2630 Hegel Place
Apartment 32
6:05pm

* * * * * *
If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere
committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them
from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and
evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing
to destroy a piece of his own heart? -- Alexander Solzhenitsyn
* * * * * *


Cohen picked up the phone, even as the sound of the gunshot lingered in
the air. Impatiently he waited for the phone to pick up. "Shit, shit,
shit! This is not happening. This is not happening." His thoughts
raced as he studied the screen before him. He moved a little closer to
get a better view of the black and white picture on the monitor. On it
was the body, lying crumpled on the floor; a dark area staining the rug
near were the remains of the head was found. Damn it! He should have
known that when the shit hit the fan, he would be the one working.

His call was finally answered. In actuality, it had only been a minute,
but had felt like eternity. "Yes?" A female voice demanded.

Cohen was slightly startled by the feminine voice and caused him to
stumble over his words. "Sir...I mean Ma'am...Sir?"

Fowley spoke harshly. "Look, this must obviously be very important for
you to call on this line, so spit it out."

"Mulder has just killed him."

"And we are certain of this?"

Cohen studied the screen before him. The body was not moving. "Gunshot
to the head. If he isn't dead yet, he will be soon enough."

The line was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "Where is
Mulder now?"

Cohen began to open his month in reply when he glanced at the screen
again. Mulder was gone. "Shit!" He ignored the phone for a moment as he
furiously typed at the keyboard. The screen rapidly flipped from one
screen to the next: living room, bedroom, kitchen, out in the hallway,
the front lobby. Nothing. Mulder had somehow managed to leave unnoticed.
"Shit!" He did not need this. Not now, not when he was on the phone
with...well who ever it was she must be important.

"Um...Ma'am... I seem to have lost him...Do you want me to..." He
trailed off.

"No. You need to stay there and contain the situation." Her voice was
distant, as if distracted.

"Do you want me to call someone to take care--"

"No." Her voice was abrupt, no longer distant. "I will make those calls.
You just make sure that this stays a private matter." She hung up.

Cohen began to work. The call had taken way too long; already the 911
calls were backing up. Hurriedly, he switched the phone over. "Emergency
911. What is your emergency?"

The caller was an old woman, and her shrill voice graded on his nerves.
He winced as she spoke. "Yes! Yes I'm reporting the sound of a gunshot
in my apartment building. It sounded like it was across the hall from
me. There is a FBI agent that works there; do you think he needs help?
Do you think he shot a bad guy? You know, I see quite a few--"

Cohen interrupted. "Ma'am? What is your location?"

"2630 Hegel Place, Alexandria. I think that it was in apartment 42,
which is right across the hall from me. You know--"

He interrupted her once again. "Thank you ma'am. We will be sending some
officers out, and for the time being, I recommend that you stay inside
and lock your doors. Thank you for your call." He hung up before she
could speak again. And so it went, call after call. He had had to do
this so many times before, that now it hardly required any effort. As he
made his way through the calls, he kept a close eye on the old man's
fallen form. No movement. Yes, the man was definitely dead.

He hung up the last call and leaned forward. A movement had caught his
eye. He typed a few keys and the image enlarged. What was it that he was
seeing? There was a dark stain of blood surrounding the body from the
wound, but there was now something more.

From the remains of the head, from where Cohen imagined the center of
his face would have been, poured more liquid. It was not flowing the way
the blood was. The blood had coagulated too much to be as fluid as that.
He leaned even closer, but it didn't help. He cursed the black and white
screen. Couldn't tell jack from shit.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at his
watch in surprise. Already? That was most defiantly the quickest
response time he had witnessed. Hardly five minutes had passed.

He stood up and walked to the door. When he opened it, a man wearing a
black leather jacket strolled in, ever so confidently. Cohen didn't
recognize the man who came in, but then again he didn't expect to. It
wasn't as if he got out much.

Cohen addressed the man who had just entered. "What are you doing here?
You were just supposed to go to his apartment. There's no reason for you
to come here." He closed the door quickly, first glancing out the door
for witnesses. He walked past the leather-clad man, and sat behind the
desk.

Krycek took his time answering; he was too busy studying the screen.
Cohen looked at the screen as well. The strange movement of before had
ceased. When Krycek finally spoke, he didn't bother to face him. "I just
came to confirm the story."

"Confirm the story?" Cohen asked incredulously. "I think that the body
would be enough proof for you."

Patiently, Krycek spoke to the underling. "Yes, that is true. But I have
to make sure it was Mulder who did it right? We wouldn't want there to
be any misunderstandings surrounding his death now, would we?" He smiled
his most insincere smile.

Cohen's eyes narrowed slightly. "I reported it as it happened. It
happened too quickly for me to interfere."

"I wasn't implying that you should have done something. The old man got
what he deserved. Hell, I knew that Mulder would eventually snap one day
and shoot him. Anyone who didn't see this coming is a damn fool." Krycek
nodded his head in the direction of the monitor that displayed the
smoking man's fallen form, and spoke again. "Look, I know that it was
Mulder, but I just have to see it with my own eyes to confirm."

Cohen sighed heavily, beyond irritated. He hated it when anyone came in
here, into his space that he had so carefully created. He hated it even
more when they came in demanding these ridiculous requests. He found the
proper segment on the tape, and silently pushed play.

Krycek studied the tape, fascinated. He watched as Mulder so calmly
raised his gun to the old man's head, and couldn't help but smile as the
gun fired and the face crumpled inwards.

"Have the necessary steps been initiated to keep this contained?" Krycek
asked without taking his eyes from the screen.

"Yes. I have taken care of all of that. The only thing left is for you
to take care of the body." Cohen looked pointedly at the man next to
him.

Krycek nodded, distracted. "Good. Any news on Mulder's location?"

"No. He managed to slip away."

"And we were the only one you called regarding this?" Krycek finally
turned his head and directed his gaze on the man sitting behind the
desk.

"Of course. I'm not about to break protocol with something as important
as this." He pointed his hand to the monitor. The play back had stopped
a moment earlier, and it had automatically returned to the real time
display of the fallen body.

The man in leather couldn't have been more pleased with the information.
"Excellent." And before Cohen could react, Krycek had pulled out his
weapon and placed it at his temple. Recreating the scene that had played
out just seconds before on the monitor, Krycek pulled the trigger.

* * * * * *
Krycek listened patiently with his ear pressed to the phone as he waited
for his call to be picked up. He casually shoved the body away from the
chair and sat down, making himself comfortable by raising his feet onto
the desk. He cradled the phone with his neck, and with his hand he
adjusted the controls and watched distractedly as the moment replayed
itself.

Several seconds past before the line was picked up. "Fowley." was the
terse greeting.

"We have confirmation. The bastard beat me to it." He sighed,
disappointed.

"Exposure?"

Krycek leaned closer to the monitor. He stopped the tape just after the
gun fired; the head was mid explosion. He smiled at the wonderful sight.

"Krycek?" The shrill voice pulled him away from his momentary
distraction. "Are you there? Was Mulder exposed?"

He slowly turned a dial that moved the video up frame by frame. "He
never directly touched the body."

"What about the blood? Did he get any on him?"

"He was standing close enough I suppose."

"Then it is poss--"

He interrupted her. "But it isn't possible. It isn't found in the
bloodstream. We both know that it isn't passed like that."

"But still--"

Krycek interrupted again. "But nothing. It is nothing that we need to
worry about."

"Fine." Her voice was terse. "But it would still be nice to know where
he is. Do we know his location now?"

"I didn't realize he was my mission." His voice was beginning to take on
a mocking tone. "Why the hell should I care? He isn't important. This
wasn't what you wanted me to do anyway, was it?"

"I still want you to find him."

He sighed with frustration. Would the bitch ever let up? "I didn't see
him leave, but his car is still here, so wherever he went he probably
walked. He won't have gotten far. When I am done with what you sent me
to do I'll see what I can do about finding him."

"Good." She moved onto he next question. "What about containment?"

Krycek glanced at the fallen form beside him. "Just Mulder, you, me, and
the dearly departed man at my feet know. It is contained."

"And the bodies?"

"Will be taken care of."

"Make sure you take the extra precautions."

Krycek placed his hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the small
dark green fluid filled vial within his hand. "Of course. As I said
before, all will be taken care of." He replied confidently as he hit the
off button to disconnect.

* * * * * *
Lone Gunman Headquarters
8:50pm

The trio of men paused in their work as a soft 'thud' emanated from the
highly secured front door. The dull sound was followed by silence. The
men glanced at each other for a brief moment before Frohike stood up
from his desk and walked to peer through the peephole.

Once he saw who was behind he rapidly unlocked the numerous locks
separating him from the man on the other side. For the first time since
he had installed the locks, Frohike cursed them as his thick fingers
attacked the knobs and switches. After innumerable moments had passed,
Frohike released the last of the locks from the doorframe, and let
Mulder stumble inside.

"God, he looks like hell.", Was Frohike's first thought as Mulder
lurched into the confines of the room. Eyes dark, empty; his stance
suggested intoxication, but no odor of alcohol clung to him. "He is
exhausted. Totally utterly exhausted. Physically and emotionally."
Frohike realized. He had known Mulder long enough to have witnessed his
various aspects of his nature, but never to this extreme.

Frohike closed the door behind them, only bothering to turn half of the
locks before returning his attention to Mulder. Buy this time, both
Langly and Byres had approached Mulder. A question was just forming on
Byres' lips when Mulder's action stopped him.

Without a word, Mulder reached into his disheveled coat and pulled out a
rumpled packet of papers and handed it to Byres. Once completed, he
reached back into his coat and pulled his gun into view. He placed this
in Langly's hand. Langly stared at the heavy metal object in his hand
astonished. Langly looked from his hand to the hand that had given the
weapon to him. The other two men followed Langly's eyes as they trailed
from the gun to Mulder's blood splattered hand. It was then that
Frohike noticed the faint red splatters that covered his gray T-shirt
and part of his neck.

Mulder ignored the Gunmen's wide eyes, and instead walked past them into
the back room. He stumbled over a small pile of clothing on the floor,
and let himself fall onto one the beds, promptly passing out.

* * * * * *