The days here are very long. I don't remember anything of what the others call "life before" but I wonder if mine was always so dull. I rise at dawn with the others. We eat breakfast together and then scatter to our various duties. I am the Special Handmaid to the Mistress of the house. With a title like that one would expect I would actually have something to do. Mostly I keep her quarters clean and listen to her talk. She talks a lot. I would talk back if I had something to say. I find it difficult to form sentences most days so I just listen. She talks a lot about her husband. I get the sense that the Master is somehow very important to the "world outside." I have no knowledge of this world either. I usually forget the things she tells me by the time I fall asleep.
My duties are not difficult. The actions come to me without thought or effort. Even the first day, I knew what to do automatically. I still do. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to work in the field. Or to build. The men get to go outside and build things. I think I might like to do that but I'm sure I wouldn't know how. It's not what I was created to do.
I seem to be the only one who wonders about other duties, about life in the world outside. The others seem content. When we gather again for dinner no one complains of boredom or restlessness. No one complains of the emptiness.
The days are long but the nights are worse. Bedtime is 9 p.m.. Bedtime has always been 9 p.m.. I wonder why I am never tired at 9 p.m.. I share sleeping quarters with three of the other women. They get in bed at 9 p.m. and fall asleep without a word. I lay in my bed, eyes open and body rigid for a very long time. I get the sense that during life before I was rarely in bed before midnight.
Sometimes during the long nights I try to remember. Usually after a couple of hours I get a headache from it. I wonder if I knew such headaches before. Once I got a flash, nothing more than an image flitting through my consciousness. It was a very strange image; a man and a small girl sitting on a floor. The man made a funny face and the girl smiled. The image made me ache. Then it was gone. I was left with a worse headache than ever and a feeling of loss so profound I couldn't even fathom it. Why am I the only one who feels? Am I the only one who tries to remember?
When I finally sleep I think I dream. I never remember the dreams.
Then the day begins again and the process is repeated. It has always been this way.
Today is different. Something is happening today. I am sitting in my assigned chair beside Mistress's sofa where she lays, sprawled across the red velvet cushions, still in her sleeping clothes even though it is well past noon. She is talking of some kind of trouble brewing for the Master on the outside. I hope that he is okay. I don't know what would happen to us all if he couldn't take care of us.
"I'm very worried," she tells me. "There's been talk of war again. Why can't everyone be as sweet as you, dear?"
I shrug and she pats my shoulder with her wrinkled hand. I wonder what war is.
A very loud sound makes us both jump. Her hand tightens on my shoulder.
"Oh my God! I think that was a gunshot."
I wonder what a gunshot is. There is so much I don't know. I wonder if I ever knew. A few more loud sounds that the mistress seems convinced must be gunshots ring through the house. She is locking and bolting the door to her quarters. She runs back to me, looking very unhappy. Scared? Is that fear?
"We have to get out of here. Oh my God! We have to get out of here!"
She pulls open the curtains and looks out the large window. I think she's planning on jumping. These gunshots must be very bad things indeed. But for some reason the sound of them makes me smile. Something is happening.
"God, they're outside too."
I stand up and peek through the window. There are several men holding big, strange things. I wonder if the gunshots come from these things. I wonder how they got through the gates. If they can get in why can't I get out? I guess I never really tried.
Mistress is making strange noises and there is water coming from her eyes. I guess this is crying. I've heard her mention it before I think.
The loud noises get closer and then they are right outside the door. Mistress seems extremely unhappy now. I want to tell her that it's okay, the door is locked and the noises can't get through but I think part of me wants them to come through.
There are several pounding sounds from the outside and suddenly the door is open. There are two men I've never seen. Men aren't allowed in Mistress's quarters. I get up to tell them that but before I can say anything one of those things they are holding makes a gunshot and Mistress falls to the floor. Black fluid comes from her chest. Is this how she bleeds?
I kneel down beside her, an instinct to put myself in front of the gunshot engulfing me. Mistress is dead. I must also die.
The man who fired the gunshot comes to me and pulls me up by the arm.
"Did you make her die?" I ask him. He looks at me strangely. He has green eyes.
"Scully? Jesus Christ, is that you?"
I shrug. I don't know if I am a Scully. I've never heard that word before.
"Oh my God. Of course it is. The chip. I'd almost forgotten."
I shrug again. I don't know about this chip he speaks of but I am happy he is here for some reason. Even though he made Mistress die. Maybe he will have something more interesting for me to do.
"Did you make the Master die too?" I ask him, suddenly very excited.
"God, this is too fucking weird. I'm gonna get you out of here, Scully."
"Who is this woman?" the other man asks. He is a very large man. They are both large but this one is larger than any of the other men I've seen. Larger than the Master or any of the other workers. The green eyed man shakes his head.
"Someone I used to know. Kind of. She was...she worked for the fucking FBI if you can believe it."
Someone he used to know. Someone...someone from the time before! Someone who remembers the time before! I didn't know such people existed.
"Come on Scully, I'm gonna get you out of here."
He takes my arm again and I follow him through the house. There are many dead people in the rooms we pass through. There are also many living people, all from the outside. They are taking things and stuffing them into bags.
There are more dead people on the lawn. Is this war?
The green-eyed man brings me to what I recognize as a car, although I've never been in one. I see the Master leaving in one through the window sometimes. Cars take him to the world outside. We must be going to the world outside.
We sit together in the backseat and the large man gets behind the wheel. Another large man sits beside him.
"Get us out of here fast," the one who knew me once tells them. We start moving. Very fast. So fast I feel strange in my stomach from it. It feels like I think the birds must feel. Flying. It feels like flying.
When we pass the gates I feel a jolt, almost like a headache but sharper. It shoots through my head and my neck. The man next to me turns to me. His face is covered with stubble. Not like the workers. They shave every morning.
He stares at me and I stare back. We don't speak for a very long time. It's good to be with one who doesn't speak as much as the Mistress.
We drive into the night without words. Many hours pass and I realize it is probably past 9 p.m.. The world outside is very empty. I look out the windows of the car as we drive and there is nothing but dirt. We pass places that look like they used to be something but they are broken. Buildings that look like they've only been partially built. Or maybe they were whole once and someone knocked them down. There aren't any people. The world outside seems even more boring than the Master's house.
Eventually we reach an area where there is no real path. Only trees. The big driving man brings us into the trees. It is very dark here but he seems to know where he's going.
"I don't think we were followed," he says.
"No, but the others...I don't feel entirely comfortable yet," the green eyed one says. "Just get us back, Bryan. Hopefully everyone's been as lucky as we have."
Bryan. That's what they call the big one. These people are called strange things.
"They call me twenty-four," I announce and everyone in the car turns to me and frowns. Okay, so it's not much of a name. Better than Scully, though. What the heck *is* a Scully anyway?
"Jesus Christ," the one next to me grumbles. I guess he likes the other name better.
I shrug and decide silence was a much better policy.
We drive through the trees for another long while and eventually come to a clearing. There is a path and we take it down to a building so large I can see it from very far away. It looks even larger than the Master's house.
"Is this your house?" I ask the green eyed man who I suppose is my new Master now.
"You could say that, I guess."
We pass through a gate and the driving man shows another man in a booth there some kind of card. The booth man looks in the backseat and smiles with recognition at Master.
"Glad to see you back, sir," he says and waves us through.
When we get closer to the big building I realize there are many other buildings around it. It looks like a picture I saw once in one of Mistress's old forbidden magazines. She kept a stack of them in a locked box under her bed. Sometimes she showed me the pictures. I couldn't read the words, though. She showed me a picture of a place like this and said, "This is what they used to call a prison. You used to need places like this." That place also had fences with sharp tops and guards standing around it. Is this place a prison?
We drive into a big hidden place under the building where there are a few other cars and get out. The two big men go in one direction and the Master takes me by the arm again and leads me in another direction. We take a set of stairs up and then we are walking through a long hallway with many doors. Things are not as nice here as they were at the other Master's house. The walls are green and the carpet is orange. It's ugly.
We go up another flight of stairs and around some corners, more stairs, some locked doors that he has the key to and finally we arrive at what I suppose are his quarters. This is strange. The females never went into Master's quarters in the other house.
My new Master's quarters are not very big. He has a small table that I suppose is for eating, a little kitchen area and a couch. There are some tables and lamps and some things that look like the magazines but they are bigger and they have hard covers. Could these be books? Mistress used to complain that we didn't have any books.
"Sit down," he tells me and I do, on the chair next to the couch. I open the one of the books on the table next to me and peer at the words scrambled across the page. I wish I knew what the words meant.
He tosses his coat onto the couch and goes to the kitchen area. He places his gunshot machine on the table and pours himself a glass of water from the sink.
"Want a drink?" he asks me and I shrug. I don't know what I want.
He sighs and comes back, sitting on the couch.
"Scully, do you know who I am?"
"You're my new master, from the world outside."
I think that this is a good answer but he doesn't seem pleased.
He rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through his dark hair.
"They really fucked you up good, didn't they?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means you are not the woman I remember. Scully, look, you've got a few choices here."
"What is choices?"
He squeezes his eyes shut tight and makes a groaning sound.
"Scully, there's something in you, in your neck. It's making you...it's making you not yourself. It's making you forget. It's letting them get into your head and control everything you do, everything you feel."
I don't understand what he is saying and yet it makes sense. I have forgotten. I thought everyone had but this one remembers. I want to be like this one. I don't want them to control me. Whoever they are.
"Can you take it out?" I ask him and he nods.
"I can take it out, Scully but...I have to tell you, if I do, something bad might happen to you. You might get very sick. In fact you probably will. You'll probably get cancer eventually and then, unless we've found a cure by then, you'll die."
He looks very serious. I am not worried about death. I want to remember. I want to remember this strange one who knows me with the green eyes. I want to know who the man and the small girl are. I want to be able to read that book.
"Take it out, please."
"Scully, are you sure? It's gonna...it's gonna be very strange for you. You're gonna remember a lot of shit at once and it's probably not all gonna be good. I mean I envy you in some ways, not being able to remember the way things were before."
"I want to remember. Please make me remember."
He smiles and I think for once I have made my new master happy.
"C'mere," he says and moves over on the couch so I can sit next to him. "Wait one sec."
He stands and leaves the room. When he comes back he is carrying a bottle and some tissue paper. And a knife like we use to cut our food. Although it looks a lot sharper. He sits beside me again.
I turn so my back is facing him. He pulls my hair to the side and over my shoulder.
"Got so long," he mutters and I shrug.
"This is gonna hurt, Scully. I'm sorry. I'm not a doctor like you. We need a doctor. I hope you decide to stay. And Scully, I want you to keep the chip. In case you ever change your mind and want it back." With that I feel a sharp burning pain in my neck. It's horrible. Worse than any pain I've ever felt. It seems to go on indefinitely as he cuts and pulls. I bite my lip and try not to make a sound. "I'm so sorry," he tells me again and then I feel cool liquid on the wound and a bandage and then I am holding a small circular chip in my hand. "So sorry," he says one last time. And then...and then I remember.
It had been going on for several nights now. Just like before. Like the last time. Skyland Mountain. The pull, the numb, the feeling and lack of feeling that she couldn't explain but remembered well. She'd caught herself staring out the window with that same yearning, almost a craving more times than she could count. Always at night. They were calling to her. They wanted her back. She wanted to go in the night time.
When the craving came to her in the day she went to Mulder. He would help her fight it. He would make it stop, keep her safe. She would tell him. She would tell him finally.
She drove to his apartment quickly. So quickly that she barely noticed that people were dying in the streets.
She knocked and then let herself in when there was no answer. On the couch. He was sick. So sick. It was so hot. July, it was July and the heat was on in the apartment and he was shivering and wrapped in wool blankets. The strings holding her were snapping, thinning down to nothing.
"Scully...help," he pleaded. She wanted to ask the same but couldn't. Holding him, trying to keep him warm, trying not to leave. The pull was almost overwhelming but the need to care for him was stronger still.
He shook in her arms and she thought maybe she should kiss him. Was it too late for all of that?
"Mulder, you've got a fever. I'm going to see if you've got any ibuprofen."
She stands and he whimpers, reaching out for her. She hopes she doesn't jump out the window of the bathroom. Hands shaking, pulling open the cabinet, dropping the bottle once, twice. She jumped at the sound of the bottle hitting the floor a third time.
"Don't go, don't go, don't go," she tells her reflection.
Screaming from the other room and tears filling her eyes.
She runs to him but it's too late. He lies on the couch, same as she left him. Head resting on pillows, hands limp at his sides, but now there is a gaping, bloody maw where his stomach once was.
His face, twisted into a grimace of pain, a masque of death. She touches that face one time and finally she knows she can go.
I don't think this was the best idea in the world.
Okay, vast understatement. This was the worst idea I've ever had. I knew it would be hard for her. I've seen this process before. A lot of the people here are former slaves. It's always painful. Getting back all your memories, all your feelings, total self awareness delivered in one sweeping blow, it can't be easy.
I didn't realize it would be quite this bad. I didn't expect her to sit there staring blankly at the wall for almost two hours without moving, without speaking. I don't know if my movement would startle her and cause her to lash out at me like a frightened animal but my ass is starting to hurt and I'd really like to just crawl into bed and go to sleep.
She jerks a bit and turns to me. Her expression remains blank for about ten seconds and then a little lightbulb seems to go off. Her eyes narrow and her mouth gets very tight and angry looking.
"You? You... What did you do to me? Oh God..."
Her voice cracks and she pulls herself into the corner of the couch, as far away from me as possible.
"Oh God," she moans and buries her face in her hands.
"I just left him there. I just...I left. Oh God," she groans through her hands, barely audible.
"What are you talking about?"
"I just left," she says again. And again. And again. She must be remembering the abduction. She doesn't know how lucky she was to have left. I've always envied the slaves in that. They got out before things really went to hell. She seems to be pretty upset about having left though. She's starting to rock back and forth and shake.
"Scully, I don't think you had a choice. A lot of people left. They made you leave."
"I...I left him and he was...he was...oh God."
I guess he is Mulder. I've been wondering for some time what happened to him. I keep waiting for him to bust down the door and tell me this little resistance I've got going is nice but ya know, he could do it so much better. Sometimes it makes me smile to think that day might come. Sometimes it actually gives me hope. Don't ask me why.
"He was what?" I ask. Again, I'm not quite sure why.
"He was...he..." She bends over, clutching her stomach.
"He was, it was just... blood ...he was...God..."
Damn that little shit. I should have known he'd do something lame like drop dead before things even got started. Instead of feeling sad or happy or vindicated, the apparant news of his demise just really pisses me off.
Scully's still bent over at her stomach, her hair hanging in stringy chunks over her face, her whole body trembling. Christ almighty Mulder. What a legacy you've dumped on my sofa.
"How could I have left? What kind of...what did I...I can't...I, I can't..."
"Scully, take a deep breath. Do you want a glass of water?"
"I can't...I can't..." she keeps whispering. I have got no idea how to deal with this. Should I leave her alone? What if she trashes my room? I've seen people do some pretty weird stuff after getting their chips removed. Should I just sit here and keep trying to talk to her? Should I try to take her to a room of her own and leave her there to destroy things at her own discretion?
For some reason instinct gets the better of logic and I do something very very stupid. I reach my hand out and touch her back. I can feel how cold her skin is through the thin fabric of her potato sack dress immediately. She must be in shock. For a moment she doesn't seem to notice that I'm touching her and I leave my hand resting on her, hoping she'll continue to not notice but that it will help in some small way. No such luck.
Her head darts up suddenly and her eyes, red and watery, lost and furious, take hold of my face.
"Get your hand off of me right now," she growls through clenched teeth. I do. Quickly.
"What do you want? Why am I here? What did you do with Mulder?"
How did I know I'd end up getting blamed for whatever the hell happened to him?
"I didn't do anything with him."
"WHY AM I HERE?"
Oh boy. I don't even know where to start. I don't even know what she actually means. And she just keeps getting more and more angry. Why did I even try to talk to her in the first place?
"I just kind of...found you," I offer lamely. It's the truth but she's not likely to believe me.
"Yeah? Well guess what. Now that you've "found" me, you're gonna help me find Mulder."
Is she talking about his body? Or him? The chances of the first are slim and from what she said before, the chances of the second seem non-existent.
"Do you understand me?"
"Dammit Krycek, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
I decide this is not the time to argue with her.
"Yes, I understand."
I understand that this woman is in for a really awful letdown. I understand that when she gets a grip on reality the only person who's gonna be around to pick up her shattered pieces is me. And I understand that this is the last thing she would ever want.
Once upon a time there was a girl. She lived in a house. One day, the house fell down.
I'm writing this to you in hopes that one day, wherever you are, you will receive it and that you will decide to join me here. I understand that right now, you can't be with me. I've come to accept that over these months because I know in my heart that you are doing something very valuable, very important. Something that has necessitated this separation. I'm not angry.
Not at you. But at them, the people here, I am very angry. The lies they've told me are unforgivable. I would leave here if I knew of somewhere else to go. But the world is different now and I don't think I know how to survive anymore.
Sometimes I'm actually surprised to see the sun rising and setting every day. How can it keep doing that? And the snow. It keeps snowing just like it used to.
I wonder if it snows where you are.
I wonder if you're safe, if you're warm. We were so foolish, Mulder. So unprepared. We didn't realize.
When I was a little girl my brother Charlie had an ant farm. He kept it in a glass case on his dresser. He used to watch those ants build their cities, their lives, every day, for hours on end. One day Bill decided he didn't like Charlie anymore so he stole his ant farm. He brought it outside and dumped all the ants on the ground. Then he squashed some of them with his sneaker. Some of them he grabbed and pulled the legs off of. Some he used his magnifying glass to scorch with the sun's rays. A few managed to escape his tyranny and, I suppose, build anthills in the back yard. I thought it was gross and kind of mean to Charlie. But not to the ants.
When I was in junior high they told us we had to dissect a frog. We all thought it was disgusting but nobody asked where they got the frogs. We were learning.
The college I went to was built on what used to be a swamp. They had to drain it and kill everything in it to build the dorms. We just wanted a place to live.
In medical school we did experiments on rats. We were trying to heal people.
We seem to need more and more justification the further up the evolutionary ladder we go, the more torture we inflict, but it never stops us. Who knew that there was something higher? Something that would look at us and think, rats, frogs, ants? Something as certain as we always are in a higher purpose, worth the sacrifice? You did I suppose. Why was it so hard for me to believe it? It's not really so odd. As a scientist myself, I should have seen it coming.
I remember now, Mulder. I remember when they came. They talked to us. Not the way we talk to each other but the way we talk to our pets. To dogs. We tell them sit, stay, roll over, but we don't tell them why. We don't explain to them why we've decided to move to Florida or the fact that the vet needs to give them a shot. Or if we do, we certainly don't ask their opinions about it. They didn't ask us. And they didn't tell us. And we probably wouldn't have understood them if they had tried. After all this, Mulder, we still don't know the truth. We still don't understand any more about them than our dogs understand about us.
I remember being a slave. Every night I relive the horror in my dreams. I remember what it felt like to not remember. To have no will, no strength, no anger. I don't remember what they made me do though. Only what I didn't feel.
I remember seeing you, what I thought was you, dying, dead, bleeding. I know now that it was an illusion, that it was someone else, but at the time, it was the most horrifying thing I'd ever experienced.
Thank God I understand now. I see that it was a lie all along, a trick to get me to go to the abduction site, to leave you. Krycek, he thinks that if he shows me pictures and documents that I'll simply accept the lie and let go of you. He thinks he'll make me forget again.
I hate him.
I hate them all, Mulder. I hate everyone I see for being here with me when you are so far away.
But the people here have taken care of me, and I'm sure they would do the same for you. They've given me warm clothing and a room of my own. I live in a dorm, Mulder. In a tiny little dorm room. Every night I try to imagine you crawling into one of these miniature twin beds, your monstrous feet dangling off the end. It makes me smile sometimes. I eat in a group dining hall. Every meal I eat, a woman punches a hole in the white card I was given. Two meals a day is all we're allotted. I purchase my necessities at a large warehouse with another card. I got my period yesterday and was somewhat dismayed to find that we're only permitted two tampons per month. The rest of the time it's pads. I suppose I should be grateful we've got those.
I'm not entirely sure where they get all of their supplies. It seems as though the situation is tight but not completely desperate. There is a farm here where many of the people work everyday. A lot of the food we eat is grown here. But it's winter now and they cannot rely on self-sustenance for everything. They have connections. Connections Alex Krycek was forging long ago while we spun our wheels around in a dank basement office. Connections to the rebel race. It's a tenuous alliance, as all of Krycek's alliances are, but it's beneficial to both parties.
He was doing their work when he found me, fighting a war with the colonist's agents on Earth. My "master" was one of them, a traitor to his race, to his planet. A man who chose to be turned into a mutant, to become one of them rather than fight. That's what Krycek says anyway.
I can't help but wonder why it has to be this way. So few human beings managed to survive the initial attack. Why must the lucky ones remain only to finish the job of destroying our species, killing each other for causes that have nothing to do with us, for creatures who live in the sky, hovering above, watching us destroy each other for them, a couple of mercenary armies.
I'm reminded of the wars fought for America so long ago. Of the Spanish and the French and the English killing each other for land that really didn't belong to any of them, of the natives choosing sides, allying themselves with whichever power promised their tribe more of a chance for survival, more of the supplies necessary for daily life, more of what the tribe deemed most valuable. Krycek seems to have chosen freedom for his tribe. He'll fight for the faceless rebels, put his life on the line for their war so that he and his people can live here relatively safely.
I can't fault him for his choice. Without it, many of these people would surely be dead. And I would still be a slave.
I'm not sure how long this group has been here, how long they've been allowed to exist. I don't know how they managed to escape submitting to The Order in the first place and I don't know if there are others like them. We're tucked away up here in this cold wasteland, this frozen landscape that used to be Eastern Canada, far away from the settlements. Perhaps they don't know where we are. Or perhaps we're completely inconsequential. Perhaps we're like those ants that managed to escape from my brother. He never bothered to chase them.
I wonder where Bill is. And Charlie. Mom...
I try not to think about them, Mulder, but sometimes I can't help it. Sometimes they come to me in dreams, telling me that they're gone now, that I need to carry on without them. I don't want to believe them. I don't know what to do.
I think you might like it here with me, Mulder. I think it might be the best place for us. We might be safe here. At least we'd be free.
I miss you, Mulder. I'm so lonely here. I hope when you get this you decide to come back to me.
I tuck the folded letter into the pocket of my bulky, white parka and pull my woolen hat onto my head and mittens over my hands and push open the heavy metal door with my shoulder. The wind is harsh today and it offers a great deal of resistance. I have to thrust against the door with all of my weight.
Once I am outside I realize that even as bundled as I am, the cold bites through to my bones. The sky is gray and ominous but so far it hasn't snowed today. The path leading from the building I live in to the library is one of the better traveled walkways on the campus so the snow and ice aren't as densely accumulated as they are on most of the other trails. It's not a terribly difficult walk. Which is good for me because I'm pretty sure there will be a mailbox somewhere near the library.
From what I can tell, the six floor building that houses the library is the largest one here. Aside from the dining hall which, thankfully, is about two steps from my front door, most of the public facilities are either in the library building or in one of the smaller buildings surrounding it.
Patterson Hall is about halfway between the dorm and the library and when I reach it I sigh with some relief, realizing half the walk is behind me. This building is where most of the planning and organizing that keeps this community together takes place. I've never actually been inside but supposedly there are offices, belonging to the heads of the various committees, as well as conference rooms and a large lecture hall.
As I pass the building I see a man approaching me, the first person I've seen outside today. I can't tell who it is because of the black ski mask covering his face. Wish I'd put mine on. My cheeks are almost numb.
As he gets closer I notice that his black jeans have a hole in the knee and that underneath them, he's wearing a pair of white long johns. That might have been a good idea for me as well.
"Scully?" he calls out over the wind. It starts to snow lightly.
He reaches the front entrance to Patterson Hall and waves me over to join him. Maybe this is where the mailbox is. He opens the door with a key and we walk in together. The sudden warmth hurts my face.
He pulls off his mask with a familiar grimace.
"Scully, what are you doing outside today? It's gotta be 40 below out there."
"Where's the mailbox, Krycek?"
His eyebrows knot together and he sits down on a small wooden bench. It seems to be the only place to sit in the lobby of this building so I sit down beside him.
"The mailbox. I've got a letter I need to send. And I need an envelope too. I couldn't find any at the warehouse."
"There's...there's no mailbox. There's no mail anymore, Scully."
Panic gathers and constricts in my chest. How can there be no mail? How will I send my letter?
"Not this time of year. The roads are impassable. Nothing can get in or out of here unless it comes from..." he drifts off and points towards the sky.
"Well, I've gotta send it that way then."
"Scully, it doesn't work that way. They don't..."
He sighs heavily and shakes his head at me, obviously too impatient to explain fully. He does that a lot.
"What have you got to send anyway?"
I debate for a moment about whether or not to show him. It's a private letter but maybe if he sees how important it is, he'll help me figure out a way to get it to the right place. I reach into my pocket and pull out the paper and hand it to him.
His face is expressionless as he reads. When he finishes he closes his eyes for a very long time. When he opens them again, I don't like what I see there. It looks like pity.
"Scully, you can't..."
He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair, looks away from me and out the window.
"You can't send this."
"For more reasons than I could possibly enumerate. First of all, Scully...Mulder...Mulder's gone."
No. More lies. I should have known better than to ask him for help. God Mulder, why can't you come and make him stop telling these lies about you?
I grab the paper back from him and shove it into my pocket, biting back an angry and frustrated tear. I stand up from the bench, needing to get far away from Alex Krycek and his stupid, pathetic lies. He won't let me go though. He grabs my sleeve with his leather gloved hand.
"Scully, wait. Even if he were still alive, you can't just send a letter with 'Mulder' written on the envelope and expect him to get it and even if you could, you can't go around sending out letters like this! This is....if the wrong person read this, Scully, we'd be dead. Do you understand that? There are certain things that you can't just go blabbing about in a letter. You can't..."
"Go to hell," I whisper, pulling my arm away from him and running out the door, back into the cold. I'll find my own way. I'll find you, Mulder. With or without anyone's help.
It's been almost nine months since I found Dana Scully, brain dead and robbed of her spirit, living in the mansion of a traitor. Nine months of absolute hell.
It's been three months since that January day when I found her wandering aimlessly through the snow, clutching that piece of paper like a little girl with a letter to Santa. I hadn't realized until that day just how bad it really was. My sources had given me the documentation, proof of Mulder's death, several weeks before that day and I'd honestly thought that she'd believed it. She hadn't been eating or talking much since I'd shown her the papers but that wasn't any more unusual for her then than it is now. I'd thought she was mourning quietly.
That day I realized that she wasn't grieving her losses yet. She was completely delusional.
Denial is the first stage in any sort of difficult process I suppose, and Scully's denial was a long and sad one. I had to carry her back to her room that day, over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, after I found her semi-conscious, huddled under a tree, several hours after our conversation about her letter. She was still gripping the paper in her blue-ish white hand, still looking for the elusive mailbox. It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.
The weeks following that day were worse than the ones before it. She was growing thinner and paler every day and she refused to speak to me or anyone else. It was bad. But it's never been as bad as it's been for the past two weeks.
Two weeks ago she decided to believe me, to believe the proof, the documentation that I found. Two weeks ago she finally started to let Mulder go.
I was eating my lunch in the cafeteria when I saw her. She was standing in line, waiting for her stew, when suddenly her face turned deadly white and she dropped her dish to the floor, shattering it to a million pieces. I ran to her and took her by the shoulders, looked into her eyes, and I knew immediately.
"He's gone. I can't feel him. He's gone," is what she said. I brought her back to her room and she sat down on her bed and curled up into a ball. I expected her to cry, or maybe to kick me out. But she didn't do anything, hasn't done anything. Nothing at all. I haven't seen her leave that room one single time since that day.
I've been bringing her food every day since she refuses to bring herself to the cafeteria anymore. I leave a full plate on her desk at noon and another one at six. Usually there's no more than a bite or two or three missing from the meals when I come back to pick them up.
Yesterday I brushed her hair. It's grown to the middle of her back and could be quite beautiful if she took care of it I suppose. Lately it's been hanging over her face in greasy, knotted clumps. I told her she was going to have dread locks soon if she didn't let me run the comb through. She didn't respond at all so I did it.
It makes me sick. Seeing her turning into this shell of a woman, this pathetic Sylvia Plath wanna-be, is just too symbolic of how completely fucked up the world has become. And besides that, she's become a drain, taking up space and resources and not giving anything back. We can't afford her. I can't afford her. I can't spend my days playing nursemaid to a crazy woman who doesn't even want to recover. If she doesn't get better soon, we'll have to send her away. I don't want that to happen.
I can't believe it's March. It's been a long, deadly winter. Endless. Colder than usual with even more snow. The claustrophobia is overwhelming. Just walking from the cafeteria to Scully's room, carrying this plate of food, is an ordeal because of the wind, the bitter, painful wind, and the ice on the ground.
I wonder how the others can bear it. I pass groups of them, huddled together in their second-hand hats and mittens, laughing and smiling despite their discomfort. Until they see me. When they see me they frown and nod and scurry in various directions. Scared. They're scared. Of me.
It still surprises me. Sometimes it even amuses me. An entire population, almost four hundred people now, and they're all afraid of me. They respect me. They look up to me. I'm the boss here, for the first time in my life. Although I never expected it to happen in quite this way, this is exactly what I've been looking for, craving, chasing forever. It's what I've killed and nearly died for. It's what I've sacrificed all semblance of a normal life for. I should be happy as a pig in shit. And some days I am. Some days. Some days though I wish it had taken less than the annihilation of the world for me to get to be in charge.
When I get to her door I open it without even considering knocking. I finally realized a few days ago that she was never going to answer when I knocked so I've started just walking right in. It's not like she's ever doing anything private. She's never doing anything at all.
She's as tragic as ever, her knees pulled up to her chest and her hair disheveled, rocking back and forth like a B-movie mental patient, looking down at her arms. I follow her gaze, down to her left hand which is tightened into a fist, her arm resting against her curled thighs, her right hand clutching a knife and cutting precisely and expertly into her flesh. A line of crimson stains the porcelain of her wrist and for a moment we are both so startled by it that all we can do is stare. Her with detached curiosity, me with horrified understanding.
I look back and forth between her arms, the knife and the tray sitting on her desk, uneaten slab of meat on a plate and a fork resting beside it, unused. No knife.
The moment seems to dangle for an eternity, the two of us staring at the trail of blood as it starts to thicken and drip until finally she looks up and meets my eyes, breaking the strange stalemate and bringing life back to my limbs. The tray I'd been balancing on my prosthetic arm clatters to the floor and the sound of breaking glass fills the room.
I kneel down in front of her hold out my hand.
"Give me the knife."
She blinks at me, recognition barely coloring her clouded eyes.
"GIVE ME THE KNIFE!"
No response. I grab the offending object, noticing absently that I've clutched it by the blade, with my real hand no less, and that I'm probably going to bleed to death myself, and wrestle it from her weak grip. I let it fall to the floor with another clatter and my mind seems to implode with the force of my panic. I have no idea what to do. I grab her by the shoulders and shake her.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
She's still staring at me and she's still bleeding. I look around frantically for something to stop it with. Socks. She's wearing socks. I take her foot in my hand and pull one of them off and tie it around her wrist as a make-shift bandage. It's not exactly medicine for the millennium but it'll do.
"Dammit Scully, I know you're in there. Say something. Anything."
Neurons begin firing in my brain finally and I realize it would probably be a good idea to take her to the infirmary. The sock is already turning red. I try to stand and haul her up by the shoulders but she's so slack and lifeless it's almost impossible to get a grip on her. She slips through my fingers and back to the floor.
"Scully you've gotta go to the doctor. You've gotta get up. Come on."
I reach for her again and she pulls away slightly.
"Just let me die," she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her, and curls up against her bed. It's the first thing I've heard her say in two weeks.
Just let me die, she said. What the hell does she think? That life is a right these days? A given? Doesn't she know how fucking lucky she is? There are some things I have absolutely no patience for and this kind of disgusting self pity is one of them.
"Dammit Scully, what the hell is your problem? Don't you know how lucky you are to be alive? How can you throw that away?"
She stares through me, her head sagging against the mattress and her arms hanging limp now at her sides.
"I have to go...I have to go to him. He's going to be looking for me. He needs me to be there."
"He's dead, Scully. DEAD. He's not looking for you. He's not doing anything. He's GONE. That doesn't mean you have to go too. He wouldn't want this, Scully. He wouldn't want you to do this."
I kneel down in front of her, that damn panic bubbling in my chest again, and clutch her upper arms in my hands, shaking her.
"You don't have to do this! DON'T DO THIS! Dammit, look at me! LOOK AT ME!"
Her eyes meet mine again and this time there's a response, a change. From utter lack of cognition to sudden, darkening fury. Her brow furrows and her pupils dilate and then she spits a glob of saliva onto my cheek.
"Get your hands off me," she whispers with some actual feeling. More than I've seen from her in ages.
"We have to go to the doctor Scully. You..."
"No. You should be dead. You should be dead. WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD?"
Suddenly she's darting across the floor, groping for her knife again. I see her right hand about to close around the handle and stand up, planting my foot squarely on her wrist.
"I don't think so, Scully."
I reach down and pick up the damn thing and stick it in my jacket pocket, making a mental note to never bring Scully a meal that she has to cut again.
"You...you should be dead. YOU! WHY NOT YOU?"
Why indeed. It's not as though I haven't asked. Same reason as all the other non-merchandised humans who managed to live I suppose. I was willing to do what it took to get my hands on the vaccine. Survival of the fittest. That's not really what she's asking though. She wants to know how the universe could be so cruel as to allow a scum-sucking bastard like me to carry on and to cut down her precious angel Mulder. Why me and not him. Why him and not me.
"Get off the floor and come with me to the doctor, Scully. This isn't gonna bring him back."
"Let me go. Just let me go to him..."
"STOP IT! WAKE UP! You're not gonna go to him if you kill yourself. You're not gonna go anywhere. You're just gonna die. That's all that happens Scully. You don't see a white tunnel with Mulder at the end. You don't run off into the sunset of the afterlife together. YOU DIE! You die and you rot away in the ground and that's all."
"SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop it!"
She scrambles to her feet and before I know what the hell's going on her tiny fists are pummeling my chest. Her sudden show of strength takes me so completely by surprise I literally almost fall down.
"You're a lying piece of SHIT! That's not what happens...not...not to him...not to Mulder...Mulder...Mu..."
I finally manage to get a hold of her flailing hands and she sags against me.
"Mulder," she whispers and a lone tear trails down her cheek. I have a feeling it's the first of many.
Today I saw the sun.
Winter here is long. It starts in October and from what I've heard, often lasts until mid-April. The sky is gray every day. The snow piles higher than some of the buildings. The cold...the cold is a living presence. The sun is only in the sky for a few hours a day and it's always obscured by clouds.
Today is April first. Today I saw the sun.
I went for a walk this afternoon. It was warm enough to be outside for several hours without having to worry about frostbite but not warm enough for the snow to start melting.
I found him about a hundred feet behind the science center, where the forest begins, on the other side of the fence. I saw his mother there, icicles dangling from her fur, eyes open. I asked the guard posted to open the gate for me and let me go to her. I'm not sure why.
I knelt down beside her and touched her, knowing she was already dead but unable to help myself. She seemed so peaceful and I needed to feel that.
I ran my fingers over her muzzle. It was cold and wet.
Then I heard the whimper. I lifted her body as gently as I could and placed her beside her son, a wriggling, sniffing, very much alive, Rottweiler puppy. He looked to be about four weeks old. He was cold and unhappy, probably hungry, but he was alive. She saved his life, keeping him safe and dry under her body.
I buried mother dog in the snow, unable to reach the ground with only my hands, and took her baby into my arms. He wiggled his tail happily and licked my cheek.
I think I might have cried.
And then I saw the sun.
Scully was released from the infirmary a few days ago. When I brought her there after her suicide attempt they decided to keep her for awhile. She was dangerously underweight and needed to be fed through an iv. She kept pulling it out until I got Bryan to sit next to her twenty four hours a day.
Sometimes, at night, I went to see her. She seemed perpetually in the throes of a nightmare, moaning in pain and calling Mulder's name in her sleep.
It made me very glad to have never fallen in love. Of course, I knew. When I was a thirteen year old boy my father told me what was going to happen to this world in my lifetime, what I would have to do in order to survive and I decided that day never to let anyone get close enough for me to care when they died. It worked out pretty well for me. I've never felt what Scully feels.
Anyhow, the doctors decided that she was well enough to be released this week and that she'd be fine as long as she feeds herself. I wanted to know if there was anything they could do to insure that she would but, of course, they're doctors not magicians. Hell, they're not even really doctors. Scully's one of the only real doctors, trained and experienced in something other than meatball medicine, that we've got. We need her. We need her to be well.
I'm meeting her for lunch today. I'm going to make sure that she's eating. She's been going to the cafeteria again but I haven't actually seen her putting food into her mouth first hand yet. I can tell that she's put on some weight though. And she's been taking care of her personal grooming, thank God. I was right. Her hair is quite nice when it's clean and combed. I think she might be well enough to be given some light work assignments soon.
The sun is still out when I get to the courtyard in front of the cafeteria. People are at the picnic tables, talking and eating, grabbing the light while they can. I see her sitting on a bench, under a tree, with a plate in her lap, tossing bits of food to the ground. For a minute I'm worried that she's having another episode but then when I look at her feet I see what's really going on. She's feeding a dog. She's feeding her lunch to a fucking dog.
"What the hell are you doing?"
She looks up at me with this strange smile on her face and I'm unnerved. I don't know if I've ever seen her smile.
"What do you mean?"
"Scully, why are you giving your food to a dog?"
"Isn't he adorable?" she croons, tossing another bit of meat from her sandwich and into the thing's mouth. Then, to appease me I suppose, she takes a bite herself. The dog yaps excitedly and runs in a circle around her legs.
"Why are you giving your food to a dog?" I ask again, exasperated. What the hell is she thinking?
"He's hungry. Aren't you hungry? Aren't you a hungry puppy? Yes, Mommy loves you," she rambles incoherently. She puts her plate down on the bench beside her and then picks the mangy mutt up and deposits it on her lap.
"Scully, I don't want you wasting food like that."
"It's my food isn't it? I'm eating some. I just want to share a little bit of it."
Wagging of tail and licking of face ensues and I feel my temper rising with every passing second.
"Scully, where did this thing come from?"
"Thing? It's a puppy, Krycek, not a thing. He's an orphan. I found him and now he's mine."
She says all of this looking at the dog rather than my face.
"You're not keeping him."
"Yes I am."
She looks at me again and we stare at each other in a silent showdown for a minute or two.
"You can't keep it."
"I'm keeping the dog. It's not a question."
"Scully, what...what are you gonna feed it? You can't keep sharing your meals with an animal."
"I talked to one of the cooks. He's going to give me table scraps, stuff they were gonna throw away anyway."
"Where is it gonna live?"
She nods resolutely and kisses the dog's muzzle with a bizarre slurping sound.
"Scully, he's gonna get huge. He's small now but..."
"There's room. And the other people on my hall said they wouldn't mind if he was in the lounge sometimes."
"But what...what's he gonna *do*?"
"We don't need dogs on the farm. And we can't eat him."
"No, we certainly can't! He's not going to *do* anything. He's going to be my pet."
"You can't keep it. It's not practical."
She stands up suddenly and shoves the dog into my chest with a scowl.
"All right, fine, Mister Spock. Take him then. Take him and euthanize him."
She lets him fall from her hands into my arm and he yaps again and runs his slobbery tongue over my face.
"Go ahead. Kill him, Krycek. He can't give you anything so you'd better get rid of him."
She crosses her arms over her chest and nods shortly. She thinks I won't do it, that I can't. That just holding the stupid thing and having it lick my face is gonna turn me into a useless pile of puppy-loving mush.
"Fine. I will."
He whimpers and wiggles around in my hand and sniffs at my fingers. He feels too small, skinny and sick.
"Pathetic little thing," I mutter and she looks up at me and then down at the ground.
"Is that what you said about me?"
I shove the thing back into her arms with a sigh.
"Fine. Keep it. But you better housebreak it fast. And you're gonna have to walk it all the time. Even in the snow. No paper training or any of that bullshit."
"Yes sir," she snaps with a phony salute. She sits back on the bench and continues playing with her new pet and although the thing is a waste of space and food, it seems to be making her happy. I can't think of anything else that's done that. I guess if it keeps her from shooting herself in the head to have something to take care of then it's not completely useless.
"So, what are you gonna name it?" I ask, kneeling down to examine him for fleas and other parasites.
"Reticulan. Ret for short."
I shrug, not sure if this is a good dog name but not ready to get into a fight over something so idiotic. I trust it has some kind of sentimental significance for her.
"Look, Krycek, you don't need to worry about him being a pain. We're probably going to be leaving once the snow clears anyway."
This is the first I've heard her mention anything like this. Leaving? Where in the world does she think she's going to go?
"I want to go...I want to see what's out there, Krycek. I need to."
"Nothing's out there. It's not safe."
"I need to see for myself."
She looks shocked and a tiny bit amused that I would even dare to attempt to tell her what to do. I see a glimmer of the Dana Scully I once knew for the first time in a very long time. It only increases my desire to see her stay.
"We need you, Scully. You'd be a big help."
"I...I'm still thinking about it. We'll see."
Why is the thought of her leaving making my chest constrict?
"Let's go get you some lunch, Krycek. We'll talk about this later."
She stands up and starts to head inside the cafeteria. I nod but find myself unable to follow her for a minute. For some reason all I can do is stand there, staring at the back of her head as she walks away.
The snow is starting to melt, Mulder. Soon it will be time for me to go.
Krycek doesn't want me to go. He thinks I'll be killed if I leave here. But he's offered to give me some supplies and weapons to protect myself if I do. Considering the value he places on those things, it's quite a generous offer.
I can hardly believe I've been here almost an entire year. And that it's been almost two years since I last saw you. I wonder how many more years it will take for me to stop waking up in the middle of the night wanting to die, to join you finally, together for eternity. Would you be disappointed in me for being so weak? Maybe after the first century or so you would forgive me and we could be happy.
Krycek talked me into attending my first community meeting today. It seems silly considering I'm going to be leaving so soon but I'm frankly a little curious about what goes on in these meetings. They take place once every six months in the main lecture hall in Patterson. When I enter the room, I'm a little shocked at how many people I see. I've only really met a few of the members of this community in the time I've been here and even though Krycek told me how many there were, it's still surprising to see something close to four hundred people in this room. Some of them are clones, some former slaves, some shape-shifters, some half-breeds, and some who, like Krycek, just managed to get lucky and survive. Everyone here has been injected with the vaccine that you slipped into my bloodstream so many years ago. Did you know what you were doing in that moment? Did you realize that saving me would kill so many? I don't think you knew that you were tipping them off. I don't think you realized that your actions would set off such a hideous chain of events. But if you had known, I doubt you would have done things any differently. Sometimes I get angry when I think about that.
I take a seat in the front row, next to Roseanne. She's a scientist and she runs the lab here. She's also a clone. I think the others from her group are dead. She's one of the few people I've spoken to and I find her a very calming presence for some reason. Maybe it's because she looks a little bit like Samantha. Her hair is a darker shade of brown and she's a little shorter but there's something about her eyes that is familiar.
There's a podium in the front of the room where I suppose, once upon a time, some grizzled, befuddled professor used to lecture to his students about some arcane, academic subject matter. Today, Alex Krycek stands behind that podium and begins giving a surreal speech about the start of the new farming season and the fact that winter is finally over and it's time to get back into attack mode.
I know this is the right side but the lines are blurring in my head. When everyone is preoccupied with killing, how can there be a right side? I guess that's war.
Should I stay here, Mulder? Would you have wanted to stay?
It's strange to see Krycek like this. I have to say, he really seems to be in his element. He's a passionate and determined speaker and, I suppose, a strong leader. And these people stare at him with awe and terror. It's actually almost funny. I remember the way you used to smack him around, Mulder, the way he seemed almost more of a nuisance than a real danger. Who would have thought he'd end up like this? Who would have thought I'd have ended up here with him, everyone else I've known vanished without a trace?
He moves on to talk about the work of the various committees and how things are coming along in terms of weapons development. He gives a harsh, grating lecture about the importance of creating bigger, better, more efficient killing devices which seems to thrill everyone. It turns my stomach, Mulder. Is this all there is? Is this all there ever was?
Then, the final blow, he starts talking about allocating more funds and resources towards the development of a biological weapon, some kind of gas that is effective against shape-shifters, and taking these funds and resources away from medical research. He starts shooting off his mouth at the people who work in the lab and how they've been spending too much time on that "medical crap" and telling them they need to get down to business and perfect that stupid gas.
And I just can't stand it anymore. I don't know why I care. I sure as hell don't want to save myself. When my time comes, I'll go happily now. Won't see me putting up a fight, Mulder. But these other people, it's just not right.
I know it's not protocol to do so, but I feel a need to say something. I glance over at Roseanne who is chewing on a pencil and frowning. She looks unhappy with the whole direction here but I don't think she would ever challenge him. I don't think anyone here would ever challenge him. It's really annoying. What are they so afraid of? It's Alex Krycek for Christ's sake.
I clear my throat and stand up, almost hearing you cheer me on in the background, Mulder.
"Krycek, can I say something?"
He stares at me blankly for a second, obviously confused by the disruption of his diatribe.
"Yes, I...I'd like to say something."
There is a low murmur running through the crowd now. This must be the first time anyone has ever interrupted his holy highness before.
"Um...yeah, go ahead I guess."
"Well, it occurs to me that it might be in everyone's best interest if instead of reducing the importance of your medical research you actually give the area even more focus and attention than it has already."
The room falls absolutely silent and Krycek just stares at me some more, his jaw flapping in the breeze.
"I mean, honestly, I've seen your so called medical lab and I don't know exactly what you expect to do when all the former slaves living here start dropping off like flies in a few years. We're almost a quarter of your population, Krycek."
He finally seems to regain some of his bearing now that the shock has worn off and he grumbles into his little microphone, "There's plenty of time for that kind of thing. Right now we need to concentrate on defense, invasion and rescue. That's been our focus and it's been successful."
"What's the point of rescue if the people you rescue are dying?"
I start to see a few former slaves nodding in approval and the more I speak, the stronger my convictions become. They need to find a cure for this damn disease.
"Don't you want this movement to grow, Krycek? To carry on and continue?"
"There's...there's time for that. We've got a lot of time. No one's even gotten the cancer yet, Scully."
"That's great. I'm glad to hear it. But you know what, you don't have a lot of time. That's something you realize when you get diagnosed with a fatal illness. I can attest to that."
He's leaning against the podium now, gripping the side of it in his right hand and looking up at the ceiling. He opens his mouth to say something and then stops. Then he looks back at me and if looks could kill...
"All right. Then what do you suggest we do, doctor? What's your brilliant plan?" he asks in a voice laden with sarcasm and anger.
"I suggest that the next time you go into one of these colonies and start murdering people that before you leave you take a look around, maybe go through their files, their computers, and see if there isn't some valuable information there. Information about the disease. Information about a cure. And I also suggest that you devote a lot more time and energy to your medical facilities and if you can't do that personally, find someone who can."
"Oh really? Is that what you suggest?"
He steps off the podium and actually comes down to my level so that he's standing face to face with me. He looks even angrier up close. His cheeks are red and his pupils are dilated.
"And who might you suggest do all of this work, Doctor Scully?"
"There's probably lots of people here who would be willing to work on that. Maybe if you'd actually ask people what they want, what's important to them, you'd find out."
He takes a deep breath and looks like he's about ready to rip into me but then he stops, seeming to remember that we've got an audience.
"All right, who here is willing to work on what Doctor Scully is suggesting?" he asks the crowd.
A few reluctant, almost terrified hands go up, including Roseanne's, and then a few more, and a few more until eventually there are about thirty hands in the air. Certainly enough to form a workable committee.
"Well, there you go," I say, sitting back down and feeling as though I've made my point sufficiently. No need to continue with the debate. He nods curtly at me and then turns back to the audience.
"Okay, whoever would like to head up this little venture, please step forward."
A resounding, deafening silence.
"Krycek, you don't necessarily need a head. You could just have a committee, a group of people working together with equal authority. Every group doesn't necessarily need an authoritarian figure head. No offense."
I smirk and a few people actually chuckle. They stop as soon as he looks at them.
Roseanne clears her throat and then says, "Why couldn't you do it, Doctor Scully?"
I look at her, utterly aghast and shake my head. How could she even suggest such a thing?
"Well...I...I'm, I don't even know if I'm staying. I mean...it would..." I look at Krycek for help but now he's the one smirking.
"Your knowledge, your background, your wisdom is extensive, Doctor Scully. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we need you. We need your help."
God, Roseanne. I thought you were my friend.
"Surely there must be someone here with medical expertise, someone who would be willing..."
"We've got a quite a few scientists but no real doctors. No one with your experience. You'd be invaluable. And you'd make a wonderful leader."
Oh my God. Make it stop. I'm starting to wonder why I ever opened my mouth in the first place.
"Shall we put it to a vote Doctor Scully?" Krycek asks me, all smiles all of a sudden.
"Can I have a word with you?" I growl and he keeps right on grinning.
"We'll be right back folks. Doctor Scully wants to tell me a secret."
They all laugh and I feel like punching him. I bring him out into the hall and ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Me? You're the one going nuts. I'm just trying to carry on a nice, routine meeting."
"Why are you letting them...why can't you..."
She throws up her hands in frustration, I suppose because she doesn't have any real reason to be angry with me.
"This isn't me asking you this time, Scully. They want you. They need you. It's not like I told Roseanne to say those things."
Not that I wouldn't have done that if I'd thought of it. Luckily I didn't have to. Luckily I'm not the only one who thinks that she belongs here. She looked so alive back there, so different from the zombie she's been ever since we found Mulder. I think proving me wrong might be the only thrill she can get out of life at this point. I don't even care any more that she made me look like an ass. Maybe it's okay to look like an ass sometimes.
"Krycek, I know...I mean, I feel...I want to help. Honestly."
"Then do it. Just do it, Scully. You'd be perfect for this. You'd make a terrific leader."
"I don't want to be a leader, Krycek. I don't...I don't know if I can. I mean it's all I can do to even get out of bed in the morning. How am I supposed to be any kind of leader?"
"Scully, maybe this is just what you need. Maybe this will give you something to get up for. Look, Scully, as much as it pains me to admit it, you were right back there. Everything you said was completely true and...and if you weren't here, I never would have even thought of it. I mean, don't you feel bad for those people, having me as their sole authority figure?"
She nods and smiles and I wish she hadn't agreed so damn quickly.
"And besides, I know this is low but what would Mulder think? Wouldn't he want you to do this, to carry on? Wouldn't he want you to save the world, Scully?"
This seems to hit some kind of nerve because she grimaces and glares at me.
"That is low. You're a manipulative bastard."
"A sexy one though, huh?"
"An arrogant one. But you're right."
"About the sexy thing?"
She rolls her eyes but she doesn't try to kill me or herself so I guess you could say we're making progress.
"All right. Fine. You win. You're a pig but you win. I'll stay. I'll run this thing but I've got a condition." .
"Anything, Scully. I'm at your mercy."
God, when the hell did that happen anyway?
"I want autonomy, Krycek. I want this to be my project. That means no butting into my work, no telling me what to do and how to do it, no going over my head and telling the people working for me what to do. In fact, I don't even want you in the lab at all unless I ask you specifically to be there and...what are you laughing at?"
"What did you say?"
"Never mind, Scully."
"Why are you laughing?"
"It's just...you're so..."
I think she'd hit me if I told her even one of the words on my mind so I don't say anything.
"Look Krycek, those are my conditions. If you can't live with them then you're going to have to find somebody else."
"No, Scully, that's fine. Perfect in fact. It's yours."
The noise of chatter and speculation coming from the conference room is growing louder and louder. I think it's time to go back before they decide to assassinate me and make Scully their new commander in chief.
"Why don't you go give them the good news, Doctor Scully."
I hold open the door for her and when she walks back down the aisle to reach the podium they all start applauding, cheering for her. They get more and more enthusiastic and by the time she's behind the microphone it sounds like a freaking Michael Jackson concert in 1986. She looks tiny and overwhelmed. She has to adjust the mic for her height and when she clears her throat into it, the sound is deafening.
I run back down the aisle myself, to the sound of silence thank you very much, and take her previous seat next to Roseanne.
"What did you say to her?" she asks me.
"I asked her to marry me."
"And she's still here?"
"Shut up, she's talking."
And she is. But for the life of me I can't seem to concentrate on what it is that she's saying. All I can focus on is the light, the energy in her eyes. She's alive, aware, focused. I know she'll never be the woman she once was. She'll never recover from losing Mulder. But maybe she can become a new woman. An even stronger woman, hardened by her suffering but no less determined. An angry woman. A woman who I would be blessed to have on my side.
"Dammit, what the hell is taking them so long?"
Bryan looks up from the dog-eared, old book he's been reading, startled by my outburst, and shrugs. For some reason the gesture makes me want to smack him. Bryan's a wonderful guy but when you spend every waking minute with someone even a shrug can be enough to make a person positively homicidal. Especially when that person is on edge as it is.
Bryan is my body guard now. I'm the only person here who's got one. I didn't ask for one. He didn't ask to be one. And yet, here we are. Krycek decided to "give" him to me when he made me his second in command. He seemed to think the position would put me in constant peril but so far I haven't seen any signs of that. I asked why he didn't have one himself if the whole thing was so dangerous and he just snorted. He's cheated death so many times I guess he thinks he's just too damn immortal for a body guard. I hope he's right.
He's been gone for almost a week now. Too damn long. It should have only taken two days for them to travel to the site, two days back, give or take one day for complications. Five days. Six at the very outside. It's been seven days.
He took a pretty small party, only about fifteen men, because the plan was to kill only one person. A scientist, if you could call him that, one of the genetic engineers, one of the butchers. It was my idea. He seemed like a strategically wise target, someone with access to tons of information, and a bastard to boot.
My stupid idea. If something has gone wrong, I'm not sure what I'll do.
I've been spending every day since they left, working in the lab, trying to keep my mind off the danger I might have put them in and trying like hell not to wonder why I've been worried about Krycek since the minute he walked out the door.
I miss you, Mulder. Every day, I miss you. But this work, it's been helping. It's given me something to live for. I like to think that you would be proud of me. I like to think that you're here with me, helping me solve the mysteries of this life. I can still feel you here. I don't think that will ever change.
It's strange to find myself starting to care for another person. Not the way I care for you, Mulder. Nothing in this world could ever compare to what we shared. And the thought of growing attached to someone the way I was to you, or even to my family, to anyone that I've lost, terrifies me to the root of my being. I vowed a long time ago never to let myself be hurt that way again. I've learned my lesson. But Krycek has given me a lot. And I think he's a good man Mulder. I can almost hear you laughing at that. It's true though. He can be hard and cold and insufferably self-serving but he saved me. He saved me so many times and in so many ways that I've lost track at this point. And I've seen glimpses, momentary peeks at what goodness there is in him. There is kindness there, and a strange kind of sweetness.
I look up at the clock for the twentieth time in an hour and then back to the microscope. Everything under there is starting to look the same. I'm starting to think I might be done for the day. I don't want to leave though. If I leave, it means that another day is over and they're still not back.
"Bryan, I think you can go now. I'm gonna head back to my room in a few minutes."
"You sure, Doc? The boss'll be mad if..."
"Bryan, please. I need to be alone for a little bit. I'll be fine."
He nods in understanding and makes a hasty exit. It's rare that I tell him to leave me the hell alone but when I do, he usually listens. I'm sure he'll stay close though, definitely not out of ear shot. And Ret is here, sitting quietly in the corner. He's turned out to be the most docile, obedient dog I've ever known in my life. He's also fiercely protective of me and provides effective guard dog service.
I start to clean up the area a little bit, put some things in order, dust the equipment. Now that I am truly alone my thoughts travel back to places I've been avoiding.
I talked to Roseanne a lot this afternoon. She told me some very strange things. Things about Krycek. Apparently he used to be sort of, well, I suppose slutty is the best word for it. She said that before I came here, he slept around the campus like a drunken college freshman and that he'd broken many a heart in the process. She also told me that during the two years I've been here, he hasn't been with anyone. I don't know why she told me that. I don't think I really wanted to know that. I almost asked her if she was one of his conquests but I was afraid of the answer.
I watched her for the rest of the day, keeping an eye out for any signs of heartbreak and for a clue about why she felt the need to share this little bit of information with me today. Maybe she could tell that I was thinking about him, that I was scared. When she left she put her hand on my shoulder and said, "He'll be fine. He always is." I smiled and nodded and tried not to let it show that I wasn't so sure about that.
All right, I've done everything but the windows. I guess it really is time to go. As I start to gather my things Ret stands and starts barking wildly. The door flies open and for a minute I am so happy to see him back and alive that I don't notice what he looks like.
He runs up to me and my eyes adjust to the sight of him. He's an absolute mess. His face is dirty and sweaty and his jeans are ripped and the white of the T-shirt he's wearing under that leather jacket is stained with a deep crimson. Ret has run to his side and is sniffing him and whimpering with concern.
"Krycek, oh my God, what happened to you?"
"What? I'm fine. Scully, look at this!"
He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces two computer disks. He shoves them at me with the biggest smile I've ever seen.
"Look, look what I got," he says again, sounding like a ten year old who just got an A on his book report. I take the disks from him without even glancing at them and put them on a table.
"Krycek, sit down and let me examine you."
"What? Scully, no, you've gotta look at these. Get...ahhh...get the computer."
"I'll look at them later. God, you're covered with blood."
I move closer to him and try to pull his jacket off and lead him to a chair but he's moving all over the place. Ret barks again and runs in a circle, imitating Krycek's hyperactive movements.
"I don't think it's mine. Look, Scully, I think this is it. I think this is what we've been looking for. What you wanted Scully. I think it's in the...in the disks."
"Krycek, I don't care what's in the disks right now. It's not gonna do us any good if you...God, will you just sit down!"
He wobbles a little bit and finally gropes around for the chair I've been trying to force him into. He sits down with a grunt and wipes his brow.
"I'm fine. I'll be fine. We've gotta...we need to...um...see what...ahhh," he groans inarticulately as I pull his jacket off. The right sleeve of his shirt is completely soaked in blood.
"I'm gonna take off your shirt," I tell him, looking around for a knife to cut it open with. I find a pair of scissors and move back to him. He's fucking smiling again.
"First me then you. How 'bout it, Doctor?"
I cut a line down the center of his shirt and slowly, as gently as I can manage it, peel back the right side. Just as I suspected. He's got a fucking bullet hole in his shoulder. God, there's so much blood. I don't even understand how he's still conscious. He must be running on pure adrenaline.
Ret is still hovering and making noises, adding to the chaos although he is trying to be helpful, and I tell him gently, but firmly, to get the hell out of my way. He trots back a few feet and sits down to watch us with interest.
"Krycek, you've been shot."
He shrugs and then winces with the pain of the movement.
"It's just a graze. Went right through. Scully we..."
"We need to get you to the infirmary. Right now."
My voice sounds shrill and terrified. God, I'm close to panic. How did I get like this?
"Scully...we lost Curtis."
I don't know how to react to that. I barely knew him but I know he was one of Krycek's best soldiers. It's terrible really but all I can seem to think about right now is the fact that Krycek is sitting here bleeding all over my hands.
"Oh...oh, God. Any others?"
"No but a few injuries. Minor injuries."
"As minor as yours? Jesus, Krycek what are you doing here? Why didn't you go right to the infirmary? Why didn't they take you..."
"I wanted to give these to you. I'll be fine. Just go see what's on the...on the...disks."
"That can wait. It can...oh God..."
It finally occurs to me to call for help and I do, at the top of my lungs. I think Bryan is still outside somewhere. Somebody's gotta be around. Somebody's gotta be able to help.
"Scully, Jeez, stop shouting. You're gonna....you....oh...I don't feel so good all of a sudden."
His eyes slip shut and he slumps down in the chair. I kneel down next to him and wipe some of the sweat off his forehead.
"It's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. Just fine..."
Bryan rushes in and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Krycek.
"Doctor Scu...oh my God."
"Bryan, I need you to get down to the infirmary and get a stretcher. And get a nurse to come down here with you. Tell them that Krycek's been shot and that he needs to be anesthetized and prepped for surgery right away."
"How did this happen D..."
"Don't ask questions! Just do it!"
"Do it NOW!"
He scurries away, quite terrified, and I turn back to Krycek. He seems to be flitting in and out of consciousness.
"Don' need surjaaarry. Wen' righ' trough," he murmurs without opening his eyes.
"There might still be fragments. And we need to clean it out and that's going to hurt like hell if you're conscious."
"Mmm, jus' need a few stitches."
"Jesus Krycek, do you wanna get gangrene and lose your other arm? Just shut up and let me take care of it all right. I *am* a doctor, remember."
"Mmm...doctoorr," he mutters and drifts off again. God, where the hell is that nurse? Part of me wants to run to the infirmary myself and get everything I need to perform the procedure right here. But I don't want to leave him. I'm afraid if I leave him that when I come back...God, Krycek. Don't you dare die. Not you too. Please God, don't let him die.
When I wake up, I am screaming. Like getting startled out of a terrifying dream. Except that this isn't a dream. This is my life. It takes me a moment or two to realize that I'm not in the middle of a battle. When I feel someone touching me I grope frantically for my weapon. Until I open my eyes.
I am suddenly dizzy from the effort of sitting fully upright and lean against the slightly raised back of the bed.
"Are you all right, Krycek?"
"I hurt everywhere," I whine before giving it a moment's consideration. Stupid, stupid fuck. Could try to be at least *slightly* courageous here.
But then she runs a cool washcloth over my forehead and gives me a thousand watt smile of encouragement and I think maybe being a wuss has its advantages.
"What the hell happened, Scully?"
And while we're at it, how the hell did I end up naked? Whoever took my clothes off also took the liberty of removing my prosthetic and I suddenly feel even more pathetic sitting here like this. At least she's sitting on my right side.
"You don't remember?"
Images start coming back to me slowly. Finding the disks and...
"I remember Curtis."
She nods sadly.
"I was in this room, this huge-assed mainframe room Scully and there were disks, data cassettes. I grabbed what I could but there were soldiers coming and Curtis, he...God, he never had a chance Scully. They didn't see me though."
"But you still managed to get yourself shot."
"No, not at first. I ran for it and then when they saw me they opened fire and...Scully, did you look at the disks?"
"Yes, I did. There's a lot of very useful information on them."
"Curtis died for that information, Scully."
"I know. I...I don't know if this was such a good idea after all."
I can't even believe she would say such a thing. Christ, it's what we've been working for all this time. It's what she wanted.
"I think I was wrong, Krycek. I think...I think that it's too much of a risk."
This must be about Curtis. She must be feeling guilty that he died on a mission she sent him on. I know that feeling pretty damn well myself. But she's got to know that that's always a risk.
"Scully, come on, he knew the danger. I don't think he would have wanted it any other way..."
"I don't want you to do anything like that again," she blurts out in a shaky voice, almost sounding as if she's close to tears.
"Me?" Okay, maybe this isn't just about Curtis. It couldn't be about me though. What does she care about me? "But Scully, what about..."
"Just don't. Just...just please don't."
"What about procuring valuable information, Doctor Scully? What about your work? Our work?"
"It's not...It's not worth it, Krycek. Not if you..."
Her hand flutters up to cover her mouth and she looks away from me. Her eyes are filling with moisture. God, Scully, I wish...I don't know what I wish.
She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths but still leaves her unfinished sentence dangling in the air.
"Dammit, Krycek, I can't watch you die. Not you too."
"Hey, Scully, I'm not gonna die. Come on. I've got at least two or three of my nine lives left over. I'm still here. I'm not..."
"It could have been you. It could have been you just as easily as Curtis."
"Scully, it always could be me. But it wasn't. And as much as I'm glad to know that you like me alive, you know I can't promise something like that. Not in my position."
I wish I could. That's what I wish. I wish I could give her everything she wants including my safety. God, I can't even believe that she cares.
She nods quickly and wipes her eyes, still refusing to look me in the eye.
"I know. I know that. I just...I'm just..."
"I'm scared. I don't...I don't want to lose you. I haven't got anybody else."
That one sentence makes all the physical pain I've been feeling vanish without a trace. It's me. She doesn't want to lose *me*. I feel like my heart is closing in on itself. It's almost painful but in a different way. No one has ever...I mean, I know that the people here would be upset if I died, upset in the same way a country is upset when the president dies, but they would move on, find another leader. I don't know if anyone would miss me personally. I don't know if there's ever been someone who would miss me personally. I don't think so. I don't think anyone in the world has ever really given a shit if I lived or died, except in regards to how that might benefit them or perhaps be a detriment.
I'm so shocked that for a minute I don't even know what to say. I actually feel choked up. I can't remember the last time that happened.
"I'm sorry, Krycek. I'm just being selfish. You did a wonderful thing and it's going to help us all. I should be congratulating you for..."
"You're all I have too, Scully."
She turns and finally looks at my face. Then she smiles and takes my hand in hers. I have to resist the urge to tug on it and pull her onto my lap. I just want to lie here, cradling her and kissing her face forever. What the hell is happening to me? What in the world made me say that? It must be the meds because I can't seem to stop it.
"It's more...more than I've ever had in my entire life, Scully. What you're saying to me now, it..."
God, how do I put this into words that don't render me even more pathetic and emasculated? Are there even words to describe what I'm feeling? It's not really entirely a good feeling. It feels like eating a ten course meal after starving in the desert for a year. Bloated and achy and raw.
"It's just...you just mean a lot to me, Scully."
"You mean a lot to me too. So...so try not to get yourself killed okay?"
"Um...I'll try, Scully. I promise."
She's still holding my hand. I still don't understand this. We just sit there holding hands, staring at each other in this weird uncomfortable silence for a few minutes and part of me wants her to just go away and stop making me feel so strange. Part of me wants to make sure she never ever leaves. She's so beautiful. So very beautiful. It's not that I've never noticed that it's just...right here, right now, it's almost overwhelming. It's almost too much.
"You should rest," she tells me, finally breaking the silence and starting to stand up.
"Wait, Scully, don't...don't leave yet. Can you just..."
I pull on her hand and she sits down again.
"Want me to stay till you fall asleep again?" she asks in the most soothing, syrupy voice I've ever heard her use. Despite my incapacity it does something to my body that comes as a completely unwelcome shock. Oh Scully, please stop making me feel this way. I've tried so hard not to want you. It's been working so well so far. I should tell you to go. I should tell you to leave me the hell alone and stop touching my face and cooing and telling me that you don't want me to die. I really really should.
"Yeah. Would you?"
Is this what it feels like to be drunk? It's been so long, I can barely even remember if I'm doing it right.
Roseanne came by about an hour ago with a bottle of vodka. Real, actual vodka. I have no idea where she got it or what she had to do for it but I don't really care. It's in my room and that's all that matters.
We had a horrible day at work. The power went out unexpectedly and we lost almost an entire morning's worth of research. Typical but no less infuriating for its regularity. I guess she figured we could both use some kind of cheering up.
"Do you actually wear this?"
Roseanne is standing in front of my closet holding some short, red, satin tank top against her chest and thrusting her breasts into it ridiculously.
"It was in the closet when I got here."
She tosses it over to me and it hits me in the face and almost makes me drop the precious bottle onto my comforter.
"Try it on. I'll bet it'll look great."
"Yeah maybe next time we go on a raid."
She snorts and half sits, half falls onto the floor. She's definitely drunk. I'm still sober enough that wearing the stupid thing seems like a bad idea.
"You should wear it for Alex. I'm sure he'd love it. Not that he needs to see you in something like that to get all excited about you..."
Not this again. Roseanne seems to have developed some sort of fixation on my sex life, or lack thereof. It seems like every time I talk to her lately she makes some thinly veiled reference to Krycek's so-called desire for me. Now that she's drunk I guess she's dropped all the preamble and cut right to the chase. Honestly though, I don't know where the hell she's getting this from. It's ridiculous. I've become convinced that she's delusional and projecting whatever unresolved issues they have between them onto me.
"Roseanne, you're really gone." More gone than me. I enviously take a large swig from the bottle.
"No, Dana, come on. You can't tell me you don't see the way he looks at you at the meetings and stuff. The man needs a fucking bib for his drool."
"You're insane if you don't see it."
"Maybe he's not drooling over me."
"Yeah, maybe it's Bryan."
"Shut up you idiot. I'm talking about you. I mean, didn't you..."
God, I must be a little tipsy to even consider asking her this. I've been wondering and had my suspicions for almost a year now but I've never been brazen enough to just come out and pry into her personal business like that. Then again, she's not exactly being subtle tonight.
"Didn't I what? Fuck him?"
Okay. Subtlety is definitely not an issue.
"Uh, well, yeah."
"Yeah I fucked him. So what does that prove. He doesn't want me anymore. He never really did anyway."
She sounds...amused. I was expecting bitterness when this topic finally rolled around but she seems to think the whole thing is funny. Or maybe she's like Mulder, laughing to cover the pain. I don't think so though.
"So um...so what, I mean..."
God, what is my problem? Either ask her or don't. I don't know why I'm so curious anyway. This whole evening is rapidly degenerating into a seventh grader's slumber party.
"What do you wanna know, Dana? I'll tell you anything you want but it's kind of irrelevant at this point."
What do I want to know? Lots of things. Too many things.
"You wanna know all the gory details?"
"Wha...no, NO! God, Roseanne. Of course not. Just...well, what happened?"
She shrugs and makes a strange, disgusted face.
"Who knows. I dunno Dana. We were pretty hot and heavy for a little bit. A bright flame that burned quickly. I guess we just ran out of heat or something. It was like one day he was boinking me in a closet and the next he was just...not. I guess he just lost interest."
Boinking her in a closet? I don't even wanna know. This is wrong anyway. I shouldn't be prying her for information when she's inebriated.
"He just said he thought we should stop."
"He didn't give you a reason?"
"Honestly, I think he's just afraid to get too close. To anybody. If he gets close then he's vulnerable and Alex Krycek doesn't do vulnerable. But of course he needs sex so he just sort of roams aimlessly from one lover to the next. Well, that's what he used to do. Now he just jacks off I suppose..."
Afraid to get too close. That sounds frighteningly familiar. I wonder if I'll ever stop hating myself for not letting Mulder in when I had the chance. I let him get closer than anyone else in the world ever has or probably ever will but, God, it wasn't close enough. I feel a maudlin mood creeping in through the alcohol laden giddiness and run my hands over my face, trying to banish it. Then I realize Roseanne is still talking.
"...wasn't love though. I didn't love him and he didn't love me. We were friends really. Still are. I don't think I was ever stupid enough to kid myself into believing it could be anything more. Before you came I didn't think he was even capable of any kind of deep feelings for another person."
What is she talking about now? Deep feelings? Krycek doesn't have deep feelings for me. Mulder...Oh Mulder. Even after all this time, almost three years now, it's like you're still here. Inside me. It's as if our feelings were strong enough to keep some part of you alive. What *would* you think of all this? I try to use your judgment as well as my own but there are some things I can't possibly judge your reaction to.
"Dana? What are you thinking about?"
God, how long have I been zoning out? Sometimes it still happens. I get wrapped up in my blanket of melancholy and regression and I lose time.
"I...I dunno. I guess how strange this all is. How different from the way it was..."
"The way what was?"
"We used to be enemies. I wanted to kill him, Roseanne. He was hired to *kill* me and he...and Mulder...it's just all very strange."
"Things change under desperate situations."
Hasn't my life always been one desperate situation after another?
"And he's changed too, don't you think?"
"Oh, I don't know Roseanne. I didn't know him at all before. All I knew of him was what he did, the things he'd done to me. And to Mulder..."
"Dana, in this life, in this time, I don't think that stuff counts for shit. It's a brave new world out there, ya know. And we're all in the same fucked up boat. What you've gotta ask yourself is what you think of him right here, right now, regardless of all the rest."
Was that a question?
I take a swig from the bottle and try to formulate an answer in my head.
"Well, I think he's...he's a very good leader. Very determined and ruthless and that's necessary here. I think the things that made him a good criminal are serving him well..."
"DANA! I don't mean as a leader. I mean as a person. As a man."
"I...I don't know Roseanne. He's done a lot for me. More than I ever expected. And I guess...um...he's very brave."
So brave that he's almost gotten killed more times than I care to count.
"And what, Roseanne?"
She rolls her eyes and looks at me like I'm some kind of mental defect.
"Dana, don't you think he's sexy?"
Sexy? God, this is going downhill fast.
"Well, he certainly seems to think so."
"Yeah well, that's one thing we never argued about."
"Roseanne, you seem like such an intelligent, strong woman. How could you let yourself be seduced by that...that..."
Pig? Womanizer? Ego-maniac?
"He's really good in bed Dana."
She snorts at the way I choke on my sip.
"Sorry, you didn't ask me that did you. Just thought it might be of interest."
Why in the world would it be of interest to me? God, *what* is she thinking?
"He wants you bad, Dana. I'm telling you..."
"If he does it's probably because there's no one else left. I'm the only woman in this place he hasn't fucked."
"Well, he never used to mind repeat performances. Before you got here he had a few favorites he used to kind of alternate between and..."
"God, what a fucking PIG!"
I'm not sure if it's the alcohol or what but this is really starting to piss me off. It's not like I didn't already know but this is just too much information.
"Yeah, he was. But God, Dana. God. He really is fucking amazing. It's like...it's like there's nothing else in the world but you and him fucking. He's so passionate, you just get like, knocked over by it. Like being caught up in a hurricane or something. I guess cause it's really his only release, escape or whatever. Maybe that's why he's been even more fucking uptight since you got here. He needs to get laid really bad, Dana."
Please stop talking now. This was a terrible idea. I do not want to know about this.
"Do you know we never did it in his bed. Never. Not even once. He said he hated having sex in beds. What the fuck is that about? He hardly ever even took off his clothes! God, it was so good though. Do you know that if you lick him behind the ear he like, growls?"
"No I didn't know that. Nor do I care."
"And when he comes he..."
"Roseanne! God. I don't CARE. He's a pig. A pig pig pig. Piggy pig. Stupid, conceited, overbearing...PIG!"
Great, now she's really laughing. So hard that her face is turning red and she's stomping her feet. I think she's about to fall down. When she finally regains her composure she points accusingly at me.
"You're a piece of work, Dana. You think..." she giggles again and grabs the bottle from my clutches. She almost frowns when she sees that it's almost empty. "You think you could turn him down? Is that what you think?"
"I don't think I have to worry about..."
"Put on the shirt, Dana."
"Put it on and go to see him and see what he does. And see what you do. I'll bet you a pack of cigarettes you end up fucking him."
Cigarettes? How does she get this shit? I wish I had her connections.
"I'm not putting this stupid thing on. Look at it. It's made for an 18 year old with fake breasts."
"What are you, scared?"
"Why the hell would I be scared?"
"Cause it might make you feel like a woman and then you'd have to admit that you are one and that you wanna get fucked."
"Fine. Whatever. I'll put on the stupid shirt!"
I yank my sweater and bra off and toss them onto the floor and pull the stupid thing over my head to the sound of Roseanne's incessant giggling.
"There. You happy now?"
"Fix your left boob," she chokes out through her hysterics. I look down and realize it's hanging out the top. The sight of it is enough to get through my little fit and I start laughing too. Could I be any more ridiculous?
We must both be trashed if we think this is in any way amusing. A scrawny red head in a slutty shirt. What a riot. But for some reason, it is. Maybe we just need to laugh at something. I no longer care about the fact that we're acting like a couple of teenagers. It feels so nice to just let go for a change.
God, it's been ages since I laughed. Years I think. And laugh we do. For a long time. Until we hear a very loud and insistent pounding on the door. Before I can get myself off the bed to answer, it bursts open to reveal a very angry looking individual. For a minute I'm scared. Then I realize it's Krycek, just standing there like an idiot, panting and gaping at us and I start laughing again.
To say that this is not what I expected to find would be a vast understatement. First of all, when I came down here looking for Scully to talk about the meeting tomorrow, I expected Bryan to be sitting outside her door like he usually does. He wasn't. I expected to hear, well, silence I guess behind Scully's door. I heard what sounded like a couple of women screaming. I don't know what I expected when I broke down the door but it sure as hell *wasn't* this.
Scully's sprawled out on the bed, her back slumped against the wall and her hands clutching her stomach as the rest of her body trembles in giddy hysterics. She's wearing a pair of close fitting, worn out jeans and...I don't even know what to call that shirt. All I know is it's damn tight and her tits are busting out the top and jiggling as she laughs. I swear to God, if it were just an inch lower cut her fucking nipples would be poking out. Her face is flushed and her hair is a mess and did I mention the fact that she's *laughing*? I don't know if I've ever seen her laughing like this.
I look down and notice Roseanne for the first time, hunched over somewhere near my feet, in her own little delirious fit. Then I see the empty bottle. Jesus Christ. They've been fucking drinking?
What the hell is going on?
I'm starting to feel extremely awkward. Almost as if I've interrupted some kind of dyke love fest or something. Roseanne's almost as much of a slut as I am so it wouldn't surprise me if she was trying to seduce Scully. Would it work, I wonder? Would they let me join? Watch at least?
Goddammit. This is serious. They're fucking wasted.
"You guys are fucking drunk!"
"Not fucking, Alex. Just drunk," Roseanne tells me between her guffaws.
"This isn't funny. Where the hell is Bryan?"
"I told him to go to bed," Scully says, wiping the tears of joy from her eyes.
"You did what? What the hell are you guys thinking?"
I'm starting to yell now and they finally seem to be calming down enough to listen to me.
"We're just trying to have some fun, Alex. God, go take your meds or something."
"Roseanne, get lost."
I reach down and haul her up by the arm and she stumbles in her attempt to pull away.
"I said, get lost. Go away. Now."
"Boy, Alex. You really do need to get laid. I'll leave you two alone then."
She stands on her toes to give me an irritating kiss on the cheek and practically falls out the door.
"Don't hit your ass on the way out!" I yell after her, slamming the now slightly broken door behind her.
I turn back to Scully who is no longer laughing.
"What the hell IS your problem, Krycek?"
"My problem? What's your problem, Scully? Jesus Christ! It's the middle of the night and you're sitting here getting fucked up and there's no one around to help you..."
"Roseanne was here."
"Roseanne's even more wasted than you! And she's no fucking help, Scully! What if...what if something happened? What the hell did you think you were doing sending Bryan away like that?"
"All right. That's enough."
She stands up and her legs wobble a bit. I can tell she's getting as mad as I am though. She points her finger in my face and starts shouting.
"First of all, you have NO RIGHT to come in here and tell my friend what to do. Second of all, Bryan is MY bodyguard and I can tell him to go to bed if I want to. I can't live with him hanging over my shoulder every goddamn minute. Third of all, I can take care of myself. Fourth of all, I CANNOT live like a fucking prisoner here, Krycek!"
I know she's right but how the hell am I supposed to listen to this tirade when I can't get my eyes off her goddamn chest?
"Scully, put a fucking sweater on for Christ's sake. What the hell are you wearing anyway?"
"And fifth of all, who the hell are YOU to tell ME what to wear?? You're not my fucking father and I'm not your goddamn little girl!"
She's right. Of course she's right. But how the hell am I supposed to sleep at night thinking she's getting wasted all by herself when anyone could just come in and take her, hurt her?
"This is not about some power trip of mine, Scully."
"Well then what the hell is it about?"
"It's about your safety."
She snorts and rolls her eyes.
"There is no such thing as safety, Krycek. And what good is it anyway if you don't enjoy your life? Christ, you DO need to lighten up. You're worse than..."
Her eyes drop and she looks suddenly very sad. Worse than Mulder. The other man who protected her with a desperation bordering on psychosis. Well, he did a pretty good fucking job. Christ, she's still here. After everything.
"I enjoy life sometimes, Scully."
"When?" she asks, looking at me accusingly again.
Well, when I was getting laid I did.
"I dunno, sometimes..."
"Krycek, I have never seen you enjoying life, enjoying ANYTHING. You walk around with this fucking grim expression like you're constipated or something, you never laugh, you never talk about anything except running this place..."
"Scully, I don't have TIME for anything else. Running this place is my entire life."
God, is this really what she thinks of me? That I'm some kind of dud? What the hell does she expect me to do?
"I know, and you're very good at it but don't you miss doing other things?"
"Of course I miss doing other things. Everyone misses doing other things. I thought that's what we were fighting for. The freedom to do whatever the hell we want."
"But don't you ever want to do something just...just for the sake of doing it?"
I just shrug because I honestly don't know what the hell she's talking about anymore. She sighs exaggeratedly and then opens up one of her drawers and starts fishing through it.
"Go put on a bathing suit."
"Go put on a bathing suit and meet me at the pool in ten minutes."
Man, she must be *really* fucking drunk.
"Why would I want to do that?"
"I dunno, Krycek. Just for the sake of doing it?"
She turns to me, bathing suit in hand and I don't know what the hell to say to her.
"Scully I don't really think..."
"Don't think. Just do it."
I guess I'd be a fool to turn down a chance at seeing her in a bathing suit.
I don't think I've actually ever been to the pool. I go to the gym to work out when I can but I've only seen the pool from above. There's a track that kind of winds around a surrounding balcony where I run sometimes. The water has always looked inviting.
The whole thing was Scully's idea. When she got here it was just a dried up, old, cement hole. But in one of the most surreal scenes I've ever witnessed, she managed to charm and negotiate with the ambassador from faceless land and sure enough he was bringing some chlorine in his next supply load and she turned it back into a first rate swimming pool.
I used to love swimming. It's not really my thing anymore for obvious reasons. It's a nice pool though. Especially now at night with the water glowing from the light at the end.
When I get there Scully's already swimming. She doesn't notice me as she laps back and forth at a leisurely pace and I don't say anything.
I had to do some serious digging to even find a fucking bathing suit. I found a pair of black, knee length shorts that I figured would suffice and threw them on along with a long sleeved shirt and my sneakers and came down here not knowing what to expect. Did she really think I was gonna dive in and start doing laps with her?
I kick off my shoes and sit on the side of the pool, dunking my feet in the surprisingly warm water. It feels almost like a bath. The wall on the other side is almost all glass and I can make out the bleachers outside where I guess people used to watch football games once upon a time. Scully's much more interesting.
She swims really well. She's in a black one piece and her hair fans out behind her as she moves in the water. She looks like some kind of mermaid or something. Totally gorgeous.
I just sit there watching her go back and forth about five times until she finally stops by the steps and stands up. She jumps when she sees me sitting there.
"Did you think I wouldn't show?"
"No, I just...I didn't hear you."
"It's probably not the best idea to swim when you're drunk. Not to be bossy or overbearing or anything."
"I'm not drunk. I was just a little tipsy. Roseanne drank almost the whole bottle herself."
Well, that figures.
Her bathing suit has a really high neck. It's one of those athletic type things with a white racing stripe down the side and a zipper from the middle of her cleavage up to her neck. For some reason it's even sexier than actually seeing her breasts like before. Just one flick of the wrist is all it would take...
"So, are you just gonna sit there or are you going to join me?"
"I'm fine here, Scully. I don't...I don't really swim."
She looks at me curiously for a minute and then sudden realization dawns and she looks terribly guilty.
"Oh, God, of course. I'm such an idiot..."
No, Scully. Please don't feel guilty. Please don't feel bad for me. Please, please don't regret asking me to do this.
"Sometimes I forget. I mean it's...it's just that you've done so much more than...oh God. I'm *such* a moron. Please tell me to shut up."
She sits down on the stairs and puts her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.
"No, what were you going to say?"
She laughs through her nose and shakes her head.
"I remember one time, Mulder told me he wished he had a peg leg. Or hooks for hands."
That does sound like something the idiot would have said actually.
"He said if you had those things that maybe people wouldn't expect so much. That it would be enough, impressive even, just to survive."
She laughs again at the memory and I can tell it's a fond one for some bizarre reason.
"He was just being silly but it's just, you've done so much more than survive, Krycek. I just forget sometimes."
I feel my head and my heart swell to about three times their normal size like the Grinch in that stupid movie and I smile back at her. I guess by Mulder's twisted standards I'm a fucking super hero. Of course, she's wrong. I haven't done much more than survive. That's all this is really, desperately clawing for survival.
"Well, anyway, you don't have to swim to get in the pool, Krycek. Just come in and get wet."
"I really can't, Scully," I tell her, lifting the prosthetic for emphasis. "This thing is electrical and it's not a good idea to submerge it in water. Especially since I don't see as how I'll be able to replace it anytime soon. I'm trying to treat it as well as I can."
"So take it off," she suggests. As if this were the easiest thing in the world.
"Um...Scully, I don't really..."
"Come on, it's just us here."
Yeah, and that's exactly the problem you crazy little girl. Oops, sorry. Not a little girl. Woman. Womyn. Whatever the hell she wants to be called. Anyway Scully is about the last person in the world I want to show any weakness to. And this is the biggest weakness I've got.
Besides the fact that it's just plain ugly. I can't bear the thought of her thinking any part of me is physically ugly. Emotionally, fine. I'm used to that. But I guess I'm just vain when it comes to my appearance. Maybe someday, if I live long enough, I'll be a crazy old man, deriving glee out of frightening small children with my freakish stump but right now, I'm just not there yet. Especially not with her. I want her to think I'm as beautiful as I think she is.
"Come on, Krycek. Don't be a big baby. Just take it off and get in here. It feels really good."
"A what? A baby??"
Okay, she knows what buttons to push. God, the fact that she managed to get me down here is something in itself. I guess I might look even stupider if I just sit here watching her all night.
She shrugs and smirks and I start unbuttoning my shirt.
"You smile now. You're gonna be sorry. This thing ain't pretty," I warn her, trying to prepare her for the worst. She starts swimming around again and it makes me a little more comfortable to think she's not just gonna sit there staring while I do this.
"Can't be worse than yer face," she jokes, splashing water on me with her foot as she swims by.
"You're a riot."
I get the shirt off and start the always irritating process of removing the prosthesis. At least I won't have to bother with it when I'm ready to go to sleep tonight. Scully starts doing laps again which is just as well.
When I finally get the stupid thing off I slide down into the water and she's right. It does feel really good. Just like a bath. Except better cause Scully's here. She swims up to me and stands up a few feet in front of me. The water comes up to the top of her breasts but it only covers me from the stomach down.
"Yeah. Yeah it is."
"Do you ever feel it?"
I just look at her for a second before I realize what she's talking about.
"Um, sometimes I guess. Not as much as when it first happened but yeah, once in awhile I feel like it's still there."
She nods and runs her hand back and forth through the water, watching the trails under the surface.
"I think I know what you mean. Sometimes I still feel him there. I think it's kind of similar."
Mulder. I never really thought about it that way. I guess he was kind of like an arm to her. Something that's just...just there, intrinsically a part of you and when it's gone you're never quite the same. It always feels like something vital is missing.
"Oh, wait. I've gotta show you something."
She swims to the steps and gets out of the pool and for a brief, bizarre moment I'm sure she's gonna take off her suit. Yeah, show me your stump and I'll show you my tits. Doesn't seem like a fair trade but what the hell.
Then she goes to the wall and flicks a switch that makes all the lights in the place except the one in the pool go off. It makes it much easier to see out the window and it almost feels like we're outside. But it's not really anything great. I wonder if she turned them off so she wouldn't have to look too closely at me.
Then she comes back to the pool and points up. I look towards the ceiling and realize for the first time that it's made of glass too. I must have known that but I never actually looked. The way it's set up when you look up you can't see anything but the stars. It's somewhat breathtaking. If you're into stars.
I look back at her, still convinced that she's the most impressive sight to be seen in this place. She's looking at the sky with a sense of wonder that I just don't understand even though it's quite beautiful on her.
"Pretty. Hard to believe such evil could come from the stars," I say, rather stupidly. Way to prove the woman's point. Maybe I am a drag.
"It's not the stars' fault Alex," she murmurs and I swallow heavily at her use of my first name. It's rare for her to call me that. It's usually "Krycek," harsh syllables uttered in a way that almost unavoidably sounds disgusted no matter who is saying it. I've always hated that stupid name. But Alex, Alex isn't so bad. Alex isn't necessarily a bastard.
"I know. It's just hard to look up with any kind of wonder or curiosity at this point. All I feel is disgust and a nauseating fear of what could be coming next."
"Don't you see any hope in them?" she asks, looking back at me again. "I mean, the universe is so big. They're not all that there is. This is all so insignificant really. There's so much more that's out there, so much more potential..."
This from our former skeptic in residence. I guess there's no denying it anymore. Things really have changed.
"I see more hope in what's right in front of me. In the fact that we're still here. You and me. I think that's a little more impressive."
She laughs lightly and looks at me in disbelief.
"You would think that wouldn't you?"
"It's not an ego thing."
"No, I know. It's just, you're so...I dunno, Earth-bound. So...I don't know. I mean there are things in life that aren't as tangible as all that. I mean, there's more to life than just eating, breathing, sleeping, surviving."
"Yeah there is. You left out the most important one, Scully."
She rolls her eyes. Miss philosopher. I suppose I'm some kind of philistine because I don't sit around pondering this crap like Mulder used to.
"Even with that," she says, "there's an element of it that goes beyond the physical, the biological."
"Oh really? What's that?
"Well, hopefully the mutual respect, love and affection you share with the other person."
"Mmm, hopefully. How often is it really about that though?"
And how the hell did we start talking about sex anyway?
"Well, probably not often enough. But it's always more than physical. No matter what. Ninety percent of sex is mental."
"Oh, ninety percent huh? Where'd you get that factoid, Doc?"
"God, you are such a little fucker. Don't you see any truth in what I'm saying? Can't you relate to any of it?"
"I dunno, Scully. I guess we just have had different experiences. I mean you've actually been..."
Been what? God, I don't even know if she and Mulder ever really got around to having sex. It doesn't really matter though. They were lovers. There's no question about that.
"Well, you've been in love, Scully. You've had that mutual respect, affection crap."
"Boy, you're a real piece of work, Alex Krycek."
Me? I'm not the one getting all mooney eyed from looking at the stupid stars.
"All I'm saying is I guess I don't really know what you're talking about."
"You do. I really think you do. You just don't want to. What are you so afraid of, Alex?" she asks, moving a little closer to me. Oh God. What is happening here. My heart is racing and I'm actually starting to sweat even though I'm submerged in lukewarm water.
"Afraid? I'm not afraid. I just think it's better this way. I...I can't afford those kinds of feelings."
"God, Alex, those feelings are the *only* thing worth living for. I know how you feel because I was there. And I threw away the chance of a lifetime. It's not worth it. You should always take the chance. Take the chance, Alex."
She's even closer now. Does she want me to kiss her?? Is that what she's saying to me right now? It really feels like one of those moments but it's just...am I scared? I don't even know anymore. She confuses the fuck out of me.
"I've never really known anybody who I thought was worth it before, Dana."
"Well, maybe the love of your life is right around the corner. Could be someone you'd never suspect. Hey, it could be Bryan."
"That is so not funny."
"Oh, it's very funny. In fact the image is so hilarious I can't even stand it."
She starts giggling and my almost psychotic urge to kiss her goes away a little bit so I grab her head and dunk her instead. When she comes up she's spitting and splashing and miraculously, still laughing. We have a little bit of a water fight, splashing and dunking and laughing like a couple of 8 year olds and I think I finally understand what she means by doing something just for the sake of doing it. Is this what fun feels like? It's been so fucking long.
Unfortunately all this horsing around with a half naked, wet Dana has left me in an embarrassingly aroused state. When we finally calm down she tells me she's leaving.
"It's not that late, Dana."
"Well, we've got a meeting at 6:30 am sharp."
"Oh, right. Whose idiot idea was that anyway?"
"Your call, Captain."
"Well, next time I come up with a moronic notion like that, smack me upside the head."
"Done and done."
She starts walking up the stairs and turns back to me.
"Do you uh...do you need any help?"
Help? Yeah I need some help. I need some help jerking off tonight, Dana.
"No, I'm fine. I'm actually gonna stay a little while."
"Oh, okay. I'll get one of the guards to walk me back. I'll meet you at 6 for coffee and we can walk down together."
"Right. Be careful."
She starts toweling herself off and putting her clothes back on and I feel like I should really thank her but I don't even know how to begin.
"Thanks. For tonight. This was...this was really nice."
There ya go. Wasn't so hard. And she's smiling again all sweet and sugary.
"Yeah it was. We should do it again. It could be um, our thing."
Our thing? We have a thing. I like that.
"I'd love that."
"Okay, I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams."
Man, she doesn't know the half of it.
When I make it back to my room I'm still fucking hard. It's a miracle of modern science. I don't know what the hell she just did to me or what the fuck they're putting in that water but I've never been so horny in my entire life.
I shed my clothes quickly and collapse into my large and suddenly very empty feeling bed in the dark. I don't even really feel like jerking off. I'm so fucking sick and tired of it. But it's gotta be done. It's like having to pee. If I don't do it, I'm gonna be awake all night having to do it and I'm going to get more and more tired and unwilling to do it and 5:30 will roll around and I'll still be sitting here hard as a rock and probably having to pee by then as well.
I don't usually have fantasies. I guess that's kind of strange for a guy. From what I've gathered most men have an elaborate collection of scenarios they like to play out in their mind as they touch themselves. Maybe I just have no imagination. I usually just think about things I've actually done. Sometimes I don't think anything sexual at all. Sometimes I plan meetings while I do it. Sometimes I think about being in battle. Sometimes I think about arguing with Scully. Sometimes I don't think about anything at all, just the way my dick feels in my hand. I just concentrate on the sensations and use the moments to clear my head entirely. Fantasy has always seemed like a waste of precious time.
Tonight is different. Tonight I went swimming for no reason at all and looked at the stars and talked about love, of all things, with Dana Scully. Tonight I give myself a fantasy.
As I take myself in my hand I go with the first image that pops into my head. Dana and Roseanne. Going down on each other on the floor of the lab. Maybe I was supposed to have a preamble or something but that works pretty well for me. I close my eyes and I can almost see it. God, it would be a beautiful sight.
I can't see Dana's face though so I put her on her back with Roseanne going down on her and Dana just looking at me, wide eyed, biting her lip as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Her hair falls over her breasts and on the floor and her hands tangle in Roseanne's curly brown locks between her legs.
Yeah, this is definitely working. I'm close already.
But as I let myself relax into the fantasy, my mind changes it, almost against my will. And suddenly it's me going down on her. Here. In this bed.
I've never had sex with a woman in this bed. Not once. Women are like cats. Once you let them in the window and give them milk, they never go away. I never wanted a woman to stay here, to spend the night. But I don't have the heart to kick them out into the cold either. So I fuck where I can and leave when it's over. If it's their bed, it's my choice. Usually I don't even take that risk though.
But tonight, in my head, I bring Dana Scully to my bed, and I lick her senseless and make her come. She cries my name and then she falls asleep. She falls asleep in my bed, in my embrace.
The force and sheer pleasure of my sudden, unexpected orgasm makes me actually jerk into my hand and moan. I never moan when I masturbate. And I didn't even grab a tissue so now my stomach is covered with my own semen. And I don't even care.
"Dana..." I whisper into the dark. Not surprisingly, no one answers me.
For the first time in a very long time she was afraid for her life.
She felt safe most of the time. Protected.
Nothing could have prepared her for this. Snippets of her old life came back to her: her FBI training ("Don't shoot to kill unless your life is threatened"), her father's military background ("Why did the soldiers kill that man, daddy?", "Sometimes, Starbuck, in a war, it's kill or be killed...")
Kill or be killed.
Surely that had to be considered. These men, these...these traitors, they would kill her, take away her home, her life, her work, if she didn't strike first.
(Alex..."Aim for the heart, Dana. It's the only way to kill them.")
Black blood flowing, reminding her that these are not humans. Once...once upon a time humans who somehow were turned into this. Chose this. Have to remember they chose it.
No slaves. He told her there were no slaves. No red blood and she believes because she does not see it. Still, it becomes difficult to tell in the chaos.
Running and shooting at the same time. They have so many ways to kill. So many.
She seeks him out and they make their moves, attacking the primary targets, taking what they need. He is easy and comfortable, laughing and it puts her at ease until she remembers the bomb.
The compound is set to explode in five minutes.
She has to drag him away with blood-stained hands.
We won tonight. I think we won something big.
We learned recently that a drone colony was being established very close to our territory. It was spreading fast and was bound to encroach on our land if we didn't do something to stop it. We would have been utterly destroyed. If you stand in the way of development you get squashed like a bug.
We had two choices. Retreat even further north or attack before they had a chance to get themselves established. It took me about five minutes to make the decision. Scully told me she thought I liked playing Cowboys and Indians a little too much for my own good. I told her the Indians would have moved and that's why they lost.
I still can't believe that we won. Blew the whole fucking place to kingdom come. I don't know if it would have been possible without her. It never ceases to amaze me how much intelligence, tactical knowledge and brute force is contained in that singular, tiny body.
I didn't want her to come. She insisted. It was her first raid and, hopefully, her last. I found it somewhat difficult to concentrate with her there. Unsettling to realize that I was more concerned with her safety than my own. And more than a little disturbing to realize that I would have sacrificed this whole place if it meant keeping her alive.
Still, it was something else to see her like that.
The combination of left-over adrenaline, the thrill of having won, the knowledge that I've cheated death yet again and the memory of Dana kicking some serious ass has left me in a very strange state indeed.
When we get back to the compound we are met with an awaiting victory party. There is merriment and celebration in the recreation areas and I am tempted to stay and join in the festivities but I am shaking so hard I think I'd be better off alone right now. I don't think I can talk and interact on a normal level tonight. I don't think I can drink and laugh and toast our success. I need another kind of release.
As I walk the deserted hallway back to my quarters I hear them singing in the distance. Singing. Jesus Christ what a strange world.
Then I hear the click of small footsteps behind me. Oh Scully, not tonight. I don't think I can stand it.
And yet when I reach the door I find myself holding it open for her, inviting her to join me against my better judgment. We step inside and I don't bother turning on the light. The moon is bright through the windows.
I feel like my fucking insides are about to rip through my skin but I manage to carry out the mundane task of opening the refrigerator door and taking out an old, stolen bottle of champagne, saved all these years for just such an occasion.
I turn to face her for the first time, bottle in hand and lunatic grin no doubt plastered on my face, about to ask her to join me in a private celebration and I am stopped dead in my tracks.
She is leaning against the kitchen table, bent slightly at the stomach and trembling even harder than I am. It doesn't seem to be from excitement though. Her expression is haunted and her hair and clothing are soaked with blood and dirt. She looks like she's in shock. It occurs to me for the first time that she might have been hurt at some point and I drop the bottle on the counter and move to stand in front of her.
"Are you all right? Did you get hurt, Dana?"
She shakes her head and mutters, "Never...killed...so...many..."
Of course. I should have known she'd feel this way. She still has a little bit of a heart.
"God, Krycek, all those...living, breathing...what if I...what if we...oh God."
I watch tears fall down her cheeks and I want so badly to be able to touch her, to hold her and make her feel better, feel something besides what she is feeling now. I can't though because my heart is still pounding through my rib cage and my dick is rock hard for her and I don't know if I'd be able to stop at one touch of comfort this time.
"We did what we had to do. You didn't do anything wrong. And you were very brave."
God, even my voice is shaking. I feel like I'm going to explode into a million pieces.
"What if...what if we made mistakes? What if I...I could have been in that colony, Alex. I *was* in that colony. Or one just like it anyway."
"They didn't have any slaves. All the people there chose that life. We didn't kill anyone that didn't deserve to die."
She flinches and I suppose I've chosen the wrong words yet again. God, Dana, after everything you've seen how can you still have so much fucking compassion?
"Those people were working for the motherfuckers that made you a slave, Dana. The same bastards that killed Mulder."
She sighs and finally looks up at my face. She's so beautiful it almost hurts to look back.
"I suppose it's always going to be like this isn't it? I mean, I suppose I should get used to it. The same way I did when I worked at the Bureau. I remember how I felt the first time I killed someone in the line of duty back then. It wasn't as...it wasn't like this but it was bad."
"I know, it's...it's a strange feeling..."
I'm not sure what to tell her about it because I am so far beyond the point she's at right now I can hardly relate to it at all. I do have a dim recollection of feeling sorrow and guilt the first time I killed another living being, the first time I killed a whole bunch of living beings, but it's all so long ago now, so very far away.
"This is a war though, Dana. And you're on the right side. You have to know that you're doing the right thing."
Please know that. Please don't leave.
"Not just for vengeance, Dana but for the future as well. You're a hero. I don't know if you really realize that."
She stares at me silently and I realize for the first time how heavily we're both breathing. I'm still trembling violently, from the inside out. And in the pregnant quiet between the two of us I can hear them still singing and shouting outside.
"You were very brave too, Alex. I don't think I could have...I mean, I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you there."
"Gimme a break," I snort. "You could have taken the whole bunch out single handed I'll bet."
"No, I'm serious. I never would have done any of this, any of this work or...God, I'd still be a slave if it weren't for you. And since then, I've been...you've been..."
She bites her lip nervously, searching for the words.
"You're so beautiful," I blurt out carelessly, no longer even caring how she might react. She should have known better than to come to me when I'm feeling like this.
"Alex...You make me feel...God, you make me feel..."
She doesn't finish but I can see everything in her eyes. I make her feel beautiful. I make her feel strong. I make her feel like she can do anything.
Or, I could just be delusional.
"I'm so proud of you, Dana..." I mumble and then
stop, realizing how ridiculous that sounds. Like I'm her father or her mentor or something. Proud isn't quite the right word. Astonished maybe. Awed. And right now, Jesus, I don't even know if I could put it to words. I realize suddenly that I'm standing much closer to her than I was five minutes ago and that if she doesn't get the hell out of here I'm gonna get even closer. I can't stop it. And I have no idea if she would want me to stop it. I've been trying so hard for so long to stop it. Just stop it already. I can't afford it. And yet I need it so desperately. It's like she's cracked something open, something inside me that's been closed and callused over for so long I didn't even think it existed anymore.
"Dana, I don't...I think, I think you should probably go now," I choke out, silently begging her not to.
"I can't," she says simply and I feel like the words snap the cord that's been holding me in place for four years now. I close the final distance between us and my body is so close to hers that I can almost feel the pounding in her chest and the tremors running through her. "I don't...want to go. I need...I can't be alone tonight."
"Are you sure?" I ask, offering one last chance to bail before I give up any hope of restraint, trying to communicate through my expression and my body and my voice just what she will be accepting if she stays here. "Dana, if you stay I..."
Her left hand releases its death grip on the edge of my kitchen table and slowly starts to raise and move in the general direction of my face. A terrifically small gesture but right now, it's enough to send me flying past the point of no return. Before her palm even reaches my cheek, I grab her wrist and shove my entire body fully against hers. Her eyes widen in surprise and she gasps quietly.
"Alex..." she whispers again and then we are lunging at each other, kissing each other so hard that I can't even breathe.
I've gotten pretty used to having only one fully functional hand but it's moments like this when I really miss the other one. I can almost feel it, twitching with the need to touch her skin, as I slide under her shirt and skim the softness of her belly with my fingers. She moans softly against my lips and I shove my tongue down her throat.
She's so fucking far away down there. I can't stand it. I nudge her against the table and she pulls herself on top of it, bringing her head up so that it's a little more level with mine. I reach down between her thighs, pulling them apart and planting myself inside the warm shelter of her legs. Too many places to touch, too many needs, too too much...
She readjusts herself clumsily, grinding her crotch against mine, unintentionally I think, and buries her fingers in my hair. I feel like grabbing them and dragging them over every inch of my body.
I run my mouth down her chin and over her neck, tasting the strange mixture of salty sweat and other people's blood and then back, over the jagged scar behind her ear. Her legs wrap tightly around my waist and this time the friction between us is planned. It should feel good but right now, it's torture. It hurts.
Then she reaches between us and runs her hand along the bulge in my jeans and I know it's gotta stop right there.
Well, not exactly there. Not until I rut against her like a horny puppy humping some poor unsuspecting leg.
"Dana..." I groan agonizingly into her ear and at the same time, knock the book and the dishes from this morning's breakfast off the table behind her. The shrill of glass breaking on the floor mixes with the continuing sounds of merriment outside and the beat inside me, thrumming so loudly that I can hear it.
I push her down across the surface of the table and pull at her shirt, completely aggravated and feeling an oppressive restriction. Forget the hand I lost, I need about twelve more right now. One to rip the shirt off her back, one to touch her face, one her breast, one to strip her jeans away, another to plunge between her legs, still more to get me out of what I'm wearing.
She pulls her top over her head and tosses it to the side. Oh yeah. She's got hands too. And I've still got a mouth dammit. I latch that particular asset onto her nipple through the cotton material of her bra and she moans and arches towards me.
Yeah, you tell me what to do, Dana. I don't care if you're incoherent. Just keep talking to me, keep reminding me that you want this.
I run my tongue over her stomach and her trembling shifts to another level. We're both still shaking so damn much we can barely keep it together.
My mouth and right hand work together to undo the fly of her jeans and I sink to my knees before her, pulling them off all the way. All the way down to her damn combat boots. Motherfucking Christ! I feel like screaming.
But I don't. And I don't even consider trying to sit here patiently untying those motherfuckers either. I reach up again and yank her underwear down to her knees and bury my face between her thighs.
Holy fuck. She tastes fucking amazing. And the smell...good Goddamn. I don't even bother with any preliminaries, teasing, nothing. She's dripping wet and grinding into me and I think that kind of thing would only annoy the shit out of her right now so I head right for home base. I flick my tongue over her clit nice and hard and she grabs the back of my head and cries.
I do it again, harder, and again and again as fast as I can fucking manage it and she starts squirming and panting and trying to spread her legs farther apart. I kind of like this.nd I recognize the urgency in her eyes. It's the same desperation I feel.
I stand up and undo my own pants, pulling them down to my own ankles and realize the same problem exists on my side of the street. No fucking time. We're gonna have to fuck the same way we do everything. With our boots on.
"Turn over," I tell her roughly. She stands up and turns her back to me and I press her down so that she's bent over the table. I guide my cock to her with my hand and finally, finally enter her in one quick, violent jerk.
It's so fucking tight in there that for a delirious, panicked moment, I'm afraid that in my haste, I've actually gotten the wrong hole by accident. But no, it's wet and soft and, God, just amazing. Too amazing actually.
God, I'm just standing here like a fucking retard. I'm afraid to move.
Okay, deep breath, focus, concentrate, eyes on the wall, this is probably the only time you're ever gonna get to do this.
I manage to regain enough control to slide almost completely back out with impressive patience and then slowly back in. Yep, it's as easy as that. Just gotta keep doing that for long enough to avoid total humiliation.
I grip her waist in my hand and successfully complete another smooth, even stroke and I think maybe I can do this.
That's when she starts making this strange, mewling sound and arching her back, pressing herself up against me. I look down and see that her little feet aren't even touching the ground. Her legs are just dangling there in mid air over the side of the table. She's so little. It's so easy to forget how small and delicate she is. Then I see the mark on her lower back. A tattoo? She's got a tattoo. God, who is this woman? Who was she?
"Mmm...more Alex, harder," she groans, tightening her vaginal muscles around me, pulling me deeper and tighter. God, she's so fucking tight. Fuck. Okay. I give up.
"God, Alex...God," she pants when I start pounding into her, all attempts at decorum and control completely abandoned.
"Yeah? Tell me. Tell me, Dana," I grunt through short breaths, draping my body over hers and pressing my lips against her ear.
"Yeah you can. Tell me, tell me it feels good. Tell me you want it, Dana. Tell me you want me."
"I wa...I..." She turns her head to the side so that her lips are close to mine and I can see her eyes.
"You fucking ego...maniac...God!"
I guess she's wondering if I'm not doing this solely to hear her telling me how great I am. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been accused of such a thing.
I slam into her, purposefully hard this time, and grab her hair in my fist, pulling her face further back towards mine and pushing my tongue brutally between her lips. She sucks on it at the same time as her vaginal muscles tighten around my cock and we continue to eye each other accusingly. Then I feel her teeth digging into me and I pull back with a thoroughly unmanly yelp. She smiles coyly and rubs her ass in a circle against my belly.
"Tell me," I demand again, thrusting with ever increasing speed and force, causing the table to shake as badly as I am shaking, almost trying to hurt her into telling me something. Anything about what she's feeling. Of course, in the process, I'm bringing myself closer and closer to orgasm and pretty soon there's not going to be any turning back.
"Why...why don't you tell me Alex?"
She must be kidding. There is no way in hell that she couldn't know.
"Tell *me* how it feels."
I don't think she understands. I don't wanna know how my dick feels inside her. I mean I do, but more than that, I wanna know that she's wanted this the way I have. I wanna know that it's me. All me.
"It feels...Jesus, Dana, it feels like dying."
Fuck. That didn't make any sense at all and now I'm really, really close. I reach down to where her crotch is pressed against the sharp edge of the table and realize that that's probably been hurting her. I push between and grind my fingers against her clit, taking the pain onto my hand.
"Mmmyeeahhh," she whimpers and her hands grope around the table, looking for something to grab.
"I ca...I can't...I don't..."
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can't stop. Fucking shit. I can't fucking stop and I can't make it any better than it is because I have absolutely no control left and my ears are ringing and I can't even fucking see straight and I can't stop jerking into her like a fucking lunatic.
I clutch hard between her legs and scream out some incoherent nonsensical word as I come into her for what seems like an eternity. When I finally reach the point at which there could be not a drop of semen conceivably left in my body, it stops. It finally fucking stops and I realize that the woman I worship is probably completely disgusted with me right now.
Way to fuck up a good thing.
I used to believe in things like fate. I never would have admitted it but at one time I thought Mulder and I were "fated" to be together. That he was my destiny. I think he was in some way. He must have been because even though Alex just fucked me, I still feel Mulder inside me, living my life along with me. Me and Mulder just got fucked by Alex Krycek. That's honestly how I feel and I don't know what to think about that.
I don't know if I really believe in fate anymore because I don't think there is a force in the universe that could have planned this.
"Dana...shit..." he pants into my ear, collapsed on top of me, still almost completely clothed. "I...I wanna...I wanna do better. Come to bed with me."
He wants me to come. He wants to make me come. I don't know if I can. I don't know if I want to. I feel like every nerve ending is jangled and raw. It's all just too much.
He pulls off of me and buttons up his pants and I turn back over to look at him. Jesus, he's still wearing his fucking leather jacket.
But somehow, despite all the clothes, he looks naked standing there, his face flushed and sweaty and his eyes pleading silently. He holds out his hand to me and I take it and pull up to a standing position.
"Come to bed with me."
He wants to lay down with me, to hold me, to make love to me after this frenzied fuck. We're both still shaking. God, I think I do want that. I think I need it more than anything right now. And for Christ's sake, it's what I've been telling him he should want. Now he does. He's asking me to let him in. He's asking for permission to let me inside him. I should be congratulating him for his attempt at a mature, adult relationship. A caring, loving relationship. But I'm so afraid. Sex is sex but this...this would be intimacy. I've been so careful for so long. God, Mulder, what should we do?
"I thought you didn't like to do it in beds."
He flinches and I immediately feel stupid for having said that.
"Who told you that?"
I don't answer because I don't want to betray a confidence and I also don't want to talk about it anymore. It was the wrong thing to say.
"Roseanne? Did she tell you that?"
He looks angry. Shit. What is wrong with me?
"Nevermind Alex. I..."
"No, no it's okay. She's right. I don't. Not usually. I'd like to with you Dana. Please."
Please?? I don't think I've *ever* heard Alex say please before. Not even "please pass the peas". Never.
My words from that first night at the pool come back to me. What are you so afraid of? Take the chance.
He takes my hand and starts pulling on it like a little kid.
"Please. Come to bed with me."
And I do. Oh, Mulder, I hope this is what you would have wanted.
When we get to his bedroom we both finally take our clothes off in a strangely shy and awkward ceremony, our backs turned to each other. I crawl under the covers and look over at him still standing there. The only light in the room is coming in through the window. The moon is full tonight and the ground is covered with snow so it's actually pretty bright. He's really quite beautiful. I don't know if I ever noticed just how beautiful before now. But there's something wrong, something that's not him.
"Take it off," I tell him as he starts walking towards the bed.
"Are...are you sure?" He looks scared for some reason. As if I'd never seen him before.
"Yes. I want to see you, Alex. Just you. Like in the pool."
He smiles nervously and starts removing his plastic arm and I distract myself by looking out the window. I know he doesn't like me to watch him doing this although I don't really understand why. When I hear the thud of the prosthetic being placed on his dresser I turn back to him and sigh. Much much better.
God, he really is a gorgeous man. Even without the arm he's got a body like a Greek God. Broad shoulders, well muscled chest and stomach with just the right amount of hair, his skin so light it almost shimmers, strong, muscular legs. God, is this mine?
I've taken the left side of the bed which means he has to climb in on my right. We lie there on our backs for a little while, staring up at the ceiling and half listening to the continuing revelry outside. It sounds like they're all getting pretty wasted out there. I can hear him breathing next to me though, even over the din. He's breathing very loudly, very quickly. He's still shaking.
I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing or saying. I haven't been in a situation like this in over a decade.
"What are you thinking about, Alex?"
"Hmm? Um, nothing really."
"Nothing?" We just had sex and he's thinking about nothing? I find that very hard to believe.
"I was just...you know, it's funny. I don't ever really want to have sex with people in my bed because I'm afraid if I do, they'll want to stay and now I'm afraid to do it with you here because I'm afraid you'll want to leave."
"Why would I want to leave?"
He doesn't answer and I turn over on my side and prop my head on my elbow so I can look at him. I reach out and wipe some of the moisture from his brow with the tips of my fingers. His eyes slip shut and he shivers lightly.
"Alex? Why? Why do you think that?"
He sighs and when his eyes open he looks angry again. Not at me though. At himself perhaps for feeling an inkling of insecurity.
"Dana, you're...I dunno, you're just so goddamn perfect. It's actually a little aggravating. You deserve...I mean you must want...I don't know. I'm not a very nice man Dana."
What is it about men that turns them into post coital amnesiacs? Doesn't he remember that I've known him for four years? Has he forgotten that he didn't just pick me up in some bar somewhere? I would think that after all this time, he knows me well enough to know that I wouldn't just jump into this without knowing exactly who and what he is.
"Nice is overrated. I prefer passion. Besides, nice doesn't always mean good. You can be a very nice person and still not be a very good person and vice versa."
He laughs harshly as if to say he isn't either of those things and then he turns his head slightly to the left, finally looking at me. I've never seen such doubt in his eyes.
"Dana, I'm not even...I mean I'm...I'm not whole. Not a whole man."
He glances down to the place where his arm used to be and grimaces.
"God, Dana. What the hell are you doing to me? I've never felt so fucking insecure in my life."
Great. That's just the effect I love to have on a man. What is it about me?
I look at what's left of his arm carefully for the first time really. I've never been this close before. It's just a few inches from my face. I still don't really know all that much about how it happened. Just what Mulder told me and he wasn't actually there. I can tell just from looking at it this close that it wasn't exactly a clean cut. It reminds me of pictures from medical school of farmers and factory workers who'd gotten their arms chewed off by haywire machinery. The skin is tight and shiny. I'll bet it still hurts him a lot of the time.
"Alex, being whole has nothing to do with having a particular kind of body. It's about what kind of person you are. It's not the specific parts but how they fit together. And you...you're beautiful and complete, Alex. Everywhere."
I brush my fingers lightly over the remnant of his arm and he shudders under my touch.
"Is it very sensitive?"
He nods and looks down at me with an almost panicked expression. I place a featherlight kiss on the stump and he gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Does it still hurt you?" I ask, running my lips over him in a rain of kisses.
"Not...not now," he grunts through clenched teeth. I start lapping at him, working over the tightened flesh with my tongue and I notice that he's rapidly hardening again underneath the sheet.
"Does it feel good, Alex?"
He takes a few deep breaths and then just moans. I guess it does. I keep licking him there and start moving my hand over his chest as it rises and falls.
"Will you tell me?" I whisper to him.
"Tell me how. Tell me what happened to you."
His body tenses even more and I wonder if this was a good idea. I just feel like I need to know for some reason.
"Didn't Mulder tell you?"
"He told me what he knew. He wasn't there, Alex. I want to know what it was like for you." I stroke his cheek with my fingers and place another open mouthed kiss on his stump and he actually squirms. He actually whimpers. And I decide I want to hear a lot more of that sound.
"Please tell me." I kiss my way up his shoulder and onto his neck. "Please." My lips close over his earlobe and I suck lightly and rake my nails down the inside of his right arm. "Please." Finally a lick behind the ear, as per Roseanne's suggestion. He doesn't growl. In fact the childlike whine that comes from the back of his throat is about the furthest thing from a growl I can imagine. But I like it even better. "Please."
I feel his fingers tangling in my hair and suddenly he's pulling my face away from his ear and then he's kissing me hard and wet. His intentions are clear. It's obvious he'd rather fuck again than talk about this. And although he's making it mighty tempting with his hot, passion-filled kiss, I'm still overwhelmed with the need to hear his story.
I pull away from his mouth and he groans in protest.
"Tell me first."
He laughs and shakes his head.
He's called me that enough times for me to know what it means by now. Stubborn.
"I don't really remember that much, Dana. It was all so long ago and I wasn't completely in my right mind to begin with."
"Just tell me what you remember."
He takes a deep breath and starts playing with my hair, twisting it around his fingers and combing it over my shoulders.
"I remember that it was very cold. I was kind of a mess when it happened. I hadn't eaten or slept really in a few days so I wasn't physically in the best condition. And there were a lot of them so I couldn't...I mean I tried to fight but..."
He sighs and his hand tightens in my hair. I sense a bit of self reproach. Could he possibly think there's something wrong with him for not being able to prevent it? Then again, isn't that exactly the way I would think if it were me? Isn't that what I've been torturing myself over for four years now?
"Anyway, I fell asleep by the fire. I was just so tired...They woke me up and I was so disoriented... they managed to hold me down and restrain me. I didn't completely realize what was going to happen until I saw the one guy holding a knife in the fire. Then I finally realized the significance of the fact that they were all missing their left arms, what they were planning on doing with that knife... I think the realization was almost enough to make me pass out actually. But strangely enough, I didn't."
I remember a time, strapped to a chair, a madman's prisoner, looking at the needle in his hand, knowing that he planned on lobotomizing me. I remember the moment of realization and the sickening terror I felt. Except I got away. I was saved. By Mulder. Alex didn't have anyone to come to his rescue. Not that I would have said he deserved to be saved at the time. I remember when Mulder told me the story I was just so glad it hadn't been him that I hadn't thought of Krycek at all. It seemed to be a good punishment. But no one deserves to be brutalized like that. No one deserves to be so cold and alone and frightened.
"Alex..." I mumble into his chest and he squeezes me to him.
"I don't know how long it actually took. I think I blacked out after about fifteen minutes. Something must have scared them away though because when I woke up they were gone. And um...so was my arm. It was nighttime and it was probably about 40 below. Probably a good thing actually. I think the cold froze the blood a bit, otherwise I probably would have bled to death. I couldn't really move so I just kind of lay there all night drifting in and out of consciousness. I was sure I wasn't going to make it to see the sun come up. I think it was the longest night of my life. The next thing I remember is waking up in this seedy hospital bed...Dana, why are you crying?"
God, am I? I guess I am. There are tears all over my face and his chest.
"I don't...I'm just...I'm glad that you're here," I croak out and for some reason speaking just makes it worse. The burn in the back of my throat gets stronger and I start shaking.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even told you. It's not the most pleasant bedtime story in the world."
I can't even talk. All I can do is sniffle and shake my head.
"Don't cry, Dana. I can't...I can't stand it."
He pulls my head back to his face and starts kissing my cheeks, wiping the tears with the tip of his tongue.
"Shh, don't cry. It's okay."
He kisses my lips again, softly, sweetly this time. His hand runs down the side of my face and over my neck and then finally settles on the curve of my hip.
"I've never told anybody that whole story before Dana," he whispers into my mouth. "I don't know what it is about you."
His hand glides lower, down over the outside of my thigh and then back up the inside. He rolls over onto his side so that he's facing me fully and so that I can feel him, still hard even after reliving that horrific memory, and pressing against my stomach. His gentle kisses and soft caresses soothe me and I stop crying eventually.
And somehow, after awhile, I'm beyond being soothed and start moving rapidly towards being aroused again. He seems to sense the change in me and adjusts his attentions accordingly, kissing a little deeper, touching a little more aggressively. Still, he's surprisingly tender. I'm starting to feel something building in me, something that started what seems like hours ago now and was never really properly finished.
I wrap my leg over his and he pushes his thigh forward a little. The tiny hint of contact is enough to make me moan and pull him between my legs. I start rubbing myself up and down his thigh and he laughs against my neck as he licks it.
I nod, feeling his hand on my ass, moving lower and forward and, God, his finger is inside of me. I moan again and clutch the back of his head with both hands, pressing his mouth harder against my neck. He starts sliding his finger in and out of me at a terrifyingly slow speed, so gently, so softly it almost makes me start crying again.
"I wanna make you feel good, Dana. Does that feel good?"
"Yeah," I whimper out. Not good enough though. Not enough. I'm suddenly all the way back to the point I was at on that kitchen table, ready to explode but not getting quite enough stimulation.
I roll over onto my back, pulling him along with me so that he's lying on top of me. So that he's lying between my legs. I arch up, feeling him pressing against me and it feels so good I think I might die.
"Dana...God, Dana. What do you want? Tell me what to do."
I don't even know. I can't even think. All I can do is groan with frustration and grind up against him. How did I get so over stimulated so fast again?
"I...I want you inside me," I mumble, thinking maybe this time it will be enough but he shakes his head.
"No you don't. Not yet."
And then he starts kissing his way over my chest, stopping to suckle my nipples for a short while and then continuing down, down, down. Over my stomach and then in a line down that hypersensitive place between my belly button and the beginning of my pubic hair. He dips down between my widely spread legs and licks the inside of my thigh which makes me want to scream and then he looks up at me with a smile.
"You're so wet. It's all over your legs," he tells me, as if I don't realize I'm horny as hell or something.
"Shh, you'll be better soon."
Unlike before, he doesn't head right for paydirt this time. Instead he runs his tongue around the area between the top of my thighs and my outer lips. A whole circle, and then another one, slightly closer. And again and again in ever tightening, teasing circles which are making my head pound and my eyes cross and when I look down he's just smiling away and then finally...FINALLY, his tongue is on my clit. My thighs clamp around his neck and we both moan at the same time.
I can't believe how close I am. I don't think I fully appreciated this man's talent when he was doing this before. It was all so quick and confusing, I didn't even completely realize what was happening. But this time I am fully aware of every nuance, every sensation. He knows. Oh God, he knows exactly what to do and he does it so well. I watch him because it's just such an amazing sight and he watches me back. His eyes, I never noticed how beautiful and expressive his eyes are.
"You taste so good," he whispers and I jerk upwards, needing his mouth back right away.
"Duhu...Don't! Don't stop!"
God, that was so loud. How did I get like this? He laughs at my outburst and then gets back to work.
This time he's really going at it, fast and hard and then he slides two of his fingers back inside me and starts pumping into me and suddenly I feel very light, like I'm floating away. Then my whole body clenches and I feel a wave of pleasure so immense that I almost can't stand it and then another and another.
I can't believe that something so good could come out of something so bad.
I really hope that's the noise she makes when she has an orgasm and not the one she makes when she's in extreme anguish. It must be the orgasm one because in between her screaming bloody murder she's grinding her crotch into my face and pulling my hair and her whole body is jerking all over the place like she just got electrocuted.
Damn. I know I'm good but I didn't think I was *that* good.
As soon as I crawl back up to lie next to her though, to hold her and bask in the glory of my sexual prowess, my confidence falls through the floor. She's crying again. And laughing and shaking and as soon as I get off her she sits up and curls up into a ball, her knees against her chest, and her arms wrapped around herself.
"Dana? God, are you okay?"
I touch her shoulder lightly and she actually fucking flinches. Christ, what the hell did I do now?
"Dana, please talk to me. Did I hurt you or something?"
She starts giggling and tears flow over her face.
"Was it bad?"
She looks at me like I just grew a second head and shakes her head emphatically. Her eyes are wide as saucers. She's so fucking beautiful. I just want to hold her. I don't understand why she's freaking the fuck out on me.
"It was what? Please talk to me, baby, you're scaring me."
I try to touch her again and she slides further away from me.
"I can't...I...God, I'm sorry. I just...it's just been so...long."
Tell me about it woman. Jesus. She seems to not be crying anymore but she's shivering and rubbing her arms over her legs.
"Are you cold? Come under the blanket with me."
I pull the blanket over myself and manage to touch her without making her cry again. She lies down and curls up against me and I reach out to hold her but she turns over and then back and then back again.
"God, it's just been soooooo long!"
She laughs again and I start to feel a little better. I start to feel like maybe she's just happy.
"How long, Dana?"
"God, I don't even know. It's probably been...well, since I had an orgasm with another human being in the room I'd say it's probably been close to fifteen years now."
"You can't be serious."
"I'm very serious." She wipes her eyes and settles down next to me. She throws her arm over my chest and kisses the side of my neck. "Thank you, Alex."
I just cannot get past this. It's inconceivable.
"Yes, fifteen years. Can we not dwell on my pathetic excuse for a sex life please."
"I'm sorry, Dana. I just can't even imagine...I mean, have you been with anybody? I mean has anybody tried?"
"Yes and no."
God, that's the worst possible answer.
"Christ, that's pathetic. Dana, you deserve to have a fucking army of sex slaves whose sole purpose in life is getting you off."
"I didn't want an army."
Right. She wanted Mulder. And Mulder thought she deserved something better and so she got something worse. What a fucking fool. At least he probably would have been able to make her come.
"Well, now you've got an army of one."
She smiles and hitches her leg over mine and I start tracing patterns on her thigh with my fingers. I want to go a little higher but I don't want her to start wigging on me.
"Can I do it again, Dana?"
"I wanna make you come again. Will you let me?"
I move my hand around to the inside of her thigh and stroke her skin lightly. She shivers and pulls my hand away, puts it back on the outside of her leg.
"I can't Alex. It's too...it would hurt I think if you even tried."
"Well, okay. Not now. But soon. You've got a lot of orgasms to make up for, young lady. And I intend to make catching you up my life's work."
"Mmm, sounds like a plan."
She buries her head in my chest and I run my fingers through her hair, fanning it out so that it covers me like another blanket. God, I love that hair.
"What about you Alex?" she murmurs against me. "Are you...I mean, was it all right?"
All right? She's got to be joking.
"Dana, how can you even ask?"
"Well, last time I asked you said you felt like you were dying. That's not really a terrific feeling."
"That's a compliment, Dana. Trust me."
"How? I mean, if I took out my gun and shot you right now, you're saying it would feel the same as having sex with me? How's that a compliment?"
"It's...I don't really mean it's the same thing. I mean, it's just the same in that it's so...so...I guess so difficult to describe really."
She laughs and shakes her head and I almost moan out loud at the feel of her silky skin and hair rubbing against my chest.
"I don't know, Alex, it's just funny. I mean you can get up in front of hundreds of people, tell them what they're gonna do and how they're gonna do it, right down to when they can pee that day, and one roll in the proverbial hay with me and you're speechless. I think it's adorable."
Adorable? God, it must have been a million years since this woman's gotten laid if she's calling *me* adorable. I've never been called adorable in my entire life. Not even by my mother.
"Yes, you're adorable. And you know what else is adorable?"
Out of absolutely nowhere I feel her fist tighten around my cock, which, without my real knowledge or concern, seems to have been hard this entire time.
"This," she says with an evil tone as she starts to stroke me.
"Mmm, well maybe adorable's not quite the right word. I do adore it though. I didn't really get a good look at it until now. Not hard anyway. I mean I felt it. Inside me. But it has been a long time. I wasn't sure if it felt bigger than it actually was."
Is she really talking about my dick? This is the most surreal night ever. God, that voice. She has got the most amazingly hot voice sometimes.
"I think it might actually be even bigger than it felt though. God Alex, it's so thick. I can't even get my whole hand around it. Look."
Oh Jesus. I can't look. If I look I think I'm gonna come and if I come she might stop talking about how wonderful my cock is and that would really upset me right now.
"Smuh...small hands," I sputter out and she giggles softly into my ear.
"Maybe. Still though, it's a beautiful cock Alex. It's just right. Smooth and silky, hot and hard, long but not too long for me to take it all down my throat..."
What? Oh God. What did she just say? Who IS this woman?
"It felt so good inside me, Alex. Made me feel so full, so good. And in my hand, right now, it's so heavy and full, throbbing...God, Alex..."
I wanna fuck her again. I wanna fuck her so bad I think I might weep. She is tired though, and she just said she couldn't really stand any more stimulation right now. If she keeps touching me like that and saying those things though I don't know if I'm gonna be able to stop myself. Control, God, get some control. Where is my control?
"Um...you don't...we...don't...have...to, oh Jesus!"
Her hand tightens around me and she looks up at me with a sexy pout that makes me want to lick her face like a puppy dog.
"I mean you...you seem so...tired."
"Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna be able to sleep with your cock poking at me all night."
"Um...it'll go away. If you just...mmmmaah...if we just leave it alone, it'll go away eventually."
Like maybe by tomorrow. Jesus, what the fuck is she doing to me?
Suddenly her hand is gone and she's pulling away a little bit.
"Do you want me to go, Alex?"
I have no idea where that notion came from. How did we switch gears so completely, so suddenly? Maybe I've offended her somehow.
"Cause I mean, I can sleep in my own room if you'd rather..." God, are those tears welling in her eyes? Oh God, what did I do?
"Dana, what are you talking about?"
"If you'd rather I didn't stay. I mean, it's okay. I understand."
"Of course I want you to stay. Dana, I asked you to come to bed because I want you to stay here."
Every night. For the rest of my life.
"You're sure? It's not gonna bother you?"
"It would bother me if you left. I don't even understand why you're asking me this. Come here. Please."
I pull her back and she snuggles against me, seeming somewhat comforted.
"Okay then, I'll just lie here, my naked body pressed against yours, and we'll wait for your little friend to settle down."
She curls back against me and wraps her leg even tighter around my thigh. Her nails rake lightly over my chest and around my stomach. I wonder if this crazy little girl will ever stop confusing me.
"Just don't pay attention to the way my breath feels on your chest. Or the way my finger tips feel brushing over your thighs as I fall asleep here. Or the fact that you can still smell me in your bed."
Okay, I guess it's safe to assume she doesn't want it to go away. But I'm still not completely sure about her intentions.
"I thought...I thought you didn't want..."
"I don't. Just close your eyes, Alex."
"Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll take care of you."
I close my eyes and try to relax a little bit, thinking maybe she really does just want to go to sleep. I take a few deep breaths and a moment passes and I feel her breath, hot and steady against my chest and then suddenly, her hand is back on my dick and her tongue is on my skin.
I whimper pathetically and she shushes me.
"It's okay, just close your eyes and let me take care of you."
Her fingers are light and soft, drumming on my cock steadily and her mouth is all over the place, licking and kissing and sucking. I feel her moving towards the ruined part of me and for the second time tonight her tongue caresses me there. Combined with what she's doing with her hand, it's enough to make me cry. I've never known anything like this. I've never felt this kind of care and genuine affection from another person in my entire life. I've never felt so close to the edge. Control...I have no control. And then I think I finally understand a little bit. That's what she wants. She wants me to lose control with her, to be vulnerable and at her mercy. That's why she got upset when I tried to stop her.
I think there was something I wanted to say but I can't really think anymore. So I just moan and shiver and jerk into her hand.
"Shh, it'll go away, remember?" she whispers and I shake my head back and forth on the pillow.
"I...I don't think so."
"Sure it will. If I do this..."
And then I'm suddenly surrounded in the hottest, wettest, softest place in the history of the world. My eyes pop open, partially out of shock and partially out of curiosity. I'm not sure until I look if it's her pussy or her mouth.
Then I see that ocean of red spread out over my thighs and my stomach and the sheets, bobbing slowly up and down. Mouth. It's her fucking mouth. I love her hair but this is something I've got to see and right now it's in the way.
I reach down and gather as much of it as I can in my hand and pull it back away from her face, holding it in a half-assed pony tail on the side of her head as she takes me into her. All the way in. And then slowly back out again.
One time I heard a couple of the guys here talking about Doctor Scully's blow job lips. After I kicked the shit out of them, I gave some thought to their conversation and decided that they had a point. Little did I know how good a point it was. The sight of those lips on my cock is enough to send me into cardiac arrest.
I guess it's no shock to anyone when I reach orgasm in a matter of seconds. She seems absolutely ready for it, riding out the waves with me, swallowing every drop that I shoot into her mouth without complaint. As I said, I'm not surprised, but I'm also not completely prepared. The sensations are overwhelming and jolting in their intensity. I think that I push her head down on me. I think that I thrust into the back of her throat, probably choking her. I think that I'm saying something or other. I can't be entirely sure though because it all passes by in a blur of pleasure. No control. God. None.
When I regain coherence and comprehension she is back under my arm and kissing me softly. She tastes strange and salty. Like me I guess.
I pull back, in desperate need of air, and tuck her head under my chin. She kisses my neck. I think I love her.
"What did you say?"
God, I really can't breath. I feel like I just had a fucking heart attack. After all the blow jobs I've gotten in my life, so very many it's almost embarrassing, you'd think this wouldn't be such a big goddamn deal. But I swear to God, no one has ever made me feel the way she just did. No one has ever made the entire world disappear that way.
"What did you say? Just now, when you were coming."
Christ, how the hell am I supposed to know. I didn't really realize I was saying anything coherent.
"That um...devotchawaka...whatever it is. What is that?"
Oh God. I didn't. Did I?
"I...uh...I said that?"
"Hollered it actually."
"Shit what? Is it profane Alex?" she asks in a light, teasing tone. It probably would be better for me if it were.
"Um...not exactly. I just...I don't think you'll like it very much. I didn't mean to say it."
"I've heard you say it before. To me. What does it mean Alex?"
"Um, it's kind of...it's just an expression really. It doesn't uh...doesn't translate very well..." I mutter into the pillow, hoping she's tired enough to just fucking drop it already.
"Alex! Tell me. If you ever expect to get head from me again, speak now."
Maybe I should make something up. The truth is, if I ever expect to get head from her again the last thing I should do is tell her what I've been calling her all this time. The problem is she'll probably be able to tell if I'm lying and then she'll go look it up or something.
"Little girl. That's what it means. Devotchka. Little girl."
She's silent for a very long time and I hold my breath, waiting for the wrath of God to fall upon me.
"Little...little girl?" she asks incredulously. At least I think that's what tone that is. I can't tell really.
"I'm sorry. I won't call you that anymore."
At least not out loud. Good God, what was I thinking? I guess I wasn't.
She looks up at me with her mouth hanging open and the weirdest expression I've ever seen in my life. Sometimes I wish I could read her mind. She's so difficult.
"Dana, are you pissed? I don't really think...I mean, I know you're not a child..."
"No, I know you don't. It's just...you've called me that for as long as I can remember."
"I won't say it anymore. I promise. I'll call you big strong woman. With gun. Who could kick my ass."
"Say it again."
"Big strong woman with gun who could kick my ass."
She laughs and moves up so that her head is next to mine, resting on my shoulder.
"Not that. The other thing. Devocka?"
She wants me to say it again? My shock, great though it is, is momentarily outweighed by my amusement over her egregious pronunciation.
"Nice try," I joke and she punches me in the side.
"Say it again," she whispers, bringing her ear to my lips. "Say it here."
Oh my God. Could she actually...like it?
I take a deep breath and murmur the words to her in my best attempt at a seductive timbre and she shivers against me. She fucking shivers. I nip at her earlobe and say it again and she trembles. Wow. This is very exciting.
"You like that?"
"Mmmmm, I love it. You should speak Russian more often."
"You'll never know what the hell I'm talking about."
"It doesn't matter. It's the way you say it. It's like...God, I dunno, it's so nice. So sexy..."
Note to self: never speak a word of English again. Hell, we'll probably do a lot better if she can't understand a thing that flies out of my mouth anyway.
She yawns and turns over and I wrap my arm around her waist and bury my face in her hair.
"Say something else."
"Ya tebya lublu," I whisper like a fucking jack-ass. I really hope she doesn't ask what that means cause I don't even know if I can say it in English. I don't think I ever have in my whole life.
She sighs and snuggles in closer.
"Ya tebeia looloo..." she murmurs amidst another yawn. She's obviously too tired to care what it means at this point.
We lie like that for a long time and I actually feel like I might be able to fall asleep like this. I don't feel even an inkling of claustrophobia or tension. It feels fucking perfect. I don't know how she feels with my whole body enclosing her though. I'm about to ask her if I'm smothering her when I start to hear her soft breathing turning into rather unladylike snoring. I'll have to remember to tease her about that in the morning. Really though it doesn't bother me. In fact I think it might be the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
God, has she turned me into a sap already? I guess so. Do I care? Not at the moment. Not at the moment.
This is the beginning of the second day of the fifth calendar I've been through. When I wake up I take great pleasure in swiping a red marker through the box that represents yesterday. Yesterday's gone.
I got a new apartment yesterday. I don't really know why. They moved me up a couple floors into one of the penthouse suites. It's about ten times bigger than the first one and that was huge itself. I wonder if I'm getting promoted. God, please don't let me get promoted. I don't think I could stand it.
Anyway, it's got a better view. My old window faced the outdoor recreation area. I got real tired of watching all the old farts standing around and playing with their horses all fucking day. This new window looks out onto the city. Now I can watch the old farts moving from building to building on Plexiglas protected people movers. They finally perfected those damn things a few months ago.
It's a lovely city really. Very clean. A nice little colony of drones. And I can't even see the walls from here. I have to say though, I liked it better when it was Staten Island.
This apartment has a better fish tank too. I've got one of those total wall unit things in the living room with hundreds of tropical varieties swishing around inside.
Yep, I'm a lucky guy. So they keep telling me.
I hear the door open behind me as I'm putting together my breakfast and turn to see a wrinkled mass of bones hovering behind a cloud of smoke.
"Doesn't anyone knock anymore?"
"I understand you wanted to see me, Mulder," he says, creeping ever closer to my dinner table and flicking ash onto my brand new, wall to wall, snow white carpeting.
"Yeah, it's been awhile. I want...well, how is she?"
He takes a long drag off his damn cigarette, drawing out the suspense I suppose.
"She's doing well. Quite healthy and happy. As always."
As always. Right. Hard to be unhappy when you can't feel a damn thing.
"They're still...I mean she's still being treated well?"
"Of course. I know her Master personally and he's assured me that she's being given exceptional treatment. We've been over this before, Mulder. Countless times. Is there something else?"
I take a deep breath, fully prepared to be shot down but determined nevertheless.
"Sir, I was wondering...I mean, is it at all possible...I want to see her."
He flicks more ash on my floor and his lips quirk in an utterly unreadable way.
"I have some new photographs if you'd like..."
I think we're both startled at my adamance.
"I want to SEE her. In person. Face to face."
"That's impossible," he tells me, blandly dropping his butt into my morning coffee. "And it wasn't part of the deal."
I knew that was coming. I wish I had something else, another bargaining chip. He's got a full house and I've got a joker and a two.
"I realize that. It's just...it's been almost five years already. Five years is a long time."
"Yes, five years. You're more than halfway through, Mulder. Don't tell me you want to change our terms now?"
Is that what I want? What might that mean? What would I have to give in order to get? What would it take?
"I don't...no, not exactly. I just, I just want to be able to see her in person, just for a few minutes even. Just to know...to know that..."
Goddammit! There is nothing more revolting or demoralizing than having to grovel at the feet of this son of a bitch.
"She wouldn't recognize you anyway. What would be the point?"
An image of the woman who used to be my Scully flashes through me, from one of the earliest video tapes. I remember thinking how beautiful she still was even though her eyes were dead and she moved with the animation of a wind up doll. She wouldn't recognize me or anyone else. I need to get her out of there. Please God, let me get her out of there.
"Haven't you ever lost someone close to you? Don't you know what it's like to just need to see them, to just breathe the same air if only for a moment..."
No, I don't suppose these are feelings this man could ever understand. And I need to pull back and stop exposing so much of myself. Of course the bastard already knows my weakness, my need.
"Arrogant child," he mutters before lighting yet another cigarette. "You think you're the only one who's suffered losses? We all have, some even greater than yours. My suggestion to you is be thankful for what you have been given. Scully is safe and you are alive. You've both only got two more years of servitude and then you will be reunited and free to do whatever you please. You've got a lot more going for you than just about anyone else. Be grateful and concentrate on your job."
My job. Wonderful. Post-apocalyptic pencil pusher.
"And speaking of your job, Mulder, I believe that part of the deal was that you actually do it."
"I have been. I've been going to the meetings, doing my part, I haven't caused any trouble for anyone. What more do you want?"
"You've been a disappointment Mulder. You're not applying yourself to your fullest ability. Never forget what's at stake here."
How could I? For crap's sake, how could I forget for one fucking minute that he's got me by the balls? Why did I even bother asking? I'm beginning to think this was a serious mistake. Now if I start looking for her on my own it'll be more difficult to avert suspicion.
"Can I at least see a new tape?"
I try to keep the whining tone out of my voice but I can't help the desperation.
"I've got new photos. That's all I can give you right now."
"I want a tape. Like in the beginning. That was part of the deal too if you remember."
"It's impossible. Besides, her days are identical to each other. There would be no purpose in watching her mind numbing routine."
"It was part of the deal. I want the tapes!"
"What you want is not an issue. And I don't care for your tone. Don't ever forget that she can be eliminated, Mulder. Quite easily. I would be very careful if I were in your shoes."
We stare each other down for a minute in a lame and utterly false stand off. We both know who's in control. Motherfucker. I'm gonna find her. I've gotta find her. I can't live another fucking day like this.
"Aren't you late for work, Mulder? You shouldn't keep your partner waiting any longer."
Partner. Jefferey Spender is not my partner. Scully is my only partner.
He's right though. I need to keep up appearances at least. For now. I brush past him and head for the door, not caring if he spends the rest of the day puttering around my apartment, looking though every last drawer. I don't write anything down anymore. No records. Everything stays in my head.
Before I leave I turn back to him, utterly disgusted with myself, him and the entire world.
"Those pictures better be here when I get back goddammit!"
I slam the door forcefully, my one pitiful show of strength. God, Scully, what would you think of me for this?
I've been having nightmares lately, dreams about seeing you again only it's not you anymore. You're someone else. Someone who hates me for what I've done.
I tell you that I was trying to protect you but that only makes you hate me more.
I'm sorry, Scully. I'm sorry and I promise, I will find you. I will find you.
Fuck. She's so fucking beautiful.
I didn't mean to do this. I'm not a stalker. I swear. It's just, I can't stop looking.
There's nobody else here. The library gets deserted this time of night. Hell, who am I kidding. It's not exactly the hottest spot on campus any time of day.
But Dana spends a lot of time here. Even when she's not working, she likes to come here and read. But tonight she's here for business, not pleasure. She's sitting at one of the computer terminals in the center of the first floor, entering data. I watch her fingers glide over the keyboard and her head move back and forth from her notebook to the computer screen from behind a stack in the reference section.
It's strange, in the time before, when I first knew her, I thought that her dignity, her poise, came from the way she adorned herself. That harsh haircut and those dark, sharp, tailored suits, the alarmingly high heels, flawless make-up. I thought that's what it was. But it's not.
She's sitting there now in a pair of old grey sweatpants and a bulky, white, woolen fisherman's sweater that's at least two sizes too big, her hair tied at the top of her head in a makeshift bun with a pencil through it, looking for all the world like a college student studying for finals. But even now, even with her back turned towards me, she exudes this quiet air of authority. With her posture, her graceful movements, her focus and intensity.
But not to me. Not anymore.
I came here to ask her if she wanted to have dinner with me. It's late for that but I'm pretty sure she hasn't eaten yet. And I want to see her. I need to see her.
It's been six days since I made love to this woman, this...God, this woman, for the first time. Made love. God. I really did, too. It wasn't just fucking, even that first time on the table. It was hot, it was frantic, it was insane, but I was making love to her then even though she probably didn't realize it.
We're pretty busy people, both of us. Everyone here is. But I've made time, as much time as humanly possible. I've gone without sleep for three of the past six nights. Even when the sex was over, I stayed awake, just to spend the extra time, watching her drift in and out of sleep, playing with her hair. We went without eating almost anything on the second day because we couldn't bring ourselves to leave that bed long enough to make it to the caffeteria and I didn't have anything in the fridge. It's not enough. It could never be enough.
I've never had a real girlfriend before.
That sounds pathetic. It's not though. I mean, I've dated...I guess. Well, I've had a lot of sex. But I've never had someone like...like this. I've never been this close. To anyone. Ever. I never thought I'd want to either. But now I can't think of anything else.
Some people might think it's strange to start a serious relatioship now, in the middle of all this chaos. I guess it is. But not any more strange than the concept of having a relationship is in itself to me.
I don't really know how I'm supposed to act towards her. It's only been six days after all. I'm not uncomfortable with her but sometimes I worry that I'm saying the wrong thing, that she'll get scared and leave me. I have a tendency to frighten people. And like I said, this whole thing is kind of new.
I've never felt so...much. And I don't know if I'm supposed to show her all of that, tell her, or if I should keep at least some of it to myself.
God, she'd laugh if she knew what a pathetic sap she's turned me into in just six short days. I know I'm better off not letting her see it but sometimes I want to tell her everything. Everything she is to me and everything I want for us. Sometimes it builds up in me so strong and I feel like I'll explode if I don't let it out.
God, just looking at her like this, I feel butterflies in my stomach and a burn in the back of my throat like I might burst into tears and an ache inside me that I can't explain at all. And I'm happy. I feel really happy.
And hard. Always. I swear, all I have to do is glance in her direction, or even just think of her, and I'm randy as a fifteen year old. I don't know what the sanitation comittee must have thought of my random boner this afternoon. Wasn't even a fantasy or a daydream or anything. I just thought about seeing her tonight in passing, "gosh, I wanna see her tonight" and there it was, evidence of my lovesick dementia, pressed against my zipper, as I stood in front of a room full of people, giving a lecture concerning the virtue of speedy poop removal. .
The sound of typing stops and I hear her sigh. She pushes the keyboard across the desk and rubs her hands over her face. I suppose now would be a good time to make myself known. Like I said, I don't know much about relationships. But I know enough to realize that most women don't like being spied on.
I walk towards her, my heart thudding against my chest, faster and faster the closer I get to her. Man, how bad have I got it? Jesus.
She doesn't look up as I approach. She's got her face buried in her palms now and gives no indication that she's heard me at all. When I'm standing behind her I reach out a tentative hand. Still not sure about the public displays of affection thing. She's a pretty private person so I've been controlling my need to touch her when we're out as much as I can. But there's nobody here now. Like I said, it's deserted at night.
I lay my hand on her shoulder and she starts for a second and then immediately relaxes into my touch. She knows who I am. Without turning around. Just by the way I touch her.
She lets out another long, heavy sigh and I squeeze her shoulder, almost dizzy with the electricity I feel when we connect. I start kneading the tense muscles in her shoulder blade and she sighs again. A different sigh. A happy sigh. I rub harder, thrilled and still a little surprised that she enjoys it when I touch her.
She scoots forward so that she's sitting on the edge of the chair. An invitation.
I lift a leg up, hoping like hell that I won't kick her by mistake, and straddle the seat behind her. Sliding down to a sitting position causes me to drag my crotch along her spine and I'm helpless to stop the grunt that comes from somewhere deep in my chest.
Once I'm sitting she pushes back into me, settling her perfect, worshipped ass between my thighs, and resting her back against my chest. I continue to massage her shoulder until she drops her head; a silent request to move to her neck. I dig my fingers into the taut flesh and she moans. I work my way up to her scalp, loosening the knot in her hair and letting it fall out and over her shoulders. The pencil that had previously been holding the whole structure together falls to the floor.
I wonder what she thinks about when she says my name. I wonder what she feels at times like this.
I want to ask her but for some reason, I'm terrified of the answer.
So I just keep rubbing her neck, her head, her shoulders, hoping that I can communicate something to her that way.
"Hungry?" I ask, my head now resting on her left shoulder as my hand works out the kinks in the right one.
"Mmmmmhuummm," she sighs and I have no idea what that means so I turn my head to the side and look at her face. Her eyes are closed and she's smiling that sweet, beautiful smile. I still don't know if she's hungry but I'm glad I looked.
I kiss her cheek softly. A surge of need throbs from my lips down to my cock and I stop my massage and wrap my arm possesively around her waist and squeeze her tight. I bury my face in her neck and inhale deeply. Wool and soap and her...God, her.
I kiss her neck sloppily, greedily, and she seems to melt into me. I run my tongue around her ear and move my hand underneath her sweater so that I can touch the soft skin on her belly.
"God, devotchka, I need to touch you so badly," I choke, sounding like the desperate fool that I am.
I take that as permission to slip my hand under the waistband of her sweatpants and move my fingers gently a little faster. She bucks into my hand and I think she wants still more. God, I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
I mean I do but, she's so different than anyone I've ever been with. I want to know instinctually how to please her and I think that I've been doing okay so far but...I want to do better. I want to be the best. I don't like asking for help, in this area or any other. But I try to think of this as her helping herself more than anything.
"Show me," I whisper into her ear. "Show me how."
She turns her head towards me quickly, questioningly.
"Yeah?" she asks, apparantly confused by my low cockiness quotient this evening.
She smiles and nods and closes her eyes again. Then she reaches down and puts her right hand over mine.
She leads me through a series of elaborate maneuvers which I struggle to memorize. Around the clit, slow then fast then stop then do it again. Then press down hard and that makes her gasp real loud so I know I won't forget that one.
The fact that she's doing this, that she trusts me enough, is the biggest turn on I can imagine and I find myself unconsciously grinding against her ass. She seems to notice and begins rocking back and forth between our hands and my cock.
She guides one of my fingers inside of her and together we pump in and out of her, fast and hard. Then she pulls me back out and we spread more of the wetness over her. Her left hand, which had been resting on the desk in front of us works its way up and around and into my hair.
Soon she's pressing me down on her clit in a series of quick rotations and actually bouncing up and down against me and just when I think I might come in my pants she lets out a howl that seems to echo throughout the entire building, shudders, and collapses against my chest.
I chuckle into her ear and give her one last squeeze before pulling my hand out of her pants and wrapping my arm around her waist again.
She turns to me and I kiss her for a very long time, breathing in her pants and sighs like oxygen, holding her shivering body tightly against me. Post-orgasmic Dana is one of the seven wonders of the world.
"Mmm...Alex..." she whispers and tucks her head under my chin.
"Thanks for the lesson."
She laughs and squeezes my arm.
"Any time. Just don't forget what you've learned here today, young man."
"Well, you know what they say. Best way to learn anything is by practicing. Over and over and over."
She kisses me over her shoulder again with a grin.
"Maybe we should get out of here so you can give me a lesson of my own," she murmers against my lips.
"You don't need a lesson, devotchka. You know just what to do."
"Not true. There's always room for improvement in this area. It takes a big man to admit that. So, thank *you*."
"All in days' work for Alex Krycek, stud for hire."
She rolls her eyes but can't help laughing a little.
"Anyway, why should you get to have all the fun. I wanna see you too, Alex. I want you to show me what you do..."
She starts kissing my neck and turning herself around completely. Before I know it, she's straddling my lap and God help me, I don't think we're gonna make it out of the library tonight.
God, I'm a lucky fuck.
I miss my ceiling. I know, it's an odd thing to miss and in fact, it's not even on my top ten list of things I miss most. How could it be when Scully's not here? When I can't get Chinese take out anymore because all of my food comes from a computer? I remember watching Star Trek. I was always jealous of Picard and his replicator. Earl Grey tea whenever he wanted it and all he had to do was say the words. Who knew it would taste like ass?
Anyhow, when a person is bereft of his one true love as well as any kind of decent nourishment, how could a ceiling make it into the top ten? It couldn't. But right now it's entering the top one hundred.
The ceiling in my old office was made of some amalgamation of cardboard, asbestos and cork. It was the perfect texture for pencil throwing. They always stuck if I managed to chuck them up there properly. The ceiling in my new office is a shiny, metal, reflective slab and I'm pretty sure if I threw something up there it would come careening back at me with double force, probably taking my eye out in the process. And it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
So I don't throw pencils. I lean back in my chair and stare at myself. For hours on end. I wonder if there's a place in hell for people who waste time. It seems like such a sin. I wonder how many hours, days I've wasted, twiddling my thumbs and looking at my foot while the world falls apart. I wonder if maybe this is hell itself. Trapped in a high tech, concrete jungle with Jeffrey Spender, my so-called partner, for all eternity. It could well be hell.
Sometimes I try to talk to Scully. Sometimes I think that wherever she is, she has to still feel me somewhere, be able to hear me when I call to her to tell her I'm coming for her soon. Even if she doesn't remember consciously, there has to be some fragment of my memory inside of her and I try to reach that fragment when I sit here. It's not completely unselfish. I want her to talk back. She never does though. I never know if my messages are reaching her. She never did believe in things like psychic messages and I guess if you don't believe it doesn't work. Besides, I'm not a psychic. Just a bored, desperate, lonely man.
So far my search has turned up absolutely nothing. I just don't have access to the kind of information I need. I managed to talk Spender into sniffing around a little bit for me but so far he's been unsucessful as well. I've tried to sneak into a few places, maximum security zones and the like, where I thought I might be able to find something but on the rare occasions when I've actually gotten in, I haven't been able to find anything useful. I don't really think I've ever felt so powerless. Even when I was looking for Sam, it never seemed this daunting, I never felt so imprisoned.
I was also never quite this desperate to find Sam. It's an unpleasant combination. Add that to the mind-numbing monotony of my daily life and it's unbearable. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of seeing her again.
I've created quite a collection of fantasy scenarios in my head, what with all the free time I've got on my hands. All of them involve me sweeping into some castle or palace where Scully is being held prisoner, taking her into my arms and carrying her off to some remote, uninhabited island and making love to her until we both drop dead from exhaustion. It's not like we've got anything else to do.
I wonder what she'd think of all this. Our life's work has amounted to a pile of dung rotting on the sidewalk. In the end, we couldn't have done a damn thing to stop this. We wasted so much time, lost so much. For absolutely nothing. We should have taken every precious moment and spent it loving each other instead of trying to right the world's wrongs. Still, I can't bring myself to regret a bit of it. I just wonder what she'd say...She'd have to admit that I was right all along. Sometimes I fantasize about hearing her say that. I just laugh and kiss her. It doesn't matter anymore.
I close my eyes and try like hell to focus on that image to the exclusion of all else. I've almost got it. It's the Scully from before with her short hair and the life in her eyes and it's the me from way before, twenty pounds lighter and a hell of a lot more idealistic. Totally inaccurate but it's a keeper anyway. Just as I'm starting to really disappear into la la land the door slams shut startling me into consciousness.
I open one eye and catch sight of Spender, scurrying around like a weasel, locking the doors and closing the windows, sweeping for surveillance devices, looking like a paranoid freak, looking the way I used to look.
"Are we alone?" he asks me in a hurried whisper.
"Are we ever?"
"I mean it! Is there any chance we're being watched? Listened to? Are you wired?"
"Look this is very important. If anyone finds out I have this...I don't even wanna think about what could happen to me."
He pulls a video tape out of his jacket pocket and puts it on top of my desk.
"If anyone asks, I didn't give this to you."
"You finally found those movies I've been looking for?"
"Goddammit Mulder! This is not a joke!"
Well that's good cause it would make a really bad joke. No punch line, bad set up, and Spender's overly dramatic hushed tones are more pathetic than funny.
"You wanted this, well here it is. I suggest you watch it and then destroy it as soon as possible."
"This cloak and dagger bit is kind of unnecessary don't you think? What the hell is on this tape anyway? And why are we whispering?"
"Do you remember about a year ago, there was some kind of attack on a newly established colony up north?" he whispers.
"No but I'll take your word for it," I whisper back.
Probably another raid and pillage by the "resistance". Every time I hear about one of those things I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Do they really think they're doing anyone any good at all? They're no better than the faceless men, the resistance from the sky. Killing people like me, prisoners, slaves, I don't see how this is supposed to help. No one chose this life. No one.
"Well, there was an attack, by a resistance group here on Earth. They destroyed the place, killed everyone. They blew up the main building but there was a surveillance room in the basement that was relatively undamaged. There wasn't much left but I guess our people made a sweep and found a few pieces of evidence. I found...I found this tape in my father's apartment, Mulder."
I still have no idea what this tape could possibly have to do with me but I take it and stick it in the VCR anyway. When I reach to turn it on Spender grabs my hand.
"You could be killed just for watching this," he tells me urgently.
The picture that fills my screen is almost as boring as what's right in front of my face. It's two men sitting at two desks, rifling through two piles of paper and not talking to each other. The office is a little less cluttered but other than that this could be me and Spender on any given day during the past five years. This gripping drama continues for about ten minutes until Spender finally shrugs sheepishly and hits the fast forward button.
"It goes on like this for awhile but...wait, here it is."
He rewinds and we watch a couple seconds more of the terrific twosome and then suddenly something breaks the monotony. And the window.
A man, dressed all in black, crashes through the glass with a submachine gun. It's been awhile. A long while. But it only takes a second or two for me to identify the man.
It's interesting, it's unexpected, and it's still a mystery why in the world I should care. The two men scramble around and one of them goes down almost instantly. Blood pours from his chest and the fucker is actually smiling. This really isn't that surprising at all now that I think about it. Hell, the cockroaches are still here, why shouldn't Krycek be around too, killing whoever he deems deserving to service his own ends? Some things will never ever change.
The other man starts running towards the door but when he opens it another shot goes off, from outside, and he goes down too. More blood. Krycek's got a friend. I guess he's got a bunch if he was involved in the destruction of an entire colony. A whole little group of cockroaches.
And then...and then...and then it all makes sense. And it makes no sense at all.
The second assassin walks through the door. Her hair is longer, tied back in a French braid and she's dressed in a matching black jeans, leather jacket ensemble but there's no mistaking the woman's identity. No mistaking.
I think I was going to say something like "Oh my God" but my throat has closed in on itself. On the screen Krycek is digging through the first dead man's desk and she...Scully, my Scully, is closing and locking the door. This can't be what it looks like. God, I don't even know what it looks like. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen.
She walks over to the second dead guy's desk and starts rummaging through the drawers. Her face has blood and dirt on it. Her clothes are torn. She's panting and...she looks...I can't even describe how she looks. I've never seen her like this.
"Hey, check it out. Somebody's got a secret," Krycek says, holding up a pair of frilly pink panties that he apparently found in one of the drawers.
"I don't think they're your size," Scully comments dryly as she starts dumping a pile of disks into a bag.
"They might be yours," he replies oh so wittily and tosses them over to her. She picks them up, eyes them, shrugs and sticks them in the bag.
"How much time?" he asks. She looks at her watch and gasps.
"Two and a half minutes. We've gotta get out of here."
She slings her bag over her shoulder and runs over to him. He's still frantically digging. She touches his arm. She touches his arm. She touches his fucking arm.
"We need to go, Alex."
"I'm not finished. I think..."
"Alex! Stop it. We need to go."
He looks up at her and they seem to have some kind of silent, eye conversation and he finally nods. The two of them climb out the window he broke in through and Spender hits the off button.
"That's about it. The rest of this is just the office blowing up."
I can't talk. I can't even think. I have to get her out of there. I have to get her away from him. I need to talk to her. I need to know what she's doing with that...that son of a bitch! God, how could this have happened?
"He knew about this," I choke out. "Your...your fucking father. He knew...the deal....there was no deal. It's all been a bunch of BULLSHIT this entire time!"
"Mulder, keep your voice down."
"Keep my voice down?! FUCK YOU, keep my voice down. I can't...I can't even believe this. Where...where was this? Where are they?"
"I don't...I'm not entirely sure..."
"Well you better find the fuck out you little prick! I swear to God..."
"Mulder, get your hands off me."
My hands? God, I didn't even realize I was shaking him. I didn't realize I was shaking.
"This...this can't happen. She's in danger. I need to find her. I need to talk to her!"
"Danger? She looked pretty...I mean, I think she's the danger Mulder. Her and Krycek, playing Bonnie and Clyde or something..."
"She's not playing anything with that bastard! This isn't her choice. It can't be."
"Mulder, I don't..."
"I HAVE TO SEE HER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"Look, I can't help you any more than I have..."
"No, you have to help me. You don't have a choice. You find out where she is and then you help me get to her and if you don't, I swear to God Spender, I'll tell them about this. I'll tell them that you showed me this tape. And there won't be a force in the universe that will be able to save you."
He sits down at his desk and sighs heavily. He looks defeated. Thank God.
"All right, look, I can tell you the exact location of this colony that was attacked. From there it should be relatively easy for you to find them."
"If it's so damn easy to find them then why hasn't somebody done it already?"
"I don't know. That's one of the things I don't understand about any of this. They're being allowed to survive. Somebody is keeping them safe. Maybe my father..."
God, I can't even begin to imagine the reasoning behind what that bastard has done. Just thinking about it, about how I've been playing into his head game all this time, is enough to make me want to vomit.
"Anyway, you're gonna need some kind of car to get there. It's a long way. And you're going to need a reason, Mulder. You can't just drive on out of here like it's a freaking vacation you know."
"I know that."
"The only thing I can think of is if we arranged for you to transport a slave, that might get you through the initial check points and then from there...from there you're on your own, Mulder."
"Fine. Let's do it."
It's New Year's Eve. The fifth New Year's I've spent here. The first I spent alone in my room, crying when I heard the tower bell ringing at midnight, thinking what a pointless celebration it was, thinking that all I had to look forward to was another year without Mulder. The second I ventured out to a party, had a few drinks, danced a few dances with Bryan and staggered back to my room, in tears. The third passed in a similar fashion. The fourth I spent with Alex. We didn't do much, just sat in his room sharing a bottle of wine, but I remember having the strangest feeling that night. I felt like something was going to change. Something huge. I fell asleep crying that night. Two weeks later, Alex and I made love for the first time. I have that same kind of feeling tonight.
Alex is making me dinner. He cooks for me almost every single night. It's definitely one of the fringe benefits of our relationship that I don't have to eat every meal in the cafeteria anymore. He's got a little kitchenette in his room. Our room. It's our room now. I keep forgetting that. It's only been official for a week. Of course I've been spending almost every night here for the past year anyway so official doesn't mean much more than finally bringing the last of my clothes over here. My clothes and, of course, Ret and all of his dog paraphenalia. Maybe that's where this weird feeling is coming from though. Maybe "shacking up" is making me more nervous than I thought it would. I don't think so though.
I wonder what mom would have said about me finally living with a man. She probably would have done a jig. Then she'd have found out who that man was and she probably would have cried. She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't be able to take the past and put it in a padlocked vault in the back of her heart, never to be seen or heard from again.
Ahab might have liked Alex. Maybe. Alex is a survivor and I think Ahab would have appreciated that. And he takes care of me. Even when I don't want him to, even when I tell him to leave me the hell alone already, he insists on taking care of me and I know my father would have been happy about that.
As for my brothers, I can't even imagine what they would have to say. I shudder to even think about it. It's so strange to wonder, to try and reconcile my past and my present. To imagine a world in which they could possibly co-exist is almost impossible. Maybe it's better this way. If there were even a single remnant of my life before left on this Earth things would be a hell of a lot more confusing. I just miss them so much sometimes. Especially this time of year.
I jump a little bit and then relax into Alex's embrace. He's standing behind me with his arm around my waist, his head on my shoulder. I suppose he's been watching me stare out the window like a zombie. I notice Ret, sitting happily at my feet for the first time and smile to myself. What a scene of domestic bliss we make. So why do I feel so...
Am I? I think I am. I can't shake this feeling though. It's so odd.
"No you're not. What'cha thinkin' about?"
I sigh and lean back against him, wondering if I should even tell him. We hardly ever talk about the time before, about our families, our past. He hardly seems to think of it at all. I know he didn't really have anyone that he cared about anyway so he doesn't have these bouts of nostalgia the way that I do. And frankly, the subject of my family is riddled with potentially awkward and painful issues between the two of us. Issues I've made a conscious decision to leave buried.
"Mulder?" he asks and I sigh again. I wasn't thinking about him but now that he's mentioned it, I am.
"No, I was actually thinking about my mother. Just...wondering."
He doesn't say anything, just squeezes me tighter and starts kissing my neck. I'm glad. I don't think I could stand hearing any inane reassurances right now. He knows I've looked. I've looked for them all. And we both know that the chances of any of them still being alive are slim to none.
"And I was thinking about my brothers. What they would have thought of you."
He laughs against my ear softly.
"They would have hated me."
"Yes they would have. Bill thought *Mulder* was dangerous. I can't even imagine what he would have thought of you."
"And what would Mulder think?"
"What...what do you mean?"
"If he were here. What would he think?"
I don't know what to say to that. The truth is, if Mulder were here Alex and I would never have gotten into this situation to begin with. I can't say that to him though. How can I? I'm sure he knows it but to say it would be a kick in the face.
The fact is, Mulder isn't here. The fact is, it doesn't matter what he would have thought. The question isn't valid.
"I don't know, Alex," is all I can say.
"I know what he'd want to do..."
"Alex, let's not talk about Mulder anymore."
He gives me another kiss behind my ear and starts to walk back to the stove.
"Come and sit down. Dinner's almost ready."
I nod absently and continue to stare out the window. It's snowing again. That's not an unusual thing certainly but for some reason, tonight, just looking at it is making me feel cold. Something about this snow is just...different.
"Devotchka? What's wrong?"
"What?" I turn around and see that he's brought all the food to the table and is standing there waiting for me. I wonder how long I've been ignoring him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Alex. I...I don't know..."
"What is it, Dana?"
"I don't know. I just feel so...so odd."
"Are you getting sick?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that."
"Is it me? Is it something I did?"
"No, no, Alex. You didn't do anything. I just...it's not even a bad feeling really. Just a weird one. Like something...something's just different. Or it's going to be, or...God, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Forget about it."
He smiles and shrugs and looks at me in this way that he has. I can't even describe it but it makes everything okay.
"Come and eat, devotchka. It's New Year's. We should be celebrating."
My legs still don't seem to want to carry me over there for some reason. For some reason all I seem to be able to do right now is look at him. Alex. My beautiful, dirty, little animal. Sometimes I find myself just looking at him. And when I do I'm almost always knocked flat on my ass by what happens to me. The tremors usually start somewhere in my chest but they always end up running up and down my entire body like bolts of electricity. To feel such desire, such primal, gut level hunger, is always a surprise to me.
Times like this I wonder if it's possible to have two soulmates. I always figured if it was, the feeling would be the same. That if I were to feel a love so strong, as strong as my love for Mulder, that love would manifest itself in exactly the same way. I think I was wrong. I think it would be impossible for me to fall in love with someone who affected me in the same ways that Mulder did. He would never be able to measure up. But Alex, Alex brings out feelings, urges, tendencies, that I didn't even know could exist in me.
I think it is possible. I think Mulder was my soulmate for the time that we were together. He was my spiritual brother, sharing a love with me that was almost religious in its sanctity. We connected on a higher plane in a way that I will never experience again. Our physical attraction was strong, intense, but it was secondary to our other connections.
And Alex, Alex is my soulmate in the world we live in today. My physical soulmate, my carnal connection, my link to the world of the visceral, the bloody, the deep and the dark. Mulder made me ache. Alex makes me burn.
God, I want to touch him so badly. It's so strong, so feral. He turns me into an animal too.
"How..." I start, my voice cracking with the force of my sudden and random lust. "How do you say animal?"
He closes his eyes once, for a long few seconds, and I want to crawl inside his brain and see what's going on in there. After all the time we've spent, the things we've done, he's still a mystery so much of the time.
When his eyes finally open they find mine immediately and I think he understands.
"Zhivotnoye," he murmurs and the sound of the word coming from his gorgeous mouth sends a particularly strong quake through my body, starting and ending between my legs.
"Zhivotnoye. Zhivotnoye." I roll the word around on my tongue a few times. I think my pronunciation has improved a bit over the past year. He's taught me quite a few words and when I say them he doesn't laugh or cringe anymore. I think I said it right.
"Zhivotnoye. Can I call you that?"
He swallows heavily and I watch the motion of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and then he wraps his fingers around the back of my empty chair.
"Yes," he says and I notice that this time his voice cracks a bit.
"I want you so much, Alex. Sometimes it's...I can't even stand it."
I'm not sure why I feel the need to tell him this right now but for some reason it seems very important. Despite the fact that it's utterly unnecessary.
"I know you want me, devotchka. I've never doubted that."
"No, I...I suppose you wouldn't. Everybody wants you, right?"
"Yeah but, hey, what can I say about that. I can't help being this sexy. It's just the way I was made."
He's walking now, closing the distance between us. We're both breathing heavily already. I have a feeling dinner is going to have to wait.
"It must be so tough, being lusted after by so many..."
"It's a challenge every day. The benefits outweigh the drawbacks though."
"Oh really? And what exactly are the benefits?"
"Well, the most important one is that I get to decide who I want in my bed every night."
"Yep. And when I choose the most beautiful woman this Earth has ever seen, she can't help but fall into my arms...." he pauses and shrugs, "or, arm at least...and my pants."
He's standing right in front of me now, only a few inches away. I want to just grab him, to just jump on top of him and fuck him senseless, but dragging it out a bit always makes it that much better.
"Just Earth? What about the rest of the universe?"
"Well, ya know, there's lots of planets I ain't seen yet so I don't wanna be biased."
"Ah, I see. So does this mean you might end up leaving me for some blue chick somewhere down the road?"
"I'm just saying I can't be absolute about it. Unless..."
"Unless said gorgeous Earth woman were to try and lobby for absolute exclusivity."
"Yeah, you know, what's the term...."
He reaches down and starts pulling at his belt buckle and I swear to God, I have to struggle not to whimper.
"Grease you? I think I've greased you plenty, Mister Universe."
"Yeah well, it's always a good idea to keep the customers satisfied," he sneers, undoing his belt completely and starting to work on the top buttons of his jeans.
"Customers. Is that what you are now? My my, what does that make me then?"
"Hey whatever. If you don't think you can prove yourself to me, maybe I better start looking into the blue chicks."
"You think the blue chicks can suck your cock as good as me, you're in for a big disappointment," I whisper and his whole body jerks towards me. "Huge," I add and he sneers again. What is it about seeing him sneer? God, what is it about any of the things he does. I swear, if he were anyone else...
"Oh come on, Dana. How hard could that be. I mean really, I think I put much more effort into it than you do."
"Effort? Please. You have no idea how much effort I put into that...that club in your pants."
He laughs and pulls open the last button on his fly.
"No, I suppose you're right. I really don't. Maybe you better remind me, Dana."
Oh God. He's pulling it out. I should really be offended. I should really be disgusted. Or at least laughing. But all I can do is stare at it.
"Come on Dana. Think of it as an appetizer."
He's hard as a rock, holding himself in his hand, actually waving the damn thing around. I'm about a half a second away from drooling. My mouth is literally filled with saliva. I swallow it down and try to look away.
"You really are a piece of work, Alex."
"Yeah, it is ain't it. Like art almost," he says, looking down at himself gleefully. "I oughtta have it casted or something. They could put it in the library with all the other art."
"Pathetic," I sniff and he grabs my head and pulls it roughly to his own. He kisses me hard and good...so, so good and my knees start to shake.
"That pathetic too?"
"Mmmm, slightly less so."
"Good. Now, back to the greasing," he tells me, pushing my head down in the general direction of his crotch.
"Not so fast, cowboy."
"Oh yeah, as fast as you can, baby. I might be called off to battle at any moment. There's not much time."
"Alex, you...I don't know how you do it. You make the most offensive things seem almost...cute."
He shrugs innocently and rakes his eyes up and down my body covetously. His hand is still tangled up in my hair and his exposed erection is pressing against my stomach. The wetness is starting to pool in my underwear.
"If you were anyone else I'd probably be spitting on you right now. You realize that don't you?"
"Ya know, for a woman who's supposed to be proving her love, you sure are doing a lot of talking. Now would you suck my fucking cock already?"
"Well, I was just waiting for you to ask sweetness. All this subtlety was going right over my head."
He laughs through his nose amidst our near panting and shoves my head down until I'm on my knees in front of him, until his admittedly magnificent cock is between my lips. He starts moaning immediately and I have to hold my hands in fists to keep from reaching down into my own pants and playing with myself. Not that he would mind that. It just might distract me from the task at hand: breaking him.
I use every weapon in my arsenal, tongue, teeth, hands and especially lips and within a couple minutes he's jerking into me and holding my shoulder for support. His knees are starting to bend and shake. I reach around and slide my hands into his jeans, over his ass, and clutch him, digging my nails into the flesh and pulling him further into my mouth.
He looks down and I look up. A meeting of the minds.
"Krasavitsa," he grunts and I smile around him. That's one of the first words he taught me. It means beautiful.
"God...oh God," he moans and his knees finally give out completely. He collapses back onto his haunches on the floor and I grin in his face.
"So, greased yet?"
"Oh God, you win, you win. You fucking win."
"Don't I always?"
"Just...just finish. Dana, please. God."
"You're not gonna run off with some blue chick when I'm done are you?"
"Nnoooo. Just do it. Do it. God. Fuck! Please."
I consider it for a moment, mostly because he seems so desperate bouncing up and down like that, his swollen cock sticking straight up in the air. But it's just not gonna be enough right now. I'm too far gone to wait even two minutes more.
I shake my head no and his eyes widen in horror, thinking I'm just going to leave him sitting on the floor frustrated perhaps. Then I crawl to him and kiss him again, fill his mouth with my tongue, and push him down onto his back.
I climb on top of him and straddle him frantically and grind my crotch down on his. He groans and laughs into my mouth and I bite his lips.
"I can't...I need, God Alex, just fuck me. Fuck me...zhivotnoye."
He starts rocking against me and I start to feel like the friction might be enough in itself to make me come right now. I'd just enjoy it if I wasn't so fucking desperate to have him in me.
"Is that what you think I am? An animal?"
"Mmhmm, as a matter of fact, I do. Is that all right with you?"
He starts pulling frantically at my clothes with a deep, guttural moan that vibrates through me.
"All right? God... makes me so hot I can't even believe it," he half whispers, half pants and I'm starting to wonder if it's possible to pass out from excessive arousal.
I lean down to kiss him again and our tongues lap at each other madly. Finally he manages to get my sweatpants down and off and I'm lying naked on top of him. He's still fully clothed except for his protruding cock but I don't really care.
I position myself over him and take just the tip of him inside me.
"Ya tebya lublu," he mumbles quickly and then thrusts upwards, filling me completely. I moan around a smile and wonder if he'll ever say it in English. He says those words almost every day, almost every time we make love. He would have to think me a total idiot to think I didn't know what it means. I know and he knows I know but I suppose we both like to pretend it's a big old secret.
And I can't complain really because I've never even said it to him in Russian, never mind English. I want to. I never said it to Mulder either despite the fact that he told me more than once and I regret it to this day. I don't want that to happen with Alex. But still, every time I think of saying it, I get a frog in my throat.
He says it again and I sigh. I kiss him. I tighten around him.
"God, Alex, feel so good. Mmmmmgod."
"Yeah, baby. Yeah," he huffs and I feel him throbbing inside me, filling me. I haven't even started moving yet and we're both so close to orgasm it's not even funny. We are so...God, what in the world are we. I feel like I'm going to cry. It's so good I'm going to cry.
And then, just when I think my brain might explode, Ret starts barking and I hear something. Something awful. Something that absolutely cannot be real. I hear the door opening.
"Boss?" a voice I recognize immediately calls out. It's Bryan. It's fucking Bryan. And we're fucking on the floor. We're partially shielded by the couch but when I look up, our eyes meet and he immediately turns his back.
I pull off of Alex and scramble around frantically on the floor for my clothes. As I redress Alex just lies on the floor, panting and staring at the ceiling for a minute. Then he buttons up his pants and stands up.
"Um...sorry Sir. I didn't mean to interrupt," poor Bryan mutters as he turns back to us.
"WHAT IS IT?!"
I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Despite my frustration with a capital F it really is kind of funny. Alex is beet red and sweating, panting and heaving, running his fingers through his hair over and over, erection still pressing against his jeans. Bryan looks absolutely terrified.
"Sorry. There, uh, there've been some intruders."
This is suddenly not so funny anymore. I stand up now, fully dressed finally, and Alex and I glance nervously at each other.
"Intruders? How many intruders?" he asks.
"Two. A man and a woman. We thought you'd want to know, to decide what to do with them."
Alex nods slowly and rubs his hand over his face, realizing we're going to have to leave our celebration till later.
"Fuck," he grumbles under his breath. Then he looks at me again hungrily and I don't really know what swooning is but I think I do it. "FUCK!"
"What do they want Bryan?" I ask.
"Um, actually, they seem to want you."
"What?" Alex and I say simultaneously.
"Well, one of them does anyway. He just keeps yelling. He says he wants to see Scully."
End Of Book One
Continued in Book Two