A/N: Cleaning out my hard drive is turning out to be very cathartic. Who knew? Hope someone other than me in enjoying this; well, even if it's only me, I'm having fun! So there. Please R & R, it makes me all tingly inside.

Disclaimer: Yes, I know there was one of these just a few short chapters ago, but I would like to remind you that I don't own Alex Krycek (no matter how much I wish I did), and that I am not making any profit from characters developed by CC. My original characters (Brandon, Anya, Kayla, Thomas, Michael, and Marissa) are used with my own permission, and I am not earning anything off them, either.


Kayla picked up the phone with trembling fingers. She couldn't shake the feeling that she knew that man on her doorstep earlier. Vague memories had assaulted her all evening, as she prepared her children for bed. Now that they were asleep, she dialed a familiar number, and waited for the line to connect. She waited nervously, one ear open for the sounds of her husband's return.

Alex Krycek startled awake as the phone on his bedside table rang. His wife groaned and shoved her head under the pillows. Rubbing a soothing hand down Anya's back, he reached over to answer the phone, knowing who it was. "Hello." He muttered.

"Alex, how are you?" She tried to sound cheerful, but he could hear the tension under her voice. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the time difference. I'll call back another time."

Alex smiled faintly. They had set up the code not long after he'd been assigned to monitor her progress, almost 8 years ago. It meant that she wanted him to come to California, that she was making progress and needed their help. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Kayla so panicked. The last few times she'd needed help, Anya had handled it alone, since he was out of the country.

"It's alright, Kay, I wasn't asleep. We're both going to be home this Friday evening. Why don't we call you then?"

"That sounds great. The kids are going to be so excited to talk to you, they miss you guys, you know. Well, I'll let you get some rest. Talk to you Friday."

"Bye." Alex hung up. He rolled over and snuggled into Anya's back, even though he was too keyed up to sleep.

Kayla knew he was supposed to be reporting back on the memories she'd recovered, and that he wasn't making those reports. Their exchanges always followed the same pattern. Alex and/or Anya would go out for a visit, they got her away from her husband, and then she told them what she'd remembered. They covered it up by telling the consortium that she was having trouble sleeping, dreams of her abduction, or dizziness. Those were normal reactions, not suspicious at all. Anya, the psychiatrist assigned to treat Kayla's 'sleep disorder', had prescribed her drugs the project used to augment memory suppression, and replaced the pills with placebos.

She'd made remarkable progress recovering her memories. Although Alex knew Kayla's history, perhaps knew more about her than anyone on earth, Anya had refused to allow him to tell her, saying that if what he told her didn't match with Kayla's few memories of life before her abduction, it could set her back. Alex chafed under the restriction. Kayla's was the only case he worked with his wife, and one of few where he knew the patient's background. This meant it was also the case he had the most control over, and he was determined that Kayla make a full recovery, so that she could return to being Samantha Mulder.

At first he'd believed in the purposes of the consortium, in protecting the population from alien invasion. His father had been a project doctor, and he'd believed his father's work noble. His scholarship had been interrupted since his teens with requests from his father to serve as an errand boy for higher-ups on the Board. As he'd moved up within the Consortium ranks from assassin to case operative, though, he'd realized the full extent of the horrors the group was inflicting on people all over the world, and had decided to work against them.

When he'd met Anya, and she'd also expressed doubts about her work, he could barely believe it. It had taken two years of working with Kayla before Anya had come to him seeking more information about the woman. She was convinced that Kayla was an unwilling abductee, and that she had been relocated to help cover up the memories. Alex hadn't wanted to reveal what he knew about Kayla Ray-Davis at first, but Anya had convinced him that she was genuinely worried about her patient. When she admitted that she had been treating Kayla with placebo medications, Alex felt hope for Kayla's recovery, for the first time in as long as he could remember.

That day they had made a pact to fight the consortium any way they could, to bring justice to those who had violated innocent civilians without compassion. They had been married only months later, six years ago now. Work forced them to travel so much they barely saw one another, but they considered the sacrifice necessary. Their willingness to put personal time aside had earned them both a certain level of security as they climbed the ladder within the group.

They both knew the risks involved in a complete break from the consortium; even with most of the original leadership dead, there were always men and women hungry for power, willing to step into the void. Until they could disable enough experiments to loosen the group's hold on the general public, there was no hope of bringing the consortium to justice. So they worked covertly, making small dents in projects, trying to stay out of the Board's way. It was tricky, since Alex worked directly for them, but they did what they could.


The Next Morning

Anna Ivanovich eased out of bed, trying not to wake Alex. He'd been awake most of the night, she knew as soon as she woke to find him stretched half-atop her back. Normally she'd have booted him out of bed anyway, with a few well-place jibes about worrying too much, there was something looming on the horizon; he'd need his rest when the time came. Anya sensed change constantly around her; if something was out of sorts, or there was danger threatening, she felt it coming even when she was powerless to stop it. She wasn't sure whether it was an outgrowth of her Marine training, or whether her training had somehow developed a latent psychic sense, but it was always right, so she never questioned it.

She tiptoed into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, and called the office to tell them she was taking a couple of days off. That was nothing strange in her line of work, and even the ignorant support staff learned not to ask questions very quickly. If they didn't, they disappeared. She sighed, trying to banish the thought of a bright young woman who had "quit" her job as a research assistant at the clinic last month. One more sin to add to a growing list.

Deciding that reflecting on past offenses was not the way to redeem them, Anya set about making breakfast. She nearly always had the same thing; two soft-boiled eggs, wheat toast, and a bowl of fruit. Breakfast was one of the few constants in her life. Consistency was scarce in her world, and the fragile sense of stability she gained from her monotonous breakfast often got her through the day.

When she'd joined the Marines, she knew it would be a rocky path. Besides the fact that she was a woman, and a little one at that, she was Russian. In 1985, Russia was still the enemy. She'd heard every Communist joke in the book in boot camp, and received the nickname "Little Red" from her fellow soldiers. Despite their initial hazing, they'd been forced to respect her as four of the six women in the program had dropped out before finishing basic. She'd earned their respect with her dedication, her strength, and her iron will. It had been the greatest day of her nineteen-year-old life when she'd graduated from basic training second in her group.

Anya had joined the Marines because she believed in her country. Her parents were scientists, researchers who had defected together. They'd raised their three children to be proud citizens of their adopted country, but also to rejoice in the rich history of their homeland. They had applauded her decision, supported her through those difficult first months of her service, and cheered her on graduation day.

That day might as well have been a hundred years ago. It was another life, led by another woman; a woman with no concept of aliens, eugenics, or conspiracies. Although as far as the US government was concerned she was still an active duty Marine, the Consortium began to subvert her into service to them almost as soon as she left boot camp. When the daughter of two famous researchers practically falls into your lap, you don't wait on your laurels. They had given her a free ride through medical school, a cushy job, and the opportunity to serve without killing, and she'd been in too deep before she knew what had happened.

Anya laughed bitterly to herself. "If I had it to do over…" She muttered, her voice echoing in the empty kitchen.

She'd never thought to question why the US Government would be interested in paying for her to become a psychiatrist for a sleep disorder research program until it was far too late. By the time she'd begun to understand the darker implications of her work, she was director of her own clinic.

As time went on, she'd learned how to help people covertly, to recognize the differences in symptoms between those who were genuinely plagued by sleep disorders, and those whose sleep was being disturbed by repressed memory. She'd studied the components of the medications given to abductees, and developed her own medications to subvert the Board's efforts. Very carefully, she shifted the focus of her reports to indicate slow progress, while covertly speeding the retrieval of her patients' memories through placebo and alternate medications combined with hypnosis. Despite her efforts against her employers, she had slowly lost her civilian patients, until she was brought into the Consortium outright and asked to aid their work with full knowledge.

Anya sighed and ruffled her dark auburn curls, accidentally dropping a hair into her fruit. "Crap." She muttered softly, her pondering momentarily abandoned in her effort to fish the offending hair out of her breakfast.

Alex rolled towards his wife, frowning when he got an armful of air. He shook his head sleepily and climbed out of bed, intent on dragging her back in with him. When he reached the living room he stopped. Anya was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, muttering into her bowl of fruit as she picked at something. Her hair was everywhere, sticking up at odd angles, falling into her eyes. Her chartreuse terrycloth bathrobe nearly swallowed her, and in her attention to whatever was going on with her fruit, her coffee was getting cold and her eggs were overcooking. He smiled. It was good to have her home again after four months of hasty phone calls and impersonal e-mail messages.

Creeping forward slowly so as not to be detected, Alex pounced, wrapping his arm around Anya's shoulders. She shrieked, and before he knew it Alex was laying flat on his back on the hardwood floor, the wind knocked out of him. "Oh, shit Lexi, I'm so sorry." Anya jumped down from her stool to cradle his head in her lap. "I didn't hear you come up, you startled me!" She looked so worried that under any other circumstance Alex would have teased her. If he could talk, that is.

Alex gasped as his breath came back. He had to remember not to do that. "At ease, Marine," he muttered. "You really need to work on that relaxation stuff."

Anya chuckled wryly. "Sorry, I'm a little wound. I didn't mean to hurt you; are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," he muttered, rising carefully to a sitting position. "Mental note to self; never sneak up on a woman with hand to hand combat training when she's deep in concentration."

"That'll teach you," she teased halfheartedly. Anya helped her husband to his feet and onto the stool next to hers. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that. Too much time alone, I guess. Just let me finish getting breakfast, then if it still hurts, I'll check you out." She placed a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his forehead before moving to take her eggs off the burner.

If I'm smart, Alex thought to himself, I'll milk this guilt thing as long as possible.