"The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (5/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for disclaimers, etc.


And, fortunately, I have a cell to myself. Law-enforcement types
usually do, if there's any room at all in the lockup. I suppose that's
a small blessing in the midst of this insanity; that, and the fact
that my mother is spending Thanksgiving with Bill in San Diego. I
would hate for her to see me like this.

At our meeting, Senator Sorenson had left no doubt whatsoever that he
meant to find out where Mulder is -- for reasons which I dare not
guess -- and he made it quite clear that I would tell him what he
wanted to know or I would suffer the consequences.

As soon as I could, I called Daniel again and told him as much of the
truth as I knew. He was already quite worried --apparently Mulder had
left a message on Daniel's machine that was so cryptic as to be almost
useless. He wanted to know what the message meant, but I couldn't help
him. I was, if anything, more in the dark than he was.

I just told him that Mulder's whereabouts had to be kept secret; that
it was so important to keep that secret that there was a very real
possibility that I would soon be jailed for withholding that
information from a Congressional committee.

There was a long silence.

"That's not very reassuring, Dana," Daniel said.

"I can't tell you any more than that, Daniel," I told him. "Soon, just
as soon as I can, I'll tell you the rest. All I can say now is stay
where you are -- all three of you -- and Mulder will get in touch with
you when it's safe to do so."

That "all three of you" part was, of course, aimed mostly at Daniel.
Jill had already left the Vineyard. She was staying at Daniel's
apartment; I'd suggested it after our walk, because she seemed to need
some time alone to think, and after a polite protest, she'd agreed.
Daniel and Jim would stay on the Vineyard and she would stay in
Baltimore until ...

Honestly, I didn't know. She wasn't going to stay forever; that, I
knew. But how long she would stay was a mystery even to her, I think.

I doubted Daniel was in any mood to stay put, either, from the tone of
his voice. "You're in serious trouble, aren't you?" he said, slowly.
"Both of you?"

"It's a serious situation, Daniel," I said, carefully. "We are
pursuing some leads. Once we know what we're dealing with, we will
know what to do. Until then, I've said all I can."

I could hear Daniel's short, humorless laugh even over the telephone.
"I don't know what say, Dana," he said, but he sounded more sad than
angry. "I'm almost used to Fox shutting me out. I never thought I'd
have to get used to you doing it."

That hurt, but I knew why he felt that way. Mulder can be quite a
closed book, as Daniel and I both know all too well. What I was doing
now, in essence, was Mulder's dirty work.

That didn't mean I couldn't try to make it a bit easier for Daniel to
bear it.

"Daniel, please," I said, softly. "Please trust me. Mulder and I would
never, ever keep this from you if it weren't so dangerous and so very,
very important. You have to believe me."

"I believe you," Daniel said, in his quiet voice. "And I do trust you,
Dana. But none of this is easy for me; especially not having to stand
by and do nothing while you go to jail and Fox goes ... wherever he's
going."

"Well, it may not come to that," I said, although I knew better. "If I
do go to jail, you'll bring me cigarettes, won't you?"

That got a bit more of a laugh. "You don't smoke," he said, and I
could almost see his gentle smile.

"I can't think of a better reason to start," I said. "Daniel, really,
there's nothing you need to do right now. If I do go to jail, maybe;
you could bring me something to read, anyway."

"I'll come see you whether you're in jail or not," Daniel said. I
felt a sigh escape me. Daniel's presence was always like a calming
hand laid on my heart.

But it was asking too much of him. I couldn't let him do it.

"No, don't," I said. "Stay where you are and rest, Daniel. There's no
reason for you to travel all the way to Washington until we know

what's up."

"Actually, I'll be in town anyway," he said. "I've got to report to
Bethesda at 0730 Wednesday for a physical, to see when I can return to
duty."

"So soon?" I asked, a little surprised. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I'm sure I'm ready to find out," Daniel said, firmly. "I've about had
enough of doing nothing, Dana. I want to get back in battery, even if
it's only light duty for a while."

I laughed. "Wouldn't it be odd," I said, "if you got your life back on
the day I lost mine?"

And that turned out to be almost prophetic.

Wednesday rolled around, Sorenson demanded to know where Mulder was, I
wouldn't answer, and the committee wouldn't listen to anything else I
tried to say.

I was found to be in contempt of Congress, given into the custody of
the U.S. Marshals and locked up.

Skinner came by soon after, bringing me some of the files on this
case, files which I still hoped to show to the committee. He pulled a
considerable number of strings to get permission for me to have
visitors, for which I was most grateful.

That's why my one phone call went not to my lawyer, but to Daniel.

He was here in less time than I would have thought possible, bringing
my toothbrush and some clothes that Jill had selected for me. The
guard confiscated those, but assured me they'd be returned when it was
time for me to face the subcommittee again. Daniel also brought some
journal articles and textbooks on Dr. Charne-Sayre's work ...

And he brought Jim -- and with him, a whole cascade of emotions I
found I couldn't deal with.

Don't misunderstand me; I was glad to see Jim, more glad than I would
ever have thought I could be to see anyone except Mulder or Daniel.
Jim's light-hearted approach to life exerted a pull on me that I never
expected.

Even more surprising to me, he not only seemed to have a window onto
my deepest thoughts, but he appeared to enjoy the view for reasons I
couldn't quite fathom.

Yet if I hadn't been uncomfortable before, I was now. No matter how
persuaded I was that I was doing the right thing, it was still a bit
embarrassing to appear as a prisoner before someone who was, after
all, still a relatively new acquaintance. I hoped he wouldn't ask any
questions I couldn't answer.

Jim, however, had very little to say. He mostly leaned against the
walls of my cell, his arms folded across his chest, listening as
Daniel and I talked.

"This isn't going to last forever," I said, patting Daniel's arm as he
sat beside me on the creaky iron bunk. "I'll miss the turkey and
dressing, but I should be out of here as soon as the committee
reconvenes Monday."

"That's not all that's worrying me, Dana," Daniel said, but he put his
hand over mine as though grateful for the contact. "You still haven't
told me where Fox is."

"That's because she doesn't know," Jim said, abruptly, and it shocked
me. Of all the unnerving things that had happened lately, Jim's
uncanny ability to figure out what I was thinking and feeling was
perhaps the most unnerving of all.

"That's the truth, isn't it, Dana?" he went on, when I didn't answer.
"You don't know, and you don't want to, either, because you can't tell
what you don't know."

I couldn't respond. I didn't dare. For all I knew, there were
microphones and cameras all over this cell.

"Shit," Daniel said, rising. He ran one hand through his hair,
abstractedly, the way he does when he's completely at a loss. He
walked over toward the desk, looking down at the papers scattered
there as though he thought they might yield the answer he wanted.

Then his eyes widened and he picked up one of the papers. "You've been
busy," he said, looking at me. "How'd you find him from in here?"

"Find who, Daniel?" I said, puzzled.

He held up a small black-and-white file photograph. "Last I heard, you
didn't have a clue about where this guy was," he said. "What
happened?"

"I'm still not sure what you mean," I said, slowly. "I didn't know
where he was until recently, but we weren't actively looking for him;
he came looking for us. Do you know Alex Krycek?"

"Is that his name?" Daniel said, looking at the picture again. "So
where was he?"

Jim, meanwhile, had walked over to look at the photograph. "Who is
this guy, Daniel?" he said, taking the photograph. "You know him from
somewhere?"

Daniel gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say so," he said,
shaking his head. "That's the guy who shot me."

************

I remember once when I was Christmas shopping with my mother, looking
for that one toy that my nephews were sure they couldn't live without,
when a tall stack of boxes fell from a high shelf in the crowded toy
store. One of them landed squarely on top of my head, striking me very
near the sagittal suture and knocking me to the floor.

At first, I couldn't feel it. All I knew was that something had made a
very loud noise. Not until a few moments had passed and the pain began
did I realize what had happened.

That's as close as I can come to describing how I felt just then.

I got to my feet, practically staggering, and took the photograph from
Daniel. "Daniel, are you sure this is him?" I asked in a whisper.

"I'm not likely to forget that face, Dana," Daniel said, looking at me
curiously. "Is there some other significance to this photograph?"

I nodded, dumbly, looking down at the photograph. It didn't look much
like the composite the police artist had drawn. I'd already known the
composite was no good; Daniel had told us that shortly after it was
drawn. That was one of the obstacles that had been holding up the
investigation.

Damn that artist anyway. If his sketch had been any good at all,
either Mulder or I would have recognized Krycek.

He looked so clean-cut, so thoroughly trustworthy in the photo, just
as he did the day I met him. I thought then that my instinctive
dislike was because I didn't want anyone taking my place with Mulder.

With Mulder ...

"Mulder's with him," I whispered. I was going to say more, but the
cell walls suddenly lifted and tilted around me. There was a loud roar
in my ears, and I fell into the blissful confusion of darkness.

************

Tunguska Gulag

************

As Mulder Saw It

************

"What did you tell them?" I demanded, my arm at Krycek's useless
throat as I forced him back against the cold damp walls of our cell.

"That we were stupid Americans lost in the woods," he spat back at me.

Well, he had that part right. I was being stupid, attacking Krycek,
who was my only link to the world outside, but goddamn it, I'd been
almost three days without sleep, I'd been beaten unconscious, and
another prisoner had just informed me that I was here to suffer and
die. I was not in the mood to be patient -- especially not with
Ratboy.

For a moment, he just stared at me with eyes full of hate and anger.
In fact, I could almost believe that he hates me as much as I hate
him -- as if that were possible.

"Mulder," he said, "you're going to need me in here." He shoved my arm
away, angrily. "Don't touch me again."

I was so goddamn close to saying the same thing back to him, but I
thought better of it. If he wasn't thinking about that day, I didn't
want to, either.

Especially not when we were both flying on a major testosterone-and-
adrenaline high, and standing so close to each other that if either of
us moved we'd be ... kissing.

That did it. I turned away.

Krycek went back to working on the bars.

And I collapsed in the corner, waiting, with nothing to do but
think... and remember. Unbidden, but unstoppable, the memories came
rushing back, the shame and the anger still as fresh now as they were
two years ago ... the day after Scully disappeared.

That was quite possibly the worst day of my life. I'm not entirely
sure that it wasn't worse than the day Samantha disappeared. It was at
least as bad.

I remember the meeting in Skinner's office as though it happened
yesterday. I was exhausted and half out of my head, but I had no
intention of going home or anywhere else until I had a good lead on
where Scully was.

Skinner had other ideas. He ordered Krycek to take me home and make
sure I rested.

That may have been the only order Krycek got as a special agent that
he actually obeyed. He took me home, all right, but we were no sooner
in the door than he was coming on to me.

I can't say it surprised me, although I don't think I'd given Krycek's
sexual orientation any thought at all before that. He didn't appeal to
me, and anyway, he was in the FBI. I wasn't dumb enough to try
tricking with someone I'd have to see the next day at work. I meant it
when I told Scully I hadn't slept with anyone in the Bureau.

Well, it was technically true. He wasn't in the Bureau when I said
that.

I never think about what it was like with him if I can help it. I
loathe every memory of him, of his touch. Yeah, it was consensual sex,
and it was damn good at the time, but big fucking deal -- if I'd known
who and what he was, if I'd known what his part was in everything that
had happened, I'd never have let him touch me.

That was what drove me to try ...

Forget it. I'm not even going to think about that time. It's over.

Consensual or not, sleeping with Alex Krycek was still a goddamn
stupid thing to do, but I wasn't exactly thinking clearly that day. I
didn't have the mental energy to resist when Krycek put his hands
on my chest and started speaking to me in that low, slow voice. I
can't say I really wanted him even then; I just thought a quickie
might help me shut down my brain for a few minutes.

He gave me a lot more than a few minutes.

"You need to let go, Mulder," he said, as his hands worked the buttons
on my shirt. "You need to let someone else be in charge for a while."

"Yeah?" I said, getting aroused in spite of myself. "And you think
you're that someone?"

"I know I am," he said, pulling my shirt open and thrusting his hands
underneath as his mouth descended on mine in a rough kiss. He gave me
a hard shove that sent me sprawling across my couch ... two seconds
later, he was on top of me.

He was a man of his word. Every time I tried to speak, he'd tell me to
shut up, and he'd force his mouth down on mine again. It was pretty
goddamn rough, all of it, even for me ... and before I met Daniel,
that was the way I wanted it, every single time, although there were
limits: I was never into pain or bondage or any of that shit.

Rough ... well, rough is different. Rough is how men are; with each
other, anyway. In case you hadn't noticed, men and masculinity and
maleness in general are what get my motor going.

Alex Krycek went a bit beyond rough, and while I didn't fight it, it
still hurt more than I was comfortable with. It hurt a lot, to be
honest; so much so that I was damn close to shoving him off me.

But then, there was a part of me that thought it was no more than I
deserved for letting Scully be taken that way. I mean, God, I'd had
her blood on my hands. Literally.

Painful or not, it worked. I came so hard I thought my brain would
explode right out of my skull.

When it was over and he left, I decided maybe it wasn't so bad after
all. My nerve endings had been flooded with so many contradictory
sensations at once that it sapped every last bit of energy I had. I
was sore and exhausted, marked by his teeth and bruised by his hands;
my legs were rubbery, my arms were shaking and my brain ... was
blessedly quiet.

I rolled over on my side and I slept. I didn't sleep long, but I
slept, and that was something.

Then Duane Barry died, and I found out just how badly Alex Krycek had
betrayed me ...

I went home, stripped off my clothes, and stood in front of the mirror
staring at the marks he'd left on me. All at once I felt sick to my
stomach, and I leaned over the john, retching and heaving until my
head ached and my abdominal muscles were screaming in pain.

Then I poured myself a stiff shot of gin, drank it straight down and
passed out on my couch.

I woke up the next morning with only two certainties in my head: I
would find Scully and I would kill Alex Krycek. I would do those two
things if it took me the rest of my life, if I had to die in the
attempt.

I didn't give a shit about my life at that moment anyway.

In the hopeless cold of Tunguska gulag, I was rapidly reaching that
point again.

************

As Jim Saw It

************

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Daniel?" I said. "You're not
trained for this kind of shit. You'll get yourself killed."

Okay, so I shouted at him. You get the picture, though, don't you? I
mean, this was deadly stuff -- the kind of stuff you read about in spy
novels, only it was for real. One look at Dana was enough to convince
me of that.

And I knew I had to stop him.

I meant no disrespect to my brother, believe me. Daniel's a damn fine
medical officer -- hell, I got a good look at that right there in that
goddamn cell. He saw what was happening and had his arms out to catch
Dana before I even noticed anything wrong, then he had me call for a
guard while he laid her down on the cot and started checking her pulse
and loosening her clothing.

When the guard got there, bringing a medic's kit, Daniel went right to
work, checking Dana's blood pressure, her reflexes -- all that doctor
shit. I'd never seen him do any of that before, and I gotta tell you,
it was pretty cool. I was proud as hell to see him handling everything
so competently, knowing just what to do, not panicking like someone
else might have...

No, I didn't panic. But if Daniel hadn't been there, I might have.

Dana didn't exactly panic when she came to, either, but she was scared
shitless. Even I could tell that, and I haven't really spent much time
with her. Seeing her react that way, when she's normally so calm and
self-possessed was maybe scarier -- to me, anyway -- than realizing
her partner was with the guy who shot Daniel.

And she was scared to death, believe me. She kept telling Daniel that
she couldn't trust anyone in the FBI -- or out of it, for that matter
-- with the information that might lead them to Mulder, or to this
Alex guy, the one who shot Daniel.

So Daniel said he would go find them -- both of them.

Well, you know me -- I said the first thing that popped into my head,
which is my preferred method of getting myself in deep shit. I do it
all the time.

And, as usual, I regretted it the minute the words were out of my
mouth. I could tell just by looking at Daniel's suddenly narrowed eyes
that there was a better-than-even chance that what he thought I was
saying was, "Listen, gay boy, you're not up to doing a man's job."

I didn't mean any such thing, but then I hadn't meant anything by it
the other night when I tried to leave him and Mulder alone for a few
minutes, and he'd sure as shit misunderstood that. I didn't want that
to happen again.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said. "I don't mean to imply you're not capable
of doing this -- under normal circumstances. But Daniel, you just got
out of the hospital, you're not even cleared to return to duty yet and
you want to go happy-assing off looking for the same guy who put you
in the goddamn hospital in the first place? That's nuts. It's pure
fucking nuts."

"I don't recall asking for your advice, lieutenant," Daniel said,
coldly, and if I'd thought he was pissed before, I knew it now for
sure. Daniel's never had to raise his voice to get that point across.

"Jesus Christ, Daniel, don't start pulling rank on me," I said. I
guess I sounded a little desperate, but -- well, goddamn it, I was.

"I just did," Daniel said, flatly. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm
not in need of your assistance just now, so stand down, lieutenant.
That's an order."

Oh, thanks a bunch, Daniel. So now what do I do -- disobey a direct
order and dare you to bring charges against me, or obey the order and
risk that you'll get yourself killed and it'll be my fault?

In truth, if it came down to a court martial, he'd probably lose.
Ordering your brother to shut up so you can run off to look for your
gay lover is not likely to be ruled a legal order by any military
judge on earth.

Daniel knew that. He wasn't counting on the Uniform Code of Military
Justice to compel my obedience; he was counting on my respect for him,
as a brother and as an officer.

God, that was a dirty trick.

I had to make my decision, and fast: Dana was sitting up on the cot,
looking back and forth from me to Daniel, wide-eyed and scared half
out of her wits, while Daniel was looking me right in the eye with
that cold, steely-eyed stare that superior officers always give you
when they're daring you to act like you've got balls.

I don't know if I do or not, Daniel. But I know good and goddamn well
that you do.

I lowered my eyes just a little, surrendering, then I looked him in
the eye again. "Aye, aye, sir," I said, keeping my voice as level as I
possibly could.

Daniel nodded. He knew I still didn't like this one bit, but I could
tell by the look in his eyes that he also knew I meant it:

I would obey him.

************

Daniel's apartment

************

As Jill Saw It

************

Hot.

Water.

Blisssssss....

I hadn't had time for a hot bath since I left San Diego, so now that
I was alone, I was indulging myself madly in Daniel's all-but-unused
clawfoot tub, with vanilla candles burning all around me and about a
six-inch layer of gardenia-scented bubbles floating on top of water
hot enough to cook pasta.

It was almost painful to sit in water this hot, but it was exactly
what I needed to soothe my nerves. I could cool off later, before I
dressed for bed.

And then, please God, I would sleep. Sleep had been so elusive
lately...

In fact, if I hadn't needed to sleep so badly, I wouldn't have been in
that tub at all. It seemed selfish beyond belief for me to lounge
around in the tub enjoying myself while Dana was locked up, but she'd
sent word through her boss that she was fine, and I was not to worry
about her. I needed to take care of myself for a while, she said, and
this was a good time to do it.

She was right, too. I was worn out, emotionally and physically. I'd
told myself I'd use this time alone to think, to plan what I would say
to Daniel when he returned from his fitness exam at Bethesda.

Actually, I wasn't really expecting much response beyond a nod and a
polite "thanks for all your help," but it soothed my ego to think that
it still might matter to him that I was leaving.

And this time, I was determined that it would be for good. No more
running to his side if something went wrong: He had Mulder, and he had
Dana, and between the two of them, I was sure he'd be well cared-for.
I still held Daniel's power of attorney -- he said he wanted it that
way -- but Dana knew now that I'd agree to whatever she thought was
best.

I was just about to get out of the tub when I heard a key turning in
the lock. It didn't startle me; after all these years, I could still
tell it was Daniel, just by the sound. I hadn't really expected him to
be here tonight, although I knew there was a chance he wouldn't be
through with his physical in time to catch the ferry back to the
Vineyard.

I sighed and slid back down into the water. Great. End of relaxation,
time to deal with the gay ex-husband again.

"Jill?" he called out. "You here?"

"I'm in the bathroom," I called out. "Come on in."

I could hear him walking toward me, but then he stopped right outside
the bathroom door. "Are you decent?" Daniel said, a little hesitantly.

"Oh, come on, Daniel," I said, with what I hoped was just a hint of
sarcasm. "The lights are off, this is a bubble bath, you're a
physician, I was married to you for 12 years and, on top of that,
you're gay. How decent do I need to be?"

"Well, when you put it that way, not very," Daniel said, as he walked
in and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the tub, just as though
it was an everyday thing ...

Which it was, once.

Daniel used to sit next to me like that almost every night, unless he
was at sea or at the hospital. He would wash my back, or just lean on
the rim of the tub and talk to me.

We had some of our best talks then, along with a little affectionate
kissing and nuzzling. That rarely led to anything more, but there were
times ...



END "The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (5/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)