick. Mulder's right arm curled around her body to
cup her shoulder while his other hand sifted lazily through the silky
strands of her hair. The tightness in her chest loosened a bit further
and she sighed contentedly.

"Grey settled?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding as sleepy as his eyes.

"Mmhm. I feel kind of sorry for him on that couch, though. If you had a
little more space you could trade that thing in for a sofa bed -- he
visits often enough."

The remark was meant innocently, but the muscles in his arm coiled in
response. "More space, Scully? As in a different apartment?"

Scully turned her head, propping her chin on his chest to glare at him
in annoyance. "I said to take all the time you need, Mulder. It was just
a simple observation -- no secret agenda."

Mulder searched her face, then relaxed, a look of contrition replacing
wariness. "Okay. I guess I know that," he admitted softly. Feeling
awkward, he added, "I wouldn't worry about Grey, that couch is very
comfortable. I used to sleep on it all the time."

Still irritated, Scully didn't answer and the silence stretched long and
empty between them. If not for the continuous movement of his fingers in
her hair, Scully might have thought Mulder had fallen asleep. He finally
spoke, his voice the carefully controlled monotone used to mask deep
emotion.

"After Sam's abduction, I think my parents wished I would just
disappear. Maybe because they blamed me for allowing it to happen, maybe
because seeing my face was too painful a reminder of what they'd lost --
hell, maybe because I drove them crazy by trying too hard to make up for
what I perceived as my own failure." Mulder's chest lurched in a
humorless laugh. "Whatever the reason, I think my father's favorite
phrase became, 'Get the hell out of my face, Fox.'"

Scully squeezed her eyes shut to stem the flood of tears and clamped her
lips tightly together. Though she longed to blurt out words of comfort,
she knew they would only succeed in shutting Mulder down.  Instead she
pulled his hand from her shoulder and laced her fingers with his.

"I guess I was pretty vulnerable emotionally when I met Phoebe, and she
didn't hesitate to take advantage. All I knew was that for the first
time in about as long as I could remember, somebody paid attention when
I walked into the room. I fell hard, and when she suggested that we move
in together, I couldn't believe my luck. Unfortunately for me, Phoebe
possessed a remarkably short attention span when it came to the men in
her life. Six months later I was left holding a lease I couldn't afford
and Phoebe had assuaged her boredom with Ian Thorne, her political
science professor."

Mulder sighed, gazing bemusedly at Scully's thumb as it traced
hieroglyphics on the back of his hand. "Diana.."

He broke off abruptly when Scully's soft body turned rigid in his arms.
Cursing her involuntary reaction to the name, Scully forced herself to
relax.

"Go on," she urged, her voice as warm and comforting as a child's
blanket.

"When I met Diana, I was still in pieces from my stint in VICAP. I
hadn't tumbled into the abyss, but by the time I quit, my toes were
hanging so far over the edge I could barely retain my balance. Diana was
the first person besides Reggie Perdue that didn't look at me as though
I might start foaming at the mouth while spouting divine oracles. She
was by my side when I opened the X-Files and she believed in the work."

*And in you* Scully thought to herself.

"It wasn't the wild ride I'd experienced with Phoebe, but in many ways
it was better," Mulder continued. "Diana provided a...stability to my
life that I desperately needed. I don't think either of us would have
classified what we felt as love, but I never expected her to leave the
way she did. One day we were sharing an office and a bed, the next she'd
joined Anti-Terrorism and was packing her bags for Europe."

"Did she tell you why?" Scully asked, curbing with difficulty the
boiling fury his words inspired.

Mulder shrugged, his face displaying only self-deprecation. "She said
she couldn't continue as things were, that she needed a change." He
snorted derisively. "It was her kind way of telling me she was tired of
my shit."

"Mulder..."

"Are you sensing a pattern here, Scully? Do I really need to draw you a
picture?" he interrupted sharply. "I have failed miserably at every
significant relationship in my life. I don't want to screw this up!"

Scully regarded him solemnly, reaching her free hand up to brush a lock
of hair from eyes slate gray with misery. "You won't."

Mulder's eyes, which had slipped shut at her touch, popped open in a
fierce glare. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Scully. But you
don't *know* that."

Though her heart still ached from his revelation, Scully mustered a
genuine smile. The full effect was only slightly marred by the quivering
of her lower lip. "But I do. Mulder, you've been a major force in my
life for six years. We've worked, played, laughed, cried, lost family
members, gained family members, and faced death on more occasions than I
care to admit. I've seen your shit, Mulder." Her smile widened to a
grin. "And perhaps more importantly, you've seen mine. I'm not going
anywhere, love. I'm right where I want to be."

In one swift motion Mulder rolled her beneath his body, covering her
lips in a passionate kiss. Chuckling, then moaning, Scully slipped her
arms around his neck and her fingers into his hair. Mulder kissed her
slowly and thoroughly, working his way along her jaw to the spot behind
her ear that drove her crazy and then up to press his lips tenderly to
her forehead before leaning his own against it.

"I love you so much, Scully," he whispered, his voice drenched with the
wonder of a man witnessing a miracle. "I've never felt this way about
anyone. This is it for me, all I've ever wanted. Please don't let me
ruin it."

 Scully swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling him into another kiss
before tucking his head under her chin. "Not an option, Mulder," she
husked, still running her fingers through his hair. "I can be pretty
stubborn once I've made up my mind."

He chuffed silent laughter that melded into a yawn. "Yeah. I've noticed,
babe -- ow!"

Scully smirked, releasing the hunk of hair she'd just pulled and
resuming her gentle stroking. Mulder's fingers slipped under her pajama
top to reciprocate on the soft skin of her stomach.

"A place of our own could be nice," he mumbled.

It was the closest thing to a concession she was going to get tonight.
Scully pressed a kiss to the crown of his head but said nothing.
Eventually his fingers faltered and his body grew heavier against hers
as he slipped into slumber. Scully closed her eyes and willingly
followed.


Alexandria
Saturday
8:30 a.m.


Grey listened to sharp, hacking coughs coupled with the hiss of the
shower for several minutes before setting down the newspaper and moving
into the kitchen. By the time he'd fixed a cup of coffee, Fox had
emerged from the bathroom dressed in faded jeans and a heather gray tee
shirt. As he handed over the mug, Grey noted uneasily that the color of
the shirt only accentuated the pallor of his brother's skin.

"Thanks. Where's Scully?" Fox asked, sinking onto the couch and filching
the comics from the pile.

"She had to run by her apartment for something. Said she'd be back in a
few with some bagels." Grey chewed his lip a moment, then forged ahead
when Mulder unsuccessfully attempted to smother a cough. "That doesn't
sound good, Fox."

Fox didn't look up from the Peanuts cartoon he was perusing. "It's just
bad first thing in the morning. It'll slack off."

"A month is a long time to be under the weather, little brother. Why
don't you just go see a doctor and get checked out?"

Fox looked up through narrowed eyes to study his face, then groaned.
"No. Please. Not you too! Scully's been after you, hasn't she? She's
turned you to the dark side."

"That's not funny, Fox, she's worried about you," Grey admonished, but
his lips twitched in amusement.

"I know she is, but it isn't necessary. I had a bad cold and it's taking
me a long time to kick it. Period. It's just a little cough, Scully is
over-reacting."

"Fox, you passed out on the bed at seven o'clock last night and we had
to wake you up so you could eat! And in spite of that you were still out
cold when Dana left this morning! You have to admit that's not exactly
your style."

"So I'm a little run down! I seem to remember you getting on my back
because I didn't sleep enough, now I sleep too much!" Fox slapped the
mug down on the coffee table and leaned back with his arms folded
defensively across his chest.

Grey curbed his own frustration and tried a different tack. "I don't get
why this is such a big deal. Dana's worried. Is it too much to ask you
to see a doctor just to ease her mind?" he asked reasonably.

His brother heaved a longsuffering sigh and leaned forward, elbows
propped on his knees and face buried in his hands. After a moment he
looked up, and Grey was relieved to see the petulant expression missing.

"No, it isn't too much. I just don't want to make something out of
nothing," Fox replied. He took a deep breath, then blew it out. "Look,
I'm just not used to dealing with other people's opinions when it comes
to running my life. Mom and Dad checked out of the decision-making
process right after Samantha's abduction and I've been on my own ever
since.

Grey nodded slowly, reflecting on his words. "Fox, how did you feel when
Dana was sick? Didn't you want to be involved in her decisions?"

He'd obviously poked an old wound. His brother's fingers curled into
fists and he scowled. "But I wasn't. Scully refused to admit when she
was tired or hurting. All she would tell me was that she was *fine*."

More than one previously fuzzy conversation snapped into sharp focus but
Grey concentrated on his current epiphany. "So ... what? You're going to
give her a taste of her own medicine now? Is that it?"

"No!" Fox protested, but Grey could see that he was shaken by the
thought. "No, I love her, I would never deliberately..."

"Maybe it's not deliberate, Fox, maybe you're not even aware you're
doing it. But it would be understandable. It's not easy to hand the keys
over to someone else -- believe me, I know! But sometimes it's part of
loving them."

Fox's gaze was searching. "Kate?"

Grey licked his lips. "Yeah. In my case it was the reverse of what
you're facing. It's all relative, all give and take. You've got to weigh
the price for you against the benefit to the one you love. I finally
realized that respecting Kate's wishes was the right thing to do. It
cost me so little compared to what she gained."

Fox closed his eyes, his steepled fingers tapping nervously across his
lips. Grey knew he was thinking of Dana and the many times she'd
supported him despite her own doubts. After a moment he opened them and
cocked an eyebrow.

"You should've been a lawyer," he growled. "You certainly know how to
build a case."

Gotcha! Grey crowed internally, but he merely stretched and regarded his
brother gravely. "Nah. I don't like people interrupting me when I'm on a
roll."

"Very funny. I guess I could make an appointment to get checked out next
week," Fox grumbled. "Happy now?"

Grey favored him with a Cheshire cat grin. "Doesn't matter how *I* feel,
little brother. What matters is that *Dana* will be happy." He waggled
his eyebrows.

Fox rolled his eyes and returned to the comics, ignoring Grey's jibe,
but a slight curve at the corners of his mouth gave him away.


Continued in part 3

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (3 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Alexandria
Saturday
6:20 p.m.


"Fox, have you seen my keys?"

Mulder, seated at the computer reading his email and chuckling quietly
to himself, looked up just in time to catch the flash of a blue oxford
shirt as his brother disappeared into the kitchen. Before he could open
his mouth to reply Grey was back, fingers absently fastening the buttons
at his collar while his eyes roamed the living room.

"Thought you left them in your jacket pocket," he remarked, lips curved
in amusement as Grey darted to the wooden coatrack and began patting
down the pockets of his tan jacket. With a small grunt of satisfaction
he pulled out a keyring and, after a moment's hesitation, gripped it
between his teeth and began using his freed hands to tuck the shirt into
his pants while ducking into the bathroom.

"What's with him?" Scully asked, tossing the medical journal she'd been
reading onto the coffee table.

"Hot date," Mulder smirked. When Scully narrowed her eyes he added,
"He's running late. Kristen is expecting him in twenty-five minutes and
he's never going to make it."

"You shouldn't have kept him out so long, Mulder," Scully said
reprovingly. "What were you two doing all afternoon?"

Mulder shrugged, eyes darting between Scully and the computer. "Went to
the gym, got sucked into a pick-up game." His eyes moved rapidly across
the screen and he snickered again.

"Mulder, *what* is so funny? You've been awfully entertained by that
email."

"It's from the Gunmen. Frohike sent me an article that claims talk shows
are actually the encoded broadcasts of alien infiltrators."

Scully pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, Jerry Springer always has
given me the impression he doesn't belong on this planet," she mused.

Mulder grinned, delighted by her response. "You watch Jerry Springer,
Scully?"

Grey's reappearance aborted her answer. With his shirt now neatly tucked
into a pair of khaki pants and loafers on his feet, only his tie still
hung askew, looped through his collar but unknotted. "I'm outta here,"
he announced, snatching his jacket from its hook.

"You're going to freeze in that thing, you know," Mulder observed
calmly, turning in his chair. "It's going to get into the thirties
tonight."

Grey shrugged. "Can't be helped. I always forget it can be colder up
here. I'll be fine."

Mulder sighed in resignation. "Take my leather jacket, it's right there.
Scully and I aren't planning to go out anyway."

Grey hesitated. "You sure?"

"You're already taking my car, why not the clothes off my back?"

"Well, when you put it *that* way..."

Grey replaced his own jacket and snagged his brother's, spinning to head
for the door.

"Wait!" Scully called.

When he turned back, raising a questioning eyebrow she got up from her
seat on the couch and moved quickly over to stand in front of him.
Taking hold of the tastefully understated tie (*didn't borrow this from
Mulder* she reflected with a small smile) she deftly knotted it,
smoothing the ends. After appraising him for a moment with a critical
eye, Scully nodded in satisfaction.

"Very nice."

When she raised her eyes to his, the depth of his emotion surprised her.
"It's been a long time since a pretty lady did that for me," he said
quietly, leaning over to give her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Dana."

"My pleasure," Scully replied warmly. "Have a good time."

"But not *too* good," Mulder chimed in, waggling his eyebrows. "We
expect you to conduct yourself as a perfect gentleman at all times,
son."

"I'm from the South, little brother," Grey retorted, opening the door.
"We invented the concept."

Once the door closed Scully walked over to Mulder, already immersed in
his email. She regarded him silently for a moment, then swung her leg
over his and settled herself into his lap, facing him with her arms
draped loosely around his neck and effectively blocking the screen.

Mulder blinked, a wide smile spreading slowly across his face. "Hey,
Scully."

"Grey is taking Kristen to that nice little Italian place and then to a
concert, Mulder," Scully said, schooling her expression to hide her
smile. "What are we doing tonight?"

Mulder bit the inside of his lip. "Pizza and a video?"

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Six months, Mulder. It's barely been
six months and the only plans you have for us on a Saturday night are
carryout pizza and renting a video?"

His smile turned decidedly lecherous. "'Course not, babe. I'm full of
plans for us."

Scully rolled her eyes. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

Mulder just leaned his forehead against hers. "Some fettuccini Alfredo
from Maggiano's? Maybe a bottle of wine, candles, and soft music?"

Scully turned her head to nuzzle his cheek. "Good plan, Mulder. Very
good plan."


En route to Bethesda
Saturday
6:45 p.m.


When the engine began to hiccup, Grey groaned aloud. If everything had
proceeded according to plan, he'd be pulling up outside Kristen's
townhouse right now, watching her open the door to reveal the smile that
always made his heart speed up with conflicting emotions. Funny how even
after all this time it was hard to shake the feeling he was cheating on
Kate. Especially considering his certainty that Kate would have wanted
this for him, encouraged him to find happiness with someone else.

He'd never tell his brother, of course, but sometimes being around Fox
and Dana provoked a near-physical pain. It hit him at odd times, the
little things that more clearly than words testified to the devotion
between them. The way his thumb lingered on her cheek when he tucked a
strand of copper hair behind her ear. The blinding smile she never
bestowed on anyone else. The joining of their eyes that managed to
convey an almost embarrassing depth of intimacy without a single touch.
Grey rejoiced at his brother's happiness even as he ached with the
reminder of all he'd lost. In this, as in many ways, making Fox a part
of his life was a bittersweet proposition.

The car, sounding more and more like an asthmatic in the throes of an
attack, gave a final, violent jolt and died. Cursing under his breath,
Grey managed to coax the vehicle over to the side of the road before it
glided to a standstill. Wishing he'd listened more closely all the times
he'd watched his dad work on the car, Grey heaved the sigh of a martyr
and pulled the lever to pop the hood.

"This has got to be your fault, Fox," he muttered, shivering at the
contrast between the warm car and the chill wind. "I'm not sure how, but
it stands to reason."

Traffic whizzed merrily past as Grey trudged to the front of the car and
raised the hood. Naturally, he'd come to a halt about halfway between
streetlights so that the engine was little more than a confusing mass of
shadows in the near darkness. The wind kicked up a little and Grey
flipped up the collar of the leather jacket, breathing on his cupped
hands for a few moments before continuing his fruitless poking of the
engine.

He'd just decided to throw in the towel and walk to the nearest phone
when a bright blaze of headlights spilled around the edges of the raised
hood and he heard the distinct crunch of tires on gravel. Raising one
hand in an attempt to shade his eyes from the glare, Grey peered into
the headlights that were quickly extinguished a moment later. As his
eyes struggled to adjust yet again to the altered lighting, Grey could
just make out a single shadowy figure approaching at a leisurely pace.

"Trouble?" The voice was soft, muffled by the intermittent drone of
traffic.

"Yeah."

Grey bent back over the engine, watching the stranger carefully from the
corner of his eye. The calm voice and relaxed manner gave no indication
of threat, but it never hurt to be cautious. He thought longingly of the
gun tucked into his duffel bag back at Fox's apartment, then told
himself he was catching his brother's paranoia.

"Can I take a look?"

The stranger stopped when he drew abreast of the front tire, leaving
Grey plenty of space. Little more than a silhouette in the darkness, but
roughly his own height and build, Grey noted. He was clad in black jeans
and a black leather jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets and shoulders
hunched against the cold. After only a moment's indecision Grey
shrugged, stepping back and gesturing with a sweep of his hand.

"Take your best shot."

The man chuckled quietly and bent over the engine. Grey's tension eased
at the show of faith. Whoever this Good Samaritan was, he trusted enough
to turn his back on a stranger. Grey's gaze alternated between the man's
back and his watch, wondering idly if Kristen would have begun to worry.

"Here's your problem," the man said after a moment, beckoning with a
tilt of his head. "Take a look."

Grey stepped up and leaned over, squinting to make out what the
stranger's finger indicated. "You lost this belt. See?"

Grey snorted. "In this light? Not really."

The stranger released a small puff of air that must have been a laugh.
"Feel right here."

Grey obligingly reached out, his fingers contacting the frayed ends of
something. Before his brain could register the sensation, however,
something sharp bit into the skin of his wrist.

"OW! What the hell was that?" he cried, pulling his arm out as if it
were on fire and tilting it to catch the light. A small drop of blood
oozed over the pulse point.

"You all..." The stranger had also straightened up, revealing green eyes
and a slight smile. His words cut off abruptly and his eyes widened in
shock, then narrowed in anger. "What the... You're not Mulder!"

Grey opened his mouth to retort but a sudden wave of dizziness blurred
the man's face to little more than a pale oval in the darkness. He
staggered, grabbing onto the car with one hand and shaking his head in
an attempt to clear it.

"Whaddare you talkin' about?" he demanded, the words slurring on his
suddenly thick tongue. "'M not Fox, 'm his brother."

Forcing the words out only exacerbated his disorientation, and Grey's
limbs began to feel leaden and disconnected from his body. Despite his
iron grip on the car his knees buckled. Spitting out words in a foreign
language that could only be curses, the man caught Grey by his jacket
and hauled him upright. Unfortunately, supporting Grey's nearly dead
weight proved to be a challenge. The stranger stumbled, flinging his
right hand out to steady himself and tearing his black leather glove on
something sharp in the process. He propped Grey against the car and
scrutinized his features.

Grey struggled to keep his eyes open, the small corner of his brain not
fogged with whatever drug he'd been given shrieking that he was in deep
trouble. The man uttered a few more epithets in what sounded like
Russian, then his lips twisted into a sardonic grin and he laughed.

"Damn it, Mulder! You wind up causing me trouble without even trying!"

"Who. Are. You." Sheer force of will kept him conscious - the words
sticking in his mouth like peanut butter.

The answering curve of the stranger's lips could hardly be called a
smile. "I used to be your brother's partner," he said flatly, the words
coming to Grey as if from the end of a dark tunnel. "You can call me
Alex."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he slid into the darkness.


Location unknown
Saturday
8:17 p.m.


"Have a seat, Alex."

Krycek shut the door and crossed to stand before the man seated in a
plush armchair. "I'd rather stand," he replied insolently, the slouch in
his body clearly conveying his disrespect.

The speaker merely regarded him calmly with steel gray eyes, removing
the cigarette from his lips and expelling a long puff of smoke. "Sit
down."

Though the decibel level didn't change, the implied threat was obvious.
Gritting his teeth, Krycek sat stiffly in the proffered chair.

"Would you care to explain to me why I sent you to fetch one Mulder and
you came back with another?" the smoker asked conversationally.

"I thought it *was* Mulder," Krycek growled. "I didn't realize it was
his brother until I'd already drugged him, and by then it was too late."

Another long pull on the cigarette and a leisurely exhale. "So you
decided to add insult to injury and bring him here."

Krycek lunged forward, the hand that was still able clenched into a
fist. "Look, what do you want me to say? He came out of *Mulder's*
apartment, got into *Mulder's* car - hell, he was even wearing
*Mulder's* jacket! In the darkness he's a dead ringer for him. I had two
choices - either dump him in the car and risk Mulder catching on to what
happened or bring him here. You've had McKenzie under surveillance for
nearly two months. Are you really going to tell me you didn't intend to
test him sooner or later?"

"According to *my* timetable, Krycek, not as a result of your bungled
attempt to complete the required task," CSM replied coolly, his voice
silk over steel. "The problem with Mulder remains unresolved, and time
is of the essence. His brother could have waited."

Krycek bared his teeth in the parody of a smile. "Maybe you can trade
up."

The smoker ignored his jibe. "How certain are you that no one saw you?"

Krycek shrugged. "It *was* the side of a highway. But traffic was light
and he did me the favor of not stopping under a streetlight. He was too
surprised to put up a fight, and I'm reasonably certain no one saw me
put him in the car."

 "You'll pardon me if I derive little comfort from your assurances," CSM
remarked dryly. He leaned over and stubbed out the butt of his cigarette
in a crystal ashtray. "See that he's settled in the blue room."

Krycek felt the cold gaze follow him to the doorway, heard the snick of
a lighter as the old man lit another Morely. His hand twitched with the
desire to reach for the gun in the waistband of his jeans and end this
charade of cooperation. With effort, he cooled his temper and common
sense won out. Now was not the time, but eventually that day would come.


Continued in part 4

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (4 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Alexandria
Saturday
7:30 p.m.


Scully followed the fragrance of garlic and oregano and the muffled
sound of coughing into the kitchen. Mulder, just returned from picking
up their dinner, had relegated to her the task of choosing some music
and sent her into the living room. In the meantime, he'd transformed the
kitchen table with candles and a rose. She stepped through the doorway
just in time to catch him covering his mouth with the back of his arm in
a vain attempt to stifle his hacking.

"I told you I should be the one to get the food. That jacket wasn't warm
enough and the last thing you need is another cold," Scully said
disapprovingly.

"Scully, I'm fine," Mulder snapped, but the words lost their punch when
he dissolved into another round of coughing.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," Scully muttered, nudging him out of the way and
opening the container of fettuccini. She closed her eyes and inhaled
blissfully before spooning some onto a plate.

Mulder tamped down on his own irritation and wrestled with the wine
bottle, venting his feelings on the stubborn cork. "I'm going to the
doctor on Tuesday, Scully. You can drop it now, you won."

The wine bottle's cork blew at approximately the same time as Scully's.
"What's that supposed to mean -- I've won?"

The sensible voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was being
insensitive, but Mulder ignored it. The annoying tickle in his chest and
the accompanying ache that had begun sometime during the ill-fated
pick-up game both attested to the validity of Scully's worry and sparked
his temper.

"Just what it sounds like! You've been on my back about a simple cough
for the last two weeks until you finally wore me down. I made the damn
appointment, the least you could do is give it a rest!"

Stung by the acid in his words, Scully compressed her lips into a thin
line. Defenses up, she spoke without stopping to consider the words. "In
my family that's called caring, Mulder. Sorry if that's a foreign
concept for you."

The words sandbagged him, and for an instant Scully read the shock and
hurt clearly in his eyes before he regained control. Mulder turned from
her and opened a cupboard, emitting a sarcastic chuckle. "What are you
saying, Scully? You mean you don't think the Mulders could have been
poster material for a loving family?"

He pulled down glasses and filled each halfway with the wine, his face
expressionless. Only the slight quiver of the bottle betrayed his
indifference. Scully closed her eyes and sighed. Her anger had ebbed the
moment she realized she'd hurt him, leaving only resignation and remorse
in its wake. Sometimes maintaining a relationship with Mulder was like
whitewater rafting -- she felt swept along with only a modicum of
control, treacherous rocks cropping up when least expected.

"Mulder, I didn't mean it to come out like that," she said quietly,
fixing her gaze on his stiff back.

Mulder turned and extended a glass, but his manner remained guarded.
"Sure you did, Scully. And we both know it's true," he replied, swirling
the liquid in his own glass and studying it. "After all..."

The phone rang, and Mulder set his wine on the counter, brushing
Scully's arm gently with his fingers as he moved past her to the living
room.

"Mulder. Hi, Kristen, what's up?"

Scully leaned against the counter, idly sipping her drink and listening
to Mulder's half of the conversation.

"What? He's not there?" A brief pause. "He left here over an hour ago,
he should have been to your place by seven."

Alerted by the edge to his voice, Scully walked into the living room.
One hand held the phone pressed to Mulder's ear, the other restlessly
twisted the cord.

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation -- maybe he got held up in
traffic or stopped off at a store for something."

Though his tone remained generally calm and reassuring, Mulder's body
language screamed worry. He chewed the inside of his lower lip as he
listened to Kristen, fingers now drumming nervously on the desktop and
his feet shifting back and forth.

"No. You stay put. Scully and I will trace his path to your house and
see if we run into him. We'll leave right now." He listened a moment,
and Scully could faintly hear Kristen's rapid flow of speech on the
other end of the line. "Try not to worry, I'm sure it's nothing. We'll
see you soon."

Mulder replaced the receiver in its cradle with exaggerated care and
stood staring into space for several seconds before his gaze wandered to
Scully. It was clear he was deeply disturbed but desperately trying not
to show it.

"Grey never picked up Kristen." Scully stated, moving closer but not
touching him.

"She's pretty worried. Can't figure out what could be keeping him."
Mulder ran his hand absently through his hair. "Neither can I."

"Put a sweater on and we'll go," Scully said gently.

Mulder nodded placidly and disappeared into the bedroom without arguing,
clearly revealing just how troubled he was. Scully sighed and donned her
own coat, promising herself that sooner or later the conflict in the
kitchen would be revisited. When he returned clad in a navy v-neck
sweater with his hand extended, she raised one eyebrow.

"Keys?" he asked impatiently.

"I'll drive. It is my car, after all, and the seat is already set so
that my little feet can reach the pedals."

She wasn't really angry, just a little irritated by his assumption that
she should be the one to ride shotgun. The remark about her feet was
meant as a joke, to lighten the mood, but seemed to achieve the
opposite. Mulder's expression darkened and when he opened his mouth
Scully braced herself for another battle. To her surprise his mouth
snapped shut and he shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, and reached for the door.

Scully followed him down the hallway and into the elevator, attempting
to gauge his mood. Contrary to her initial assessment, he didn't seem
angry, just distracted. She slipped her arm through his and watched him
come back to her.

"You can drive if you'd like, Mulder. I really don't mind."

Mulder turned eyes to hers that were soft with gratitude. "I just... I
need to be *doing* something right now, Scully. If I have to just sit I
think I might lose it."

The elevator doors opened and she barely had time to press the keys into
his palm before he was off again, his long legs eating up the ground at
twice the rate of her own. Once behind the wheel he slid the key into
the ignition, but paused. Scully read the odd look on his face and
interpreted it correctly.

"Mulder, it's probably nothing."

Mulder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then started the engine.
Once on the road he hunched forward over the wheel, scanning the horizon
with sharp eyes. Scully turned her own gaze to the shoulder, silently
praying that she'd see Mulder's car pulled safely to the side of the
road, perhaps with a flat tire. A line from a children's movie she'd
once watched with her godson popped into her head and she chanted it
over and over in her mind like a mantra.

*Let no bad happen*.

Halfway between Mulder's apartment and Bethesda, where Kristen lived,
her eye caught a glint of metal off to the right.

"Mulder, stop," she ordered quickly.

Mulder reacted in knee-jerk fashion, swerving suddenly onto the shoulder
and slamming on his brakes. A black Camaro, dissatisfied with his slower
pace and riding his tail, roared past with the blast of a horn and the
driver's upraised middle finger. Oblivious, Mulder pinned Scully with
his eyes.

"What is it? Did you see something?"

Scully opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight.
"Something. I'm just not sure what."

She got out of the car and began walking back along the side of the
road, training the beam of light down into the ditch where the shoulder
fell away into an empty field. Mulder trailed in her wake, exuding
nervous energy but holding his tongue. After walking back around three
hundred yards to a spot halfway between streetlights, Scully's light
caught something in the weeds and bounced back at them. Ten steps closer
and her heart began to thump wildly in her chest.

A car lay amidst the tall grass, tilted against the embankment so that
it nearly rested on its right side. Even in the poor lighting she could
see it was black, see the dent on the left fender where Mulder had hit a
guardrail during a high-speed chase. Mulder's car.

Before she could vocalize the realization Mulder was scrambling down the
incline, his gun drawn. Scully switched the flashlight to her left hand,
keeping it centered on the car, and pulled her own weapon. Mulder
reached the driver's door, slipping a little on the slope, and cupped
his hands to the glass so that he could peer inside. Scully came up
behind his shoulder and moved the light around the interior.

The empty interior.

Mulder's hands dropped to his sides and he turned to face Scully.
"He's not inside."

The simple statement held a mixture of bewilderment, worry, and relief.
Scully pursed her lips as she considered the car, then clambered back up
the hill to the road. She could feel Mulder on her heels, watching her
movements as she swept the flashlight across the pavement. After several
moments she'd seen enough, and snapped the light off to conserve
batteries.

"So?" Voice steady but apprehensive.

Scully walked slowly over to gaze up into his face. "I don't see any
skid marks, Mulder. Nothing to indicate that he lost control of the
car."

Mulder was chewing his lip again, viciously enough that Scully had to
bite back a plea for him to stop. "The position of the car is all wrong,
too," he observed. "If it had left the road with any momentum it would
be on its side, or even rolled over. As it is, it looks like..."

"Like somebody pushed it down there," Scully finished softly, her
concern for Grey warring with that for Mulder. "We need to get a team
out here, Mulder. And you need to call Kristen."

Mulder closed his eyes. Scully watched his Adam's apple bob
convulsively, the fingers on both hands flexing and then relaxing
several times. When his rapid breathing slowed to a more normal pace, he
opened his eyes and reached for the cell phone he'd tucked into the
pocket of his brother's jacket. He punched in the number with steady
precision and his voice remained smooth and even.

"Kristen? It's Mulder. I've got some bad news..."

Scully turned and moved several steps in the opposite direction, pulling
her own phone out and pressing number three on the speed dial. Glancing
at her watch she couldn't help fearing that the likelihood of finding
the man home at eight-thirty on a Saturday evening was low.

*Come on, pick up the phone. Please be there...*

"Hello?"

A little surprised by the almost giddy sense of relief, Scully abruptly
realized she didn't know quite where to begin. Grasping for composure,
she was chagrined to find her own voice lacked Mulder's level tone.

"Sir, this is Scully. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but
I need your help."

A deep sigh from the other end of the line, and when Skinner spoke his
voice dripped weary resignation. "What did he do now, Scully?"

The grin broke out reflexively, quickly succeeded by a sharp pain in her
chest. If only that was the problem -- Mulder haring out and taking off
on one of his wild goose chases. Her eyes darted to where he stood,
shoulders slumped and eyes shaded by the hand not gripping the phone.

"Scully? You there?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, sir," she said quickly, shaking off her paralysis.
"It isn't Mulder that's in trouble. It's Grey."

"*Grey*?" Skinner repeated.

"He's missing, sir. He left Mulder's apartment two hours ago to pick up
Agent Harding for a date but never arrived. Mulder and I found his car
in a ditch, empty. I'm fairly certain someone pushed it there."

"Give me your location, I'll have a team out immediately."

Scully surrendered to the mechanics, giving Skinner the information
required, setting the machine in motion. She closed the phone, her eyes
seeking out her partner before she'd replaced it in her pocket. He stood
at the top of the embankment, staring blankly at the deserted car. When
she drew closer, Scully saw that he was shivering slightly.

"Mulder, it's freezing out here. Let's wait in my car," she suggested
quietly, slipping her cold hand into his equally frigid one.

"He wouldn't listen to me," Mulder murmured as if he hadn't heard --
which was probably the case. "I tried to warn him, to tell him that
sooner or later that cigarette-smoking bastard would figure things out.
But he wouldn't listen."

"You're his brother and he loves you," Scully replied, stroking her
thumb over his.

Mulder laughed -- a ragged, wild sound. "Yeah, and where has it gotten
him? The same place as everyone else that's ever made that mistake."

Scully flinched. "Mulder..."

"NO, Scully! Don't try to sugar coat what you know is the truth. I
brought this on Grey through my own selfishness. If I'd just left well
enough alone, stayed out of his life, he wouldn't be in this mess right
now, going through God knows what! I should've let my head guide my
actions, not my heart. And if you have any common sense remaining you'll
learn something from this and do the same."

Scully's mouth dropped open and she gaped at his retreating back as he
spun on his heel and stalked toward the flashing red and blue lights
that appeared on the horizon.


Continued in part 5

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (5 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Unknown Location
Saturday
10:34 p.m.


The fear existed inside of him like a living creature, feeding on the
passing minutes spent in solitude, growing until he could contain it
only by sheer force of will. Grey's eyes roamed the room ceaselessly,
searching impotently for something to provide a distraction, to focus
on. Unfortunately, his surroundings were painfully sterile and lacking
in inspiration.

A square 10 X 10 foot room, walls institutional white and lacking any
windows, empty except for a toilet, sink, and the bed to which he was
strapped. Yes, strapped securely with five point restraints so that he
couldn't even scratch the itch over his left eye that tormented him.

The physical discomfort, however, paled in comparison to the mental
anguish. When he wasn't obsessively recalling each and every horror
story Fox and Dana had recounted about their own abductions, he agonized
over his brother's reaction to his disappearance. More than twenty-five
years since Samantha vanished, and Fox still woke screaming in the
night, still drove himself relentlessly to find her. Grey feared another
such loss would blur the fragile line of stability that Fox walked,
tipping him into a breakdown. None of this was Fox's fault, but
undoubtedly the man would assume the blame.

Grey grimaced, rubbing his face against the pillow to assuage the itch.
If his current predicament was anyone's fault, it was his own. Fox had
repeatedly tried to warn him about the faceless enemy that lurked in the
shadows, and he'd arrogantly disregarded those warnings. Truth be told,
he'd dismissed much of it as his brother's overactive paranoia,
confident he could take care of himself. Big mistake.

The doorknob rattled, commanding his full attention. A moment later his
kidnapper entered and shut the door firmly. He'd shed his leather
jacket, and the black tee shirt he wore clearly revealed his muscular
right arm and the prosthesis that substituted for his left. Grey's eyes
narrowed as made the connection.


"You're the double-crossing rat bastard Fox has told me so much about,"
he said coolly. "Alex Krycek -- am I right?"

Krycek grinned wolfishly and pressed one hand to his chest. "It warms my
heart to know that Mulder talks about me," he replied, stepping across
the room to lean against the wall near the foot of Grey's bed.

"Believe me, he becomes very...vocal when your name comes up," Grey said
wryly. He scowled at Krycek. "So where am I, and why am I here? I'm not
part of this equation, what do you want with me?"

Krycek snorted. "If you have Bill and Teena Mulder as parents, then
you're part of the equation. But to answer your question, I didn't want
*you* at all. Your presence here is purely accidental."

Grey recalled Krycek's diatribe back at the car, and his eyes widened.
"The car, the jacket -- you thought I was Fox! You were after him, not
me."

Krycek grit his teeth. "In the dark, you could be twins. I didn't
realize you were in town, so I never expected anyone but Mulder."

"You *sabotaged* that belt, didn't you?" Grey growled. "It wasn't just
luck that you came along when you did."

"I don't believe in luck -- I make my own," Krycek said with a lift of
his chin. "Mulder's Saturday nights have become amazingly predictable
since he came to his senses and started screwing his partner. He always
heads over to Scully's place at about the same time. Just my luck that
you had to come into town and upset the routine."

"My deepest apologies," Grey replied sarcastically. "Why don't you just
chalk up this whole evening as a waste of time and let me be on my way?"

"Nice try. But just because you weren't the objective tonight doesn't
mean you weren't on the agenda."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grey hoped he sounded belligerent,
feared he sounded intimidated.

Krycek raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on! You can't really be that nave!
Mulder must have told you about the Project, about your father's
involvement in it."

Grey glanced away from the piercing green eyes. "Fox has told me a lot
of things. I don't necessarily believe all of them, in spite of the fact
that I can see *he* does."

"Then you're mistaken," Krycek replied. He straightened and paced across
the room and back again. "Fox Mulder may be many things, but a fool
isn't one of them. The threat he's fighting against is very real, and
like it or not, his role in this little drama was cast long before his
birth. Yours has yet to be determined."

"I had nothing to do with Bill Mulder or this 'Project' you speak of,"
Grey snapped, tugging at the straps that fettered his wrists.

Krycek cradled his head in his hands, shaking it slowly. "You really
don't get it, do you? Why do you think your parents hid all evidence
that you existed? You're bound to the Project by virtue of Bill Mulder's
blood in your veins! How inextricably, remains to be seen."

Grey stared at him, his mind working furiously. "You mean Fox...?"

"Fox and Samantha were the first fruits of a plan, and the inception of
that plan occurred years before you were born -- before Bill Mulder even
came to work for the State Department. Humans genetically altered to
instill a natural resistance to the alien virus. An experiment that,
until recently, appeared to be successful."

Grey could feel the blood drain from his face. "Does Fox know this?"

Krycek shook his head sharply. "No, and he won't find out. After we're
finished determining just how successful Bill Mulder was at shielding
you from the experiment, we'll wipe your memory." The wolf grin again.
"You'll never even know you were gone."

Grey clenched his jaw, his mind skittering away from *that* picture.
Krycek had said something important, something that niggled at the back
of his mind. He scanned his memory until it abruptly clicked into place.

"You said that the experiment on Fox seemed successful until recently.
What did you mean by that?"

Krycek's face closed off at the same moment that the door opened to emit
a linebacker in the white dress of a hospital orderly. Grey's heart
skipped a beat when his eyes landed on the syringe in the man's meaty
hand.

"Krycek, wait! We're not done with this conversation yet! You owe me an
answer, don't..."

Like shooting fish in a barrel, Grey could offer no resistance as his
arm was subjected first to the cool swab of alcohol and then the sting
of the needle. This time the drug didn't pull him under, just turned his
muscles to gelatin and left him unable to remember why he was supposed
to be upset. Krycek's face undulated gently in and out of focus, and
when the linebacker loosened the restraints it never occurred to Grey to
struggle.

As Krycek began speaking, Grey watched with fascination his tongue dance
between lips and teeth, though he'd lost the ability to process words.

"When you start giving me orders like that, you even *sound* just like
him," Krycek chuckled, watching as Grey was bundled onto a gurney. "Been
nice meeting you -- not that you'll remember."

Stepping aside he looked on impassively as the orderly wheeled Grey out
of the room.


Roadside
Sunday
12:01 a.m.


Scully leaned wearily against the side of her car, watching Mulder comb
the embankment again. She was so focused on her partner, when a large
hand descended on her shoulder she barely bit back a startled scream.
Skinner's fingers tightened briefly then released, and he mirrored her
position.

"There's really nothing more we can do here tonight, Scully," he said,
his own eyes following Mulder's relentless searching. "We'll come back
when it's light, and in the meantime forensics can go over the car for
trace evidence."

Scully nodded. The police had left the scene nearly a half-hour earlier,
the car towed to the bureau shortly afterward. She was cold to the bone
after spending over three hours in the chill wind, and a hot bath and
flannel pajamas figured prominently in her fantasies. But the lone
figure stalking restlessly back and forth amid the weeds had other
ideas.

As if reading her mind, Skinner added, "You need to get him out of here.
He passed the point of usefulness over an hour ago, and I think pure
adrenaline is the only thing keeping him on his feet."

Unreasonable anger, fueled by her own helpless frustration, flared at
Skinner's words. "You think I don't realize that? If you've got any
suggestions on how to make it happen, I'm all ears!"

Skinner didn't take offense. "I'm the idea man," he replied dryly. "I
was hoping to leave the execution to you."

The laugh that bubbled up turned into a sob somewhere in her throat.
Horrified, Scully clamped down hard on her lip with both teeth and
forced herself to breathe slowly. Respecting her struggle for composure,
Skinner didn't put his arm around her, but he leaned into her side a
little, his warmth and bulk comforting.

"Whatever happens, Scully, we'll get him through this."

Scully blinked rapidly. "I want to believe that, sir. Because I don't
think Mulder could survive losing another sibling to his father's
cause."

Skinner touched the back of her hand, startled by the lack of warmth.
"Start up the car and get the heater running, Scully, you're freezing.
I'll take care of him."

More than a little ashamed by her relief at his words, Scully merely
nodded and forced herself to motion. Skinner walked slowly over to where
his other agent, features set in granite, swept a flashlight back and
forth over the uneven terrain. He stopped at the edge, just before the
shoulder of the road fell away to the field, and waited. When several
minutes passed without Mulder breaking his stride or acknowledging his
presence, he cleared his throat.

"Mulder."

"There has to be something here, something we're not seeing," Mulder
muttered without raising his head or pausing.

"Mulder, this is a crime scene, and I'm officially ordering you off,"
Skinner said, injecting a little more steel into his tone.

It produced the desired reaction. Mulder's froze, his head whipping up
so that his eyes could lock onto his boss. The insolent protest that
commenced actually warmed Skinner's heart -- a big improvement to the
shell-shocked aura Mulder had been exuding all evening.

"You can't do that! I'm conducting an investigation and..."

"Mulder, the only thing you're conducting at this point is a lesson in
futility." Skinner shrugged off the irritation that Mulder's
insubordination always engendered and softened his words. "You've been
at this non-stop for going on four hours. You're cold, you're tired, and
it's too dark to see a damn thing. Add to that the fact that your
partner is about ready to drop, and I'd say it's time you called it a
night."

Mulder climbed up the slope to join Skinner but a protruding lower lip
and furrowed brow testified to his reluctance.

"You could give Scully a lift. I can drive her car home when I'm
finished," he persisted.

"I could, but I won't," Skinner said sternly. "You *are* finished,
Mulder. Get some rest and resume your investigation when you can
actually see something."

Skinner turned and took several steps toward the parked cars before he
noticed the absence of footfalls behind him. His temper sparked anew,
and he spun around sharply, a reprimand on his tongue. The wounded child
camouflaged in Mulder's clothes made the words catch in his throat.

"I'm not a child left catatonic on the floor this time," Mulder said
softly, belying Skinner's vision. "I won't sit back and just let this
happen. I have to fight."

Despite the attempt at bravado, Skinner experienced a painful flashback
to another day when he'd confronted a broken, despondent Mulder packing
up his belongings in the X-Files office.

*How many times can one man face losing what he holds most dear*?

"No one's asking you to stop fighting, Mulder," he replied gruffly.
"Just to employ a little tactical sense."

Whether his words struck a chord or Mulder was just too exhausted to
continue resisting, this time Skinner was gratified to hear an echo to
his own footsteps. He walked around to the driver's side of the car and
Scully lowered her window, bathing his face in a puff of warmed air.

"I'll see you two at the bureau bright and early," he said, watching
peripherally as Mulder slumped into the passenger seat. "Report directly
to my office, I'll have the forensics sent there."

"Thank you, sir." Scully's shadowed eyes communicated clearly that her
response concerned more than his investigative support.

Skinner leaned in a little closer so that he could see Mulder's face.
"Get some sleep, Mulder. We've got the bureau's best resources on this
and we *will* find him."

Mulder didn't acknowledge or contest Skinner's statement -- merely
leaned his head against the seatback and stared out the window.

The coughing commenced the moment Scully pulled onto the road and lasted
the entire drive back to Mulder's apartment. The hacking held a deep,
booming sound that her physician's ear recognized as more than just the
dregs of a cold, and when he gasped for breath the wheezing was clearly
audible. Scully pressed her lips tightly together, a dam against the
torrent of misgivings that wanted to pour forth.

By the time Mulder slipped the key into his door the spell had eased up
a bit, but Scully's worry had not. He paused in the kitchen doorway for
a moment, taking in the congealed plate of fettuccini and the abandoned
bottle of wine before continuing into the living room and slumping onto
the couch. Scully discarded the food and put on the teakettle before
moving on to the bathroom where she rummaged around until she'd
uncovered a bottle of nighttime cold medicine behind a can of shaving
cream.

She clutched the bottle, her thumb picking absently at the peeling label
as an inner battle raged between Dana Scully, MD and Dana Scully, the
woman in love with Fox Mulder. The cold remedy would suppress Mulder's
cough with the added benefit of knocking him unconscious for a few hours
-- probably the only way he'd sleep at all. Yet the idea of treating the
symptoms and not the cause went against every ounce of her medical
training. She stood there, irresolute, until Mulder broke into another
round of hacking.

Mulder cracked open one eye when Scully moved his feet and sat down
beside him.

"Sit up," she said, unscrewing the cap and filling the little plastic
measuring cup with the red liquid.

Mulder screwed up his face like a toddler ordered to eat cauliflower.
"Sculleee! That stuff tastes like turpentine!"

"I'll forego asking just how you would know how turpentine tastes,"
Scully replied, extending the little cup. "Hold your nose."

Mulder hauled himself upright and tossed back the contents in one fell
swoop, shuddering violently and making exaggerated gagging noises
afterward. Scully ignored the theatrics and disappeared into the
kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two mugs of hot tea.
Mulder accepted the offering silently, but pulled her close when she sat
down beside him.

"Thanks, Scully."

"No problem, Mulder. Just as easy to make two mugs as it is to make
one," she pointed out lightly.

Mulder pressed a kiss to her temple. "I don't mean just the tea," he
said hesitantly. "I mean all of it, your patience, your support -- even
your nagging. I know I don't make it easy."

Scully swallowed hard against the constriction in her throat. Mulder
didn't do apologies in the classic sense, something she'd learned to
accept. She understood just how difficult saying those words must have
been, especially under the all-consuming anxiety over Grey's
disappearance.

"You do require a bit of effort," she agreed, weaving her fingers
through his and bringing his hand to her lips. "But then again, I've
always enjoyed a challenge."

"I've been alone a long time, you know?" he continued, and she saw he
was staring at their meshed hands with something very like awe. "I'm not
accustomed to anyone else having an interest in my well being. I was
like that Simon and Garfunkle song -- did you ever hear it? 'I am a
rock, I am an island,'" he sang softly.

"And a rock feels no pain," Scully murmured. "And an island never
cries."

"That's the one. And then you came along, Scully. And for the first time
in forever, I had someone who was there for me -- and in the truest
sense of the word. I can remember the first time I recognized it, as
clearly as if it were yesterday. I woke up in that hospital in North
Carolina, confused, scared, and my leg hurting like hell. But then I
realized that someone was holding my hand, and the fear and pain eased
up a little bit. I opened my eyes and saw you sitting there, in that
cheap blue plastic chair that must have been incredibly uncomfortable,
and you'd obviously been there all night because you looked completely
exhausted. Then you noticed I was awake and you smiled. And it was like
having the sun right there in my hospital room, all to myself. And I
felt a little guilty -- not for putting the dark circles under your
eyes, but because I'd do it again and again if it meant I'd be on the
receiving end of that smile."

Mulder burrowed his face into her hair and Scully reached over her
shoulder to cup the back of his neck with trembling fingers. She wanted
to turn in his arms and kiss him silly, but she could feel that there
was more, that he hadn't finished yet.

"I didn't think it could get better," Mulder finally managed to whisper.
"Then I found Grey. And while you give me the things I never thought I'd
have, he gives me things I never even knew I wanted or needed. God,
Scully, ever since Samantha was taken I've felt like the shell of a
person, minus so many of the basic elements that most people take for
granted! It's like you two have managed to fill the empty places -- most
of them anyway. But the cost to you, and now Grey..." His voice broke,
but he forced himself to continue. "I feel like some kind of vampire,
sucking the life out of you both to fill up the void in myself."

Scully sat forward and turned to face him, eyes burning blue flames.
"You know, you really piss me off when you talk like this!" she growled.
"You are *not* to blame for the bad things that have happened to me, or
for Grey's disappearance tonight. You've dedicated your *life* to
fighting against the men responsible, and Grey and I have the right to
make that same choice. We are exactly where we've chosen to be. And damn
it, Mulder, did you ever stop to think that just maybe you give us
something back? That you fill a few gaps in our lives as well?"

Her ire produced results where tenderness would have failed. Eyes
glistening, he pulled her back into his arms and nuzzled her neck, his
warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

"Don't wanna piss you off, Scully," he mumbled, but she could hear the
smile in his voice. "Contrary to what some people believe, I'm not
suicidal."

They sat like that in companionable silence for a while. Scully's eyes
began to feel heavy and she could feel Mulder sinking toward sleep, his
grip on her easing and his breathing slowing. Just as she was about to
suggest a move to the bed, he spoke.

"I can't go through it again, Scully. I just... It hurts too much."

The breath-stealing pain Scully experienced at his quiet confession was
equaled only by the blinding anger toward those who orchestrated it.

"You heard Skinner, love. We'll find him. And when we do, we'll make
that smoking son of a bitch sorry. Very, very sorry."


Continued in part 6

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (6 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


FBI Headquarters
Sunday
7:45 a.m.


Skinner uttered two words and Fox Mulder turned into a raving maniac
before his eyes. Out of his seat and pacing, a string of obscenities
coupled with descriptions of revenge both creative and graphic tumbled
from Mulder's lips. Occasionally a barking cough broke the flow and
caused the man to catch his breath, but he quickly plunged onward, never
losing his place upon resuming.

Alex Krycek. Skinner massaged the spot on his forehead directly over the
throbbing caused by too much tension and a guilty conscience. He could
certainly sympathize with Mulder's reaction to the news that forensics
had recovered the man's thumbprint on the engine block of his car.
Krycek was a wild card, a confirmed traitor and a man whose only
allegiance was to saving his own skin. He also happened to hold
Skinner's life in the palm of his hand. Literally.

"Mulder, sit down," he grated, finding small comfort in the fact that
his ranting agent acquiesced. "I understand your feelings in this matter
-- God knows, I'd like five minutes alone with the man myself, but this
isn't getting us anywhere."

"Did forensics come up with anything else, sir?" Scully asked, shooting
her partner a look that managed to convey the message "behave yourself"
as clearly as if she'd uttered the words.

Skinner adjusted his glasses and picked up a piece of paper from his
desk blotter. "The car was deliberately sabotaged, the fan belt cut part
way with a knife so that it would break after only a brief period of
use. The only fingerprints found inside the vehicle belonged to you,
Mulder, or Grey."

"So Krycek probably damaged the fan belt and then just followed the car,
knowing it would break down eventually," Scully mused, glancing from
Skinner to Mulder. "The print on the engine could be from when he cut
the belt."

"Or when he overpowered Grey," Mulder said tersely. "He had to get close
enough to either hit him or drug him. I've mentioned Krycek, but Grey
has no idea what he looks like. That bastard could have acted like he
was trying to help and then ambushed Grey."

Skinner clenched his jaw, feeling the small muscle twitch the way it
always did when he was particularly irritated or stressed. He really
didn't want to increase the burden on the man sitting across his desk,
but felt obligated to share his thoughts. His ability to help Mulder
directly was severely compromised, so the importance of providing what
information he could only increased.

"Mulder, I want you to consider something," he said gruffly. "Grey was
driving *your* car after leaving *your* apartment. It's entirely
possible that he was not Krycek's intended target."

Mulder's restless fidgeting abruptly ceased and he went very still.
Skinner could see the moment his agent made the connection -- the anger
drained from his face to be replaced by a hurt so intense Skinner's own
stomach clenched in sympathy.

"You mean me," Mulder said, forming the words as if they were foreign
objects in his mouth. "Krycek set the trap for *me* and wound up with
Grey instead." His eyes squeezed shut and he swiftly shaded them by
cupping a hand to his forehead. "God, Scully, I even gave him my
jacket," he choked.

Scully sent Skinner an agonized look before reaching over to lay her
hand on Mulder's arm. Skinner expected soft reassurances designed to
comfort, so Scully's no-nonsense admonishment threw him completely off
balance.

"Get past it, Mulder. Immersing yourself in blame isn't going to help
Grey. We know now that Krycek has him, so the next logical step is to
find Krycek."

Perhaps more astonishing than Scully's "tough love" approach was the
result. Mulder scrubbed once at his eyes and his slumped posture
straightened. He turned toward his partner, eyes haunted but with the
renewed steel of determination.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Scully's lips twitched. "Time to cash in the chips from that debacle in
Vegas?"

Skinner's eyes darted between them, brows drawn together. "What exactly
are you two talking about?"

"Just utilizing unofficial channels, sir," Scully said, eyes glinting
with repressed amusement.

"Unofficial..." Skinner trailed off as the meaning behind her cryptic
statement became clear. "Ahh. Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Toto," he said,
equally pleased to put a startled grin on Mulder's face and complete
bafflement on Scully's. "You go ahead and I'll keep the machine running
here. Check in later this afternoon."

To her credit, Scully maintained her professional persona until they'd
exited his office, the door nearly shut. Skinner glanced up just in time
to see her pause and grab Mulder by the elbow.

"Scarecrow, Tinman, and Toto? Mulder, what in the heck was Skinner
talking about?"

Skinner smirked to himself. It wasn't every day you could nonplus the
unflappable Agent Scully.


Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen
Sunday
9:30 a.m.


Mulder was definitely ill. After much bullying, Scully had convinced him
to stop for a quick breakfast on the way to the Gunmen's place, but he'd
used more of his bacon and eggs as the medium for transforming his plate
into a modern work of art than he'd consumed. Scully cast a sideways
glance at his flushed cheeks and the perspiration that beaded his upper
lip, fighting a no win battle over whether or not to draw attention to
it. Mulder took the decision out of her hands by unexpectedly turning on
her.

"Cut it out, Scully," he snapped, eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Cut what out?" she returned shortly, her own temper slipping.

"Looking at me like I'm going to keel over any second! You should be
worried about Grey, not me."

"I'm worried about you both, there's plenty to go around," Scully
murmured, studying her hands in her lap. She heard Mulder take a long,
deep breath and slowly release it.

"I know. I guess I can't expect any less of you. But your concern isn't
necessary, I'm doing fine." He snorted and shook his head. "If you
really want to help me, figure out the best way to tell the guys that I
have a brother."

"They don't know yet?" Scully asked incredulously. "Mulder, they're your
closest friends, why wouldn't you have told them?"

Mulder lifted a shoulder and picked at his thumbnail. "I'm not sure. I
guess I figured the fewer people that knew, the safer it would be for
Grey. Obviously it didn't make a difference."

He flung open his door before Scully could respond to that, swiping at
the moisture on his face as he ambled up to the door. Scully grit her
teeth and followed- - something she'd become quite proficient at doing
over the last six years.

"How many?" she asked, folding her arms as she waited for an answer to
Mulder's knock. "It's daytime, and you phoned ahead.
I'm betting on five or six."

Mulder managed a shadow of a smile. " I think you underestimate the
extent of their paranoia," he said, shaking his head. "I'm guessing at
least eight."

The sharp staccato of deadbolts disengaged began a moment later and they
counted silently while grinning at each other. After the seventh thunk,
the door cracked open to reveal Frohike's right eye.

"I win," Scully announced smugly, moving to stand where the little man
could see her.

Mulder scowled. "How do you figure? Seven is halfway between six and
eight!"

"The rule says whoever is closest without going over, Mulder. Therefore,
I win." She brushed past him when Frohike finally swung open the door.

"What rule? We never discussed any rules!" Mulder called after her
retreating back.

"And just what can we do for the lovely Agent Scully today?" Frohike
asked, accompanying his question with the expected leer.

"Frohike, I'm hurt. Keep talking like that and I'll begin to feel
unwanted," Mulder said, putting on an exaggerated pout.

"You're always wanted here, Mulder -- just as long as you bring Scully
with you," Frohike returned smugly.

Langly, wearing a ratty blue bathrobe and sweatpants, shuffled into the
room while munching a Poptart. He squinted at them a little irritably
through his thick rimmed glasses. "Hey, Mulder. What's so important that
couldn't wait?"

"Good morning to you, too," Mulder replied.

"Don't mind him. He was up half the night playing Doom with some
cyberbuddies," Byers said smoothly, minus his usual suit, but still
sporting a tie with his v-neck sweater. "Frohike said you needed our
help and that you'd explain when you got here."

Mulder shot Scully an oblique look and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I need
you boys to pull out all the stops on this one. I have to find someone,
and fast."

"Who is it?" Frohike asked.

Mulder kept his expression carefully neutral. "Alex Krycek."

As if the pessimism fairy had waved her magic wand, doubt replaced
inquisitiveness on all three faces. For a moment Frohike, Langly, and
Byers just exchanged cryptic glances, saying nothing. Byers, ever the
diplomat of the group, finally responded.

"You realize we've tried this before, Mulder. Krycek is notoriously
difficult to pin down."

Worry and sickness combined to shorten Mulder's temper. "I didn't say it
would be easy. What happened to all that talk about how your kung fu
could beat anybody else's?"

Langly scowled and looked about to retort, but Frohike cut him off. "We
didn't say we wouldn't give it our best shot, Mulder. Just not to get
your hopes up."

"Well you could've fooled me! How are you going to give it your best
shot if you've already made up your mind that it can't be done?" Mulder
growled, pacing across the room and fiddling with an unidentifiable
piece of electronics.

Frohike's brows drew together but a small movement caught his eye before
he could speak. Scully had taken a step toward Mulder, then hesitated.
When she felt Frohike watching her she shook her head sharply and
resumed her aborted movement, positioning herself at his side.

"Mulder. Tell them why," she urged, voice as soft and smooth as silk.

Frohike, perceptive as always, narrowed his eyes. "Just why do you need
to find Krycek so badly, Mulder?"

"Yeah, Mulder. What's the bastard done now?" Langly chimed in.

"He kidnapped someone," Mulder replied quietly, still showing them his
back.

"What's the dude's name?" Langly persisted.

Mulder turned slowly chewing his lip. "His name is Grey McKenzie. He was
staying with me. We think Krycek may have mistaken him for me."

"Do you think his life is in danger?" Byers asked carefully.

Mulder traded a long, enigmatic look with Scully. "I don't know. But
there's something else you need to know. Grey McKenzie..."

"Is your brother," Frohike finished.

Mulder's jaw dropped and Scully's eyebrows rose.

"C'mon, Mulder, what kind of schmucks do you think we are?" Frohike
sniffed, managing to sound both smug and wounded at the same time.

"You certainly must realize that we maintain a discreet...vigil on
matters concerning your well being," Byers added.

"How long?" Mulder grated through clenched teeth.

Guilty looks, like three little boys caught stealing cookies. "Since the
first time he came up for a visit," Frohike finally confessed. "When you
were having all those nightmares."

"You *knew* about that? You bugged my apartment? Damn it, is there any
part of my life you aren't privy to?" The implications of his own
question sank in and Mulder turned pale, then red.

Scully had apparently come to the same conclusion, and her voice
crackled with high voltage, a promise of dire consequences. "Does that
mean...?"

"Alas, only in my dreams," Frohike sighed lecherously.

"Byers made us take them all out when you and Mulder finally got
together," Langly explained sulkily.

"Good choice," Scully said darkly.

"So you think that Krycek abducted your brother, thinking he was you?"
Byers asked, effectively changing the subject. "Are you certain that
Grey wasn't Krycek's target from the start?"

"No," Mulder admitted reluctantly. "But he was wearing my jacket and
driving my car -- said car having been sabotaged by Krycek so that it
would break down. I think mistaken identity is a logical assumption."

"Our last confirmed sighting of Krycek was nearly a year ago," Byers
remarked. "We'll have to proceed from that point."

"Whatever it takes," Mulder said tightly. "I can't decide which I like
least -- the idea of Grey in the hands of that rat bastard or that black
lunged son of a bitch."

Mulder had intended the statement to resonate with fury, but the slight
quiver of his voice betrayed him. Scully's fingers dancing questioningly
against his palm diverted him from embarrassment. He looked down into
bluer than blue eyes that bestowed complete understanding without words.
As it always did when she was near, the impending darkness receded.

"We're on it," Langly said, already tapping away on his keyboard.
"Keep your phone turned on and we'll call when we have something."

"Don't worry," Frohike added as he walked them back to the door and
began to throw back the line of locks. "You were right the first time.
Our kung fu *is* the best."

Mulder glanced at his watch, feeling the minutes slip by like water
through a sieve. Grey had been missing for well over 12 hours and he
couldn't fight the feeling that they were already too late. What he
needed wasn't kung fu. He needed a miracle.


Continued in part 7

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (7 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Location Unknown
Sunday
10:30 p.m.


Awareness seeped gradually into Grey's brain, like rain on hard baked
ground after a long drought. The first perception to make it past his
cotton-headed stupor was pain, so widespread it seemed as if every cell
in his body hurt -- including his hair. The darkness that enveloped him
was even more troubling, until he figured out his own lowered eyelids
were the cause. Hefting them open proved to be a challenge, but after
several dogged attempts he succeeded. He blinked owlishly at a white
ceiling for a moment before turning his head to the left and taking in
vaguely familiar stark white walls. Right back where he'd started, it
seemed. He experimentally moved his arms and legs, gratified by full
mobility. Whoever returned him either forgot the restraints or decided
they were unnecessary.

A cleared throat echoed loudly in the stillness, shocking Grey into
whipping his head to the right so abruptly that the room tilted crazily
on its axis for several minutes. When his blurred eyesight cleared, Grey
saw a man with a weathered face and sharp, calculating gray eyes seated
in a plastic chair and observing him. He registered the stench of
cigarette smoke even as the man casually lifted one to his lips and
sucked in a long draught.

"First the rat bastard and now the black lunged son of a bitch," Grey
croaked, wondering why his voice sounded as if he'd been screaming.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here."

The man's lips curved, whether in amusement or contempt Grey wasn't
sure. "I see you share your brother's propensity for whistling in the
dark. Amazing what a group of shared genes can produce."

"What did you do to me?" Grey demanded, struggling to prop himself up on
rubbery, aching arms.

The man exhaled a noxious cloud of smoke. "Nothing that caused any
permanent damage."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one who feels like he's been hit by
a semi," Grey muttered. "I don't suppose I could get a glass of water?"

The Smoker rose and moved to the sink, filling a plastic tumbler with
water before returning. Grey accepted it silently, eagerly draining the
contents while taking the chance to size up his situation. Without
windows, he lacked the means to determine something as elementary as
whether it was currently day or night. His extreme thirst and the
emptiness in his belly hinted at the fact that he'd been in this place
long enough to miss at least one meal. Beyond that, he knew very little.

"Let's get to the point," he said grimly, returning the empty cup.
"What are you going to do with me. And more importantly, what did you
intend to do with Fox?"

"The answer to your first question is that I will eventually return you
to your brother -- once I have satisfactorily relieved my doubts
concerning your origins."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I understand that Alex explained a bit about our interest in your
brother?"

Grey scowled. "If you call that an explanation! Sounded more like
science fiction to me."

CSM smiled thinly. "A submarine was once considered science fiction, Mr.
McKenzie -- until it became reality. I assure you that the genetic
modifications performed on Fox are very much a reality. It is whether
any of those enhancements exist within *you* that remains to be seen."

"So after you've tested me like some sort of guinea pig, you'll just let
me go home?" Grey's voice oozed disbelief.

"Suitably...conditioned to resume your life, yes."

"You mean you'll do something to make me forget this place, forget you,"
Grey returned.

The Smoker shrugged. "A reasonable price, don't you think? We could
never allow you to leave here with your memory intact, and the
alternative is...unpleasant."

"To say the least," Grey growled. "What about my other question? What
did you want with Fox?"

CSM smiled enigmatically, casually taking another drag on his Morley.
"Surely you can understand that any valuable investment requires careful
monitoring."

Grey's eyes narrowed. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Krycek said
something, something about the experiment on Fox being a success 'until
now.'"

CSM dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and ground it beneath his
heel, standing. "Alex talks too much. I'd suggest you get some rest, Mr.
McKenzie. Tomorrow will be a very full day."

"I want an answer! What's wrong with Fox? Are you the reason he's been
sick?" Grey insisted, struggling to swing his legs over the side of the
cot.

The Smoker froze and turned slowly around. Piercing eyes scrutinized
Grey's angry face. "How sick is he?"

Grey jerked his head to stare at the wall. "Go to hell."

To his astonishment, the man seized his wrist in a bone-crushing grip.
"Don't play games with me, this concerns your brother's life! How sick
is he?"

Grey met the gaze calmly, prepared for the anger it contained. The
genuine concern that lurked just behind the anger rattled him. "I only
know what Dana told me. She said he's been sick a lot lately, and that
he's tired all the time. He does have a pretty nasty cough right now,
but he swears it's just the leftovers from a bad cold that he can't seem
to kick."

The Smoker continued to study his face for a moment, as if judging the
truth in his words. What he saw seemed to trouble him -- he spun
abruptly on his heel and stalked to the door.

"What is it?" Grey persisted, shaken by what he guessed to be an
uncharacteristic reaction from the man. "What's wrong? Answer me, damn
it!"

CSM paused in the doorway, his bland mask firmly back in place. "Get
some rest, Mr. McKenzie and leave your brother to me. You'll need that
determination the next few days."

The door clanged shut behind him while Grey still fumbled for a
response. Cursing loudly at the four unforgiving walls he flopped back
onto the mattress. For the first time since the ordeal began, he felt no
anxiety over his own fate. The barely disguised alarm on the Smoker's
face at his description of Fox's condition drove all fears for his own
safety from his mind. Dana's words from the previous evening flitted
through his head.

*I can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.*

Always perceptive where Fox was concerned, it appeared her instinct
might be correct.


Headquarters of The Lone Gunmen
Monday
11:53 a.m.


"What have you got?"

Mulder propped himself against a filing cabinet, looking as if a strong
breeze could topple him. Bruised-looking shadows marred the flesh
beneath his eyes, accentuated by his pallor. His naturally lanky frame
now appeared gaunt, wrists nearly skeletal where they peeked from the
cuffs of his shirt.

Langly frowned and pulled out the chair to his right. "Sit down before
you fall down, Mulder. You look awful."

"And to think I was just about to tell you how cute you looked in that
shirt," Mulder wisecracked, but he folded into the proffered seat with a
sigh.

Frohike plucked at Scully's elbow and drew her aside with a tilt of his
head. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, eyes darting from her to Mulder
and back again. "This can't just be worry over his brother -- he looks
sick."

"He is. It's some type of respiratory infection, he's coughing almost
constantly," Scully murmured, worry tinged with anger. "I'm pretty sure
he's been running a fever too but he keeps popping aspirin before I can
get a true reading. He needs to be in bed, not chasing down Alex Krycek,
but he won't listen to me."

Frohike snorted. "I watched the man sneak out of the hospital right
after being shot in the head, remember? Believe me, I know how stubborn
he can be."

Scully managed a weak smile, then turned her attention to Langly.

"Krycek showed up in town around January," he was telling Mulder.
"Before that he'd popped up in various exotic locations, most notably
Tunisia."

Mulder lifted his head from where he'd propped in on a fist, searching
out Scully's eyes before slowly nodding his head. "Go on."

"One source swears that they saw him hanging around a local gym at
roughly the same time, though what he'd be doing there is anyone's
guess. He was definitely spotted at D.C. General Hospital shortly after
that."

"D. C. General?" Scully said sharply, her mouth suddenly lacking all
moisture. She walked quickly over to stand behind Mulder, laying a
steadying hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?"

"The source is reliable," Byers confirmed gravely, raising an eyebrow at
her tone.

"What was the name of the gym?" Mulder asked hoarsely, placing his own
hand over Scully's.

"South Street," Frohike answered, a small line creasing his forehead.
"Why? You know the place?"

Mulder tipped his head to meet Scully's eyes, seeing his own devastation
mirrored there. "Yeah. I've heard of it."

"It appears our friend remained in the area for at least a month. He was
spotted numerous times with your buddy CGB and with his son," Langly
continued, scanning a printout.

"You mean Jeffrey Spender?" Scully asked, startled.

"Yep. Krycek dropped out of sight right after Jeff Spender was shot.
Until about a month ago."

Langly waited, expecting pressure for more information, then shot
Byers an uneasy look when Mulder continued to stare blankly into space.

"You okay, man?"

Scully's fingers tightened on Mulder's shoulder and he shook himself
free of his daze. "Yeah." He muffled a cough, then cleared his throat.
"Yeah, go ahead, I'm listening."

"We've got records of a Karl Arntzen, matching Krycek's description, on
a flight to New Mexico, then a return trip back here the beginning of
October. After that, zip."

Mulder leaned both elbows on the table and massaged his temples.
"NOTHING?"

"Nothing confirmed," Byers admitted. "Just rumors of him popping up at
various locations around the area, like a will o' the wisp. Nothing
substantial, and nothing traceable. Whatever he's up to, he's being very
careful."

"Which leaves us nowhere," Mulder replied, closing his eyes.

"We haven't given up," Frohike said. "We'll keep trying."

Mulder levered himself to his feet, wavering a little but impatiently
shrugging off Scully's steadying hand.

"You know where to reach us," he said, avoiding their matching looks of
concern by heading for the door.

Frohike made quick work of the locks while Byers and Langly exchanged
troubled frowns. Mulder ushered Scully through the opening with his hand
at the small of her back, but paused midway. Turning, he leaned his
forehead wearily against the hand propped on the doorjamb.

"I appreciate your help," he said quietly. "I know you've done what you
could." He pushed himself upright and followed Scully to the car,
leaving the Gunmen to stare at his retreating back.

Fighting despair as well as the rebellion of his own body, Mulder
slumped into the passenger seat of Scully's car. She'd inserted the key
into the ignition, but made no move to turn it.

"So, can you see the word 'sucker' tattooed on my forehead?" Mulder
asked dryly.

"I can't... Mulder, there has to be some explanation. Skinner has backed
us up more times than I care to remember!"

"I don't want to believe it either, Scully. But it fits. Skinner refused
to let us pursue our investigation into who poisoned him. Now we learn
that Krycek just happened to be spotted both at the location of the
poisoning and the hospital where Skinner nearly died. Are you going to
tell me that's just coincidence?"

Scully bit her lip, well aware that Mulder's stony acceptance of
Skinner's duplicity served to cover his feelings of hurt and betrayal.
Something profound had occurred between Mulder and their boss during her
abduction, something that cemented Mulder's trust of the man and turned
him into a staunch defender of Skinner's integrity. She'd doubted that
integrity more than once, most notably during her bout with cancer, but
Mulder's faith remained firm. Since the death of Mulder's mother and his
discovery of Grey, she'd come to view Skinner as not only a boss, but as
a friend, valuing his steadfast support. Could they really have been so
misled?

"No," she finally answered, her voice little more than a whisper. "But I
do think we owe him a chance to explain." When Mulder didn't answer she
started the engine, then turned to face him. "What do *you* think it
means, Mulder?"

Mulder's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. "I think it means that
Krycek was responsible for Skinner's poisoning, and maybe the cure." He
opened eyes filled with recklessness, pain, and anger -- a dangerous
combination. "And I think Skinner had better have a damn good
explanation."


Continued in part 8