November 12
Washington, DC

I don't emerge from my room until almost 1:00 pm. My hair is still damp from the shower when I greet her. She's wearing her new clothes, a fresh bandage around her foot, looking rather comfortable on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table and a pillow underneath them. The room smells faintly sweet from the orange she's recently eaten. The peel sits discarded beside a tea bag on a plate that's next to her nearly empty mug. I smile at her, loving the sight of her in my space. Loving the color of her hair against that green sweater. Loving how at home she looks.

"How's your foot?"

She looks down at her bandage and flexes her ankle. "It's a little sore when I put my full weight on it, but I think your diagnosis holds. I think I'll live."

My smile grows, remembering how she teased me about that. "Do you need anything?"

She looks down at her torso, her legs, and gestures broadly at herself, "You've thought of just about everything I could need, I think."

"I just wanted you to have something more comfortable than your dress and heels. I hope you don't mind."

"It's a little weird that it all fits so well, but it's probably in your best interest if we don't talk about that."

I had braced myself for a harsher response, but her words still make me shift my weight and feel a bit uneasy. "Well, I..."

The knock at the door interrupts me and I give her a slow, sly smile, recognizing my luck. "Brunch?"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "You really do have the most impeccable timing, don't you?"

I'm at the door now, so she can't see my grin, but she can probably hear it in my voice as I tip the bellboy.

I bring the food over to the couch and set the tray down near her feet, then pour some coffee for both of us and we eat while we talk about the medical files. She assures me that she has a theory, but she won't tell me what it is. She needs to look at more of the data. She needs more time. Whatever her theory is, it seems to be weighing on her as heavily as it was last night, so I don't push her.

I clear away our dishes after we've eaten, pour more coffee, and then pick up my own computer to settle into the other corner of the couch and try to get into work mode again. It takes me some time, though. I keep stealing glances at her, watching her eyes skim the screen from behind her glasses. Watching her take occasional sips from her coffee cup. Every little thing she does bears an air of intelligence and dignity. I am utterly smitten.

But if I ever hope to have even a modicum of my admiration returned, I'd better pull myself together and at least attempt to show her that I can be smart, too. Or at least useful. Focus, Alex. Get to work.

Several hours pass, each of us with a computer in our lap, each of us feeling rather drained and raw. I get to the end of a page and close my laptop with a satisfyingly loud click and lean forward to half-toss it onto the coffee table. I'm sick of looking at it. Scully glances up to see what this little disturbance is about, and offers me a small, tight, understanding smile, but goes quickly back to her own work. I get up and walk into the kitchen for some water.

The work today has been grueling and disturbing and downright depressing. Scully has been analyzing the data and I've been cross-referencing the names, locations, and medical personnel. It's so massive it makes my head spin. I can't fathom that all of these doctors and nurses and technicians knew what they were doing, knew they were part of this horrifying conspiracy...it can't be possible. Even MY twisted, cynical brain can't wrap itself around such a miserable thought.

There's a knock at the door, and Scully's eyes slide over to it, then over to me, asking without words if she should go for her gun. She's frozen, on high alert. We're both so tense and disturbed by the day's work. "It's just room service. I called them an hour ago, remember?"

She releases the breath she was holding and then takes her glasses off and takes the interruption as an opportunity to stretch and rub her eyes as I move to answer the door. I look through the peephole and see the bellboy there with the cart. "You can leave it there." I slide a fifty under the door. "Thanks."

"Thank you, sir! Let me know if you need anything else!" I watch him walk away and wait another minute before opening the door and pulling the cart inside.

"Come on, Scully, you need a break, too."

"Yeah, uhm, I'm almost done."

I take the cart into the little dining room and set the platters of food on the nearby counter and arrange the table for us, feeling grateful once again that I not only have real food to eat, but I also have someone to eat with. For the second time today...actually, this is the third consecutive meal we've eaten together. I'm gonna miss the hell out of this when it's gone.

I'm opening the wine when she hobbles into the dining area. I'm about to ask about her foot again, but she's faster. "Jesus, Krycek. Are you planning on eating all of this?"

I smile as I work the cork loose. "Yes, I am. We missed breakfast, remember? I'm starving. You should fix your plate before I eat everything else."

I pour the wine as she accepts my offer, spooning food onto her plate. She sits and I place a glass in front of her. I watch her eat for a moment before turning to fix my own plate. I'm starting to get melancholy. It's beginning to get dark...she's got to be thinking about going home. I really don't want her to.

I sit across from her and don't allow myself to make eye contact. I just stab at a carrot with my fork and start eating. The enormity of what we've uncovered is taking its toll on me and I don't want to be alone. But I don't want to talk right now, either. I'm afraid if I do I'll say things that will only drive her away faster. I don't want to spook her again and have her run away. I feel like I've gained a little of her trust, and I couldn't stand losing it now.

It dawns on me that maybe this is exactly what's wrong with Fox Mulder. He's in the same damned position I've found myself in...wanting her desperately, completely in love with her, and not acting on it because the thought of losing her is too painful to bear. Better to have part of her, to have her companionship at least, better to be able to drink in all her brilliance and beauty from arms length, than to have nothing at all. Maybe the guy's not as much of a pathetic, cowardly loser as I had surmised. Jesus. How could he possibly have endured this cruel dichotomy for so many years? How is he not locked up in a padded cell?

Am I developing actual sympathy for Mulder? Christ. What is it about this woman? And how long am I going to remain ensnared? I dwell on that last question for some time and the longer I think about it, the more depressed I become. I'm beginning to realize that the answer has absolutely nothing to do with me. It's her decision, not mine. I'm at her mercy.

I drain my glass and stand to grab the bottle.

"I think I've found the pattern."

I freeze in place, but manage to turn to look her in the eye after hearing that. "What is it?" My voice is hesitant. I'm not sure I want to know.

"It's Influenza. That is, it seems to be connected to the flu vaccine."

"Jesus." I find that we're just staring at each other, both of us with our mouths open. The sheer audacity of what she's proposing makes me want to scoff, yet I recognize that it makes sense in light of the information I've been sorting through. "That would explain the variations...because it mutates so quickly…"

My voice trails off and we just keep looking at each other in silence. We're both thinking the same thoughts but we don't dare speak them aloud. The bastards have been tampering with the flu vaccines and tracking each recipient to monitor their reactions to it. They've been doing it for at least 2 years, which means that literally hundreds of millions of Americans have been unwittingly involved in their experiment.

In the midst of my brooding I suddenly remember a conversation I had last year with a colleague connected to the World Health Organization who works on influenza vaccination programs. He made a comment that struck me as odd, and I didn't understand what he meant. But maybe I do now...an extension of Scully's theory pops into my head and I exhale harshly, loudly, and pull my sleeve back to look at my watch. It's after 1:00 am in Tunis. I pull my phone out and dial the number anyway.

Scully watches me closely as I greet my contact in his native tongue and apologize for the late hour. I'm pretty sure she doesn't understand Arabic, so when he engages me in the customary chit chat that must always precede the real conversation, and asks me what I'm currently doing, I indulge myself a bit by admitting to having dinner with a beautiful woman. He congratulates me so heartily that I'm sure Scully can hear his delighted laughter through the receiver. I sincerely hope she doesn't understand his poetic visions of love and romance that I can't seem to stop him from spouting. I glance at her, feeling a little embarrassed that he's taken my casual comment so far, but her somewhat blank expression tells me I'll most likely live to see another day.

It takes me 4 or 5 more minutes to finally steer my friend to the topic at hand. I ask him about the comment he made last year about the flu vaccines, and he hesitates. I offer him my theory and his silence effectively confirms my suspicion. After a brief pause, I reassure him that he did NOT tell me anything-that he gave no secrets away-and apologize again for waking him, and then I remind him I need to get back to my dinner companion.

I hang up the phone and look at Scully, who still looks confused. I turn to her and try to speak but I'm still processing everything. And then, all of a sudden, as this new revelation sinks in, a huge smile of relief blooms across my face.

Her brows slowly knit themselves together and she looks at me sideways, not sure what to make of my sudden change in mood, but she also smiles hesitantly back at me, "What's going on, Krycek?"

I want to answer her, allay her tension, I honestly do, and I feel rather guilty that I've been rendered incapable of speech, but I can't help it. I just burst into laughter. I cover my face with my hands and laugh so hard that I nearly double over from it and tears start streaming down my cheeks and between my fingers.

"Alex, answer me! What the hell?!"

I pull my hands away and catch my breath to give her the news. "You were right, Scully-it's the flu vaccine. And it's not just the United States, it's global."

She looks utterly horrified.

"But, NO! No, no no! It's not what we thought, though! It's the black oil vaccine!"

Now she cocks her head a little and looks more confused.

"Don't you see? Everyone who's gotten a flu shot has also gotten the alien virus vaccine! There have to be hundreds of millions of people who have been protected! Maybe billions-how many flu vaccines are given out every year?"

She's just staring at me, her mouth wide open, trying to absorb this new information. And then I practically see the relief wash over her. Suddenly she's laughing, and then her tears start to flow, too, and then all of a sudden, she's nearly knocking the wind out of me with the full force of her body flying into my arms.

She's pushed me back right into the cabinets so it takes a moment to steady myself. When I do, I wrap my arms around her, walk her backwards, away from the wall and table so I have enough room to haul her up off the floor and spin her around. As she squeals in my ear-actually squeals-I think maybe I understand the delirium of the soldiers on V-Day that my grandfather tried to describe to me when I was a kid.

I put her down, let her go, rush to the fridge, pull out the complimentary bottle of champagne I almost never drink, and untwist the wire. A couple seconds later the cork pops loudly and it makes us both laugh even harder, and then I bring the bottle to my lips, take a huge, bubbly swig of it, not caring in the least that the foam is pouring down my chin and my arm, and hand it over to Scully before opening some cabinets to find some proper glasses.

When I turn back to her, she's practically choking on the champagne while trying to swallow and laugh at the same time. And that makes me laugh more, and she hears me laugh and it makes her scrunch her eyes closed and laugh some more, and then suddenly she's leaning against me again, as if she can't even hold herself up under her own power. Her forehead is shaking against the middle of my chest and her arms are shaking around my waist, and I barely even flinch at the cold bottle as it briefly makes contact with my thin t-shirt, because I'm just so delighted to feel this relief and to be this close to her and to know that I've been able to give her such good news. I push the glasses I just found onto a nearby counter so I can fully wrap my arms around her shoulders and rock with her as we ride out this unexpected chain reaction through our happy tears.

After a few minutes we start to calm down and pull apart so we can take another couple swigs from the champagne bottle. Those glasses I found have been abandoned and I don't even care. We look at each other, still smiling widely, still feeling giddy like we're coming down to Earth from an amazing high. We both let out a long, contented sigh at the exact same time and for some reason that makes us start to giggle again. But this time it only lasts for a brief moment and then we sink back down into our chairs at the dinner table. My stomach growls and I remember that we didn't get very far into our meal before the phone call.

'God, I'm still starving!" And we're still smiling at each other.

We both pick up our forks and dig in again, with much more enthusiasm this time.

"It's barely warm." She crinkles her nose up, but she's still smiling.

God, she's adorable. I think I'm in love with her dimples. "Yeah. I don't care."

She shrugs and smiles back at me. "Yeah, me neither."

I don't think there's much of anything right now that could spoil our mood. We finish eating our luke warm meal quickly, but happily, and then we both dive eagerly into desert and more champagne. It all makes me feel like I'm the luckiest guy on the planet, and maybe that's why I still can't wipe this damn goofy smile off my face.