Dirty Laundry

My eyes are as bloodshot as hell and my head is thudding, but I reach into the brown paper sack at my feet and take out the squeeze bottle of generic vodka and the videotape anyway. I unscrew the white cap and spoon the frozen orange juice into it, then put the cap back on and shake it up. I shove the tape into the VCR, and sit down on the pile of dirty laundry on the bedroom floor. The rational side of me used to try to order me to clean this pigsty up, but I suppose I have lost even that part of my mind in the bewilderment I feel.

It all started two weeks ago when I found a note on the floor in Scully's car. >Meet me in the coffee shop down the block after work. Love, A.< At first I thought, "Oh, nice, Scully's found someone." Then as the day wore on, I began to worry. What if this guy isn't treating her right? It wouldn't hurt to follow her and make sure, would it?

So I followed her to the little coffee shop and slipped into a booth not far from where she sat, and watched her while she sipped a cappuccino and waited. Suddenly a tall young man approached her table bearing a dozen red roses. I smiled at the sweet gesture, then took another look at his face. It was Alex Krycek!! He held out a hand to Scully. "Ready to go?" he asked.

I was so shocked I stayed rooted to the spot as they left, chatting. My mind was a soup of emotions, disgust, anger, and mind-numbing horror. How dare he? How could she?

Now. Outside couples stroll down the sidewalk in the morning light. A.D Skinner is at his desk, organizing his papers, planning his schedule for the day, while Cancer Man sits in the corner, lighting one of the sixty Morley cigarettes he smokes each and every day. The spirits of the dead float around us unseen and flutter off into eternity on angel's wings. And I am stuck in this particular charnel pit of hell, hating Alex Krycek. Hate has replaced paranoia as the single unifying emotion of my mind and spirit, the thin rope that keeps me from falling into the abyss of insanity.

Krycek kissing Scully, his tongue running in and out of her mouth. Her head tilting up to meet his, her eyes slow and dreamy with arousal.

My mind keeps dwelling on those red roses, the exact color my father's blood had stained the bathroom floor, come to think of it.

Scully unbuttoning his shirt, running it slowly down his shoulders while he slowly caresses her breasts, encased in a pink bra, outlined with gold glittering softly in the lamplight.

I followed Scully and Krycek around for a week, watching through binoculars as they went together to the best clubs and restaurants in town, and finally her apartment. I wonder how he's paying for it. Selling more government secrets, perhaps?

Krycek and Scully slowly moving toward the bedroom, leaving articles of clothing in their wake. Her beautiful bra lands near the coffee table, sitting there sadly discarded on the sidelines of their passion. Like me.

I had the Lone Gunmen put video cameras through the apartment yesterday while she was at work, telling them Scully might be in danger that night. What did I think, that they would just set the recorders and not watch? That they wouldn't know who Krycek was? When I arrived for the videotape Frohike was in tears. Great. Guilt on top of everything else. And they say misery loves company.

Now the view shifts to the bedroom. Both of them naked on the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. Scully moaning in ecstasy, Krycek spreading open her labia, running his tongue over her clitoris and in and out of her vagina. Scully's moans turn to gasps and little yelps. I barely realize I am flinching with every sound.

Ah, but new technology. Zoom in, zoom out. For the past week I have lain on my couch every night, not sleeping a wink, but only wondering if they were together. And I thought and acted out each part, sometimes him, sometimes her.

Scully sliding off his Calvin Klein briefs and running her lovely little hands up and down his penis, running her neatly manicured fingernails lightly over his testicles. Krycek letting out a growl, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

Alex Krycek, I hope the faceless alien rebels come to whatever rat hole you call home and roast you alive and you die horribly screaming 100 sweet decibels of pain and terror.

Scully wrapping her arms around his chest as he drives powerfully into her, the muscles in his back rippling under her fingers. Her shriek of pleasure cuts into my heart like a knife's blade.

I reported to Skinner's office yesterday morning, and as I passed Cancer Man, he gave me an evil little smirk. Oh, he knew. Gloat on, you black-lunged son of a bitch. I swear I will live to piss on your unmarked grave.

Even in my long history of watching porn videos, I have never heard so many variations on the word oh. The S.O.B. is yodeling. In Russian, by God. I didn't even know that was possible. Then suddenly it is over, Scully sinking back from him into the bed.

I stop the tape, and grey snow goes across the screen. I dig through the closet, get out kit, and start cleaning my gun.

Mulder shoved the gun-cleaning kit back in the closet and slammed the door so hard it nearly fell off its hinges. Ever since he had first seen that backstabbing son of a bitch with his beautiful, sweet, angelic partner, he had grown angrier and angrier until this morning, when he could think of nothing but going out and slicing himself a bloody slice of Russian ass.

He walked out, leaving the door wide open. Burglars? Who gave a shit?

Sunlight streamed through the thin bedroom curtains, laughing in cheerful delight at the chaotic scene it found. Clothes and sheets lay all over the floor. Sunlight glinted blindingly of the silver zippers of the black leather jacket hung over the chair. Black oil dribbled down the nightstand....no, that was just the overturned bottle of Hershey's genuine chocolate syrup.

The one blanket that had miraculously stayed on the bed suddenly moved as Dana Scully yawned and stretched, disturbing the handsome young man sleeping next to her.

"Good morning." she said sweetly and reached over to tweak his left nipple.

"Ow!"

"My poor Alexei, should I kiss and make it better?"

"Oh, Dana, what would Mulder say?"

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him, can it."

They both laughed and walked companionably off to the shower, the sheet still wrapped around their bodies, throbbing with sexual anticipation.

After hot water and love, they both got dressed, Dana choosing her usual dark blue conservative number and Alex in a grey tank top, jeans, and his leather jacket.

"See you tonight, stud." she whispered into his ear, gave him a little love bite on his earlobe, and then left, smiling happily.

Mulder watched Scully go by and briefly thought of killing her, but dismissed the thought.

Krycek waited his usual fifteen minutes, then came out, closing the door behind him. He turned, reaching into his pocket for the key, when he heard a car door slam, then footsteps. He barely had time to whirl before being faced with a freshly cleaned, brightly sparkling Sig Sauer jammed in his face.

Mulder grabbed him and put the gun against his temple while slapping on the cuffs with the other. "C'mon, Alex, we're goin for a ride....."

Krycek lay in the back seat of the car, chewing on the remains of his two front teeth, trying to loosen the prosthetic arm from its socket, and trying not to scream while he did it.

"Um, Mulder, where are we going?"

"You'll see, you betraying asshole scum-sucker."

"You think she's scum? No wonder she ditched you for me!"

Mulder roared in anger, the car swerving all over the road. Krycek decided it would be a good idea to keep his mouth shut the rest of the way.

"I'm sure you recognize this place." Mulder said, dragging Krycek by the cuffs through his father's house and into the bathroom.

"I didn't kill your fucking father, I've told you a dozen times!"

Mulder punched him in the gut. "SHUT UP!" He unlocked one of the cuffs and clapped it over the shower rod, leaving Krycek hanging by one arm.

He walked into the kitchen and took his father's carving knife off the rack in the kitchen. He held it for a minute, thinking of the Thanksgiving before his sister was abducted. His father at the head of the table, carving the turkey, he and his sister both wanting a drumstick, his mother scolding them. His mother.

His mother and Cancer Man....Scully and Krycek....

He screamed in rage, all the memories and repressed anger flooding back into his mind. He stormed back into the bathroom.

He dropped the knife and undid Krycek's jeans.

"What the hell are you doing!" Krycek shouted.

"I'm going to cut it off and watch you bleed to death, asshole! For my father, for the FBI, and for her!"

Krycek, using the strength he had built during all those years in places this coward would running away screaming from if he'd ever visited them, jerked up then down, snapping the prosthetic from his shoulder.

"Handcuffed the wrong hand, didn't you Mulder?" He said as he threw Mulder into the wall. "Now I'm going to give you what you deserve, for dragging Scully after you like a doll, then ditching her when you didn't want to play with her anymore. For mistreating her until she was almost crazy in return for her loyalty to you!"

He reversed the gun and slammed the butt end in to Mulder's forehead, knocking him senseless.

That night, Krycek came back and slipped into bed beside Scully. She stared at the bandaged stump in horror. "My god, what happened, what did you do? Oh, no, Mulder wasn't at work today... You ran into him, didn't you. What did he do to you?" She was nearly hysterical, the words tumbling out through a rain of tears.

"Don't worry, Scully. I'm here and I'll always be. He will never, ever hurt me bad enough that I couldn't be with the most precious person in my life..." He stroked her hair. "Besides, I made sure everyone will know what kind of man he is."

"What do you mean?!?

The next morning, Walter Skinner got out of his car to stare at the circus of FBI agents, police, secretaries, and media staring in horror at the glass doors at the entrance to the Hoover Building.

Mulder hung there by his handcuffs, totally naked, his FBI badge taped over his crotch. A sign hung around his neck read: Hi, I'm Spooky! My partner dumped me. Please take me home with you.....

He screamed loudly: ALEX KRYCEK, IF ITS THE LAST THING I DO, I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB AND SKIN YOU ALIVE! DO YOU HEAR ME!!!!!

They couldn't help it.

As much as it made Langly's glasses fog over, or offended Byers's sensitive taste, or yanked violently on Frohike's delicate heartstrings and made him want to crawl into a Scotch bottle and stay there, they couldn't stand not to watch.

So they watched.

Scully and Krycek dragged Mulder toward the bedroom as the cameras followed them through the apartment.

"Couldn't leave us alone, could you, Mulder?" hissed Krycek.

Mulder thought of begging Scully for help, but she was doing most of the pulling as Krycek only had one arm. And the thought of struggling, of the possibility of hitting her was still obscene and off-limits to him, somehow.

They handcuffed him to the bed anyway.

Krycek calmly reached into one of the nightstand drawers, pulled out an insanely large knife, and proceeded to cut off his clothes. When he was done, Scully reached over and stroked his skin.

"As smooth as a baby's ass." she smiled evily. "Just remember, if you'd treated me better, it would have been you."

He shuddered with regret and a tear slipped down his cheek.

They had no mercy for him.

The three men wore identical looks of silent heart-wrenching horror. Tears ran down their cheeks. Six hands tore wadded up Kleenex to shreds in their already bulging laps.

And still they watched.

Krycek kissed Scully, their moist lips fawning over each other, a mere preview of the unholy union that was forthcoming.

She pushed him down over Mulder's bare, soft, vulnerable belly and unzipped him, the once pure and honorable mouth of his soul mate moistly stroking the concentrated hardness of his worst enemy.

He wished he hadn't skipped breakfast that morning. Even vomiting would be a mercy.

He felt Krycek moan and writhe in perfect ecstasy and wished him dead, burned, mutilated like the others. But struggling would only force him upwards, and the thought of choking Scully was abhorrent.

They passed around the bottle, the Scotch going down their throats, burning like pure hellfire. It was no comfort. Only a reminder.

And still they watched.

Scully walked into the bathroom and moments later, the sound of running water traveled back, then stopped just before she returned with a wet washcloth and gently cleaned her lover's genitals.

Then he stripped her. After she was bared to him, all of her, he removed a bottle of Hershey's syrup from the cooler. She shuddered softly as the cool gooey substance spread over her and was licked off perfectly.

Mulder could have struggled, but hitting her, even gently, was a thought so horrid his mind squashed it immediately.

Frohike paused the video, and they all ran into the bathroom. None of them even thought of missing a masochistic second.

And, finally, they made love. Or would Mulder have said hate? They would never have cared as they burst with orgasm into hell's dark flame.

The Smoking Man walked into the warehouse basement to tower over the tiny, courageous redhead. He smiled as he ran his old, wrinkled, nicotine-stained fingers over the scar where the blood had been drawn. He bent down and kissed her wet cheek, blowing carcinogens into her pure skin.

Then he turned and left.

FBI Headquarters
2:30 P.M.

Assistant Director Skinner finished watching the tape and turned to the four heartbroken and dishelved men lying limp in his office chairs. The only signs that his cool demeanor had been broken were the haunted look in his eyes and his soft words: "It can't be her."

"That's what we thought at first, that she couldn't do this, but Mulder knows. It is her." said Langly, the only one who had retained the ability of coherent thought, much less speech.

"No." he said. "Agent Mulder, you're not thinking straight. Look." He rewound the tape and pointed to her right wrist. "Didn't she have a birthmark there?"

Mulder stared at the clear creamy right wrist, free of any red marks. A memory flooded into his mind, not the ones of Krycek's taunting voice that had haunted his dreams of late, but of dozens of sisters. Hundreds of Samanthas.

"A clone." he breathed softly. "Oh thank god. It isn't her."

"But if it's a clone," said Byers quietly, "where is Scully?"

The basement still smelled of smoke four hours after he had left. Dana Scully supposed it was logical, the basement had little ventilation. It had been trivial thoughts like these that had been floating through her mind for the last month between meals and bathroom trips that the Smoking Man did himself. Either he was short of help or she was very important to whatever he was planning. She had no doubt it was the latter, and that it had to do with Mulder.

The envelope was waiting when Mulder came downstairs to his office, nearly giddy with newfound hope. He sat down and ripped it open, knowing it contained information. That was part of the game. He was ready to play it again.

Agent Mulder:

Knowing you as I have all your life, I am quite sure that you have seen through my little charade by now, and knowing that you have not chosen to take yourself from this world (a strength which I admire very much), I suppose you have earned her back.

343 Summer Street

Your friend,
"C.G.B. Spender"

The five men blasted down to Summer Street like rocket-powered maniacs. It turned out to be a warehouse. The windows were broken out, and the front advertised a prominent D.C. street gang in flourescent spray paint.

Then again, showdowns in the old west had never taken place in luxurious locations either.

They searched the entire building, and just as they entered the basement, they came face to face with the Smoking Man.

He smiled softly. "She's yours."

He stepped to the side to reveal Scully. Mulder ran to her and untied her, crying with relief. Until he saw her right wrist. No birthmark.

He whirled furiously to attack the old coot, but the other man's face bore a look of horror so genuine he knew the Smoking Man hadn't known.

That was when they heard the click of the heavy-duty padlock being locked, and smelled the dark smell of wood starting to burn. <And heard the sound of a certain leather-jacketed man and an author running away, cackling..>

It was the last thing they would ever know.

"You didn't have to kill them, you know." Scully said later, over margaritas.

"I did. After all, I couldn't let any other man have you." said Krycek.

Their eyes met in an evil symphony as they kissed, and sealed their future together.

Send those flames! My hot tub is broken!