OK, I admit it. I'm glad I stayed. It looks like these medical files are pretty amazing. Of course, I mean "amazing" in the worst, most terrifying way possible. There's so much data on so many American citizens here that Krycek hasn't even bothered to print any of it. Well, except the four pages he presented me with back in the restaurant, handed over after we had finished dessert and coffee, to entice me to follow him to his lair.

Because it was so utterly shocking, and because he'd actually straightened himself out and been behaving as the consummate professional he'd promised to be, I'd agreed to spend even more time with him tonight. So, contrary to my better judgement, I got into my car and drove to his hotel. I knocked on his door and sat down on the sofa, took up his laptop and began scouring the files. For a while he sat close by, in the armchair, watching me and asking questions, wanting to know if the data indicated what he thought it indicated. I finally just looked up into his eyes, and although I couldn't really speak, reeling as I was from the scope and magnitude of it, he found his answer in my face nonetheless. Seeing my expression that confirmed his darkest suspicions, he lowered his eyes, drew in a deep breath, then got up and poured two glasses of whiskey, neat, from the minibar. I haven't touched mine, but I think he's had at least a couple more.

I'm not really paying attention, though, as I copy data sets, put them into spreadsheets so I can sort and organize them, trying to finding patterns. I do this over and over again, saving and sending files to my email, working through hundreds of pages but covering only the slightest fraction of what's here.

I suddenly realize that I'm exhausted. I look at the corner of my screen and I'm only partially surprised to learn that it's just after 4am. I roll my head around on my neck a couple times and push the computer aside, letting it fall off my lap and onto the couch. I stand up in my stocking feet and forgo stepping back into my heels as I look around the lavishly decorated suite and try to determine where the bathroom is.

Also, where the hell is Krycek? His coat and suit jacket are lying neatly over one of the chairs, and his shoes have been abandoned, too. I don't remember him removing them...I don't remember how long ago he left this room, either.

I don't hear a sound. I round a corner, find a bathroom, and lock the door behind me. I'm still in my dress and realize that I'm rather uncomfortable now. I'd love to get out of it and into some pajamas or sweats, but that's not going to happen until I get home. I wonder if Krycek would let me take the disk home with me. I need sleep, but I don't want to give up what I've been working on.

I leave the bathroom and decide I need to find Krycek so I can negotiate the next steps. I walk into the kitchen area instead, and pause there to get a glass of water. God, this suite is huge and elaborate. There's a large basket of fruit, chocolates, and a bottle of champagne on the counter. It must be costing him a small fortune. I guess crime really does pay.

"Scully?"

I'm startled by his voice behind me. It causes my hand to slip on the glass, and I can only follow it with my eyes as it drops to the floor and shatters spectacularly.

"Shit."

His laugh makes me turn around so I can scold him, but just as I'm looking up to him to give him a piece of my mind, I step on some glass. His smile disappears immediately and he narrows his eyes when he sees me wince, and then all of a sudden, before I even register that he's drawing near, he's scooped me up in his arms and turning to carry me back to the living room.

Both my arms have found their way around his neck and I vaguely register that he still smells faintly of aftershave and his breath of whiskey, but the sharp pain in my foot overrides my other senses too much to enjoy his proximity. He carries me through the living room and into a bedroom.

"Alex!" Why did I use his first name again?

"Shut up, Scully, you're bleeding." His voice is terse and non-nonsense, and it effectively silences me from any further protest.

He deposits me onto the bed, sitting me up, with my legs hanging over the edge, and leaves me there. He hurries into the adjacent bathroom and brings a toiletry bag and bottle of alcohol back with him. He sits on the floor in front of me and wets a cotton ball with the alcohol. He takes my foot in his hand and proceeds to gently clean up the blood. It hurts, but seeing him in that burgundy sweater, being able to fully appreciate the way it fits him, not to mention the sincere expression of concern and concentration on his face, well, it does help distract me a little bit.

"It's not too bad, Scully. There's one big piece and two small ones. I don't think any of them are too deep, but I guess we'll see once I pull them out. And I'm afraid your stockings are a lost cause." He pinches the material around my ankle and tears it away from my foot, leaving the bloody tatters of my nylons hanging from around my knee as he steralizes some tweezers with the alcohol and then again dabs gently to wipe away new spots of blood before pulling my foot up closer to his eyes.

He looks up and warns me, "Here goes."

I grit my teeth as he pulls the glass out and I feel it tugging at my flesh, not wanting to be removed. But he's determined, and keeps at it until all three pieces are free.

The pain is sharp, and makes me groan a bit and fidget. He sets the tweezers aside and then smooths the flat of his thumb slowly and gently along the ball of my foot, feeling for any glass that may have been missed. I hiss as he brushes over the largest wound, and his eyes lift up to mine again.

"Sorry. But it's not too bad. I think you'll live."

"Is that your official diagnosis, Doc?"

He chuckles at that as he dabs at the wounds again, removing the blood that just keeps oozing, and finally presses two clean, alcohol-soaked cotton balls against them. He looks up at me with a soft, compassionate smile and it makes me rather weak in the knees. He has great bedside manner.

"Can you hold these in place for a minute?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

I lean down to do as he asked and then move my fingers away when his hand brushes mine as he wraps some gauze around my foot to hold the cotton balls in place.

"Is it too tight?"

"No, it's good. Thanks, Krycek."

He smiles at me. "At your service, my lady."

I smile back at him and suddenly remember what I needed to ask him. I look at my foot, my leg still extended out fully and watch it as I twist my ankle around and flex my toes, testing my bandages and intentionally avoiding his eyes, hoping to appear casual and nonchalant.

"Krycek, I want to take the disk home with me. I need to sleep before I can dive back into it."

"You're sleeping here tonight."

I look at him, head cocked and eyebrows arched, and he raises his arms in a gesture of surrender as he quickly amends his statement.

"I'm not trying anything untoward, Agent Scully. It's late, you're tired and now you're wounded, too. Take this bedroom, and I'll take the other one. We'll get some sleep and work on it tomorrow."

"I...I don't have anything to sleep in."

God, Dana, I admonish myself, that's the least of your worries.

"I've got some clothes you can use."

"I could take a cab..."

"Don't go. Please. This doesn't have to be awkward. I need your help, Scully, but you're not taking that disk again. Plus, we need to talk. You haven't told me what you've found, and I'm not sure I can let you out of my sight until I know."

I sigh and look down at my lap. "You're not going to like it."

"No, but then I assumed that from the first page the hacker sent me months ago."

I look back into his face and I'm surprised to note that he looks older now than I remember. There's a world-weariness there that I'm assuming he's just very good at keeping hidden most of the time. He's too tired right now to hide it, though. He stands slowly and he holds my eyes as he does. I don't really have a worthwhile reply to his last statement, so I don't bother to try. He bends down, swipes up his bag and the bloody remains of his surgery and takes it all into the bathroom. I hear him arranging items on the counter and then the toilet flushes. When he reemerges he walks past me and over to a suitcase and starts pulling some clothes out.

"Here. I know it's all too big for you, but it'll be more comfortable than your dress."

I look at the t-shirt and pajama bottoms he offers me and I'm feeling genuinely grateful for them at the moment. "Thanks."

He gives me a small, tired smile. "You're welcome. I'm going to bed now...do you need anything else?"

"Well, uhm..."

He looks at me and waits.

"My gun…"

He smiles. "Of course. I'll get it."

I close my eyes tightly and rub my forehead, wondering if I should have aborted that request. Have I just allowed him to empty my clip or something? Would he do that at this point?

He's back, my purse in his hand, and he walks to me and offers it up. I look at him, a bit sheepishly, and take it. "It's okay, Scully. I can't sleep without mine, either."

I smirk at that and feel a little less foolish. He smiles back, briefly, then he turns towards the door and starts to pull it closed behind him. "Goodnight, Krycek."

He looks back at me and smiles again. "Goodnight, Agent Scully."

I stare at the door at he pulls it closed, then manage to stand with my weight on my good, left foot, as I work my ruined nylons off and then worm my way out my dress. Because of the company I'm in, I consider leaving my bra on, but it's been biting into me for hours. I get rid of the horrible thing and toss it onto my dress and then pull his large t-shirt on. It's so big that it hangs almost to my knees. That's good enough for me right now. I don't even pick up the pajama bottoms.

Finally, I unsnap my purse, find my gun and, I can't help myself, I check the clip before shoving it under the pillow. I find I'm not all that surprised at all that Krycek hasn't tampered with it. Then, with a profound sense of relief, I crawl under the covers and sigh happily, looking forward to getting some sleep. My eyes are closed before my head even hits the pillow and, despite the softly throbbing pain in my foot, I'm asleep in a matter of seconds.