"Never Let Me Down Again" by Depeche Mode, from The Singles 86>98

Mulder twists on his old bed, too small now for his long frame, and tries to sink deeper into nothingness. The sleep, when it comes, is akin to a thin blanket over his consciousness; the door back to reality is nearly transparent. The tension that charges him during the day doesn't depart during the night, and he jerks awake at odd intervals.

He is convinced that time is running out - that they've already overstayed their welcome. Spending days passively in this hideout goes against everything he believes in, enrages him on some primal level, but he pushes these impulses down. He can't act recklessly right now, not when Samantha sleeps in the same house, not when her safety is the most important factor in this equation.

Heavy eyelids slide shut over his feverishly bright eyes, just as a soft sound carries into his open bedroom. Mulder listens for a few seconds, until it becomes a keening wail, pitiful and desperate. He runs towards it, to the bolted and locked front door, where his sister kneels on the cold floor. Her crying is an alarm that claws at the remnants of his sleep, leaving shredded scars in its wake.

"I can't cross over," Samantha whispers, and he doesn't know whether to rejoice or weep. Did he expect her first words to be addressed to him? Did he hope that they would be accompanied by her smile? Did he, finally, believe that they would make sense?

The bitterness rises inside Mulder, and he turns his head away, for just a moment, just until he can face her again without shame. If patience is a virtue, then he is a sinner.

"Sam," he speaks, proud of the control in his voice. "Come back upstairs with me, please. We both need sleep."

Her hazel eyes pass over him as if he doesn't exist, increasing his anxiety, and his pulse sends a series of shocks through his system, each one a buzzing alarm of fear. It is only another indication that his sister lives in a different world, and he wonders if he will ever find a door that will lead him inside.

Mulder sits down on the floor next to her and squeezes her hand gently. There is nothing more he can do.

"I prefer sleeping in beds, myself," a mocking voice startles him, but when his eyes settle on the intruder, initial alarm turns to indifference.

"How the fuck did you sneak in, Krycek?" Mulder addresses him, too tired to care, accepting too easily that he is about to pay consequences for his miscalculations.

"I picked the kitchen door lock," the visitor explains nonchalantly. "Too easy."

Mulder shakes his head, glancing at the woman beside him. "This is not a good time, Alex." Krycek flinches and appears to assess the scene in front of him for the first time. Mulder turns away from the probing gaze, equally wary of contempt and compassion. "Why are you here?"

"I have too many questions, and very few answers," Krycek says thoughtfully.

"Then you know how I feel."

"Why did she come back?" Krycek asks. "Why are the Consortium members buying large life insurance policies? Why did you leave Scully behind?" Feral green eyes blister Mulder's face, then retreat just as abruptly. "Finally, ponder this: how long will it take for them to find you?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Mulder replies hollowly. "And I would appreciate it if you exited the same way you came."

"Mulder." Krycek sounds profoundly tired, and strangely afraid. "I'd hate to see my previous warning going to waste."

Mulder unlocks the front door, opening it with flair. "Goodbye," he speaks without affect. "You're not welcome back."

The dismissal is unequivocal, but instead of leaving, the intruder recedes deeper into the house. The night is suddenly bright as day as what seems like dozens of powerful flashlights illuminate the front yard, and Mulder shields his eyes from the glare.

"Fox, Samantha," the somber voice is filled with satisfaction. "Please come with us."

Mulder's throat is suddenly tight with anger, and for a long moment, he cannot find the words to express his animosity. He should have listened to his instincts, they could have left yesterday, instead of providing such an easy mark. "We decline your offer," he replies with exaggerated calmness.

The smoker gestures expressively at the small cavalry behind him. "Don't make it more difficult than it needs to be."

He grasps his sister's hand and calculates his options. If they run quickly enough, if they're lucky, the kitchen door is still open, and he knows these woods better than any one of these goons...

When he turns around, the barrel of a gun is directed squarely at Samantha's head. Krycek's face is devoid of emotion as he cocks the hammer. "Do as you're told. Now."

The newest betrayal should be easier to accept, but something bitter spills inside Mulder, poisoning him as it enters his bloodstream. He lets the image burn into his retina, memorizing and cataloguing it, to be recalled on demand. Then, he sets his shoulders and raises the right hand in a gesture of surrender, the other hand still tightly holding his sister. She follows him to the waiting black limo, speechless and distant as a shadow.

And somewhere, he still hears the thin alarm of panic, growing louder in the stuffy silence of the car.

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