There Is No Seven
by Tesla

Mulder always knew he was going to have a bad end, but he didn't count on a second act. He'd always thought he be sucked up to a spaceship and have an anal probe and weird stretchy needles on his face, and his teeth drilled----he had really spent far too much time talking to that crazy fuck Duane Barry.

No, never thought that he'd be lying in a coffin, not needing air, listening to the gophers bump the lid as they burrowed by. Listening to the tree branches whipping in the wind, six feet above him, the night cries of bats----bats, huh?

Time to get up, he thought, and kicked out the lid, and then he was a gopher, burrowing up through the loose earth, rearranging the sod.

"What the fuck am I doing in South Carolina?" he wondered. "I didn't get Arlington?"

He brushed the dirt off his suit coat and took off the tie. Scully's pick, he supposed. Poor Scully, at least she'd remembered her promise not to take a Stryker saw to his skull. That would have been a bitch, to try to get to Los Angeles with Frankenstein sutures across his head.

They had given him to Her to turn, and then taken him away from Her. Mulder realized, for the first time in years, that when he thought of Her, he wasn't thinking of Scully, but of his sire, his black star whose blood he craved.

He was walking on the highway outside the cemetery, considering his options. He needed to get back to DC, get his stuff and his credit cards before Scully recovered from her grief and started cleaning out his shit from the apartment. At least he had his mother's trust account, since the Bureau probably didn't pay the undead.

At least he thought not.

A car slowed down beside him, the bass making the windows quiver. "Hey, dude? Want to buy some dope."

Mulder let his fangs drop before he turned around. This may be fun.

 

Mulder broke into his apartment eight hours later. He had another car, a drug dealer's car, now, and he was full of drug-dealer blood. There was something in his head that still said, I am a good guy and you are a bad guy. He had a feeling it wouldn't last. Maybe he'd kill randomly and be just as bad as anything else out there. He kind of hoped not.

It was one of the things he'd liked to have asked his sire, but he already got the feeling that she wouldn't have been much help. She thought she was getting a son and lover out of the deal, Mulder knew. It was in the taste of her blood in his mouth as his heart slowed, her wild triumph. She'd lost so much and was so terribly lonely and even as he was dying, he knew she was tasting his own loneliness and sorrow.

He was going to find her, after he fixed the people that had killed him. Wolfram & Hart, some law firm in Los Angeles with a Washington office.

Mulder packed up efficiently once he was inside. It was odd, being changed and in the apartment. Now, he could hear the snores and the heartbeats of his neighbors, the rustling of mice in the walls.

Gun. Spare ammo. Wallet.

He brushed his teeth, pausing to tap the toothbrush on the mirror. That was just fucking weird. So, it was true: no reflection.

He looked out the window. Forty minutes or so until dawn.

Hey, he had just enough time to take out his first target.

 

Black lunged asshole had actually invited him in. Didn't these guys share information, read a memo?

It was just like that "Far Side" cartoon. "Blah blah conspiracy blah Resist or Serve, blah blah Fight or Die, blah, Agent Mulder, are you listening to me?"

"No," Mulder said, and went into game face.

Jesus, he nearly lost it, at the old bastard's expression.

"Yeah, vampire now. Cool, huh? Turns out your extra-terrestrials are just demons with a hell of a inter-dimensional ship. All fucking smoke---if you'll excuse the pun---"

Mulder had his hands on Spender's neck, and twisted until he heard the pop and the cessation of pulse.

"---and mirrors. The ones I'm not in, anymore."

He stepped over the no-longer-Cigarette Smoking Man's body and started to search the apartment. He poured a tall glass of scotch, lit up one of the bastard's Morleys, and methodically began going through the file cabinet in the den.

 

Scully was still in a daze of grief. She just couldn't believe that Mulder was dead, that he'd left instructions for a Jewish burial without embalming---what the hell was that about, she wondered---and she kept her promise not to cut him up. "Let it be a mystery if one of Them gets me," he'd said. "Keep your little hands off my corpse."

So it was weirder than weird that the cemetery in South Carolina called to say that someone had robbed his grave and stolen his body, the final unbelievable event in Mulder's unbelievable life.

"Why would someone take his body, now?" she asked A.D. Skinner. "It's- -- ridiculous."

Skinner shifted uneasily in his desk chair. "Agent Scully, everything about Mulder has been bizarre. I still blame myself for losing him in the forest. We should never have been there." His starched shirt crackled under his stress, and he had a peculiarly fatherly vibe going.

Okay, if she was going to start hearing Mulder's voice in her head, she really would talk to Father Joe again.

Scully waved her hand. "You told me that. I feel the same. But this, it's so strange."

"If you feel that you should investigate it, by all means go there. Mulder was a federal agent, killed in the line of duty. The Bureau still takes care of its own. I'm not letting our guys' graves be desecrated." This last said with clenched-jaw Mean Marine anger. That was more like their A.D., the one Mulder had claimed to be frightened of.

Another one of his stupid, straight-faced jokes.

 

Scully went home that evening, and saw two messages on her answering machine. One from her mother, and one from....

She dropped her sack of groceries, and apples spilled out of the bag and rolled across the room.

Mulder's voice.

"Scully, I didn't want to shock you, but I knew you wouldn't believe it unless you heard my voice. A couple of things.

"One, I'm still dead. Two, I'm a vampire. Three, I'm leaving town. Four, don't try to find me, because, uh, I'm an evil soulless creature now, and I would probably try to bite you. We kind of like to eat the people we loved. Five, I feel okay about it. Six, uh, now do you believe in the supernatural? Seven----there is no seven.

"Seriously, Scully---thanks for not slicin' and dicin' me. I know it was hard for you to resist putting me under your scalpel. Good-bye."

Scully sat on the floor next to the machine and replayed it six times. It was his voice. It was Mulder. What the hell? Vampires? Vampires?

Oh, if this had been a trick, she was going to kill him.

She pulled the tape cassette out of the answering machine and went back out, kicking aside an apple.

 

Frohike kept polishing his glasses. "Scully, every single test we have says that it's Mulder's voice. It's not a re-creation. It's not faked. It's Mulder."

 

"And that's not all, " Byers said. "Old acquaintances are being found dead all over town." He pointed to one of his computer creens. "Recognize any of these names?"

"Spender," she whispered. "Oh, don't tell me that he was exsanguinated!"

"No, his neck was broken," Byers said. "Nothing stolen. His place was tossed." He waited a moment. "The others were exsanguinated."

Langly shoved a computer chair to her. "You may want to sit down, Scully."

She sat down.

"Are you seriously---are you saying----vampires? Vampires?"

Byers put a hand up to his chin, and ruffled his beard. "Have you been to Mulder's apartment, Scully? Since the funeral?"

"I took the aquarium to my place, but nothing else."

"We may want to check it out."

 

The door to Apartment 42 opened easily. "Lock's smashed," Byers observed.

Inside, they separated and looked around. Byers sat down and booted up the computer. "Someone's been online yesterday," he said.

"His suitcase is gone," Scully said. She looked at the dining room table. "His wallet is gone. I put it there, myself, with his badge and ID."

"Well, if it's not Mulder, then it's a clone," Langly said. "Personally, I'd just as soon think about vampires, because--- that'd be cool."

"It would be just like Mulder to get vamped," Frohike agreed.

Scully sat down on the couch, Mulder's ID in her hand. "Just like him."

 

"Hi, Alex," Mulder said. "Long time no see."

"The fuck?" Krycek said, and slammed the door.

Mulder clucked his tongue reprovingly, and kicked it open.

"Not nice of you not to let me in," he said.

Krycek just stared. He did have a gun in his left hand, but no stakes. Good. Ratboy hadn't got the memo, yet, either.

Mulder leaned on the doorjamb. "You can try using it. It won't hurt me, but it will piss me off."

"Why are you standing there, Mulder? Why don't you come in?" Krycek said, heavily sarcastic.

"Thanks," Mulder said, and stepped over the threshold. He closed the door behind him. "Took out Cancerman this morning," he said, conversationally. "Did you know I couldn't come in unless you invited me?"

Krycek's expression almost made Mulder laugh. But he regrouped; Mulder had always admired that about the asshole.

"So you're here for me?" Krycek asked. "What, you a supersoldier now? Clone? Alien hybrid?"

"Try demon," Mulder said, and switched in and out of game face.

Krycek's pulse jumped. Smell of fear, but bigger smell of...curiosity. "Holy fuck," he said. He came closer to Mulder. "Demon?"

"Well, vampire, if you want to be technical." Mulder paused. "And I do."

"So you've come to bite me?" Krycek looked around the room. "And me without my garlic or a cross."

"Actually, I'm full. And no, I don't have a coffin. Don't need one." Mulder took the gun out of Krycek's hand. "So, I only got three names from Spender's files. Took care of two of them. And guess who the third was?"

"Are you going to kill me or talk me to death?" Krycek asked. He turned and walked over to the mirror, looking at Mulder's lack of reflection. "Shit, Mulder. I already had a demon inside me. Crawling around. You think that's what the black oil did? Turned you into a vampire? It didn't."

Mulder was walking around the apartment, picking up things and looking at them critically. Russian trinkets. Icons.

The icons didn't burn his hand. He wondered why.

"I know how I was turned," Mulder said. "Someone took me to a hot- sheet motel in Los Angeles and a black haired woman came in. She thought she was making a companion, but the consortium had hired her to turn me."

Krycek looked at him, his eyes narrowing. He was standing by the window, but not looking out. Height issues, Alex?

"Something went wrong. Someone dumped my body so Scully would find it. She buried me. Wires got crossed, someone double-crossed, or maybe didn't get paid. Anyway, I need to find out who in Los Angeles has my maker. I need names."

Krycek actually smiled. "So you come to me." He turned to face Mulder, leaning against the window frame.

"You're a survivor, Krycek. You know everything." He smiled. "And I'm not one of the good guys any more. I want revenge." His circuit of the apartment had taken him beside the other man.

"Well, you know what all the geeks say. It's a dish best served cold."

Mulder put his fingertips on Krycek's cheek, saw the green eyes widen at the icy touch. "No one colder than me, now."

 

Scully didn't know where to look, first. Mulder had been the one with all the supernatural websites and the cryptic notes in the files.

There is no seven. God, she could just....kill him. Deader. If he was, indeed, dead. A vampire.

She couldn't get her mind around it.

She supposed she would start by investigating the desecrated grave, she thought, opening her apartment door.

"Hi, Scully," said a horribly familiar voice, and she threw her keys to the floor and had her gun in her hand.

"Relax, Agent," Krycek said. He took a bite from an apple. "Had a visit from Dead Man Walking. Thought you'd like to know where he's going."

Scully kicked her front door closed. "All right, Krycek, what do you know?"

Krycek gestured with the apple core. "You two sound alike, you know? I hear that happens with long-time partners. Especially ones as close as you."

Scully was at the couch in two strides, and jammed her Glock under his chin. "I'm not in the mood, you little rat bastard! Tell me what you know!"

Krycek's eyes glittered like chips of broken green glass. "I know Mulder's a vampire." He dropped the apple core on the couch beside him, and reached a lazy hand up to his neck.

Scully's eyes narrowed, and she took her knee out of his crotch. "Let me see that." She turned on a light.

"Take a look. Take a picture. Measure it."

Scully pulled down his collar. There were two scabbed holes drilled neatly into the side of his neck.

"So if Mulder did this, why aren't you dead? Or, undead?"

Krycek shrugged. "He said I tasted weird. That he could still taste the black oil."

"How do I know you aren't one, yourself?"

"Oh, please," Krycek mocked. "Everyone knows that vampires have to be invited inside, or they can't come in."

"Why did he bite you, Krycek?"

Scully pointed the gun away from Krycek, and sat back on her corner of the sofa.

Krycek shrugged again, this time with the right shoulder." He wanted to make a point, he said." He touched his prosthesis. "He had me call Wolfram & Hart. See if they knew me. Turns out they did. Turns out they offered to restore my arm if I could bring them---"

"Mulder?"

"No, Scully, they already got Mulder. You."

 

Red eye to LAX, and Mulder kicked back, headset on, smelling the body scents of the passengers, listening to their heartbeats. Listening to their conversations. Two of the guys, halfway back, were drug dealers. They were talking about kidnapping and killing a DEA agent.

Mulder pensively tapped his left canine. He looked up and caught sight of the tiny television screen.

Ooh, basketball scores.

 

"So you have no idea how to find her?" Spike messed up his shot, and Mulder smirked.

"No, since I was busy dying at the time. I don't know what happened after my heart stopped. Next thing I knew, I was in the ground, and there was no scent of her anywhere." He didn't talk about how alone he had felt; didn't need to.

His sire's name was Drusilla, and the vampire playing pool with him had found Mulder, as Mulder was methodically working his way around the demon haunts of Los Angeles. Spike, who was very old, and who had the same sire, and, apparently, a lot of sire issues.

"So are we brothers, or something?" Mulder asked again. "I win."

Spike put down his can of beer. "Yeah, brothers, like Cain and Abel. If I found out that you've lying to me about being with her, you'll be Abel."

Mulder rolled his eyes, impatient. "She turned me, and then they did something with us both. They dropped me somewhere for my friends to find. There wasn't time for anything else."

"Seems like a waste of a perfectly good vampire," Spike observed, offering him a cigarette. "Goin' to all the trouble of turnin' you, and then just stickin' you in your grave."

Mulder took it and lit up. "You don't know those people. They probably thought I would keep, and they could go dig me up, or that I wouldn't be able to get out and I'd turn into David Bowie in 'The Hunger.' Somebody didn't read the small print. They don't understand the process, and Wolfram and Hart didn't enlighten them."

"That wasn't a bad flick, as vamp flicks go," Spike said absently. "I heard that Dru and Darla were having a high old time here, but I think the old man ran 'em off. He's gone good, see, and thinks he's Batman or something." Spike shoved the package of cigarettes back into his leather coat, and hung it back up. "The girls were recruiting minions, but all the blokes that were to meet them disappeared, and the place they were meeting, burned down. That would be Angelus. He likes to burn things."

Mulder racked up. "Angel, who was Drusilla's sire. What do you mean, gone good? I thought we were evil, end of story."

Spike shrugged. "Got a soul. There's a whole tale to it, can't say I really understand the ends and outs of it. Fell in love with the Slayer a couple of years ago, and if I had all night and gave a fuck, I'd tell you the story. Just a word to the wise----stay the hell away from Angel and his little gang o' friends. He'll smell Drusilla on you even faster than I did, and he'll kill you without thinking that he may need to know where she is and what's she's doin.'Corner pocket."

"Know anything about Wolfram & Hart?" Mulder frowned, holding on to his pool cue and leaning on it. The other demons in the bar were leaving the vampires strictly alone, but it meant that the waitress left them alone, too. "Do you not tip, or something?"

"Nope. Heard they were payin' Drusilla and Darla, but the girls got impatient and ate a bunch of their lawyers." He drained his beer. "Be my guest if you want to order another round." He looked past Mulder, and came to sudden, alert attention. "Christ, there's one of the old man's boys, right there. We'd better slide out."

Mulder looked over his shoulder, and straighten up, blocking Spike from view. He picked up the coat and handed it to the other vampire. "Go straight out in front of me to the exit. No one knows me here." He put his hands on his hips. "Think he's got back-up outside?"

Spike shook his head. "No telling."

"Fine. He doesn't know me, like you say. So he won't be expecting me to be there." Spike was involuntarily walking out ahead of Mulder, and he stopped at the door.

He turned, and nodded sharply at Mulder. Mulder pulled on his trenchcoat, and pushed out the door ahead of Spike.

In the alley, a big ("hulking," Spike had said) guy in black was loitering with intent next to the dumpster. Mulder sauntered out, raised his eyebrow, and went to the other side of the dumpster. He pretended to unzip. Mulder knew the guy was Angel, knew it by his demon wanting to flare out. The guy was staring at him, startled, clearly not quite processing the familiar smell of the bloodline on this stranger.

"You mind, man?" Mulder asked, sounding annoyed, looking over his shoulder. "I'm shy."

Angel opened his mouth to say something. Just then, Spike neatly upended a trashcan over his head and shoulders. Mulder and Spike ran down the alley to Mulder's car, bowling over a bald black guy just stepping off the sidewalk. Behind them, they heard thumps and incoherent shouts.

In the car, Mulder took them out of the area with a few Fed-style evasive moves, as Spike lit up his thirtieth cigarette. "So. That's the old man." He passed the lit cigarette to Mulder. "You wanna go get something to eat?"

"Yeah, I could eat," Mulder said, going up Sepulveda.

 

Scully pulled up to the old hotel in the rented Taurus. "This is the address they gave me, but it doesn't look like a detective agency," she muttered.

"Supernatural detective agency," said her hateful passenger. "On the other hand, we probably could get a bed for the night."

"Don't use 'we' and 'bed' in the same sentence," Scully said, but her heart really wasn't in it. Maybe it was the sensation that this was all a dream from the Tylenol 3s she'd popped after Mulder's funeral, maybe it was jet lag, but she had a light-headed sense of unreality. "Come on."

"I'm still hand-cuffed to the shoulder harness," Krycek reminded her.

"You wanted to come with, so don't bitch." She pulled out her keys.

"I didn't----fuck, Scully! A little less with the Mistress of Submission, 'kay? It's the only arm I have."

"Whiner."

 

They went in through the double doors. A young woman lounged at what must be a reception desk, and three men were standing around in various poses of attention or inattention. The biggest man had seen them first, and was staring hard at her as they came in.

"----you still have that eau de euw, so I'm just saying, a little down time with Irish Spring?" the woman was saying.

"Spike is supposed to be chipped, isn't he? So what makes you think--- "

"He's always up to something," the big man said, still watching. "Wesley, we have guests."

"See? Hotel," Krycek said to Scully.

Scully badged them. "Agent Dana Scully, FBI."

The woman glanced up. "Angel, did you cut off another guy's hand?"

"No!"

"I hope you got a warrant," said a young black man. "Jeeze, they never quit, do they?"

"What would the FBI want with us?"

Scully thought, briefly, of drawing her Glock.

"I'm looking for the vampire with a soul," she said, cutting through the comments.

She suddenly had their complete attention.

 

"So the military put the chip in your head," Mulder said. "I'm wondering if it was the same technology----hm."

"Like a secret military group, black ops," Spike said. "I thought for a long time that the Slayer got funding or something, but no." He lit another cigarette. "Next time, someone less strung out, okay? I feel a bit stoned myself, now."

"Beggars can't be choosers, bro," Mulder said. "She was young, and convenient." He felt slightly mellowed out, himself, but he'd been killing the mini-bar since they got back to the hotel.

Funny how the metaphors just all blended together now.

Spike gave him a look of disgust. "What is it with you Hugo Boss wearing blokes? Nothing but attitude. Just like the old man. He's probably at an all-night dry cleaner's now, more worried about his coat than anything else."

"You keep saying that you hate him, but you keep talking about Angel," Mulder said, tossing Spike a beer. "So, should we go take him out?"

"I can still kill demons, and that includes you," Spike groused.

Mulder threw his shirt on the foot of one of the beds. "Aah, not when I'm getting your dinner for you."

"Where you going?"

"Jacuzzi. This guy's suite has a flat-screen in the bathroom. Knicks are on." He dropped his trousers beside them, and picked up his bottle of beer.

"I could use a soak." Spike uncoiled himself from the bed, and followed Mulder.

 

The staff of Angel Investigations could argue for hours, and were doing so, now. Krycek sat with the air of one completely divorced from the situation, and read the newspaper, his ankle shackled to the desk. He sipped some of Mr. Pryce's tea from a china cup, and completely ignored the various conversations.

Scully didn't want to know why these people had shackles, handcuffs, and chains so handy.

"Well, the bottom line is, our friend can only replicate the original curse," Wesley said. "If your partner has a moment of perfect happiness, he'll lose his soul, and continue on his merry way, snapping the necks of his enemies, and draining the life from the innocent."

Scully snorted. "Mulder? Perfect happiness? Impossible. The man is incapable of being happy."

Krycek turned a page. "Probably already achieved it when he called you to tell you that vampires were real," he said. "He was still pretty happy when I saw him last."

Gunn frowned at her. "Why we got this guy chained up again?"

"She's afraid that I'll scamper off to Wolfram and Hart to get my arm regenerated or whatever," Krycek said, still reading.

At the quiet, he looked up. "Oh, did our Agent Scully forget that the Consortium used a sub-contractor to, uh, turn Mulder? Jobbed it out to an evil law firm. Too bad they didn't include an instruction manual?"

The large, sulky guy crossed his arms. "You won't get your arm back, regardless. I just blew up the demon lab."

Krycek looked down at his paper again. "Guys like you spoil it for the mid-level villain."

Scully had an almost uncontrollable desire to thump him on the back of the head.

 

Apparently, Spike had two subjects of complaint while he was drunk: Angel, and the Slayer. Mulder pretended that he didn't understand why Spike hadn't killed either one.

"Y' don't kill your sire ," Spike said, sounding almost shocked. "Not done."

"He killed his sire," Mulder said, flicking the channel from World Cup play, back to basketball. Spike didn't even notice. He was wobbling around from mini-bar to bed, smoking like a diesel. It entertained Mulder to see the red coal of his cigarette bobbing about in the dresser mirror.

Spike pointed the bottle of JD at Mulder. "You wouldn't touch ours," he said, and it wasn't a question.

Mulder sat up a little, eyes narrowing. "No."

"Not even to save the life of some little chit," Spike said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wouldn't torture her, either," Mulder said, "but you tortured Angel." He took the cigarette out of Spike's slack hand, and took a drag.

Jeeze, it was true. Cigarette smoking was an evil habit.

"Oh, that was just a bit of fun to make him give me something back. Besides," and here Spike grew gloomy again, "Dru'd like being tortured. Odd girl." He glanced up at the television. "Hey! Where's Man U?"

Mulder sighed, and hit the recall button on the remote. Spike was too old and too violent to argue with.

"Shove over, you're in the best spot."

"Two beds, here," Mulder complained, but moved over under the sheet.

Spike reached for and grabbed the four pillows from the other bed, and propped himself against the headboard. He stretched luxuriously. "Fuck, if I hadn't forgotten how good a decent feed was."

"Fucking secret government projects," Mulder said. "It's just an excuse to torture sentient beings under the rubric of scientific experimentation."

"Too right, mate," Spike agreed. "Fucking ref! That was a foul!"

Mulder yawned and pushed his cigarette in his half-drunk beer. He leaned over and pitched the bottle in the wastepaper basket, and then lay back, eyes closed, under the mound of blankets.

Vampires got cold when they were sleeping.

 

"You don't get it," the souled vampire (vampire!) was saying to Scully. "It would be kinder to stake your partner. It's his body and his mind, but his soul is gone."

"Which is why I want your friend to put it back," Scully said patiently.

Angel thumped his coffee cup down on the desk so hard, that the handle came off in his fingers and cut his hand. "You don't get it. It's a miserable existence. He'll remember all of his victims and feel their pain. You'll get your friend back, but his body is cool to the touch. He has no heart beat. He won't age and you will. He'll go on and on, after you're gone."

Cordelia stood up and took him by the wrist. "Let me take care of that."

"I'm fine."

"You'll get blood on your pants." She led him out of the office.

"Whatever we do, we better do something," Krycek said.

Scully rounded on him. "What do you mean, we, kemo sabe? You don't get a vote."

Krycek held up a section of the newspaper. "Fine. You better do something, or Mulder'll kill every drug dealer in Hollywood." He shook the page. "Exsanguination, anyone?"

 

Spike wanted to go out and kill something. Since it couldn't be his natural prey, demons were just fine.

Mulder understood perfectly, he was just less enthusiastic.

"Come on, a little of the old ultra-violence," Spike urged,lacing up his boots.

"I'm getting dressed, aren't I?" Mulder said. He stood, jeans unzipped, flicking the remote control.

"Christ, you're worse---it's a big place, L.A., and we need to bugger off---"

Mulder gave him a wide, blank stare, and pointed at the television.

"What---bloody fuck. It's them."

On the hotel access channel, there was an ad for Wolfram & Hart's "specialized legal services."

"Write down the address on your arm or something," Spike said.

Mulder shook his head. "I'll remember it. I have a photographic memory." He pulled his shirt on and began buttoning it.

"Bet you were fun at parties," Spike said, pulling on his coat. He noticed that Mulder was still staring at the television screen. "Come on," he said, in a gentler tone of voice. "We'll go check 'em out. Use all that keen spy stuff you used to do,see if we can pick up any hint of Drusilla." He reached up and slung an arm around Mulder's neck. "C'mon. We'll locate her. I spent 'bout a hundred years with her. She won't leave while there's a full moon. Says it teases her."

Mulder let Spike give him a rough shake. "A hundred years," he said.

"Nah, don't be jealous. I should be jealous, now, shouldn't I? She didn't make you to be a minion. She made you to be a companion. Amount of blood you get ---sire's intent---if she hadn't tasted something worthwhile in you, she wouldn't've bothered and the lawyer's 'ud never known the difference." Spike gripped Mulder by the back of the neck and squeezed, hard. "None o' that fuckin' broodin', Christ, you can tell that your bloodline comes straight from Peaches!"

Mulder smiled, reluctantly. "I was a world class brooder when I was alive. Nothing to do with---you're talking about Angel again, right?"

Spike released him. "Yeah. Fuck, you're right. I do talk about him too much."

"I didn't say you talked about him too much, I'm interested. I just said you say you hate him, but yet---" Mulder turned aside to pull on his jacket so Spike wouldn't see him smirk.

"I still don't understand the soul bit," Spike said, loading his cigarettes and lighter into his coat pockets. "Puzzles me still. When young Marcus was stickin'hot pokers in him, thought I'd see somethin', thought I'd see if he'd lose the stink of the righteousness."

"Did he?" Mulder asked, scooping up the keys to the stolen Lexus.

They left the hotel suite, walked to the service elevator.

"Nothin'. Just a lot of screamin' and cursin'. Got to hand it to the old grand-sire, he would've gotten away from Marcus if I hadn't come back."

Spike sounded proud and pleased, and Mulder understood, and felt, irrationally, the same pleasure. He was their ancestor, after all: their demon, their blood.

"No," Spike said, not looking around.

Mulder glanced at him.

"Not lettin' him near you. He kills our kind. Killed Darla, killed the only other two he made 'sides Dru. Heard that he set Dru on fire."

Mulder felt himself go into gameface.

Spike nodded. "Right. I know. But we can't do anything 'less she says so. She plays rough with him, always has. She won't want us hurtin' her Daddy unless she's there to see it."

Mulder smoothed his face out. "You're the boss, Spike." They got out in the parking garage. "You need to eat?"

"I'm good, young 'un." Spike cuffed Mulder. "You drive, since you stole the car."

 

Scully had argued the Angel Investigations staff to a stand still. The vampire, himself, had put on his black Hugo Boss coat and stalked out, flaring it like he thought he was Batman. She saw Krycek grin appreciatively.

For an evil traitorous ratboy, he had his points.

Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn had decided to go home; but first, Wesley and Gunn had produced a length of titanium chain and padlocked Krycek in one of the hotel rooms. He could go to the bathroom and sleep, but not leave the room.

"No television?" Krycek asked, outraged. "That's un-American."

"There's still a Gideon Bible in the table," Cordelia said, unexpectedly. "Isn't it funny that Bibles don't affect vampires?"

"There you are, Krycek," Scully said.

"I don't even have clean underwear," Krycek groused. "This is against the Geneva convention for treatment of agents."

"But double agents aren't covered," Scully said.

Krycek looked like he wanted to argue, but Scully left him to his Bible reading.

"Captain Cranky hasn't really fixed up things," Cordelia said. "There's a room next door that's clean, but if any one else comes along, they'll have to dust their own room. Angel's usually pretty tidy for a guy. Or a vampire."

Scully pulled her carry-on bag as they went down the carpeted hall.

"I didn't know that you federal agents investigated demonic activity," Cordelia pursued.

Scully sighed. "Apparently I've been investigating it for years without knowing what it was. Mulder was the one. I was the sceptic."

"I was sceptical, too, until I started vampire hunting in high school," Cordelia said perkily. "Our mayor turned into a snake and tried to eat the senior class of '99 at graduation. It broadens the mind." She opened the door. "Well, have a good evening!"

Scully could think of nothing to say to this except good-night.

 

"We break in, go through their files," Mulder said. "There's always some poor computer geek at these big firms, up all night, stuck in the basement with his computer and his obsessions. Kill a security guard in front of him. Make him look up all the shit on vampire contractors. Find Drusilla."

He was looking at the GPS in the dash. Really, it was criminal, the years he'd spent in crappy rental cars, with crappy equipment, trying to uphold truth, justice, and the American Way. No doubt, evil was easier.

"Brilliant little gadget," Spike said, off his glance. "Up there with CD players and cigarette lighters. Last car I had was a fuckin' DeSoto." He opened up the console, and began rooting around inside. "Hey! Just what you've been moaning about. A gun."

"Good," Mulder says. "I know it's foolishly trendy of me, but I like having more than fists and fangs when I do some funky poaching." He looked down at the dash, and took a right turn across three lanes of furiously honking traffic. " But it's nice not to need the night vision goggles."

"Oh, you'll do all right," Spike said, stowing the gun in his waistband. "I know you have a gun. Don't give me that innocent look."

Mulder gave Spike a sidelong glance. "That's okay, right? A gun? I qualified second in my last class."

"I don't give a fuck if you have a flame-thrower, so long as you don't think it's going to kill a vampire. Sting a lot. Who was first in your class?"

Mulder grunted. "My partner---ex-partner. Scully."

Spike eyed him. "By the tone of your voice, Scully's a girl, huh?"

Despite himself, Mulder grinned.

 

Mulder looked up. "That's the building."

"See if we can park in the back."

"There is no back."

 

Scully was on her hands and knees under Cordelia's desk, plugging in her computer, when she heard Angel behind her. "What are you doing?" he asked,in that scarily normal voice. She did not hit her head on the desk, but she reversed out of the foot well with haste.

He couldn't have been taller than Mulder was--is--but he seemed so much larger, even though he was wearing the same kind of dark pants and sweater that Mulder did. Seemed bigger and scarier, because she knew he was a vampire, and she'd not seen Mulder, since she put him in a coffin.

"So, you don't sleep in a coffin?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "No," he said. "None of us do, except the girls in the demon brothel." He moved aside so Scully could get to her feet. "And that's just for----why are you down here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to check my e-mail," she said. "There's no phone in jack in my room."

"Well, it isn't a real hotel," Angel said. "I'm not set up for guests."

"So if it's Angel Investigations, why is Mr. Pryce the boss?"

Angel folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. "Why are you so intent on getting your partner his soul?"

"It's none of your business, why. Who are you to say I shouldn't?"

"Someone who's remembered every kill, every bit of evil I committed when I was without it. Do you want to have your partner suffer like that?" His voice was as cold and as cutting as any scalpel she ever held. "If you can't kill him, I understand. But one of us will do it for you."

Scully slammed her hand on the desk. "Mulder had a mission, and someone tried to cut it short or pervert it! I won't let that happen!"

Angel's posture changed, and he leaned against the desk beside her. "You're in love with him," he said, his voice low and dark. "That's no reason."

Scully flinched.

"Go back upstairs, Agent Scully, " Angel said, sitting down in the other chair. "I'll be here all night, in case you think you can riffle through Cordy's card file and find our contact. Or you may already have tried, and discovered that Cordelia has her own system." He added, under his breath, "One not known to anyone else."

With as much dignity as she could muster, Scully yanked out the phone line, wound it up, and went back upstairs with her laptop.

 

"Fuck," said Spike. "Looks like they have vampire detectors."

Mulder looked around at the security men with stakes. "You think?" he asked.

 

"What have you got, McArthur?" asked a woman behind Mulder.

He sniffed. Interest, excitement. He smelled the notes of Cognac and Alfred Sung and MAC lipstick.

"The vamp detectors went off, Miss Morgan. These two."

Mulder and Spike turned around.

The woman's eyes widened slightly. "I think these gentlemen may have come looking for Mr. McDonald," she said.

"Is Mr. McDonald in charge of Special Projects?" Mulder asked. "Because I was, apparently, one of them."

She wasn't looking at Mulder, though. He glanced at Spike, who, after tilting his head slightly, went into the default mode of getting out his Marlboros and Zippo. He bent his bland, blue gaze at Miss Morgan.

The woman's tongue flicked over her lips.

"So, you're....Spike. Tell me, do you think Angel is still mad at you for torturing him last year?"

Spike shrugged. "The poof c'n hold a grudge for quite a while."

(Mulder mouthed "Poof?" to himself.)

"How about you? Heard about Angel setting fire to Darla and Drusilla?"

Spike didn't blink. "Heard about him locking them in a wine cellar full o' lawyers. The girls must've had a fine old time."

The woman's pulse increased, her breathing grew a little ragged. "They did. I was one of them."

Spike cocked his head. "That's interestin'. Girls don't usually leave survivors. See, it's like Jello. Always room for more. Once any of us start, we don't stop until everyone's dead. So, girl," (and here, Mulder was reminded how very old Spike was) "who was it that thought you were special?"

"Drusilla."

"Ah," Spike said. He glanced at the security men. "Call off your cops. We can have a friendly discussion."

"All right. We can go to my office."

 

Scully heard the low murmur of voices, and got out of bed and opened the door a crack. Across the hall, she saw Angel leaning on the doorjamb of Krycek's room. They were having a conversation, with Krycek standing in the doorway, the chain stretched to the limit.

"-----it's not what the groupies call thrall," Angel was saying. "It's a simple addiction. It's a sex addiction, actually. Blood brothel clients get off on the danger and the physical sensation of being bitten. Most of them don't even have sex with the vampires. The bite is enough."

She saw Krycek raise his hand to his neck and touch what she knew was Mulder's bite scar. "Why don't the vampires kill them?"

"Pimps. If they were strong enough or smart enough, they could kill. It's a pecking order in other towns. If you don't have the strength or the age, you don't survive long. If you don't have the stomach for fighting or hunting, if you don't want to be a minion, then they become blood whores."

"In other towns?" Krycek asked.

Angel's tone was uncompromising. "This is my town. I kill them where I find them."

"But there is such a thing as thrall?" Krycek asked smoothly.

"More like hypnosis. One of my old family was very good at it." Without turning his head, Angel said, "Can I help you, Agent Scully?"

"So you kill vampires?" she asked, coming into the hall. "No questions asked?"

"I'll kill your friend if I find him," he said, and walked down the hall and the stairs.

Krycek and Scully exchanged a look. "Direct and to the point."

"Yeah," Scully said thoughtfully. "Funny, Krycek. How did he start talking to you?"

Krycek went back inside his room, dragging his chain. "Because I was trying to pull the toilet out of the wall. He told me to stop or he'd knock me unconscious."

Scully closed the door. She bent and looked at the padlock on Krycek's ankle shackle. "But something like this, shouldn't be a problem for an Russian double agent, should it?"

"Not if I had my picks," Krycek grinned.

"Good thing you don't," Scully said, straight-faced. She looked at him. "So, Mulder bit you to prove a point, you said. And he didn't kill you because he didn't like the taste?"

All the good humor was gone from Krycek's face. "He bit me because he knew I'd like it," Krycek said. "He knows I won't kill him, now."

"That makes two of us," Scully said. She reached in her pants pocket, and found a little leather case. "This was Mulder's," she said. She unzipped the case.

"Maybe you can give it back to him," Krycek said, taking the lock- picks.

 

Mulder didn't quite feel like a minion, but close enough. After years of holding up a badge and saying, "Fox Mulder. FBI," he was used to a certain amount of attention, damn it. But no, Lilah Morgan was completely focused on the more senior member of the Bloodline.

Mulder had interrogated a lot of people, and been around a lot of lawyers. He knew bluffs and bullshit. This woman didn't know where their Sire was. Drusilla was off the law firm's radar, apparently. Which was all to the good, he thought.

Did they learn nothing about their bloodline? That the older the sire, the quicker the fledge learned? Or did they think that Darla, woke up fully acute because she was Darla?

There was one guard, standing at unlistening attention beside Miss Morgan as she sat at her expensive sofa. But otherwise, they all, including Spike, ignored Mulder as he roamed around the office and fiddled with the computer.

Well, Spike was pretending to ignore Mulder. He was aware of every expression on Mulder's face. When Mulder looked up, and closed his eyes in a tiny gesture of negativity, Spike stopped the flow of Angelus stories and stood up.

"Well, it's been fun, but my boy here, and I, got to go," Spike said.

Mulder almost smiled to see the lawyer's eyes travel across his face in uncomprehension. She didn't realize who he was. Had been. Whatever.

Of course, some times he didn't realize who he was.

"I don't think so, gentlemen," Miss Morgan said. The guard raised his spring-loaded stake and pointed it at Spike.

Mulder was tremendously pleased that he could take a gun out of his pocket, aim, shoot, and kill much faster as a dead man.

Spike grinned at him. "I'm startin' to like you, young 'un."

 

Vampires must have super hearing, Scully decided. She dressed and packed up. This was an ability honed from years of fleeing towns with Mulder, usually with the local citizenry and law enforcement chasing them with torches. It was so sad that it wasn't hyperbole.

So she would go downstairs and try not to get, uh, bitten by the Vampire With A Soul while the one-armed man got out of the hotel, and hopefully, used some of his rat-like skills to find Mulder.

And keep him the hell out of Angel's way.

The guy was sitting at the lobby desk, reading the newspaper. Okay, did vampires need to sleep? Did vampires read the newspaper and watch television and play basketball? If Mulder got his soul back, would he be all gung-ho and want to be some kind of demonic detective?

If he did, would he be remorseful about the people he'd killed, or would he count them as victims of the Consortium?

Angel finally looked up. "So you're---what?" he asked, looking at the laptop.

"I still need to check in with my assistant director," she said calmly. "It has to be done through an encrypted e-mail. I let him know my location; if he doesn't hear from me---well, you don't want the Los Angeles regional office swarming in here, do you?"

Angel scowled, but waved her to the phone jack at the end of the marble counter. She opened her laptop, and plugged it in. He watched her closely, and she did check in with Skinner. For all she knew, his vampire hearing let him hear exactly what she typed.

"I got a phone call from Mulder before he left Washington," she said abruptly. "On my answering machine."

Angel gave her a sidelong look.

"He said he didn't want to see me, because vampires tended to want to eat those they loved," she said.

"Sounds like he loved you," Angel said neutrally.

"Yes, but---" Scully took a deep breath, shoved down the thought Mulder loves me! "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I told you. The demon is filtered through the personality of his victim. I don't know how to express it, except that it's like different ways of painting the same picture. An artist can paint impressions, or minutely accurately. It's a close imitation of life. Vampires can feel strong emotions. Love. Hate. Fear. But we're monsters." Suddenly, unexpectedly, Angel smiled, and Scully saw that he must be---must have been---about her age. "I guess that's not the most reassuring thing to say when you're alone with one."

"Well, you---" she didn't know what to say.

"Even if you succeeded, even if you did get your friend's soul, what life would it be?" Angel asked. "He's still a vampire. No sunlight. No being a partner to you. He's dead." He put his hand flat on the counter between them. "Feel my pulse."

She dropped her fingers over his wrist. His skin was normal looking, but cool and dry to the touch. "There isn't one, of course."

He moved his hand from hers. "And I'm warm right now because I've just drunk a pint of pig's blood. Warmed up pig's blood. My touch will be a lot colder, later tonight. So if you're thinking about a future with your friend, think about this touch. Cold. Dead."

Scully raised her eyes and met his. Apparently, she wasn't reacting, because he moved with frightening quickness she felt the chain of her gold necklace drawing taut against her neck.

"And you can't wear this if you kiss him or sleep with him," Angel said. There was a burnt smell, and he let go of her cross. He held his palm out to her.

A small red cross was branded on the pad of his thumb.

 

Scully swallowed. "I'll leave in the morning," she said.

Angel watched her, his eyes narrowed, as she unplugged and closed her computer and went upstairs.

Krycek's door was ajar, the links of chain slack.

Scully closed the door, and went on to her room.

 

It seemed that Miss Morgan couldn't decide whether to be more distressed over the death of the security guard or scandalized that vampires carried guns. Hard to tell from her smell.

Mulder really, really wanted to bite her. He didn't realize he was in game face until Spike waved him off. "We're gonna give you a bye, this time," Spike told the lawyer. "I'm gonna take your cell phone here. You call me if you got any decent offers, okay? Because I'm not here to take down Angel for you. Frankly, the big poof bores me."

Mulder had to give Miss Morgan credit. She raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow and said, "Very well. You may find our firm's services useful."

Spike slung his arm around Mulder's shoulder. "I already have," he said.

 

"This is a miserable game," Spike complained, sotto voce to Mulder. Looked like special hearing was part of the Vamp Bag o' tricks.

"You don't have to stay," Mulder muttered back.

"Well, hurry up and win," Spike said, lighting a cigarette. "Gonna be light soon."

Mulder was in a pick-up game of horse at the hotel half-court. Only in LA. Spike lounged beside the exit door, looking so much like a scary bastard that the ad execs and middle-aged yuppies didn't dare say anything about second-hand smoke. Jesus. All the times he'd had to go to Los Angeles when he was alive, and he never knew of hotels with ball courts. His life had sucked.

Mulder put on a burst of speed, and got the basket.

"Game," said one of the guys standing around.

Mulder loped off the court and collected his money. Spike was watching him with an unreadable expression as Mulder grabbed his towel. At Mulder's look, Spike crossed the gym, uncaring about the scuffs his Docs made on the polished wood.

In the elevator, Spike shook his head. "I dunno. Vampires playing basketball? 'S not right."

"Says who?" Mulder asked. "It's indoors. I didn't know vampires ate junk food and watched Passions." He gave Spike a bland look. "Besides, I got five hundred dollars from those guys."

Spike rolled his eyes. "If you put on one o' them games when we get back to the room, I'll clock you."

Mulder yawned, and Spike gave him a tolerant look. "You're still a fledge. I keep forgettin'. Best thing to have at this time of night is a full belly and a safe place to sleep. We got that, so we can start up again tomorrow."

Mulder thought that it was, actually, tomorrow,already, so they'd be starting today, but he knew to say so would be both needlessly pedantic and violently irritating to Spike.

He thought of something. "Did you get enough from that one guy?" he asked, as the doors opened to their floor. "There must be a way to get rid of that chip."

Spike shook his head. "Tried, once. Didn't work out." He swiped the room card and they went inside.

Mulder headed off to the shower. Behind him, he heard the television come on, and the words, "Beckham has the ball!"

He shook his head.

 

Scully woke up to find Angel's hand on her shoulder. "Agent Scully, Krycek's gone."

"What?" she said, startled. "I thought you needed an invitation?"

"Hotel room, " Angel said. "I didn't hear anything and went in----"

"But this isn't a hotel, you said," she pursued, sitting up. Okay, he was scary. She looked at her wrist. "Oh, shit, nine?"

"It's not your residence," Angel said. "Never mind the 'Vampires for Dummies,' your prisoner's gone."

"Well, shit. Those chains were supposed to hold him." Scully shoved back the bedcovers, and Angel turned around. "I guess you're not set up for Russian spies," she said in a tone that would have gotten Mulder's hackles up.

Apparently it worked on vampires, too; Angel said, nastily, "We're not set up for anything. We're investigators. You're the federal government."

Scully didn't bother with a robe, as she was wearing a tee shirt and pajama pants. She shoved her feet into her loafers and followed him into the hall.

Where they ran into Cordelia, standing there with a cardboard tray of coffees.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" she asked, her eyebrows peaking. "I didn't know you did wake-up calls."

It was impossible for Scully to tell if Cordelia was joking or not; Angel looked pissed-off.

"The one-armed guy escaped," he said shortly.

"Well, maybe he has to go find out who killed his wife," Cordelia said. "Agent Scully, do you want one of these? Certain people keep forgetting to buy coffee."

"Thanks," Scully said, and went through the open door.

The chain was lying, snake-like, still attached to the toilet; the padlock clicked shut.

Good for you, rat boy, Scully thought.

 

With all the accusations and counter-accusations flying between Wesley, Gunn and Angel, Cordelia and Scully were able to go around the corner to a perfectly nice coffee shop and have bagels and designer coffee.

"They're such a bunch of idiots, sometimes," Cordelia said dismissively. The guys had forgotten that they were arguing over the ease of picking a lock with one hand, and had been snarling about who had screamed like a girl and dropped his sword when his cell phone went off in the sewer. "When, obviously, you let him out."

"No, I didn't. I couldn't have." Scully was at her blandest.

"Whatever," Cordelia said, sipping her coffee, and admiring her feet in new sandals. "He's gone to warn your Mulder while you go to Sunnydale to find Willow----oh, shit."

"A witch named Willow," Scully said, not betraying any triumph. "Class of Sunnydale High, 1999."

"Rosenberg," Cordelia sighed. "At the Magic Box magic shop. Downtown." She sat back and crossed her ankles. "Oh, well. I guess having two souled vampires walking around wouldn't be such a bad thing. I hope yours won't be as big a dork as mine is."

"Yours?" Scully asked, getting her car keys out.

"It's a figure of speech. I'm his Vision Girl. I see people in trouble---and have hideous migraine headaches---and he goes out and saves them. With Wesley and Gunn."

Scully frowned at her. "Have you had your headaches checked out? Because you could have any number of cerebral dysfunctions."

"Yes. I've been scanned, shot with dye, whatever. I don't have anything organically wrong." Cordelia gave her a sharp look. "So you're a doctor?"

"I'm a pathologist," Scully replied.

"Well, that's perfect, since your guy is the living dead and all."

 

Spike picked up one of Mulder's basketball shoes and pitched it at him. Mulder caught it just before it hit him, grinning.

"Were you always this pathetic? I've been in tidier crypts."

"Pretty much," Mulder allowed. He was holding an electric shaver, since he still kept trying to look in the mirror and shave. "How did you guys do this, back in the day, with straight razors?"

Spike grunted. "Had someone else do it for you," he said. "Any trouble with the body? I forgot to ask earlier."

"Naah," Mulder said. "It's in the trunk of the other car. Since he had this suite on his credit card, no one will think to cancel it or look for him for a while. Most big dealers go off the map periodically, anyway. By the time they find his body, the exsanguination won't show up and they'll think he was garrotted, due to the snapped hyoid bone. And we've got the car and the cash and the guns." He dropped a soft-sided computer bag on the bed beside Spike.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, and unzipped the bag. There were stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"Non-sequential numbers, too," Mulder offered. "Could be counterfeit, but they're really good ones." He put the shaver down on the night table, and pulled back the bed clothes, yawning. "God, I'm dead. Deader."

"Go to sleep," Spike said, counting the money with a satisfied expression."Dru's gonna be really pleased with you. If you hate your name so much, though, don't tell her what it is. She's always liked foxes." Spike shoved the money back into the bag. "Never cared for 'em, myself." He nudged Mulder with his elbow.

Mulder smiled as he was falling asleep.

 

The Hyperion was still shimmering, faintly, from the heat of the masculine temper tantrums, when Scully wheeled her carry-on bag to the rental car, and left. Angel had gone back upstairs, presumably to sleep like the dead, and Wesley and Gunn were drinking coffee and arguing amiably over what sounded like the best deposal of demon bodies.

"Good luck," Cordelia said enigmatically. It was an unspoken agreement that her slip would be unmentioned.

Cordelia waited until the FBI woman left, then began Googling.

"Hey, guys, wasn't her partner's name Fox Mulder?" she asked presently.

"Yep," said Gunn. "Why?"

"Oh, he's on the memorial page of the FBI website. Killed in the line of duty in Washington State. Hey, he's good looking. No wonder she's obsessed." She turned the laptop so the men could see it.

"Shit," Angel said from the doorway. "That's the guy I saw with Spike, the other night. The one that---"

"The one that put the garbage can on your head," Gunn said, "and knocked me down on the getaway."

Wesley looked up. "If Spike has a minion---"

"He's not a minion," Angel said, "he's blood. My blood. Darla or Drusilla made him."

"Which means he's a lot more dangerous than Agent Scully realizes."

 

Just to make Lilah Morgan crazy, they called her from the Wolfram & Hart parking deck. It was Mulder's idea, of course; deep-seated paranoia was one of the things that was still in his personality.

"See, if they're tracking the call to find us, it'll the track won't seem to register, when it's showing that the caller and sender are essentially at the same place. They won't think we're that fucking crazy," Mulder said. "Good thing they don't know about your chip. It's possible that there's some technology that controls it."

Spike reflectively felt the back of his head. "I wouldn't be surprised, but the government shut down the operation. There were about twenty of us that got out."

"If I was in DC, I'd get my friends to hack into the system and see what they could find out about the program. We could still do that. They're the types that could be very useful."

"Okay, if we're ever there, we'll just turn 'em."

Mulder shook his head regretfully. "No way they'd even let me in the door. Alien shape-shifter imitated me once. Then there's the clones."

"I think your alien was a K'daish demon," Spike said, popping in the cigarette lighter. "They can take on the form of humans. Like Plastic Man or something."

"Do they have tails?" Mulder asked, interested, but then the receptionist put them through.

"Lilah Morgan," the voice said from the cell phone.

"Hullo, pet," Spike said smoothly. He listened to the lawyer talking.

Mulder settled back against the passenger door and began to go through the contents of the glove compartment. He didn't think that the lawyers really communicated with the senior partners as much as they liked to pretend. Too many offices in too many cities, and only the three demons on the letterhead.

Granted, they were major demonic presences. Mulder wondered if they were- or one of them---was in charge of the entities that the Consortium thought were space aliens. That would be pretty funny. Demons shaking down an international cartel.

Spike put his hand over the cell. "She doesn't have a clue," he said. "It's all blah blah take down Angel and we'll see."

"Fuck her, then," Mulder said, sniffing at a bag of weed. "We'll do what we've been doing. Put the fear o' God in the locals."

"Gotta go, Lilah, but keep up the moisturizing," Spike said, and shut the phone. "All right, let's go to the bar the old man goes to. Ask the green guy." As he drove through the parking garage, he said, "Empath demon. Be thinking of something to sing." He looked over at Mulder. "Something short. "

"Sing," Mulder said. "At a bar?"

"Karoke," Spike said. "Stop grinning. You're doing it, not me. 'Sides, I'm curious to hear what he says about you. The Host, he's called. It's a non-violent place, so we need to eat first."

No sooner did he say that, than Mulder opened the door of the Lexus, knocking out a woman lawyer going to her car. Spike backed up, Mulder scooped her in, and they drove out of the parking deck through the barricade. Spike drove to an alley, grinning. "I'm glad you don't like lawyers."

 

It seemed such a nice, neat place to be, Sunnydale, Scully thought. Beach front on the west, mountain view to the east. Quaint, mission- style buildings, all red tile roofs and Craftsman houses. Too bad about the Hellmouth.

She pulled up beside the Magic Box, and got out. It was still open, thank goodness. She opened the door, and looked around. Nice, new agey place; there was a low, round table in the recessed floor, and around it were a black haired young man, an older man with glasses, two blonde girls, and a redheaded girl.

"Can I help you?" chirped one of the blonde girls. "We have a special on chicken feet."

"To eat?" Scully asked. Good god, she was channeling Mulder. She took out her badge. "I'm Dana Scully, FBI. I'm looking for a Willow Rosenberg."

The red-haired girl made a sound that seemed to be "eep." The young man said, "Aw, Will, I told you and told you that internet porn wasn't a good idea."

The older man stood up, putting on a pair of glasses. "May I ask why the federal government is interested in Willow?"

"Sure," Scully said. "The government being, right now, me." She looked at them all. "I hear that Willow Rosenberg can ensoul vampires."

"Is that illegal?" the redhead asked. "And isn't there, like, a two year statute of limitations on...vampire...ensouling? Hey, wait."

"It's not illegal," Scully said blandly. "I have a vampire. I want his soul back."

 

The red headed witch was itching to try it. Itching to try the spell again. Scully could smell it like the odor of the Earl Grey in the Watcher's teapot. Watcher. Slayer. Vampires...all new information that the Gunmen were discovering for her and e-mailing to her.

"If Angel finds your friend in Los Angeles, he'll kill him," Mr. Giles told her. "That's what he does."

"Yeah, he told me," Scully said. "Mulder won't go near him. Mulder tends to know these things." She held up her hand. "Yeah, I get it. Demon in his body. Demon in his personality. But the demon knows what Mulder knows, and Mulder will know." She got out her credit card. "I'll buy the materials. I'll compensate Miss Rosenberg for her time."

"Let's talk about that compensation," said the blonde clerk.

"Anya!" Mr. Giles snapped.

"Let's talk about it," Scully said smoothly. She tapped the Platinum card on the counter. "Top dollar consultant's fee. And the ingredients and the use of the shop."

Mr. Giles' eyes flicked.

Got you, Scully thought.

 

Spike was singing "Anarchy in the UK" and Mulder was sitting next to a green skinned demon.

He was wildly happy. A demon bar---he felt like he supposed Frohike would feel if he had found D.B. Cooper, or, Oliver Stone finding film footage of the JFK assassination from the viewpoint of the grassy knoll.

"I don't have to listen to you, cowboy," said the demon, called The Ho"I can read you right now."

"Supposed to be reading him," Mulder said, tossing peanuts into his mouth. He chewed, and said, "Read him."

"I already have more information on Mr. Spikalicious than he wants to hear, sweetheart. He has an interesting set of choices he's going to make, soon. You won't be one of the selections."

Mulder turned his full attention to the Host. "What do you mean? We won't find our sire?"

"You won't find her together. You're going on a different path, but he'll be on it sooner than he thinks."

Mulder brushed the salt from his palms. "Spike's not going to be hanging with me?" he said, surprised at the panic he felt. "We separate?"

"You're not going to be alone," the Host said, patting him on the arm. "Don't worry. He's going to leave you in good hands." He got up and went to the stage. "Let's hear it for Spike, also known as William the Bloody, and we're glad he took some time off from terrorizing Sunnydale to be here with us tonight! Now, this is going to be a twofer, because we have another vamp coming up---straight from DC, it's Mulder, the pretty darned bloody!"

Mulder cleared his throat. The beat started. "Went to a party at the county jail---"

 

"You've been---and believe me, I don't use the word lightly---broody all night. What did Greenie say to you?" Spike was sitting on the balcony of their new hotel, flicking his lighter.

Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets. It never occurred to him to not tell Spike the truth. "That we're gonna separate. That I may see you again, that our future may be very similar, that we're ultimately going to have our heart's desires, but probably not together."

"Well, hell. He said about the same thing to me, but these empath types, they're never straightforward. Well, sometimes. If it's something you can do, he'll tell you. He didn't tell you---no?"

Mulder had started shaking his head, not looking at Spike.

"No need to get down in the mouth, old son. You're smarter than most fledges I've met---hell, you're smarter than all the fledges I've made, put together."

Mulder dragged his shirt cuff under his nose.

"What did he say to you while I was singin'?"

"He said you'd leave me in good hands." Mulder, without looking, could tell that Spike was frowning over that.

"Don't know about that. Don't know who I'd leave you with." The click of Spike's lighter and the hiss of a cigarette being lit. "Here," Spike said, offering a cigarette.

Mulder's hand was unsteady as he took it. Spike punched him on the arm. "Hey, none o' that broody shit. Reminds me of you know who."

Mulder exhaled smoke. "Grandfather."

Spike laughed. "Yeah, and I only wish he could hear it."

 

The Host pretended to duck behind the bar. "No, no, Angelface, it's been a long night and this crowd is definitely not in the mood for the song stylings of Mr. Manilow." He flicked a glance at his security demon.

Angel held his hands up. "I just want to know if Spike's been here, with another vampire."

"Spike? Yummy name." The Host took a sip of his seabreeze.

"Billy Idol-looking guy," Cordelia said, sailing up. "I don't see him, Angel."

"He was here, but he's gone. Seems like your bad dog's got a collar, now, Cordon Bleu. He can't hurt people; can't even threaten them, without getting a zap to the noggin."

Angel audibly ground his teeth. Again. "He can get other vampires to kill for him," he said. "Did he have a dark haired---thanks, Cordy." Cordelia handed him a print-out of Mulder's picture from the website.

The Host took it gingerly. "My, this boy looks good in Armani." He handed the picture back to Cordelia. "Relax, pumpkin, you won't have to go looking for him. He's going to land in your, uh, lap sooner than you think."

"My lap ?" Angel scowled.

"Metaphorically, darlin', metaphorically." The Host turned to Cordelia and smiled winningly. "How do you put up with this big galoot?"

"I only wish I knew," Cordelia said, and tugged at Angel's sleeve. "He's not here, so let's go, 'kay?"

"Mulder's killing people," Angel said, glaring into the Host's red eyes. "He's doing it to feed Spike."

The Host sat back on his bar stool, finickily arranging the crease in his trousers. Cordelia watched the folds of couture wistfully. "Depends on your definition of people, sweetie. I personally don't think a man who orders his thugs to murder policemen, and kills kids for not paying enough tribute money, is human. My! Aren't you making me all serious tonight!"

Cordelia looked at her watch, pointedly. "Krycek said he was killing drug dealers, Angel, remember. He still thinks he's a fed. And if you don't hurry up, I'll have to drive and you'll have to be under the blanket, again."

Angel looked around the nightclub, which was still moderately full, and then seemed to consult an inner barometer. "Oh, all right." He gave the Host a medium-level, narrowed-left-eye glare, and then stalked to the exit, black coat swirling.

"Such a drama queen," Cordelia sighed, hitching the strap of her purse higher. "See ya later." She threaded her way through the drinking crowd to the stairs. "My hero," she said to Angel, and took his arm, steering him out.

 

Spike gripped Mulder by the back of the neck. "C'mere," he said, and made Mulder look him in the eye. "Look, I'm not gonna leave you. Not unless I have to. This shit you heard---could be years from now. Stop worrying."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Mulder said, blinking. "I'm a rookie vampire."

"Well, I just said you were smart, didn't I?" Spike shook Mulder like a puppy. "Startin' to change my mind." He shoved Mulder back into the hotel room. "You're not gonna go out for a walk in the sun or something stupid like that? No sense getting upset before it happens."

"No," Mulder sniffed. He pulled the balcony doors closed, and the curtains over them, before getting in bed.

"You're a good boy," Spike said. "Sun's coming up. Go to sleep."

Mulder closed his eyes, his head on Spike's shoulder.

 

"The high school just blew up," Scully said, incredulously. "You people do understand that I'm not with the ATF?"

"It's a sister agency, and I don't know what you're talking about," Willow said. She was unpacking a Fed Ex parcel.

"We charge double plus the shipping on rare items," Anya said. "I don't want any arguments after the bill. I know these people, spells cast this way and that and no one paying for the ingredients."

"You'll get your money," Scully said. She tapped her credit card on the counter.

"Princess Leia in the original Star Wars," the young man, Xander Harris, said, walking in behind her. "Aren't you done, yet, Will? Double feature down the street, and you know how much you love Leonard Nimoy!"

"As, er, we all do," Giles said. "Willow, you feel quite sure you're up to it?"

"Sure, Giles, really. It won't take nearly as long, either."

Xander shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. "You know, I'm still not liking the magic stuff. I think I'll beat a cowardly retreat to the Espresso Pump, and take the little lady with me. That's you, Anya."

"Ooh! But no. I have to prepare the invoice."

Giles stepped in, with the apparent ease of long practice. "No, no, you've done enough. I'll, er, charge overtime."

"All righty then!" The bells over the door jangled twice, and Giles locked it, before lowering the blind over the display window. Anya's voice was interestingly clear through the glass, as they went past it. "Then you can give me many orgasms."

Giles turned, and Scully raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not paying for that overtime."

 

"What is this supposed to do?" Spike asked, amused.

"Supposed to tell us what my ex-partner is doing," Mulder replied. He clapped a friendly hand on Krycek's shoulder. "That's right, isn't it, Krycek? Why you came all the way out here?"

"I came out here in a handcuff," Krycek said. "Nice to see you, too. Your ex...partner is here in Los Angeles. She's looking for a way to put your soul back in you."

"Bugger all," Spike said. "How do you know?"

"She's the one who dragged me here," Krycek said. "She was very persuasive."

"Quelle surprise," Mulder said.

Spike stared at him. "You speak French?" he asked.

"Uh, no, I was quoting from 'Oscar.' The movie," Mulder grinned.

"Too bad. There's a demon brothel here where they all speak French. I'm not gonna be translatin' for you. What d'you---" Spike blinked. "That's a vamp mark on you. Now, isn't that touchin'?"

"He's got the black oil in his blood," Mulder said, his hand still on Krycek's shoulder. "Makes it taste off."

"So you just bit him enough to make him like it?" Spike asked, lighting up.

They were sitting in a large Downtown bar, perilously close to Grandfather's domain, but Spike had decided that Angel was too egomaniacal to suspect they were within a couple of miles of him. Spike was wearing Italian summer-weight wool, because the last Bolivian trafficker they'd eaten was his size, and had a couple of Louis Vuitton suitcases of bespoke tailoring. Mulder, on the other hand, had had enough of suits for a while. He was starting to feel that wearing a belt was being unnecessarily frivolous. He looked up from his whiskey to see Krycek absent-mindedly touching his bite mark.

"Yes, I did like it," Krycek said coolly. "It's the least Mulder could have done, after he made me lose my wanking arm."

Spike looked over at him, blue eyes glittering. "Be careful. I've eaten a lot of spoiled food in my time." He looked at Mulder. "Don't worry, old son, if you think he's useful, I'll hold back." Krycek looked from one to the other, his sharp eyes as green as the Tangueray bottle behind the bar.

Mulder stepped off the bar stool. "Are you still hungry? Because there's some dealers here that I like the look of." He could feel Krycek's start of surprise.

"No, I'm good. You go eat." Spike signalled the bartender. "Krycek and I'll have a chat. "What languages do you speak, besides English and Russian, Krycek?"

"Italian. German. Spanish. Some Portuguese." Mulder laughed, and slapped his good arm, in a creepily cheerful gesture.

"E mi dicono interamente circa Mulder, sì?"

Krycek swallowed, as Mulder disappeared with the ease of a chameleon into the crowd. "Si," he said.

 

Wesley hung up the telephone. "No one's seen Spike or Mulder. The shop telephone is on voice mail, and Giles doesn't answer his home number."

Cordelia flicked open a magazine. "Stop pacing, Angel, or go pace somewhere besides the office. Gah! I almost wish I had a vision!" She looked up at the ceiling. "Just kidding. Not really."

Wesley drew his book towards him and settled back into his chair. Angel stopped in the doorway, looking inconsolable and tragic. Cordelia frowned at him.

"Angel, it's not as though I did have a vision. Besides, Willow may not be able to work her witchy ways, and then you can go out and kill him with a good conscience. I'm sure you won't need more than your usual time to heal."

"I wouldn't have a bad conscience now, " Angel said. "Heal from what?"

Wesley said, without looking up, "From the large holes that Agent Scully would shoot in your torso, should she return to find out you've dusted, er, Mulder."

"How would she find out?" Angel asked, spreading his arms out.

"Angel, surely you don't suggest that I lie to a federal agent?" Wesley asked.

"Why not? What the hell is she gonna say in a report?"

"She still has a gun. A couple of guns," Cordelia said. "Come on. We'll go out, drive around. Maybe we'll see them. Maybe you can kill something and unbunch your shorts." She picked up her purse and put the strap over her head.

Angel pulled his coat off the hook. "My shorts are not in a bunch," he grumbled, leading the way out.

"The quality of discourse in this office continues at its high standard," Wesley said to Cordelia, turning a page.

She stuck her tongue out at him, as he studiously refused to look up.

 

"Not to brag, but I think I have this whole re-soulin' thing down, now," Willow confided to Scully. "Hey! Like, like a cobbler. Not the apple-y kind, although, ooh, I like peaches."

Years of being around Mulder had inured Scully to non-linear conversation. "But there would be confusion if you put that in the yellow pages," she said. "People would keep bringing you shoes."

In her head, Scully heard Mulder's voice. "Sounds like the joke about the mohel who put watches in his shop window. A customer comes in and wants his watch repaired. The mohel says that he only does the ritual circumcision. Customer wants to know why there's watches in the window. 'So what should I put there?' Oh, come on, Scully. Lighten up."

She looked up to see the proprietor of the Magic Box rubbing his glasses with a handkerchief, as if a genie would appear.

"I'm, ah, ready if you are, Willow."

"Piece of cake. Or cobbler," Willow said, putting down the glass ball---Orb---and raising her hands over her head.

 

Angel stalked back in the Hyperion, dripping green goo. To the uninformed, he looked as gloomy as when he left.

Wesley was not among the uninformed, and he said, cheerily, "So, feel better?"

Angel shrugged and went up the stairs, leaving a thin green trail of slime droppings as he went.

Cordelia was several beats behind him, her nose wrinkling as she tried not to laugh. "Where'd Tall Dark and Miserable go? Upstairs? Good." She set her purse on the counter, just as the faint sound of a door slamming came to them. "Oh, Wes, it was a Kodak moment. I mean, it was--"

"I know what a Kodak moment is, Cordelia. I did live in the twentieth century."

"Whoa, there, cut back on the bran muffins, okay? Angel thought he was saving a woman from a demon, and turns out she was mugging him. The demon. She was a demon, too. Hence the goo---and we should so get a garden hose for these little moments. I had to drive back and boy, is he bitchy when you cut the corners in that land yacht of his."

"But no sign of Spike, or Mulder? Or even a Russian triple-agent?" Wesley asked, with elaborate patience.

"Nothing. I think he was smelling for them. And can I just say, ew?"

The phone rang. "Angel Investig---why are you calling, Angel? No, Wesley and I were just stacking up the piles of money we've been--- hey, if you want me to do you a favor you'd---Ha! Okay, coming up." She hung up the phone. "He can't get his shirt off, the demon snot is sticking to him. He needs acetone."

"Nail polish remover," Wesley said. He picked up his pen.

"Oh," Cordelia said. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged around in it. "Here, you take it."

"But if I take it, you'll lose additional chances to mock him."

"Oh, you're right. Great!"

 

Spike, Mulder, and Krycek were slamming Stolis at a little club that was demon-friendly. Alcohol made Mulder friendly, and he kept flinging his arm around the necks of both the other men, but he was actually calmer than Krycek had ever seen him. Apparently, he liked being dead.

"I didn't know vampires could get drunk," Krycek said to Spike. Although the techno music was very loud, both the undead heard everything he said.

Spike peeled the plastic off another packet of Marlboros with one black-painted nail. "Sure," he shouted, for the benefit of Krycek's human hearing. "Don't last as long, but we get drunk. Get high. Get laid. Oh, that's right, you know that."

Mulder raised his head and grinned at the other vampire. "Nah."

"Maybe he wants to find out," Spike said, clicking open a Zippo and lighting up.

"Depends. Do you eat after mating, like a praying mantis?" Krycek asked, turned on but wary.

"Not half the time," Spike said, soothingly. He ran a cool slim hand over Krycek's maimed arm. "Never had a bloke with one arm, before. Kinky."

"You think something's kinky?" Mulder snorted.

"Well, I've made men amputees, before," Spike said. "Or they'd have been if they'd lived."

"Shit, you really know how to come on to a guy," Krycek said.

Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and stepped closer. "Yeah, but you like that stuff," he said, suddenly unsmiling. "Oh, yeah, Peaches, you do."

And Krycek realized two things. First, that Spike was, indeed, a very old, immortal being; and second, that he very much wanted Spike to fuck him.

Mulder smiled. "See? It's all good. And we happen to have a nice new hotel room waiting for us, Alex." He nudged Krycek's hip. "Hi-def television. Pay-per-view porn."

Spike dropped some bills on the bar. "Let's go, then, children."

It was in the parking lot, next to a big shiny Mercedes, that Mulder staggered, and fell to his knees.

"Something's happened to me," he said, holding his chest. "God, it...hurts."

Spike stopped dead, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, Christ, I know that smell. Oh, bollocks."

 

"What did you do?" Mulder asked Krycek, furious, tears trembling on his long eyelashes. He was walking back and forth on the expensive carpet of the hotel suite, arms around his middle like a junkie with a jones.

Spike lit up a cigarette and passed the pack to Krycek. "He didn't," he said. "Remember, he said your Scully girl was down in Sunnydale, hirin' the Slayer's pal to re-soul you. Tricky spell, though. Took the witch a couple of tries to fix up the old man. I tried to get her to do a love spell, and she couldn't do it."

"I wouldn't think a spell would be effective that far away," Krycek said, blowing a cloud of smoke. "So, what's it like---what's the difference?"

"I---I feel guilty and I don't know why," Mulder said, stopping at the bar and uncapping a bottle of bourbon. "Like something terrible's happening."

"So, are you upset about all the people you ate?" Spike asked,fingers of one hand inside his waistband. Krycek couldn't stop watching him. A dead man, and he was more alive than anyone Krycek had ever met.

"No, they were scum," Mulder said. "They tormented me and my friends for years. They killed people. And the drug dealers? Less than scum."

Spike was shaking his head. "Yeah, but I've been around Angel. You'll want to rescue...puppies... you won't like goin' huntin' with me." He nodded at Krycek. "He's gonna be more evil than you."

"Well, yeah," Krycek said. "Always was."

"I hate this," Mulder said. "This is unfair. I liked not having a conscience."

"Yeah, see, and it'll start to eat at you and it'll all end in misery," Spike said. "Just like the old man."

Krycek, said, uncomfortable, "Apparently, there's a catch. If you have one moment of perfect happiness, where you forget you're not a demon, you lose your soul."

"No worries there, " Mulder said, and flung his glass at the wall.

"Gotta take you to him," Spike said, sitting up straight. "Hm. Must be what old Greenie was yammering about."

"Angel, you mean? Why?" Krycek asked.

Spike held up three fingers. "One, 'cause he's got a soul and manages to muddle through. Two, runs some kind of detective agency and our boy here knows all that stuff cold. Shut up, Mulder. Three---no, I'm not arguin'. Three, because I know you won't let the old sod dust our Dru, if he finds her before I do."

To Krycek's horror, Mulder had big tears running down his face, like a little boy's.

"No!" Mulder glared, wiping his shirt sleeve across his face.

Spike looked like he was going to clock Mulder, but he sat back with his cigarette. "Yeah, because you're all souled-up now. I can feel it. And things will go to hell. You won't wanna keep me in blood." He cocked an eye at Krycek. "You don't have problems killin' the odd bloke, d'you? I may have a job openin'."

"It's not funny!" Mulder said, turning around.

Spike was on him in a moment, holding Mulder's head between his hands. "Calm down, boy, I'm not sayin' you'd turn on me, no, but I can't let you near my princess now. The soul'll frighten her, she had enough o' that with Peaches. Like a regular hokey-pokey the old man is, unsouled and souled and not and back again. It seems to have stuck with him for now, and he won't do anything to you, with your soul."

"Shit, he'll tear my head off," Mulder said. "I don't want to go any where near him, the bastard. Spike, he set Her---Drusilla--- on fire. And his own sire!" He had his hands on Spike's wrists, but wasn't trying to get free.

"Yeah, but like I told you before, they play rough, always have." He let Mulder go, and retrieved his cigarette from the ashtray into which he'd thrown it. "'Sides, think she's headed back to Sunnydale and the Hellmouth. Best place she can go, to heal up quicker." Spike squinted up at the ceiling through his smoke. "Or Cleveland." He looked at Krycek. "What do you think, spyboy?"

Krycek blinked. "I don't really know anything about Hellmouths. The consortium completely misrepresented demonic activity as extra- terrestrial rather than indigenous----" at Spike's impatient look, he stopped. "I don't think Angel'll kill him. Not with a soul. Probably be jealous, though."

Spike gave a short bark of laughter. "Didn't think about that, but yeah. Damn, I'd almost like to see it."

"He didn't think Scully would be able to get it done," Krycek said. "In fact, he thought he was talking her out of it."

"Yeah, right. Angel always thinks that everyone's gonna mind, once he lays down the law." Spike got up and started collecting cigarettes, ashtray, and liquor bottles and stuffing them in a very nice leather messenger bag. "So, I'll be big about it and drop you where you want to go, Spy boy. We'll take Mulder to the hotel, so get your stuff together, Mulder, I don't want to beat the shit outta you. Matter of fact, I probably should mark you up so Angel doesn't get suspicious."

"Fine," Mulder said, sitting down on the bed, head hanging dejectedly.

"Don't be like that, young 'un. We had some fun, but we need to get out and on the road." Spike pulled out an automatic pistol. "Here, take your little pop gun. Like I told you, it won't kill a vampire, but if you shoot the poof in the chest, it'll stop him long enough to listen to you."

"Fuck," Mulder said, swiping his face with his sleeve again.

"Where do you wanna go?" Spike said, congenially, to Krycek.

"Airport, I guess, eventually. I have my return ticket. But if you drop me off at the hotel, too, I have some people I can go see. Consortium types. Might be fun, if you want to come with, Spike."

Mulder didn't even look up.

 

"See, he just looks stupid, but he isn't. Don't tell 'im I said so," Spike said, driving expertly through the downtown traffic. "He just takes a while."

"Jesus, you make Angel sound like he's retarded," Krycek said, involuntarily. "He seemed quick enough, when I was chained up in his spare room."

Spike looked over his shoulder, his face creased in amusement. "You got away from him, didn't you? He'll figure out how your Scully double-crossed him. Eventually." He flicked a cigarette out the window.

Your Scully. For some reason, Krycek liked the sound of that.

Maybe he'd stick around, see how the FBI reunion went.

Mulder sat in the front seat, his bruised face turned so he could watch Spike. Krycek had watched Spike beat Mulder down to the floor, and saw Mulder get up, perfectly pleased with his foster-sire's attention to detail.

"What's so funny, Krycek?" Spike said, menacingly, Mr. Multiple Personality Disorder. Krycek could see why Spike had no entourage of minions---he probably went through them like tissues.

Krycek raised his eyebrows, ingenious. "I was just laughing at how Mulder minds you. 'Oh, yeah, beat me, Spike, that's fine.' Wish the A. D. could see him, all docile and obedient."

"Skinner didn't have the luxury of being able to strap me to the shower head and beat the shit out of me if I didn't pay attention," Mulder said. "At least not, the way a vampire can beat the shit out of another vampire."

"This Skinner your old boss, then?" Spike asked, turning across two lanes of traffic. "You caused him trouble, argued, ignored his advice?"

"More or less," Mulder said. "Good times."

"Well, just act like that towards Angel. He's used to it. What?" that last directed at Krycek.

"You beat the shit out of Mulder all the time?"

"Nah, he just knows I could and would." Spike looked over at Mulder. "Peaches just might. I don't know what he'll think of doing. He didn't have a soul when he was fledgin' me."

"Is that what you call it?" Mulder asked, grinning.

Spike hit him on the back of his head.

 

Scully sat in the traffic tie up, her cell phone dark and silent on the seat beside her. She'd been so sure that Mulder would call her when he got his soul. She sighed.

She wouldn't get to LA for hours.

 

Mulder sat in the car, looking at the hotel, across the street. He was frightened. Hell, he'd rather stay with Krycek, than go see the old man.

On the other hand, if your soul was kind of shopworn and ragged and depressed to begin with, maybe it didn't work the way Angel's had, what with the moping and the dusting other vamps.

"Listen, if you really can't stand it, Willy's Bar in Sunnydale'll get a message to me," said Spike. Only another vampire could have picked up the faint undertone of concern in his voice. Mulder felt happier. "But I have faith in you, young'un. Angel's never had another vamp with a soul, someone he can't scare. The one thing he won't do is kill you. I don't think he even tortures anyone. Which is a freakin' waste of the old man's talents, if you ask me." He shoved Mulder, gently. "Go on, then, get your bag and go. It'll be all right."

Mulder turned to him. "I won't let him near Her," Mulder said. "I won't let him near you. " He reached across the seat and hugged Spike, clutching him in a grip that would have been painful for a living person.

"That's right," Spike said, satisfied. "Don't be a hero---just a head's up, right? Now go."

Mulder had completely forgotten Krycek, and got out of the car.

 

They watched Mulder walk across the street. Krycek got out of the back and got in the front passenger seat. Spike was still watching Mulder's back, sitting with his arms crossed on the steering wheel. He finally turned back to Krycek. "Right, then. I'm feelin' a bit peckish. Up for killin' someone for me?"

"If the alternative is being the meal, definitely," Krycek said. He dropped a switchblade out of his left sleeve into his palm.

"Good. I fancy a nice virgin, but don't 'spect we'll find one in one o' the clubs."

 

Mulder walked into the Hyperion, scenting for traces of anyone or anything. No one was there; he couldn't hear any heartbeats, or smell anything more than a faint scent of family blood.

Angel Investigations, he read on a flyer. Old man's got a detective agency, Spike had said. From the looks of it, Mulder didn't think they could detect anything that wasn't a demon. Casefiles, casefiles by the dozen, and the bitch was, they weren't X-Files, but civilian files about demons and witches and vampires, and no one disbelieved them.

It wasn't fair, Mulder thought indignantly. Here he was, a trained, albeit undead, federal agent, and a pack of amateur demon hunters were successfully closing cases regarding supernatural occurances. It was the story of his whole fucking life, his talents going to waste. Years buried in one basement or the other, people not listening to him.

He was so sick of it. Treat Angel like Skinner, Spike had said. Mulder didn't want authority, he wanted anarchy.

He wanted Spike.

 

Cordelia, Wesley, and Angel had gone to Caritas, because the Host called and said he had a lead on Spike, and Mulder. The Host had forced them to listen to a very very nervous vampire, and made Angel allow the snitch leave with all of his molecules still animated. "Nope, Angel-cakes, stay seated. Don't make me sit in your lap. Or, on the other hand, do!"

Angel audibly ground his teeth. "I'm not chasing him." He flung himself back in the bar chair. "So he saw Spike, and two men."

"One of which, a one-armed man." Wesley repeated. "How many of those have we run into lately?"

 

Mulder perched on the office desk. Faint whiff of Scully's scent, there. She had sat at the computer, sat in the chair. She had stuffed his soul back in, without asking him, which was so like her. Scully wouldn't want an evil, soulless demon. But a soulful one?

He wondered if having Scully's hot mouth around his cock would give him a moment of perfect happiness. It would have, when he was alive. Now he wondered if just sex would do it, without biting.

Biting Scully. Turning Scully.

Wasn't he not supposed to think like that, with this soul thing?

Shit.

He ran his tongue over the point of his left fang, and began to hack into the computer. He was still doing that when he heard a human heartbeat suddenly come into range, caught a familiar smell.

Scully.

He stood up behind the counter, his face sliding back into the one she knew.

 

"Angel?" Scully called. "Cordelia? Is anyone there?"

There wasn't a noise, but she felt a presence. She turned around, and, in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, was a man she'd last seen lying in his coffin. She dropped her briefcase.

"Weren't you expecting me?" Mulder asked kindly. "Of course, I could be a clone, or a shape-shifter, or an alien---oof." He caught her as she flung herself upon his chest, and kissed her.

"Mulder, Mulder," Scully wept, as she hadn't at his funeral.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Scully," he said, wiping the tears from her face with---good God, the long tail of his shirt. "More than I thought I would be, actually. You know how it is, you make important life-style changes and you aren't sure how your old friends'll react. Hey, no punching. I still feel pain." He looked down at her. "Scully, you're terribly naive. How do you know that your ensouling worked? I could still be evil and here you are, without even a turtle-neck on."

"God, will you shut up for a moment?" Scully demanded. Her tears had stopped instantly. Mulder always had that effect on her. "You're still you," she said.

"Yeah, except for the no heartbeat, the immortality, sun allergy and did I mention complete lack of social constraints?" Mulder said cheerfully. "And, of course, now I care about shit again, damn it, and I was enjoying the evil lifestyle." He took her hand and began leading her upstairs.

"Where are we going?" she asked, half-heartedly. "And social constraints? When?"

"Well, I do want to get along with my grand-sire. If he came in right now and saw me this close to you, something tells me that he would stake first and ask questions later."

"But where are we going?"

Still holding her hand, Mulder bent and picked up her briefcase. "Well, I have reason to believe that this place has about four floors of rooms. I picked one that's just far enough from Gramps."

"You're talking about Angel? Were you with Krycek?"

"Well, I was with a guy named Spike until a couple of hours ago. Krycek went off with him. And when I say 'guy,' I mean a vampire. He and I were both sired by Drusilla. Stop me if I'm boring you." They were walking up the carpeted stairs.

"Not at all," Scully said, conscious of the cold hand in hers.

"Good. But, on the whole, I have to say, I was really enjoying the whole undead gig until you came back and got my soul back. I mean, you know I'm flexible and try to wring every bit of enjoyment from every situation, but having the soul back? Really harshes my mellow."

Scully said, "So if I shot you right now, it wouldn't kill you but it'd hurt?"

Mulder opened a door, around the corner of the corridor from the rooms she and Krycek had used. "Now, Scully. Is it really your weapon you want to pull?" He closed the door behind them. "Or is it mine?"

 

Angel raised his head and sniffed like a tracking dog.

"Ew," Cordelia said. "Can I tell you how freaking gross that is?" She unslung her purse from around her neck and tossing it on the counter.

"Someone's here," Angel said.

"Yes, Agent Scully," Wesley said prosaically. "There's a rental car outside. It's the one she used."

Cordelia and Gunn laughed.

"No," Angel said sourly, "And you people should be grateful that I already went through my semi-dark period, because I'd really like to bite you all. Mulder's here." He said the last on a run up the stairs.

"Hope Girlfriend doesn't have her gun on the bedside table," Gunn said, going behind the lobby counter to the mini-fridge.

"Well, do you really think that Agent Scully and Mulder---" Wesley began, but was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot.

The three of them stared at each other, before running up the stairs, the sounds of shouting and breakage erupting. Angel had a fully clothed dark-haired man by the neck, against the wall, shouting, and at the same time, Agent Scully had her gun out and jammed into Angel's nape.

"---you aren't going to kill---"

"---stay away from---"

"---you don't come into my hotel---"

"---only one warning shot---"

"--moment of perfect happiness."

The dark haired man was the only one not yelling, and he looked amused. "Perfect happiness? Not on your life," he said, in a normal tone of voice. "You've got a dirty mind, Gramps."

Angel said, "Did Spike tell you that I can kill a vampire by pulling its head off? And don't call me that."

"And while I know you'd eventually recover, I'm betting you wouldn't like a steel-jacketed bullet in your skull," Scully snarled. "Let. Mulder. Go."

Angel removed his forearm from Mulder's windpipe. "Fine. Take him with you and go."

Scully slowly removed her pistol from Angel's neck.

"Er," Mulder said apologetically. "I can't go back to D.C. Spike said- --"

"Spike!" Wesley ejaculated.

"---and that green demon agrees, that I'm supposed to be here. I don't want to go back, anyway. Too much publicity there about me being dead." Mulder was careful not to look at Angel. "Looks like you could use a trained investigator around here, anyway."

"We're not gonna pay him, are we?" Cordelia turned to Wesley.

"I have a trust fund," Mulder said. "Good thing, too, from the looks of things around here."

"Mulder knows how to win friends and influence people," Scully said to Cordelia. She holstered her pistol.

"We're trained demon hunters," Wesley said.

"I been stakin' vampires all my life," Gunn said.

"I'm not talking about demon cred," Mulder said. "I'm talking about investigative training, not just going in and punching people in the face and seeing how it works."

Angel folded his arms across his chest. "We don't need another vampire around here."

"Not so fast, Angel," Wesley said. "What could it hurt? He has a soul, a degree in psychology from Oxford, and was a special agent." He turned to Mulder. "We'll give you a month's trial period."

"Oh, goody, " Mulder said. "So, Grandpa, where do you keep the O positive? I'm hungry."

"Don't call me that. This is never gonna work," Angel said. "And he's gonna drink all of my pig's blood, I can tell already. And he's going to stay here?"

"Well, not here," Mulder said dismissively. "I'm going to fix up a suite and get a flat-screen. You do have cable, don't you ?"

"No," Angel said, virtuously.

"Well, Cordy---can I call you Cordy? We have to get cable or one of those mini-satellite dishes. Playoffs are coming up. Oh, and since we're here, I'm thinking, Lakers, courtside?"

"You sure you got a soul?" Gunn said. "You're not like the vampire we already got."

"Yeah," Angel said. "How do we know that Willow's spell worked?"

"Well, it apparently worked on you, and she said the same thing happened. That glass orb had a glow and then it went dark. I felt the rush of the wind, myself."

"I spent eighty years repenting of the evil I inflicted," Angel said, in a low voice. "You seem pretty cheerful for a vamp with a soul."

"I killed a lot of drug dealers," Mulder said. "I killed people before I was turned. I'm not sorry about it. Scully and I have seen a lot of people killed by people operating under the rubric of national defense. I was killed by someone who wanted me out of the way, so the people I killed while I was evil are just as much their victims as I am. Don't expect me to go lie in the gutter and eat rats."

"You're not supposed to judge who lives and who dies," Angel said.

Mulder locked eyes on with him. "And you don't?"

Angel didn't answer, but he didn't look away.

Scully tugged at Mulder's arm. "Let's go get you some blood," she said practically.

"Oh, you can heat up some of Angel's," Cordelia volunteered. "We have lots. I'll show you." She led the way out of the room, and Scully and Mulder followed.

Wesley turned to Angel. "You know why I agreed, don't you?"

Angel nodded. "So we can keep an eye on him."

"Must be weird, not being the only vampire with a soul around," Gunn said. "Wonder if he's in that prophecy?"

"That's the other reason," Wesley said. "I need to investigate the Scrolls."

"I was the first to get a soul," Angel muttered. "Now everyone's got one."

"Well, like grandfather, like grandson, Gramps," Gunn said. "Ain't that what he called you? Gramps?"

"Don't call me that."

 

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Mulder was sniffing at the mug. "Pig, huh? I guess it's because they're closest to human."

"Ick," Cordelia said. "I never asked."

"We use pigs all the time in forensic investigation for just that reason," Scully said, perched on a steel table, swinging her feet.

"So, Willow fill you in about the curse?" Cordelia asked. "And not giving this guy a happy?"

"A moment of perfect happiness," Scully corrected. "Perfect happiness? This guy?" You've gotta be kidding me."

"Hey," Mulder said, taking a cautious sip. "You'd be amazed how happy- --"

"Perfect happiness for you, Mulder," Scully said. "I think that would involve you, a gray, and Larry King Live ."

"True," Mulder said. "Very true."

"Besides, you must have had your moment of Nirvana when you left me that phone message," Scully pursued.

Cordelia looked from one to the other. "I'm just sayin', keep a stake handy." She went out of the kitchen. Mulder drained the mug and rinsed it out in the sink.

"What do I tell Skinner?" Scully asked, watching him. "He knows what I was trying to find out."

Mulder came over to her. "Tell him I'm dead, Scully."

"Did you mean what you said on the phone? That vampires wanted to eat the ones they loved?"

"Yes," Mulder said. "But you need to focus less on the love part and more on the eating part." He shook his head, and let the demon come out. "This is what I am," he told her.

Scully put her hands on his face, fascinated. "I see, the aspect of the demon, isn't it? The yellow eyes, the ridged brow, and of course, the fangs."

Mulder could see the blood pulsing at the base of Scully's throat, and shuddered. He went back to human face.

"Mulder, I---I don't know what to say. Except that you can't get away from me that easily." She let her hands slide away from him, and sat up. "You want me to go back and keep the X-Files open, right? I've got a new partner, a decent guy. John Doggett." She smiled grimly. "I'm the believer, now, he's the skeptic."

"Let me stay dead," Mulder said. "Besides, Scully, you have no idea how close I came to biting you in the last hour." He heard her pulse jolt, and smiled back at her. "Yeah. Because with vampires, the line between love and death is a dotted one."

 

Someone, Scully wasn't very surprised to see a familiar one-armed man slide into the seat next to her at the airport. "Hey, Scully. So, you're not with our souled friend?"

"You're not with the evil undead?" she asked, looking over her Ray- Bans. "Mulder told me about you and the Billy Idol guy."

"Yeah, well, you know exactly how it is, Scully. The more you hang around with vamps, the more likely it is you'll get bit." He peered at her neck. "Hm. No scarves or high collars, so I'm betting you have too much sense to have gone to bed with a vampire."

"Unlike some," Scully said, deadpan. "But you're right. I do have sense."

"You don't mind me using my return ticket? You're not going to threaten me or cuff me or beat me up?"

"No. You may be an evil murdering ratboy, but you were straight with me. And you're sitting in sunlight."

"Scully, I get the feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"You are so wrong, Krycek." But she smiled as she said it.

 

Back in downtown LA, Mulder was sitting at Angel's card table, reading some of the new files Wesley and Gunn had opened while Angel was, apparently, finding himself. "I don't know anything about demons," he told Wesley, "But I know wound patterns. This guy was eaten by a wild animal, not knifed."

Cordelia shuddered. "Why did I think he'd lower, not raise, the grossness quotient of this office?"

"Why's he at my desk?" Angel asked, outraged, from the doorway. "That's my---card table."

"I don't even get a desk?" Mulder asked. "Wow. Karma is a bitch." He handed Wesley a file. "I know this. It's the mark of a Wanshang Dhole- --a Chinese demon dog that infests humans. Scully and I worked a case like this, upstate."

"A wanshang!" Wesley said. "I've certainly read about them, but never thought---well. Mulder, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

 

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