Scully kicked the blanket from her bare legs at 3 a.m. and finally gave up trying to fall asleep.
Nighttime restlessness was uncommon for her; she had to blame it on her mind being occupied with matters other than a good night's rest. Well, her mind and...other parts that hadn't been occupied in six years.
Perhaps the events over the past few days would cause insomnia in anyone, she thought, especially if they had experienced what she was going through right now.
It was doubtful, though.
Were there any other FBI agents out there who had run off with an evil and mysterious leather-clad rogue?
She couldn't think of any, but if there were, she'd bet money they were all men. She giggled softly. Right now, she was in a class by herself.
She sighed, and turned over to face the window. The blinds remained partially open, allowing the streetlight to reflect through the streams of rain running down the window. Odd shadows danced across the hotel room walls, shifting and swirling in time to the cascading water.
Ever since she was a child, Scully could recall rainstorms lulling her to sleep. Tonight all this one was doing was keeping her awake.
She stretched slightly, realizing after she did so that she was extremely tense and uncomfortable.
It certainly wasn't the bed.
Good Lord, it was king-sized with red silk sheets. And the hotel room Alex had chosen, she noted, was as spacious and well-furnished as an apartment overlooking Central Park West. There was a living room with a fireplace, and a huge bathroom covered in mirrors and Italian marble. The bedroom suite itself was enormous--this was no Motel 6.
She definitely was not used to such opulence, and she didn't think Alex was either. But he was trying to impress her, which she found strangely sweet. A man who she had heard was a cold-blooded killer made the concierge return with two-dozen fresh roses after Alex decided the petals in the room weren't fragrant enough.
Scully was drowning in luxury for the first time in her life. She had a huge bed, an enormous hotel suite, and, according to Alex, anything her heart desired.
"Katie," he had told her, "tonight, anything is yours."
"Anything?" she had purred, curled up in the red silk of the bedcovers.
"Well," he admitted, "for tonight only. Tomorrow we get the back seat of my Cadillac again. We need to keep moving."
"I can take it. I'm as good in the back seat as I am in the front seat," she teased. "And you may regret your generosity for tonight. If anything is mine, I'm going to take it...anything and *everything*."
That conversation, she realized, was over 3 hours ago. They came up for air and glasses of champagne at one a.m., and then she continued taking advantage of Alex's generosity until...
Now she understood! The whole reason she was restless and jumpy was because it had been hours since she last had any...Alex.
She rolled over, but he wasn't next to her in bed. Then Scully remembered, to her disappointment, that Alex told her he was going to get ice for the champagne.
When was that?
Her memory was a little foggy since those last toasts of bubbly. She was a little drunk, in fact, because she and Alex finished two bottles right after Scully received the phone call.
They had just begun to try out the silk sheets--to test the thread quality, Alex had said, since he *was* paying a fortune for this room--when Scully's cell phone rang.
Scully told him she wanted to get rid of it somewhere along the road, but Alex suggested she hold on to it. He may have been expecting what happened.
The conversation on the phone, she recalled, was rather short.
"Yes, Mulder, it's me."
That was when Alex had grabbed the phone from her hand.
"Mulder, you know who this is, and if you open your mouth once while I'm talking, I hang up. Understand?" The pause had been been a quick one. "Good. Now pay attention, because what I have to say should make you realize that coming after her is pointless...she made a decision, and this time she didn't do it for the Bureau, or for her career, or even for you, Mulder. She did it for herself, and she left with *me*. Dana Katherine Scully followed her *heart*."
With that, Alex hit the END button and plunged the phone into the champagne ice bucket.
Scully smiled to herself when she remembered what Alex had said to her with that evil grin of his: "I'm still not quite sure about that thread quality."
There was still much to learn about Alex Krycek.
Actually, there was *everything* to learn about him, and Scully convinced herself to stay on the defensive, no matter what her heart said.
She was confused, because for the first time in her life--as Alex had said to Mulder--she followed her emotions instead of common sense.
Now that she thought about it, aside from the short conversation they had about Alex's trip to Bureau headquarters to get her, he hadn't said much. He did say he wanted Scully at his side when colonization began, but he never explained why. "I need you with me" were the words he used. Was it love? Lust? Simple companionship? Or was it another reason?
She couldn't be sure.
From their wild trip in the Cadillac and the incident on the highway, to the champagne now buzzing around her brain and sex between silk sheets, she definitely wasn't thinking clearly.
But perhaps that was a good thing.
God, she was never getting back to sleep tonight. She couldn't even take advantage of it, because Alex wasn't back yet. How long did it take to get ice, anyway?
Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to settle her thoughts. Slowly, she let it out, and tried controlling her breathing to relax. She really needed to talk to Alex about his intentions. Deep breath in, hold, then out. Was she doing the right thing? In, out. These sheets felt wonderful. In, out. He felt so good lying next to her in bed. On the fifth breath in, she thought she smelled something.
Something...out of place in the luxurious hotel suite full of roses and scented bath beads.
Concentrating on the smell now, she breathed in again, and caught a strange odor.
It was a strong, heavy scent, like the oil she once used to rub on her Doc Martens to protect them from rain damage. She was years from her high school punk days, but the smell was instantly recognizable. She sniffed again, and this time she was sure it was mink oil, mixed with what she knew to be leather. It brought back many memories of her youth...she must not have noticed it on Alex's leather jacket before.
Eyes open now, she recalled specifically the time she told Mulder he should treat his leather jacket with the stuff. Mulder, being as anal and obsessive as he was sometimes, replied that he never even wore the jacket when the sky looked slightly cloudy.
Glancing out at the pouring rain, she knew it couldn't be her partner. Besides, there was no way he could have traced her cell phone to the hotel. He was smart and an excellent FBI agent, but Scully knew him too well. Fox Mulder wasn't *that* good. Then she heard leather creak, and caught the damp, wafting scent of it mixed with the musky oil.
Scully turned from the window and stared into the open doorway of the bedroom, expecting a leather-clad Alex to walk in. Smiling again, she slid her lace nightgown up her thigh in anticipation. They would talk later.
She sighed, noticing the shadows cast by the rain pouring down the window pane still swirled about the room. She watched them dance as they played across the furniture, spilled over the sofa and its cushions, and travelled down the loveseat where Alex's leather jacket sat.
She adjusted her eyes to the sight.
Draped over the back of the loveseat.
If it had been in the room the entire time, why was she suddenly smelling the mink oil now?
With rising fear, she instinctively reached out for her Sig, sitting holstered on the nightstand.
Her fingers had unlatched the snap on the holster when a black-gloved hand slammed down against her wrist.
In a blur of movement, the man's leather jacket creaked again when he straddled her legs, preventing Scully from kicking him. His gun was in her face immediately, and he drew the hammer back with a soft click. Leaning down close to her cheek, she felt the man's hot breath against her skin when he whispered a warning. "Don't."
The wet leather and oil from his jacket assaulted her nostrils as he hovered over her. The shadows she found comforting only moments ago now ominously highlighted the wild green eyes that glared from beneath a black ski mask.
He seemed unnaturally calm, and the only reason she could tell he was breathing at all was because rivulets of water rolled down his arms every time he exhaled.
Scully knew struggling was useless; his well-muscled arm was almost crushing her hand.
In a similar situation, most people she knew would probably be scared shitless.
Scully, however, wasn't most people. And most people also weren't having sex with a suspected murderer who slept with a gun under his pillow.
Her left hand was free, and she began inching it carefully across the bed, hoping to grab Alex's little .22 quickly enough to send a round bouncing through this bastard's skull.
The man suddenly moved his weapon from between her eyes and started tracing the cold barrel over her lips, down her throat, and around her breasts, until it came to a stop near her stomach.
"With all your medical training, I'm sure you're aware of how excruciatingly painful a gunshot wound to the gut can be. Reach for the other gun under that pillow," he threatened, now prodding her abdomen, "and you'll *beg* me to die."
This wasn't a random occurrence, then. He knew who she was.
"Fuck you," she hissed.
The man shifted slightly on top of her legs, and then she felt the wet denim of his jeans slide closer to her thighs. Slowly, he pulled the mask from his face and replied with a sly half-grin, "Suggestion noted."
He let up on her right wrist, and placed her gun, holster and all, into the waistband of his jeans. Then he flipped his gun to his left hand, and reached into a pocket of his coat, retrieving a large, black object. With the flick of a small button, the switchblade sprung to life, its 13-inch pointed blade glinting despite the darkness of the room.
She glared at him, watching as his green eyes danced with amusement.
*Now* she was scared.
Her eyes went to the blade, and then back to his face. She couldn't make out any of his features except those eerie green eyes. Alex's eyes got like that, she thought, right before he shot that cop on the highway.
Oh God. Yes, she *was* scared shitless.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, trying to sound unafraid.
"I'm going to ask the same question," came the sudden sound of Alex's dark, threatening vioce from the bedroom doorway, "before I spread your brains across our expensive silk sheets."
"Zdrastvooytye, Alyosha," said the man, not bothering to turn around.
It took a moment, but when Alex replied his voice wavered and caught in his throat. "Bohdan."
"Alexei Nicolavich," Bohdan admonished, turning around now. "What would Mama say? Why so formal towards your baby brother?"
Bohdan spun back to face Scully again, twirling the knife in his fingertips. "Please, call me Danya."