Gildan's Note: The first chapter of my X-Files fic! Warning, the updates may be slow, but there'll be no abandoning. I don't expect this story to be too long, as there are more Krycek ideas I'd like to do. This goes out to anyone who has ever read a great fic and realized it was from five years ago and was never finished.

Chapter One: Let's Get Out of Here

Krycek closed his eyes; the soothing, deep voice of the musician entered his ears through the headphones he had just spent the last five minutes untangling. It was two in the morning, and he was all alone on the train, somewhere in Virginia. As she sang about death, Krycek couldn't help but relate to her melancholy. He really was always born to die. Him and the others who were being jerked around by the men behind the Syndicate. And it was then he realized that although he was the train's only passenger, he never ever was truly alone.

He opened his eyes and looked around; a man had seated himself not ten feet from Krycek. He paused his music and felt angry, always, always they found him. He wondered when the man had gotten on, if he had been on the train before Krycek boarded, or had stalked him all the way to the train. But it didn't really matter.

He was always thinking fast, even when he was getting up as slow as he was. As soon as he had gotten out of his seat the man also rose. Krycek gave him a warning glance, but the man did not heed it. Instead, the stranger lunged at Krycek.

Krycek screamed, he always did and he hated that. Why couldn't he take a punch without crying out? Fighting back was a struggle, but he managed to kick his attacker in the face, leaving the man immobile for enough time to escape. He opened the emergency door and jumped out, unaware in the dark that it had snowed. Being met with a cushioned fall was a blessing, but now there was snow in his jacket and boots.

As he got up he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark. Well, no more music.

Walking into the nearest town, he wondered when he'd eventually stop running, when they'd finally write him off of their twisted story. His stomach growled, and he realized that he hadn't eaten in a while. He looked into the windows of a diner, and his heart stopped. The identity of the man sitting with his back to Krycek was unmistakable.

How?

How was this possible? How did he, Krycek, end up on that train at that specific time, only to be attacked by that man at that specific time, and then escape, and then jump, and then end up at this town at this exact time, and then go to this diner – right at the exact time Fox Mulder was at this diner? He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

But Mulder was the only chance he had at being safe, so he walked in.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, too hurt and tired to care that Mulder was probably .00 seconds away from slamming his head into the table.

Mulder looked up, giving Krycek the sudden notion that he was not too hurt or tired to care.

"Please don't flip out or punch me." He said quickly.

"What the hell are you doing here, Krycek?" the words were like venom. Mulder didn't get up, but resumed drinking his coffee.

"I'm not doing anything here, I was on a train, attacked, and I jumped off. This is where I ended up." Krycek shot back.

"Well if only you had ended up in a ditch instead of a diner." Said Mulder nonchalantly, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Is your whole life about one-liners?"

"Don't forget the aliens."

Krycek let out an exasperated sigh.

"Do you think I'm going to be nice to you? Because you had to jump off a train? Been there done that." Mulder turned to look at the newspaper that had been on the table. Krycek sat down in the booth seat opposite of Mulder.

"Mulder, I need your help. I need you to get me out of this town." Said Krycek.

Mulder let out a small laugh. "Why would I do that?"

"I think we've all been a little screwed over by the smoking man." Krycek said in an angry whisper.

Mulder didn't say anything at first, just looked at Krycek inquisitively.

"Doesn't make up for the fact that you've screwed me." Said Mulder eventually, he smirked, "Bad wording."

"Yeah." Scoffed Krycek, but he turned his head towards the window to avoid looking Mulder in the eyes.

A waitress came over and asked Krycek if he wanted anything, he looked over at Mulder.

"Uh I lost my wallet in the fall." He told him.

Mulder rolled his eyes, "Just get something you piece of –

Mulder stopped, looked at the waitress, and rephrased his sentence. "A piece of cake or something."

Looking quickly at the menu, Krycek said, "I'll have coffee and the full breakfast."

Mulder raised an eyebrow as the waitress left to give the order.

"I haven't eaten in days." Said Krycek quietly. "I'll pay you back, it's only five dollars."

Mulder leaned back into the vinyl booth, and studied his supposed enemy. "I'm heading west, to Nevada, but I'm not going to take you the entire way."

Krycek looked at Mulder, wanting to wonder why he was doing this, but was too tired to analyze, "Thank you."

When the food arrived, he tried not to inhale it all at once, but being on the run for so long without a solid meal made that difficult. He knew what he must look like to Mulder, a wet, skinny rat – no wonder why Mulder was allowing him to tag along, he knew he looked pitiful. When the food had been eaten and the bill had been paid, the two men walked out to Mulder's car.

"I'm staying in a motel down the road, there's a couch there, unless you want to sleep in the car. Or the trunk."

Krycek didn't say anything; after he had fixed his hunger his tiredness was now amplified, and responding to Mulder's snark wasn't easy when one was ready to pass out. He almost didn't care where he slept, so long as that it was somewhere he could sleep in peace. It was past three by now, and as they drove down the highway, the moon and the snow seemed to illuminate what would otherwise be a dark night.

The car had a rough time getting into the motel parking lot, but Mulder eventually got it over the snow and into a space. He turned off the car and looked at Krycek.

"I'm tired, so I'm sleeping in till my body wakes itself up naturally, is that okay with you?" he asked.

"Yeah." Said Krycek, internally grateful for Mulder's lackadaisical nature.

"Good."

The motel room was typical, one bed, and a chair (not a couch as Mulder had described), as well as a bathroom. Mulder didn't bother to turn on the light; he took off his shoes and jacket and got into the bed. Krycek stood awkwardly for a moment before doing the same, only he got into the chair. He tried to adjust his position on the chair for maximum comfort, but it was proving to be difficult, as was everything with one arm. His hand slipped down the side of the chair, triggering the recliner. He let out a startled cry.

Mulder shot up and looked over where Krycek was, now sprawled about the chair.

"Jesus Christ what happened?" said Mulder, "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I didn't – the chair –

Mulder got up. "Just take the bed."

"Are you sure?" asked Krycek, already trying to get out of the apparent death trap of a chair.

"Yeah I sleep on a couch every night anyway." Mulder muttered, watching Krycek maneuver off the recliner one handed. He had forgotten about that incident. Mulder hopped into the chair, he had to admit it was a lot more comfortable.

Krycek got into the bed; it was slightly warm from where Mulder had been just a moment ago. He tried to sleep, but although faint, the smell of Mulder's cologne had already imprinted itself upon the pillows. He thought about how he had gotten here, this series of events, and he suddenly wished they hadn't happened. He had spent the better half of the past few years trying to ignore the tiny thump in his heart and – no - he was a rat. He had to remind himself of that.