SquidgeWorld Archive

A Scent of... (Mulder)
by Witch in Winter

It always seems to be cold when we meet. Does he bring the cold with him? I shiver as the street lights slide by, tiny, surreal suns in the fog. Driving to meet him again. To meet him without telling anyone, without back up, a known killer, a traitor. Breaking rules again, for him... For information I tell myself, for information.

I am not like Krycek. The words run through my mind like a piece of long forgotten music, I am not like him at all. When I check the rearview mirror my eyes shine back denial.

The parking lot is almost empty, plenty of spaces near the footbridge. The fog is much thicker here, moving with a life of its own up off the river. A gift from the sea to cover the reality of this unreal place. I know that I will have to wait for him, Krycek will make sure there are no tails. I have already done the same thing on the drive over. Done it without even thinking about it. I am not like Krycek.

Still the sharp knock on the passenger window sends me jumping. Unhooking the seat belt, I ease over and unlock the passenger door.

Alex Krycek slips into the car. Moisture glinting off his dark hair, his eyelashes, beaded on his very expensive overcoat. He locks the door, locking in the cold, lonely smell of the fog. He brings the fog to me. - Mulder.

- Krycek. My voice is calm, controlled.

In the dim light of the dash his eyes shine. The feral gleam of a domesticated animal gone wild, an animal you approach with great caution. Does he see the same in mine, the shine that comes through when the veneer of civilization wears thin? No, I'm in control here. I know how to make this restive feral animal compliant.

He smiles, almost as if he knows what I am thinking.

- Something funny? The fog is hanging in the car.

- I think we need a sound track. You know, something suited to... he waves his hand, to all this.

Gloves, he is wearing a glove. Jesus, is this the time? Is it here he is going to end it all? One quick shot to the head...like all the others. One quick shot, then lay the gun down on the seat as he slides back out to rejoin the fog. Have I misread the need I saw in his eyes, those feral animal eyes? The need that shone with fever brightness when we last met. A twisted kind of smile touches my lips.

- Something mysterious and eerie, suited to shady deals made with hired killers in dark places at midnight?

Knowing as soon as I say it that I had been right. He doesn't want to kill me. No, oh no, he wants something worse, much worse. Something that surely I can twist and use to my advantage. I am not like Krycek.

The heater has been on all along and the car is finally warming up. I see the almost invisible relaxation of his body to the warmth. He unbuttons his overcoat, his single hand moves with precision.

How long had he been standing there, waiting? Waiting in the cold and the fog, waiting for me? How did he know that I would not bring death with me? Why did I not bring that death with me?, echoes in my head.

In the warmth, another scent has joined battle with the lonely smell of the fog. It is there, right at the edges of my senses. Again, like something long ago forgotten, it tugs at my memory.

I brush it away by reaching for the lapel of overcoat. Quite a step up from the old leather jacket he wore when we last met...wore as he stood shivering with fever in a dark, dank doorway.

- You've come up in the world.

I run my fingers up and down, feeling the smooth richness of the cashmere. His expression seems to slip from cool, profession killer for just an instant.

- Business has been good.

I feel his breath catch as I slide my hand up and down. Almost by its own volition, my hand stops over his heart. I sense the rapid pulsings more than feel them. With that trapped beat jerking under my hand, I know, I know what will soon be happening. I am in control. I am not like Krycek.

- What do you have for me? Playing the charade necessary for us both.

- A woman's address.

- Which woman? Is that my hand trembling against him or only the catch in his breath, the skip in his heart beat?

He reaches inside his suit jacket, while my insides clench with sudden fear...was I wrong?

- This one.

He pulls out a small back and white picture, a snapshot capturing an instant of the past. He shows it to me like a proud child bringing home a good grade. Flipping it over to show the address written on the back.

- What's the price?

Anger floods me. What is the price of knowledge, the price of truth, the price of knowing where Samantha is? What is the goddamned price? My hand tightens on his coat.

Words bubble out of his mouth.

- It's a current address, Mulder. I checked it myself. She was there this afternoon.

I want to hit him. Hit him again and again and again. Smash all those sleepless nights into his face. Smash my father's blood, sticky on my hands, into his brain. Smash all of Scully's grief and pain and fear into him. Smash what is now roiling and curling, moving through me like a hot fog, into his body.

- The price. I can barely get the words out.

- I don't need the money anymore, Mulder.

The truth in that statement stops the anger cold. Without thinking, I have pulled him up close to me. I want to see him. I know the price.

I know the price. I am cold with the knowledge. Why is he shivering? I am the one so cold, I am the one whose world has just shifted off its axis. The knowledge is my weapon. I have to use it. I am not like Krycek.

- I know what you want, Krycek. I know.

Now there is fear in those sharp feral eyes. It makes me almost happy. The car smells of fear and need. I like the smell. The feel of his body close to mine, held in an instant of silence. No movement, no sounds ... nothing but the cold, lonely fog outside separating us from reality. And the hot fog inside waiting to be ignited.

I kiss him.

In that act I revel in power, in control.

Grinding my teeth into his, he is beneath contempt. Forcing him to accept my tongue in his mouth. See, feral animal, see. I am not like you at all.

I lock my fingers in his hair, waiting, hoping for him to fight back. Waiting for him to answer violence with violence. There is a soft touch on my shoulder.

I yank his head back, hard, his face a blur before me. But no scent of fear now, it has vanished as though blown away by some unfelt wind. Now the danger smells almost sweet, hot vanilla coiling around us. Control is being blown away by that same ghost wind. Gone, only tattered fragments of it remain, hanging about me like wisps of fog. I strain to gather those fragments, chanting in my soul, I am not like Krycek, I am not like Krycek. A mantra to shield me, it will help me reweave those fragments of control back into something complete, something whole.

I will bring them all down. I will know the truth. The mantra now screams in my head.

- Is this the price, Alex?

Hearing it as a scream, while the words are forced out in a vicious whisper.

- How far do I have to go? How much do you want for the picture, Alex?

His head shakes in denial. For the moment, I am in control. For the moment, I am the one using violence. I almost feel good, feel strong. I am not like Krycek.

- Come on Krycek, name your price; here I am.

With those words I am lost. Never to understand why I am giving him what I have fought for so long and so hard. It was mine. No longer.

He kisses me.

My mouth opens to his kiss, to his tongue. There is no demand here, no contempt. Deep inside me something ever so slowly relaxes. I want this to go on forever.

My hand tangles with his; I was still gripping his hair, now I am holding his hand. His hand still hidden from me in that glove.

He stops, he breaks the kiss. There is no air to breath, he has taken it with him. I try to breathe, hearing myself gulp in ragged gasps of air. No control now, no control... even the autonomic system is shutting down. Short-circuited in a way never before experienced.

I feel his mouth again on my cheek now, sliding down the curve of my jaw. It is soft and smooth, surrounded by the scratchy rasp of his skin. Tiny touches sparking live wires. Now on my throat. I have given him my throat, I have bared it before the feral animal. All control gone, given up.

Oh, please...The groan rips out of me. He is there; biting, sucking, licking, kissing while my heart beats in time with each touch of his mouth. I fall into a wanting that I had never dreamed was there. No knowledge, no control, no fighting this free fall flight that leaves me unable to breath, unable to move...

The wanting surges through. I try to push his clothes aside, the soft cashmere now feeling rough and harsh on my hand. Pulling at his shirt, wanting more, more contact to soothe these screaming nerve ends.

Oh, please.

He is back at my mouth; I can taste him, feel him. His hands are on my shirt, pulling, pushing, stroking. I was right, right all along. He does want this, he needs this. The knowledge sings in my ears. I was wrong, wrong all along, for I want this, I need this.

My mantra shatters into a million tiny glowing pieces and blows away with the ghost wind.

Again, sound rips from me and I lean into him, begging for more. Wanting it over and done with. Wanting it never to end.

He pulls his mouth away from me. No, no, please. Time freeze- frames his face in my mind. His mouth, swollen and slick. His eyes no longer feral, only dazed.

I want to reach out and pull him back, back into a kiss. Nothing is working, nothing moves. Even as I am screaming inside to touch him, my arms and hands lay slack. The sandpapered nerve ends refuse to allow the impulse to pass...there is no movement.

- Paid in full, Mulder.

God, was that whimper mine or his?

He fumbles with the door, half-sliding out. The cold rushes in to fill the space he leaves. The fog is back; the cold, lonely smell flooding in behind him to bury the scent of hot vanilla.

He walks away. He does not look back. He rejoins the fog. I wait for my body to be returned to me. I wait for those nerve ends, rubbed raw in an instant, to seal over. I wait for control, my head in my hands. Trying to understand, to find just where I said the wrong thing, made the wrong move. Why did I allow this to happen? The black and white snapshot curves against my heart, tucked in my shirt pocket. Tucked there by Alex Krycek as I gave him more, much more than he had asked for. Feeling seems to return in bits and pieces. The burn on my cheek from his skin. The small sparking point on my throat, still pulsing from the need in his mouth. I want to scream in pain. In anger. In frustration. To howl like a trapped animal.

No, now it is all over.

I smash my fists into the steering wheel like I had wanted, oh so much, to smash into him. Turning the car around, I begin to track my way back to the apartment, guided by those tiny, surreal suns in the fog.

end