"The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (9/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for disclaimers, etc.


It wasn't just bleeding, either; it was bleeding in regular spurts,
which meant there was at least one arterial vessel hemorrhaging. The
wound was at least 12 hours old from the looks of it, so the artery
had to have reopened recently. He'd be dead if he'd bled like that all
day.

And he wasn't out of the woods yet, either literally or figuratively.
The color of his skin, his rapid respirations, the sheen of sweat on
his face all told me that he was in mild shock already, and it was
deepening. He would die if I didn't help him.

No matter how much I hated him, I couldn't bring myself to do that.
Not again.

I dropped my backpack on the ground and knelt beside him.

When he heard the noise, he stopped moaning and looked up at me with
eyes that barely focused. He said something in Russian -- a plea for
help, I suppose.

"I don't speak Russian, Mr. Krycek," I said, and I saw the recognition
growing in his eyes as I took out an ABD pad and began applying
pressure to the wound.

"You know me?" he said in that croaking voice that speaks of
dehydration and exposure to the elements. I'm familiar with that, too.

"Don't try to play games," I said, as calmly as I could, although I
sure didn't feel calm. "You know who I am, and you know who I'm here
with and why, so just shut up if you want me to help you."

Oddly enough, that made him angry. "Why the fuck would I trust you to
help me, Dr. Reilly?" he said, still grimacing in pain. "If you know
who I am, then I've got every reason on earth not to trust you."

"You've got one really good reason," I said. I taped the dressing down
as tightly as I could, wrapping it tightly around the circumference of
the stump. When I was sure the bleeding had stopped, I got out my
stethoscope and pressure cuff. "I'm the only doctor you've got, and if
you don't get treatment for this pretty damn quick, you're not very
likely to survive. You've got nothing to lose by trusting me."

For just a moment, he seemed to be considering it, but then he closed
his eyes and nodded.

I checked his vital signs as quickly as I could; his blood pressure
was low, so I gave him a vasopressor and started an IV. I only had one
liter of normal saline with me, which wasn't much for a man who'd bled
as much as Krycek had, but it was all I had, so it would just have to
do. I hung the bag from a low-hanging branch nearby and turned my
attention to the wound itself.

I was so intent on my work that I didn't realize Fox had followed me
until I saw the look of terror on Krycek's face. I turned to see what
was wrong, and there was Fox, with a gun aimed right at Krycek's head.

"Move away from him, Daniel," he said, quietly.

"Not this time," I said, reaching into my pack for some Betadine. "If
you want to arrest him, you can arrest him after I'm finished."

"I have no intention of arresting him," Fox said, still very quietly.

"Then just go sit your ass back down," I snapped. "There's been enough
killing for one day, don't you think?"

"You don't know who this fucker is," Fox said, not lowering the gun by
a millimeter. "I do -- and I'm telling you to move out of my way."

"That's not going to happen," I said. "I'm through being an officer
for today, Fox. For now, I'm a doctor. So either help me or get the
hell out of my way."

To be honest, I was getting pretty scared. I'd always known Fox had
another side; I mean, I knew he could kill someone if he had to, but
knowing it and seeing it are two different things. I wasn't entirely
sure what he would do now.

Well -- let me modify that a little. Whatever happened, I knew I was
safe. Fox would end his own life before he'd hurt me. But Alex Krycek
was my patient now, for good or for ill, and I wasn't one bit sure
what Fox might do to him. He was still holding the gun, still aiming
for Krycek's head, but clearly, he wasn't going to fire as long as I
was in the way, and I damn sure wasn't moving. Instead, I started
tying off the artery as though Fox wasn't even there.



I had him figured right. He lowered the gun, but he cast a resentful
look my way.

"You don't know this guy, Daniel," he said, shaking his head. "You
don't know how many people he's killed, or how many lies he's told.
I'm going to have to kill him someday, if only to keep him from
killing me, so it might as well be now."

Krycek looked up at Fox then. He was in less pain than he had been,
but in spite of the drugs I'd given him, he was still very much awake;
his eyes radiated pure hatred, but he said nothing.

And then he looked at me, and I saw something else.

He was afraid; afraid for his very life. He was waiting for me to tell
Fox what I knew about him. He knew he was a dead man if I did.

That wasn't going to happen. For my own self-respect, I had to take
care of him, even if he was the lowest form of life on earth. If I
didn't, I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

"That may be, Fox," I said. "But he's in no shape to hurt either of us
just now, so put the gun away and give me a hand here."

For a minute I thought he might refuse, but I had underestimated him.
He shrugged and put the gun in the waistband of his pants, then knelt
down beside me.

"This is a mistake, Daniel," he said.

"Maybe," I said. "But it's my mistake to make. Now, open one of those
4-by-4 gauze pads and give it to me. Don't touch anything but the
outside of the wrapper."

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

It was late afternoon when I finished my meatball surgery, but the sun
was already sinking low. Dark comes early in that part of the world in
winter.

I wanted to build a fire, but we couldn't risk that: Someone might
have seen it. I had a Mylar survival blanket in my pack, and I wrapped
it around Krycek as closely as I could to keep him warm. His vital
signs had stabilized, and he wasn't showing any signs of infection
yet, although it was virtually certain that he would at some point.
That wound was just too dirty not to get infected.

But the night was coming on, and there were riders all around; I could
almost hear the hoofbeats in the distance. There was no way to get
Krycek to a hospital that night; he would just have to take his
chances with me until morning.

After checking once more to be sure my patient was stable and
comfortable, I felt my way slowly back to the clearing, where I found
Fox sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, looking up at the moonlit
sky.

He didn't move or make a sound as I approached him, but he knew I was
there; I know him well enough to know that. He just didn't want to
talk to me.

I didn't really blame him. He was angry at me for protecting Krycek,
and he had a right to be, I suppose. I couldn't help wondering what
he'd do if he knew everything I knew about Alex Krycek.

But then, I had a strong suspicion that Fox knew plenty about Krycek
that he hadn't told me, either. And I was reasonably certain that I
knew what it was.

Right at that moment, though, I didn't care what Fox knew or whether
he wanted me there or not. I was damn near exhausted and I didn't feel
like playing Mom to his sulking toddler, even if he was entirely
justified in his feelings.

"He's asleep," I said, as I sat down.

Fox looked up at me, but then he looked away again, slowly, as though
he simply wasn't interested in where I sat or what I said. He scooted
down, though, as if to make room for me next to him.

"You don't feel like talking?" I said, as if I didn't know.

"Not really," he said. He still wasn't looking at me.

"Then I guess I'll go sit somewhere else," I said, getting up, but
then Fox grabbed my hand.

"What did Krycek say to you about me?" he said.

I shook my head. "If he said anything at all while he was that heavily
medicated, I wouldn't tell you," I said as I sat back down. "That
falls under doctor-patient privilege."

"Which means he didn't say anything," Fox said, flatly, dropping my
hand. Sometimes I forget how good he is at reading between the lines.
I guess that comes from a long and rather strange career in law
enforcement.

"I'm not saying either way," I said, mostly for form's sake. I mean, I
have to at least pretend I'm an ethical physician, don't I?

"He didn't," Fox said. Then, at last, he turned to look at me. "You
don't know who you're protecting, Daniel. Krycek's a murderer, a liar
and probably a traitor," he said, and then he grimaced. "Not that I
didn't know that already; I did. I just let myself forget it and
follow him here because I thought he would lead me to some answers
I've been looking for."

"And did he?" I said.

Fox shook his head. "You were right, Daniel," he said. "So was Scully.
Krycek set me up."

"That's not the only reason you want to kill him," I said. "There's
something else you're still not telling me."

Fox nodded, almost imperceptibly. So there _had_ been something
between them. I guess my gaydar's better than it used to be.

But then, Fox's everything-radar is a thousand times better than mine.

"You already know what it is," he said, his voice carefully casual.
But he wasn't as calm as he pretended. He just didn't want to say it
aloud.

"Maybe I do," I said. "But if you two had a thing in the past, I think
I'm pretty safe in saying that it's over now. If it's not, you've got
the best damn cover story I've ever seen."

He smiled at that, but he didn't really seem any happier. "It wasn't
anything special," he said. "He was just a trick."

"How long ago?" I said, and I was surprised to hear how thick my voice
sounded. Why did it bother me? There's not a gay man alive who hasn't
indulged in a quick one-night stand now and then -- hell, a 15-minute
stand -- and yes, that includes me, but not since I've been with Fox.

He did laugh then, but it was a bitter laugh. "It was right before I
met you," he said. "Right after Scully was taken. Alex was involved in
taking her. Obviously, I didn't know that when I went to bed with
him."

That explained a lot, all right. Dana's the only person on earth who
can lay claim to as much of Fox's heart as I do. Sometimes, I think
she has more of him than I do, although I know she doesn't think so.

Whatever Fox thinks about the balance of our little triangle, he keeps
to himself.

"So how did you find out he was involved?" I said after a pause. I was
beginning to find this discussion very difficult. Fox noticed it, too.
He notices everything.

"Daniel, he never meant a damn thing to me," he said. "Not even then.
I just wanted to de-stress a little, forget about how badly I'd fucked
things up. We didn't even talk."

For some reason, that stung. I guess it showed on my face.

"What's wrong?" Fox asked.

I shook my head. "You just wanted him to fuck you so you could forget
about things?" I said. "You didn't want to talk to him?"

"I just said that, didn't I?" he said, looking puzzled. "Why the hell
does that bother you?"

Now it was my turn for a bitter laugh. "Because lately," I said, "that
seems to be exactly what you want from me."

There was a long silence. I couldn't see Fox's face all that well in
the growing darkness, but I didn't have to see him to know how badly
I'd shocked him and hurt him.

"Fox," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder as an attempt at
apology, but he jerked away from me.

"I'm going to sleep," he said, and he slid down off the tree and lay
on the ground, his head pillowed on his hands.

For a minute, I thought about grabbing him and telling him to forget
the silent treatment, that it was time to start talking to me -- that
I _needed_ him to talk to me.

Instead, I got up and went to check on my patient.

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

Washington, D.C.
Sunday

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

As Jim Saw It

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

I knew as soon as I got to the lock-up Sunday that whatever Dana had
found out had reassured her. She was calm; much calmer than on any of
my previous visits, with an inner serenity I'm not sure I'd ever seen
on her face before.

I liked it, though. And I liked even more the thought that maybe I'd
helped put that look there.

She was sitting on the edge of the bunk, reading, but she put down the
book and smiled as I came through the door. She didn't flinch when the
door slammed shut and locked behind me, which she had on every other
visit I'd made.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, without preamble, but that didn't
seem to be so unusual for her.

"Yeah?" I said, sitting in the chair. "Any particular reason?"

Her smile widened, which was as close as she'd come to laughing aloud
since before that damn raid. "Because you've been a good friend to me,
Jim, and I've really needed one lately," she said. "I'm very grateful
to you; I'm sure you never wanted to spend your leave behind bars."

"Don't thank me," I said. "It's been a pleasure to spend time with
you. Any hope you'll get out of here in time for us to have a real
Thanksgiving dinner before I have to ship out?"

"I wish I could tell you," she said, the smile fading. "I can't tell
them where Mulder is, and it seems clear they won't release me until I
do, and I wouldn't even if I could. I could be here for months if he
..."

Her voice trailed off. I knew why.

"Don't think about that," I said quickly. "He'll be here soon. If he's
not, I'm going to find my brother and kick his ass, even if he does
outrank me."

That brought the smile back. "You look as though you could do it,
too," she said.

I shrugged. "I have an unfair advantage," I said. "He won't hit me
back. That's the advantage of fighting with a surgeon. They can't
afford to injure their hands."

It was supposed to be a joke, I promise. A weak joke, but a joke
nonetheless.

Dana, however, turned a little pale and averted her eyes. She seemed
... frightened. Or maybe ashamed.

And then I realized what the reason was. She had scars on her right
hand; fine, almost unnoticeable, but definitely there.

And she's a surgeon.

Once more, Jim Reilly says the wrong goddamn thing at the wrong
goddamn time.

"I'm sorry," I said, more quietly. "I didn't realize ..."

She shook her head. "Please don't apologize," she said, but her voice
was flat now, and nearly emotionless. "It's in the past."

"Who was he?" I said. I knew I didn't have any business asking how it
had happened. I just wanted to know who the son of a bitch was so I
could kill him if I ever met him.

"No one," she said, shaking her head. "At least, not anymore. I'd
really rather not talk about it, Jim."

I nodded. I knew better than to press her for an answer. The only
problem was, I couldn't think of anything else to say. Not only had
this guy hurt Dana, he'd hurt my chances of ever finding the place in
her heart that I wanted so badly.

I wasn't trying to take all of her, you understand. I wanted her in my
life, but I'm just not around enough to settle down with her or with
anyone else. That probably makes me a full-fledged bastard, but that's
what a submariner's life is like. It's what I do, and it's got to be
done.

And anyway, I love it. On the days I don't hate it, that is.

It's the same for her. She's got a hell of an important job to do, and
she's not giving it up, no matter what it does to her. She also has
Mulder and my brother. She doesn't need me; not much of me, anyway.

But then, I'm the wrong man for a woman who needs much. I'd proved
that years ago, when Elise needed me and I wasn't there.

There wasn't much left for me to give Dana, but however little it was,
I wanted so badly to give it. I wanted to take that last lingering
sadness from her eyes; I wanted to give her someone to hold in the
night.

Oh, shit, tell the truth and shame the devil: I wanted her to hold me.
Now, thanks to the miserable bastard who'd hurt her, it looked as
though I might have to wait forever for that to happen.

Fuck it, then. I didn't have a damn thing to lose if I let her know
how I felt.

Without saying a word, I got up, walked over to the bunk and sat down
next to her -- and I mean really next to her, so close that our legs
were touching.

She seemed startled at first, but that didn't last long. She got
herself under control fast, and I knew that look on her face: It said,
plain as day, "I am watching you, buster, so don't try anything."

I never was very good at taking orders.

I leaned toward her and I kissed her.

For just a moment, her whole body went rigid, and I was afraid she was
going to pull away and slap my face.

But she didn't. She relaxed -- just a little at first, and then more -
- and then I felt a cool, soft hand on my face, and felt her mouth
opening under mine.

God, if I'd known praying was this effective, I'd have started doing
it a long time ago.

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

Somewhere in Russia
Sunday

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

As Daniel Saw It

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

The contest for the biggest asshole on earth ended in Russia on a
cold, moonlit evening, and I won.

I was so tired I was cross-eyed, but I couldn't sleep. I was pretty
sure Fox wasn't sleeping either; for one thing, he wasn't snoring, and
he never once rolled onto his left side, and that's the side he
normally sleeps on.

It was also the side that would have had him facing me, and he didn't
seem to want to look at me just then.

I didn't blame him. I couldn't begin to imagine what had made me take
that kind of cheap, below-the-belt shot at him. Not only was it a low
blow, it wasn't even true. He does talk to me. He talks to me a lot,
for a man, anyway. Men aren't great talkers, in case you hadn't
noticed. I thought I'd gotten over thinking there was something wrong
with that.

No, the only one sleeping was Alex Krycek. In spite of his injury, he
was sound asleep, thanks to the medications I'd given him. I've never
believed that it did people any good to make them suffer when I could
do something about it.

Yes, I know, I'm digressing. I suspect I've done that a lot in my life
-- immersed myself in the details of my profession as a way of
avoiding something else that was too painful to contemplate.

What I was avoiding now, of course, was talking. I knew it. I was
face-to-face with my own hypocrisy.

I was so close to just rolling over, pretending I was asleep and doing
the whole macho routine of waiting until we both forgot about it.

Except we never would forget it, not really. That kind of crap may
work with your friends at work or at the Y, but it doesn't work with
your lover. It didn't take me long to learn that.

Quietly, so I wouldn't wake Krycek, I got to my hands and knees and
crawled over to where Fox lay thrashing around in make-believe sleep.
I think he heard me approaching; he stopped moving around and lay very
still, barely breathing.

I was so close I could feel the warmth of his body on my skin, and yet
I said nothing.

I said nothing. All I wanted to do was put my arms around him and
touch him, to let my touch tell him how sorry I was and how much our
love-making means to me, whether we talk before, during, after or not
at all.

I couldn't do that, not after what I'd said. I just stayed where I
was, kneeling next to him, my hands pressed against the cold, hard
earth, wishing and praying that he'd turn over and look at me.

But he didn't move.

I was on the verge of giving up and crawling away, declaring myself a
coward as well as an asshole, when I heard a very heavy sigh. Fox
rolled over onto his back and looked at me with those weary, beautiful
green-gold eyes of his.

I couldn't think of a single damn thing to say. I just crouched there,
feeling utterly ridiculous. I probably would have stayed frozen there
forever if my still-weak right arm hadn't started to shake from the
strain.

The movement caught Fox's attention. He looked at my arm and sighed
again, a long, slow sigh this time, and laid his hand gently on my
upper arm.

"It's not really healed yet, is it?" he said, turning his eyes back to
mine.

I shook my head. "It works all right," I said.

And then he smiled. It was a sad smile, a tired smile, but beautiful,
as is everything about him.

"It doesn't seem to work very well for groveling," he said, softly,
his fingers still playing up and down my arm.

"I just haven't had much practice," I said, as lightly as I could.

"I guess not," he said. He took his hand from my arm and laid it
gently on my face. "So are you going to kneel there until you fall
over, or are you going to sit down and talk to me?"

"I think I'm going to sit down," I said, as I shifted my weight off my
arms and sat on the ground next to him. He raised himself on one elbow
and took my hand.

"So what did you come here to say?" he said, lacing his fingers
through mine.

I'd been expecting that question, and I'd thought I had an answer for
him. I thought I would tell him all the things I'd been thinking about
before I literally came crawling back to him.

I couldn't. I couldn't fight off the inner constraints that warned me
against risking my emotional control.

And that, I suppose, was the honest answer; and damn it, he deserved
an honest answer from me.

"Nothing," I said. "To be perfectly frank, not one damn thing."

Fox nodded, slowly. He looked so tired, and still so hurt, and yet I
knew already that he was going to let me off the hook. I could feel it
just as surely as I could feel his hand closing around mine.

I couldn't take it. I turned away from him. "Fuck," I said, under my
breath. It had been a long damn time since I'd felt this ashamed.

He heard me, of course. "Was that a request or a comment?" he said,
with just a trace of his usual humor.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "It was whatever you want it to be," I
said, shaking my head at my own foolishness.

"I think I'll take it as a request, then," Fox said, and he bent
forward and kissed me, very gently.

God, he felt so good, but I couldn't really enjoy it. I knew that I
didn't deserve this; I wanted it, but I didn't deserve it.

"Fox, I need to tell you something," I began, but he interrupted me
with a shake of his head.

"No, you don't, baby," he said, putting his hand gently on the back of
my neck. "Not now, anyway. If you want to, we can talk later; but only
if you want to."

With that, he kissed me again, his mouth moving over mine slowly but
firmly, almost forcefully, his tongue barely touching my lips. When he
kisses me like that, I couldn't tell him no if he wanted to do it in
front of the entire Sixth Fleet.

"Tell me what you want, Daniel," he whispered in my ear as he laid me
carefully down and put his arms around me. "Tell me."


"You," I whispered back. "Just you ..."

He gave me what I'd asked for; not just his beautiful body, but his
whole being, body, mind and soul. He's never withheld himself from me;
not when it comes to this.

And when it comes to this, there's really no need for words.

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

Washington, D.C.

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

As Scully Saw It

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

I have never felt so confused as I did that day, sitting on the edge
of my steel-framed bunk with Jim Reilly's arms around me, my head
resting on his shoulder and my lips still warm and wet from his kiss.

I knew he was going to kiss me only a split second before he did it,
and yet I think, really, that I had known since the day I met him that
he would kiss me someday -- and that I would want him to.

The kiss didn't last long, but it was wonderful anyway; warm,
comforting, affectionate, simultaneously arousing and unsettling. He
kissed me, and I kissed him back, and it shook me to the core of my
being.

There was no hiding it then, from Jim or from myself. I liked what he
had done, and I wanted more.

And I didn't want to want that.

I had never meant to let a man get to me again, not after what Josh
did to me. I had promised myself that Mulder's love, and Daniel's,
would be enough for me, would be safe and pleasant if not passionate.

I remember so well what Mulder said on the night I finally admitted to
him how much I loved him. He told me that it wasn't my fault.
Heterosexual women are attracted to men, he said, and you're
heterosexual.




END "The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (9/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)