He decided as she watched his sleeping grandchild that things would be different.

Krycek allowed himself a moment's indulgence, discovering that if he concentrated very hard and maybe even squinted a little, he could have the moment he never had a quarter of a century ago. He could stand in front of his own son's crib, and envision what the future would be like for him.

Just as his own father must have done at his crib.

"Nigel," he thought. Perhaps it wasn't so bad that things were the way they were, and that he was being raised in Britain. "Nigel" was definitely a name that would have gotten him into many fights and gotten him many a bruised knuckle or scraped knee in his neighborhood.

His parents had settled with him in Bensonhurst, New York, from Russia at the height of the Cold War, when the Bay of Pigs was still fresh in America's minds. His mother was eight months pregnant with him. His father had sold everything they had of value to obtain entrance into the United States for himself and his family, citing political asylum from Khrushchev and the Communist regime. They landed with a family in what was known as "Little Russia" with one suitcase each and a small stipend from the United States government. His father, the literature professor and his mother, a ballerina with the Soviet ballet. Soon after their arrival, they found a small apartment - his father, the ex-literature professor, his mother, the ex-ballerina whose once graceful back swayed and stooped under the weight of concern. She gave birth to their son, their golden boy. Their hope for the future.

Their life was hard, and young Alexei could see that. But there were times, there were nights, when the hardship of their lives and the frailty of their existence was brightened by songs, by poetry, by dancing. He could remember his father, now a janitor and handyman to make ends meet, would read "The Brothers Karamazov" aloud, or quote Dotstoyevsky, and his mother would glide on air to "Swan Lake" or "Sleeping Beauty."

They had wanted so much for their son, and dreamed for him as they watched their own dreams disappear.

"Alex," as his newly assimilated parents insisted, was a bright boy who was always at the head of his class. He was well liked among his peers, teachers doted on him, and there wasn't a girl who didn't bring a treat for him from home or slip him notes in the hall. "He is a bright boy," a principal once said as he prepared to enter High School. "He should have a bright future. Have you considered entering him in the Brightman School in Manhattan?"

Alex passed the entrance examine with flying colors, and was at the top of his Freshman class when he entered. There was never any question that his grades were more than adequate to secure his scholarship renewal each term. But his mother's health was grim, and the expenses that were not covered by scholarship steep. He wanted to stop, to go to public school, but each time he mentioned it, it upset his parents so that he dropped the discussion. "We will make a way," his parents would protest. "We always have."

Alex was at school at a dance his Sophomore year when he decided to go into the hallway with a few

friends to get some air. As they rounded the corner, the saw the new night janitor tending his rounds. Alex thought he recognized the figure in the hallway, but wasn't sure until they drew closer for a better look. One of his classmates was smoking, and made it a point to flick his cigarette butt on the newly mopped floor. When his date chastised him for it, he replied, "so? He should be thankful - gives him something to do. Job security."

"Hey, Krycek," one of the group laughed, "he has the same last name as you! You didn't tell me your father was a mop jockey!"

Krycek looked into his father's eyes. Before he could speak, his father pleaded with him in his native tongue. "Do not embarrass me by admitting that you are my son," he said.

Krycek looked at his father. "You'd think they'd bother to at least learn the language if they're going to freeload off of Americans," he said.

Although they never spoke of that day, Krycek never forgot it. He excelled at his classes, became the class president, was every student's model of perfection and achievement. The day he was accepted into Columbia University, he went to his mother's grave. "I will not disappoint you, mother," he said in her native tongue.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation was interested in people like him - at the top of their class and at the top of their game. What better success story than to recruit the son of refugees from the old Soviet Union? He went to Quantico, excelling at all his studies, prepared and ready to serve his country with honor. His first assignment in the FBI was with Fox Mulder, on an obscure project known as the X-Files. "No matter," he thought. "Once I'm there, it won't be obscure for long. All I have to do is meet the right people, make the right connections." And meet people he did. And make connections, he did.

But something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and before he could extract himself from the web of lies and deceit, it was too late.

He received a phone call one day from someone from the old neighborhood. His father had died, and they called to let him know about the funeral arrangements. He remembered the time in the hallway at school, and what his father had said to him; he remembered it in light of all that had transpired since he joined the bureau, and since his allegiance with CGB Spender and the syndicate.

"Do not embarrass me by admitting that you are my son."

Krycek never returned the phone call, and never attended the funeral.

And so he stood now, looking at his sleeping grandchild, thinking about all that had gone on in his life up to that moment. He had especially thought hard in recent hours, listening as the house settled while its occupants slept or tried to sleep. He had his orders; Cancer Man's son, second in the long line of evil, had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to convince Mulder's daughter to finish her course of treatment with the doctor he had selected. He was to take her to the new doctor's offices himself in order to ensure that she finished the treatment, or else suffer the consequences. Mulder's daughter. Mulder and Dana Scully's only child, and her fate rested in his hands. Oh, the irony!

The sounds from the nursery drew him out of bed, and down the hall to look at his sleeping grandchild. There was definitely signs of his son in his grandchild's face, mixed in with characteristics of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, but he saw something else.

He saw Marita's face and, more importantly, what she wished for their son. It was what every parent wished for their child - what his parents wished, what his immigrant parents wished, what Mulder and Scully undoubtedly wished for now.

Hope. Hope for the future.

And he decided then and there that things would be different, that the plan would be different, and that after all these years, he wouldn't make his own father ashamed that he was his son.

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

"We should probably get out of the car before the driver behind us pulls us out by force," Krycek said as he exited the car. As much as she tried to disguise it, Krycek couldn't help but notice the defiance in Meena's eyes. "She's every bit Scully's daughter," Krycek thought to himself as Drew pulled away.

Meena and Krycek made their way down the sidewalk, and Krycek made small talk in an effort to kill time. "I'm sure Drew gets called away a lot on pressing calls," he said. Meena nodded stubbornly, refusing to answer yes or no to his inquiry. "Has to be hard on a young marriage," Krycek continued. "How long have you two been together?"

"Quite a while," Meena coolly replied.

A strange look washed over her face, as if she was trying to calculate the seconds, hours and days she and Drew had been husband and wife. Meena drew her hand up to her temple, as if to massage away a kink in her brow. "Are you alright?" Krycek asked....

....Krycek and Meena never noticed the white van across the street, nor could they see the person recording their conversation in the van's interior...

Meena rubbed her head again. "I suppose it's time to get some food. It is ten-thirty. A spot of breakfast might be good."

Krycek and Meena passed a store window when Kryek stopped. "Is it possible for you to indulge a doting relative for just one moment? I think I see something I know your son would love, and I'd like to get it for him - provided, of course, that Mommie doesn't object."

"As you wish," Meena replied. Krycek opened the door for Meena, and she went inside.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, Krycek felt a sharp pain that almost knocked him to the ground.

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

At ten thirty, Scully found herself across the street from the bookstore where she had last seen her daughter and her grandson. For the first time since her arrival, she stopped. She took the time to hope against all hope that she and the fates could come to a compromise; she hoped against all hope that fate would be kind and let her see them one more time. What she saw, however, was not what she had expected at all.

Krycek, going into a store with her daughter.

As she watched, she saw him open the door for her daughter, and then a moment later almost double over in pain. Scully started across the street to confront Krycek when he looked up and saw her.

Before Scully could react, Krycek bolted. In the next instant, Scully took off after him like a bloodhound after a rabbit.

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

As soon as Meena crossed the threshold into the store, Krycek felt a sharp pain that almost knocked him to the ground. He doubled over in pain, and knew exactly where the pain came from. They were being watched; he was being watched, and this was to let him know that Cancer Man's son, Jeffrey Spender, knew he wasn't behaving as instructed. As he forced himself to stand upright, he looked across the street and saw someone he hadn't seen in years. Fox Mulder's wife, Agent Dana Scully.

She opened her mouth to call out his name, but before she could react, Krycek bolted. He half ran, half stumbled down the street, unable to run much faster because of the searing pain that coursed through his body. She was able to catch up with him next to an alley, shoving him inside the alleyway and pinning him to the wall.

"What are you doing with my daughter?" Scully hissed as she brought her head next to Krycek's ear. When he didn't answer her, she tightened her grip on his arm, jerking it hard enough to cause pain to his joints. "What are you doing with my daughter, you son of a Bitch?!" she demanded.

"Careful Scully," Krycek replied. "That happens to be my good arm."

"Not for long if you don't give me an answer," Scully replied. "Or would you rather I rip it off and beat an answer out of you with it?"

"Nice way to talk to someone who's trying to save your daughter - but of course I don't expect you to believe that," Krycek replied.

"You actually do something good for someone else?" replied Scully. "Not likely..."

She flipped Krycek around, pinning him against the wall. "So tell me, Mrs. Mulder, I guess your secret agent man likes it rough like this, but you forget I'm not your husband..." Scully silenced him with a swift, hard punch in the gut. "Thank God for small favors," she replied.

"We are wasting time, Agent. The fact remains that I am the only connection to your daughter right now, so I suggest you stop wasting time and trust me."

"Why should I?" Scully shot back.

"Because you have no other choice, you know it."

Scully stopped for a moment. She knew he was right; much as she hated to admit it, he was right.

"Allright, Rat-Boy," she said as she released him. "Let's do it. But just remember - just because I can't legally carry a gun in Great Britain doesn't mean I'm not. Nor does it mean I can't think of at least five hundred other ways to kill you."

Krycek and Scully left the alleyway, and walked back towards the bookstore. As they approached, they saw Meena exit the store. She looked in the opposite direction, then turned and looked straight at them. Scully didn't like the look on her face when she saw her daughter look at Krycek; it was almost as if she sensed danger, and was trying to escape when he thwarted her attempts.

Scully watched that expression change on Meena's face when she saw her. It was definitely a sense of relief she saw when Meena looked at her. "So, we meet again!" Meena exclaimed. "How wonderful. We were about to get some breakfast - and I insist that you join us."

"I wouldn't dream of missing it," Scully replied.

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

The trio made their way around the corner to Mrs. Micawber's Tea and Curiosity Shop, a little tea shop that sold knick-knacks and brick-a-brack near her favorite bookstore. "I have to say that I'm starving," Meena remarked as they walked. It was almost as if she were trying to fill the air with idle chit-chat in an attempt to distract her companions.

It was something Meena did when she was nervous about something, really nervous, and Scully knew that. She knew her daughter all too well.

"I'm sorry," Meena replied as they entered the tea shop. "I should introduce my husband's Uncle to you..."

"Uncle?" thought Scully as she put on her best poker face in order to disguise her thoughts.

"Actually, we know each other," Krycek said. Meena looked puzzled, almost disappointed in fact. "I should be conducting the introductions,' Krycek continued. "Allow me to introduce..."

"Margaret Anderson," Scully replied hastily. When Scully saw the familiar discomfort cross her daughter's face, she silently cursed herself. She knew she couldn't use her own name, not yet, but she couldn't think of anything else in such a short span of time. "Very nice to finally put a name to the face," Meena said as they sat down. "How do you know...?"

"We're actually acquaintances," she replied. "It's been a number of years since we've seen each other. Too many to count," Scully said as she looked at Krycek. "Way too many," he replied.

Meena was still rubbing her temple after the waitress took their orders. "You're still having those headaches, I see," Scully replied. "Actually, I'm hoping I can enlist your help with that, Margaret," Krycek replied. "I have to confess, Meena, that my intentions this morning were not entirely honorable. I did hope to convince you to continue your treatments with the new doctor..."

"I really don't think..." Meena began, but Krycek cut her off. "Your father-in-law only has your best interest at heart," Krycek continued. Scully's mind raced in confusion. If Krycek's son was married to Meena, that would make him the father-in-law, yet he acted as if he were not. What was the involvement? Who was he talking about....?

In a flash, it all became clear.

Spender. He was talking about Spender.

"If I might interject here," Scully replied, "if Meena doesn't feel comfortable going to another doctor, then I feel that's something that should be taken into consideration."

"Yes," Krycek continued, "you do have a point, however..."

All of a sudden, Krycek winced in pain. As he looked around, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. Watching him. He knew who it was.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a minute," Krycek said. "Are you alright?" Scully asked. "I need to get some fresh air for a minute," Krycek replied. "I just got a little lightheaded. Guess we waited too long for breakfast. I'll just be a minute."

Scully and Meena watched as Krycek left and went outside. The waitress delivered the tea, effectively blocking their view of the door.

They never saw the man who had been watching them follow Krycek outside.

Meena waited until the waitress left before she spoke. "Why don't I pour," Scully asked as she reached for the teapot. Meena stopped her by placing her hand on top of Scully's, but the look of fear would have been enough to stop Scully in her tracks.

"I know we don't know each other very well, Margaret," Meena began. The dull, throbbing pain in her head came back and Scully could see it, but Meena ignored it. "We've just been introduced, but you're the only person I can turn to right now. Especially now that I know you know something about the man who was just at our table."

Scully took Meena's hand, her daughter's hand, and held it tightly. "I will do anything I can to help you," Scully replied. "Don't be afraid."

"But I am," Meena replied. "Dreadfully afraid. This man has come into my home, he has held my son, he has passed himself off as a family member. But I don't believe it. I don't trust it, and I don't trust him. My gut says not to trust him."

Meena looked into Scully's eyes, and Scully's heart broke when she saw the fear in them. Scully knew what she had to say.

"Your gut's right, Meena. You shouldn't trust him. You shouldn't trust him at all."