"Discoteca" by Pet Shop Boys, from Bilingual

The hospital room is unlike many others: it has no bright bouquets of flowers, no cheerful balloons with various wishes for swift recuperation. Its inhabitant has no friends or relatives who would visit him at this time. Most of his colleagues are dead. And, after all, the absence of adornments doesn't matter so much – survival has always been prize enough.

Mulder tries to understand how he wound up being the only person to visit Krycek. He sits on the bedside chair and waits for the heavily bandaged man to awaken. Mentally, he adds each new scar on this too-thin body to the list of injuries and deaths he should have been able to prevent. His hindsight, especially ruthless upon completing each hunt, reminds him sharply of his mistakes, of every minute he spent wallowing in self-pity that should have been spent instead on constructing a better profile.

The profile that Krycek didn't even need to recognize the killer.

"Alex," he forces a smile when the green eyes open. Receiving no acknowledgment and no greeting in return, he procures something brown and small from his pocket, lets it fall on the white sheets. "I...brought you a gift."

"It's a rat." The voice is unrecognizable, transformed by the rewired jaw and layers of gauze that cover part of the pale face. Fingers move weakly and stop, unable to reach it.

"Actually, it's Tiptoe the Mouse," Mulder corrects the mistake and places the toy directly in Krycek's right hand that still hasn't regained its range of motion. "A beanie baby."

Perhaps it is the image of the federal agent, most recently a Consortium consultant, buying a beanie baby that finally places a smile on Krycek's damaged face. Perhaps, it is that smile that ultimately reminds Mulder of where he is and whom he is visiting, and makes him question his actions.

He paces the room, too anxious to stay, too ashamed to leave, while Krycek's eyes patiently track his movements.

"Mulder, you're making me dizzy."

Guiltily, he stops and comes back to sit by the bed, reminds himself that he has come here to visit an ailing colleague, someone who sacrificed flesh and blood to see Samantha and him survive. All in vain.

"How is Scully?" Krycek asks, displaying no interest in the subject.

"I haven't seen her since the funeral," Mulder replies and ignores the fleeting look of compassion he gets in return. He has spent the last few days in a peculiar state of denial and awareness, knowing with certainty that Samantha is gone, yet more than ever convinced of her presence. If he closes his eyes and extends his hand, he will feel her. He only needs to concentrate hard enough.

"I'm glad...it wasn't yours," Krycek whispers wistfully. "How lucky you are."

"To have survived?"

"To have had such a sister."

Mulder reaches out to touch the other man's hand and stops himself halfway. "I've heard a fairy tale," he starts softly. "Once upon a time, there lived a man who met someone he thought was a friend. A partner, even." He leans back in the chair and closes his eyes, remembering. "Days later, he was beginning to trust this partner. Weeks later, he hoped that he might give a rest to his justifiable paranoia. But then something happened, this friend turned into an enemy...and the man realized that he should have never entertained such silly notions as friendship and trust. So, even though the enemy later had almost sacrificed his life for this man, it wasn't enough. And it could never be enough."

Krycek receives the blow with eyes open wide and doesn't respond for a long time. His fingers rake through the brown fur of the toy. "I used to have a white pet rat when I was little," he recounts absently. "This one is different."

"How?" Mulder asks.

"The real one had sharp teeth. It would sink them into each little piece of bread I fed it. This one can't bite," Krycek explains. "Like me."

"Well," Mulder stands up abruptly. The sudden weariness that pulls him downward is hard to fight, and he leans against the door with all his weight. "I've always been lousy with finding the right gifts."

He meets Dr. Phillips a few feet away from Krycek's door and loses his fingers in the tight handshake. "How are you?" he asks perfunctorily.

"Have you ever woken up," Phillips asks excitedly, "and thought that this day would change your life?"

Mulder finds himself smiling, so infectious is this enthusiasm. "I certainly hoped for it every morning."

"I'm being let go," the doctor shares. He looks around the sanitized hospital hall with the eyes of a reborn man, one who suddenly sees all that life has to offer him. "I might even apply for a job here."

"Congratulations, then."

The response is measured and dispassionate, but Phillips doesn’t take notice of it. "Today is the last day of my work at Wiekamp, just settling a few formalities here and there," he continues before he realizes that Mulder is gone. Briefly unsettled, he walks several steps to the room of the man he came to visit, glad to have a potentially receptive audience to hear of his happy news.

The words freeze on his lips when he sees tears tracing uneven tracks down the patient's face, and the small toy mouse who watches them with inanimate interest.

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