Disclaimers in Part One
God, from the look on her face you'd think I'd asked her for a million dollars.
"What?" she asks in that disgusted voice I've grown to expect from her in the past hour or however fucking long we've been here.
"Food. In your car. Do you have."
"What am I Krycek, FBI Meals on Wheels?"
She's funny. I'll give her that.
"I dunno, I thought maybe you'd have a snack stash or something. You seem like a woman who keeps candy in her glove compartment."
"Well I don't."
I guess it was just wishful thinking. She actually doesn't seem like she'd do that anymore. I was thinking of the woman I met five years ago, still pink faced and full of baby fat. She looks a lot better now. Leaner and meaner. But still there's a softness there, a femininity she can't hide no matter how hard she tries. Especially now. No makeup, no shoes, hell she doesn't even have any underwear. Her hair is less damp now than it was before, less matted. Now it's just kind of messy and curly from the humidity. The sweat on her face is drying but her shirt's still wet. It's white so the dampness creates an almost see through effect. I can almost see her bra if I squint and focus hard enough. She's got a hell of a rack on her. Yet another thing I never noticed. I gotta start paying better attention.
"You sure you don't have anything? Not even a lifesaver or something?"
"Look even if I did, I'm not going out there to get it. It's pouring."
Yes it is. Maybe if she goes out and gets soaked I'll be able to see through the bra too.
"Why don't we go out together?"
"How stupid do you think I am Krycek? Oh, sorry. Doctor Krycek," she sniffs.
There's the snot again. I guess she thinks I'm planning an escape. I wonder if she'd be more or less offended if she knew the truth.
"I just think it would be fun."
"Fun?"
Guess she wouldn't know much about that. Forgot who I was talking to for a second.
"Don't you like playing in the rain Scully? Especially when it's hot like this."
"You're not gonna wear me down Krycek. I'm not gonna give in until you tell me."
This again? I thought for sure she'd be bored by now.
"Give in to what?" I ask her. Not the response she was expecting obviously because she doesn't have some smart-assed answer at the ready. She just sighs and sits down again in the same exact spot she was in before. This time she stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands. The pose causes her chest to protrude almost obscenely but I don't think she notices.
"Who are you working for?" she asks me and I can't help but smile. I love this question.
"Myself," I answer. "What about you?"
"What?"
"Who are you working for?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?"
"I dunno. You're the one who asked it. It's actually a very deep question if you think about it. What does it mean really?"
She sighs and rolls her eyes towards the ceiling.
"No really. Who gives me a check every week? Whose agenda am I trying to fulfill? Who do I ultimately answer to? Who really pulls the strings? What exactly are you asking me?"
"Why are you here?" she asks me, enunciating every word slowly as if she were talking to a child or an idiot.
"That is a completely different question. Equally confusing. You'd probably get bored very quickly if I started going into all the potential answers and…"
"Philosophy."
I laugh a little at that. First of all because she's playing with me and that amuses me and secondly because I actually came this close to going for a Philosophy doctorate.
"That's even more useless than the degree I've got. But you're getting warmer."
The ceiling makes a god-awful creaking sound and a loud crack of thunder makes us both jump a little bit. It's starting to feel like this old place is gonna collapse on top of us. What a pathetic ending that would be. After everything we've both lived through, to be put down by a little rain.
She sighs heavily and her eyes slip shut. She's probably wondering if we're gonna have to spend the night here. Maybe cursing Mulder for getting her into this stupid situation. I almost laugh out loud thinking about the ass whupping he's gonna get for this when she goes home.
Then she moans and rubs at her neck again and I remember her headache.
"You still feel sick? Want me to show you that accupressure thing?"
"Krycek, I just want you to shut up right now."
"God, have you always had that attitude problem?"
Her eyes spring open and she gives me a nasty, shocked look.
"Problem?"
"Your nose is so far up in the air I'm surprised it's not bleeding from the altitude."
Her mouth drops open just like I knew it would. She is too fucking easy.
"I was just wondering if you've always been this way or if it's a recent development. Cause I've got this image of you as a kid and I'm just wondering if it's accurate."
"Oh really?" she asks haughtily, convincing me more than ever just how accurate it is.
"Yeah."
"Oh tell me great swami, what picture are you receiving?"
"See, that's what I'm talking about. That attitude right there. You're not very nice."
"I'm not very…" she shakes her head with disbelief.
"Nice. No, you're not. And I was wondering if you ever were. I'd like to think that maybe you were once. Maybe when you were a baby. Before your…"
Brother? Sister? Probably a brother. The one sister I know about was older and she definitely did not have more than one. Had to have been a brother.
"Before your little brother was born."
She can't help but widen her eyes in surprise at that. I guess she's never really tried to figure out a person's life story just by watching them, observing. She's not a profiler like Mulder. Or a master manipulator like me. She doesn't know how easy it is. She also doesn't seem to realize how loudly she screams "middle child" to anyone paying attention.
"Yeah, you were probably really sweet when you were the baby. Before you went to school. Before you realized you were a girl and that no one would notice that you were the smartest one in class unless you shoved it in their faces."
"What…what is this, some kind of therapy session? Shut up already."
"I'm just trying to figure out why you're so mean."
That one really throws her for a loop. I'm sure no one's ever said anything like that to her before. She doesn't say anything for a long time, just gapes at me and knits her brow into a bow.
"Is it cause you had to show the boys that you were as good as them? Better? Had to be nasty to put them in their place, make sure they don't get away with anything."
Her face starts slowly morphing into this strange little pout and I can't decide if its the hottest thing I've ever seen or the most infuriating.
"Is that the face you used to convince teacher that some bully was being mean to you?"
"FUCK OFF!" she shouts and I think her loudness shocks both of us. I laugh and she glares at me.
"Settle down Dana. God."
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? It's your name isn't it?"
"It's Agent Scully to you!"
I have to laugh at that one too. Who the hell does she think she is anyway? The freaking Queen of England?
"There's that attitude again. What's your problem?"
"My problem is that I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with a blabbermouthed assassin from hell who seems to want to talk about every goddamn thing under the sun except for the one thing I need to know, that's what! Oh…"
She moans and hunches up her knees, burying her head between them. Apparently all this shouting is making her feel even worse.
"Are you all right? Are you gonna be sick? Maybe you should go outside and get some fresh air."
"Just shut up shut up shut up!"
"God, what is wrong with you? I…"
"Tell me where it is or SHUT UP!" she yells into her thighs.
"What do you want to know for anyway Scully? It's just a load of trouble. Why do you want to have anything to do with it?"
She shakes her head and makes another miserable sound.
"I think you've got a Smurfette complex."
She stops moving, stops talking, just stops for about a minute. Then she lifts her head up and eyeballs me with a mixture of curiosity, annoyance and disgust.
"A what?"
"Smurfette. You remember the Smurf show?"
"Yeah, I remember…"
"Remember Smurfette?"
"Vaguely."
I guess she was too old for the Smurfs by the time they were on. Probably didn't watch too much television as a kid anyway. Probably had too many other things to do. I get another image in my head, far more pleasant than the original young Scully, of a smudge-faced tomboy in overalls and pigtails running around with a toy gun, pretending to kill her brothers. That's probably a lot closer to the truth. Or maybe they're both true. Either way, she was the kind of girl I would have died for. The kind of girl I would have teased mercilessly just to get a morsel of attention from her. The kind of girl who would have hated the very sight of me.
"Smurfette, she was the girl Smurf. Gargamelle created her and sent her over to Smurf village to make trouble. But Papa Smurf's magic made her good and all the Smurfs fell in love with her. But here she was, the only girl, in this town full of guys. And all the guys had their individual personality, Brainy Smurf, Vanity Smurf, Painter Smurf, and she was just Smurfette, girl Smurf. That was her only distinguishing characteristic, that she was a girl. So she had to do something interesting in every episode, ya know, to distinguish herself a little. But in reality, she was a lot cooler than the other Smurfs. She would have been a lot better off going off on her own and forgetting about those losers. Building a separatist, feminist, dyke Smurf colony or something, gotten Gargamelle to make another girl Smurf for her to play with."
Wow. I don't know where that came from but it's pretty damn good. She doesn't just have Smurfette complex, she IS Smurfette. She doesn't see it. She's just staring at me like I'm from another planet. Her confusion is actually kind of cute. She's kind of cute. God, she'd shoot me in the head for thinking that.
"Oh my God," she says, shaking her head.
"What?"
"I don't know…Why did you just tell me that?"
"Cause, you're like Smurfette."
"God, I can't believe I'm even asking…how am I like Smurfette?"
"Well, think about it Scully. You've got Skinner, I guess he's Papa Smurf. And Mulder, he's Brainy Smurf. And Enamored Smurf too. God, Mulder's like every Smurf. And all the other men you deal with every day, you're the only girl. You're Smurfette living in an all male colony, trying to distinguish yourself by something other than your sex. That's why you feel like you've gotta find it. Bring home the prize and be more than Smurfette. But Scully, it's never gonna work. You'll always be girl Smurf if you keep playing their game."
"Wait a minute, I've got as much personal stake here as anyone else. I'm not just some tag-along child."
"But you don't need it Scully. You don't need to be part of this."
Even as I say the words, I realize that they aren't true. Not anymore. Maybe if I'd tried this five years ago, but it's too late now. She's buried just like the rest of us. I wish I could find her a shovel.
She sighs and rubs her face for the twentieth time.
"So, I'm Smurfette huh. What Smurf are you then?" she asks, probably thinking that I don't have an answer already.
"Apprentice Smurf."
"I don't remember that one."
"He was only in a few episodes."
"What did he do," she asks and even though she sounds condescending and bored out of her mind, it makes me smile that she asks.
"He was Papa Smurf's assistant. He wanted to do magic like Papa Smurf more than anything but he could never really get it right. So one day he snuck out of the village and went to Gargamelle's place and stole one of his magic books. He did one of the spells in it and turned himself into a green, scaly monster with a big, fat, ugly tail."
Her expression is completely unreadable. She's just staring at me again.
"I know what you're thinking," I tell her even though I don't. For possibly the first time since she walked in here I really don't.
"What am I thinking?"
"That I know way too much about Smurfs."
*************************
This is one of those moments in life when you say, if someone would have told me ten years ago I'd be sitting here doing this I would have laughed in their face. That if I had known that someday I was destined to be in this situation, I might have taken a completely different course.
I can hardly process all of the things he just said to me, let alone respond to any of it. Actually, I'm trying to remember how we got to this point. This absolutely ridiculous point in which we are comparing my role in life to a frigging cartoon show. But I'm too tired, hot, hungry, and achy to care all that much.
Then something occurs to me through the cloudy haze of my headache. I had to have be at least seventeen years old when The Smurfs was on television.
"Krycek…God, how old ARE you, anyway?"
"How old do you think I am?"
"Too old to have been watching the Smurfs with that much interest."
"I guess my boyish good looks are fading," he laughs. "Well you're right anyhow, I was in junior high when they were on."
"Please don't tell me you studied them in grad school."
He laughs out loud quite boisterously, if Krycek can be described that way. "Yeah I wrote an entire thesis, 'Gender inequality in Smurf Village.'"
Even though it goes against my better judgment and does nothing to ease my headache, I am powerless to control the laughter that bellows forth from my mouth. And I have difficulty containing it for quite a while, especially when it gets Krycek cackling. Krycek's giggling. I made Alex Krycek giggle. God, what the hell am I doing here?
Eventually we both come down and while I rub the swollen area over my cheekbones, he explains, "No, I used to watch the show with my baby sister. Every single godawful afternoon after school."
Wait, what was that?
"Krycek, you had a sister?"
I can't quite figure out why, but it seems like the most foreign notion to me, Alex Krycek having siblings. I just never considered it before. Probably because it was far too alarming to think that there were others who sprang forth from the same gene pool as this slimy recreant.
"Yes, I have a sister, yeah. Why's that so shocking?"
"I, I dunno, I uh…" I stammer and shrug uncomfortably. I never meant to put him on the defensive. I was just, as I said, taken aback. Suddenly an entirely different image of this man invades my mind's eye, of a scrawny, gangly youth telling a climbing toddler to get off of him because he's on the phone. Of a child, enamored of this other big person in her life aside from her mother and father, smiling and calling his name when he came home from school, as though that were the happiest, singlemost important moment in her life.
"I suppose I never considered that um…that you had a family."
"What did you think I came from a pod or something?"
I will freely admit that I deserved that one.
"Well, anyhow, she loved the Smurfs. Was the only thing that would shut her up."
I have to stifle a smile. Suddenly he IS that gangly 12 year old, incredibly resentful about the responsibility put upon him at a time when he was just barely a child himself. Trying to figure out who he was and conflicted at the same time with the love he felt for his sister.
"What was her name?" I ask, my curiosity eating me up inside.
"Her name IS Sasha. Why do you keep saying was and had?"
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I…I didn't mean anything by it." Sasha Krycek, Sasha Krycek. I let it run through my head a few times, my imagination conjuring up pictures as to what she might look like.
"So, were you close to her?" I press on realizing the tables have turned once again and he is now the uncomfortable one.
"For a while. I guess. I dunno. I was gone before she really formed that much of a personality."
We sit in silence for several moments. It's still pouring and thundering every so often and the heat has subsided a bit, though it is still a far cry from cooling off any in here. Normally I would enjoy the sound, relish in it even, but today it just manages to aggravate the nausea in my stomach.
The periodic lightening affords me glimpses of Krycek's face and I see him focusing on some insignificant spot on the floor. I feel that I have struck a nerve. I have made him uncomfortable, I can feel that as well. Yet my curiosity is not quelled.
"Where…where is she now?"
"I dunno, probably in college, I guess. Unless my taking care of her for those few years left her permanently scarred, in which case, she's probably in a loony bin."
"You guess? You mean you don't know where she is?
He shrugs, his eyes still averted from me.
"So you don't ever see her, then?"
"No, of course I don't ever see her."
He says that as though that were naturally the most obvious thing in the world. I suppose he wouldn't keep in touch with her. That would mean getting close to someone and I'm sure Alex Krycek doesn't know how to deal with such a thing.
"I, um, I could help you find her," I offer, though I'm not entirely certain why. "I could probably tell you where she buys her groceries in a matter of minutes."
"You're kidding, right?" He finally looks at me. I think he's trying to give me a sarcastic glare, but I see something entirely different. Something sadder.
"Look, I could find her too, very easily. I don't want to find her, Scully," he whispers and suddenly I am the one who is unnerved.
"You don't want to see your own sister?"
"Its not…it's not as simple as that."
"But she's your sister, what's more simple than that? Or didn't you ever care about her in the first place?"
"You don't understand, Scully, I care about her too much to bring her into this."
"But she's your sister," I demand again. "I think she should at least have the option of deciding that for herself."
"You just don't get it, Scully. Once you're part of it, you don't have a choice anymore."
He's starting to raise his voice again, getting more and more visibly agitated. But for reasons unknown to even myself, I continue to push the issue.
"No, you're the one that doesn't get it! You have a sister and you're choosing to throw her away like she means nothing."
He shifts around and stares at the other wall now. He inhales several times to speak, apparently deciding whether or not to contest this further with me.
"What does it matter to you anyway? I would think you'd be glad I'm not subjecting some innocent girl to my presence."
"You're not a monster, Krycek," I offer, remembering his earlier words.
"And I'm not throwing her away," he persists. "I'm trying to keep her safe."
"So you'd rather she went through the rest of her life believing that her brother rejected her?"
"Yeah, I would rather have her think that than have her know the truth. She's safe this way."
I don't believe that to actually be true. I think he is much smarter than that. If he really wanted to see her, I'm sure he would do it, at any cost, and be able to protect her at the same time.
"God, I don't even know why I'm telling you this," he huffs at me. "If you tell anyone that I even HAVE a sister, I swear to God Scully, you'll be so fucking sorry."
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Not even Mulder, Scully. I mean it!"
"I'm not going to tell anyone, Krycek," I vow as solemnly as possible. "I do think you should reconsider your position, though."
"No way, not a chance in hell. What good could possibly come of that? She'd wind up dead. Or worse."
I shrug. I'm not sure what I could say to that. I can't exactly argue with him on that count.
"It's not fair, is it?"
"What's not fair?"
"The hold these people have over our lives."
"I guess not, maybe not for you."
"No it's not fair for you either, no matter what choices you've made." I don't know what force is controlling me when I add, "And it's not fair to Sasha."
"Well, she's the victim of the choices I've made. I can't really sit here and cry no fair and call myself the victim at this point in the game."
I can no longer count the number of times I have strangely consoled myself with that cynical thought. The questions are not new to me, but they always remain. And equally as strange, I am beginning to wonder if Alex Krycek is the only person in the world who could relate to me on this aspect.
"But maybe the question you have to ask yourself really is, am I the victim as well because I had to make those choices, even if I never really had a choice in the first place? If…if it was all plotted out long before I ever decided to become involved? That it's not just a bizarre coincidence that I'm here…"
I stop my rambling when I hear him laughing.
"What…?" H-oh God. I'm just going to shut my eyes for a minute here…
"Sorry, I know its not related to what you're talking about, but It IS just a bizarre coincidence that you're here isn't it?"
God, I've nearly forgotten why I'm even here. I'm supposed to be gathering information, perhaps even putting this man under arrest. What am I doing? I need to get somewhere here, and I'm not going to do it having a bonding moment with a known criminal.
And I'd be just be fine if this pain would go away.
"Mmmmulder," I say, the mere word a chore to speak. I take a labored breath and remind him, "Mulder's on his way. Mmmm…God."
I try to open my eyes and immediately have to hold my stomach. So…dizzy…
"Scully, what's wrong?"
I don't know. I can't think. He's talking way too loud. I press my hands on my head and dig my fingertips into my skull. I think I'm going to throw up.
"Mmmmy stomach…God I can't see."
"What do you mean you can't see?"
Oh God, please don't make me explain. "I mean I can't see."
"Like at all?"
"I just, need to, mmm, shut my eyes…"
"Is it your head again?"
Noise. Too much noise.
"Shhh…"
"Scully, I can help with that if you let me."
"I'm fine…H-oh God.
"You're not fine. Come here."
"What're you gonna do?" Got to be careful. He's trying to trap me. "I'm not going to let you free, Krycek."
"You don't have to. Just come over here and give me your hand, I can do it with the cuffs on."
No! Don't let him do it. "S'not gonna help."
"Well its not gonna hurt either then is it? Come on, it works for me every time."
"I…dunno. I…I can't think…"
"You don't need to think. Just give me your hand."
But his voice sounds so gentle. I need more of the gentle. I need for this to stop hurting. I open my hand and stare at it. Is this a good idea?
"Come here. Sit down here. Next to me."
I move slowly nearer him, and every movement is excruciating. I sit down a few feet from him and extend my arm.
"You're gonna have to move closer, sweetheart," he says, pulling at the cuffs.
I scoot closer. "What…what're you gonna do?"
"Just give me your hand," he says in that gentle voice again.
My arm is shaking and as he takes my hand, he whispers, "Shh. It's not gonna hurt, Scully."
*************************
Her hand is damp and shaking so it takes me a minute to find the spot. I rub my thumb over her palm, between her thumb and forefinger, searching, and she glances nervously back and forth between our interlocked hands and my eyes. I don't know what she thinks I could possibly do to hurt her in this situation but she still seems very nervous and wary.
Then I find the spot. I dig in with all the strength I can muster in my fingers, hard and slow, and her eyes slip shut. Her jaw slackens almost immediately and as I massage her hand she begins to look more and more relaxed.
The thunder's starting to pass and the wind is calming a bit. The only noise is the constant drumming of the rain drops echoing through the building and the sound of her breathing.
Since her eyes are closed I take the opportunity to watch her a little more carefully, to study her face up close. It's dark outside now but there's a streetlight in front of the place which is shining through the open door, giving things a sort of yellow glow, almost like candlelight. My eyes have adjusted to it and she's close enough now that I can see every detail. Such a pretty face. Not plastic pretty either but a deep, sensuous beauty. Classical. Wonder if that's why I felt compelled to dump my life's story on her randomly. I can't even believe she got me started on that shit.
Just thinking about it again is agitating and I find myself grinding her palm in my hand harder than ever. Her eyes open and she lets out a small "oh" sound.
"Is that okay? Does it hurt?"
She clears her throat and yeah, it's dark but I could swear she's blushing a little bit.
"Um, no, no it's fine."
"Is it helping at all? Sometimes you have to work it for awhile."
"It uh…I, I dunno…"
"It always works for me eventually."
She looks me in the eye and swallows. For some reason, looking into her eyes when she's less than a foot away from me causes me to become instantly aroused. Even more so than watching her take off her underwear. I don't know if I've ever been this close to something so pure, so completely good in my life, attitude problem and all. It just radiates from her eyes like nothing I've ever seen.
"So whaddya do, find…find someone to rub your hand every time you get a headache?"
I just smile because suddenly my mouth is too dry to say anything. I wonder if there's any way, any way in heaven or on Earth that I could get into her pants. Maybe if I wow her with my knowledge of accupressure…
"This actually works for lots of thing. There's a place on your hand to correspond to almost every part on your body."
She nods and her eyes narrow in a way that I can't interpret for the life of me.
"I remember reading something about that in school."
"Yeah, I thought you'd probably know something about it. Probably more than I do in fact."
She closes her eyes again and nods slowly. Her head starts sagging to the side a bit.
"Ma…maybe," she murmurs dreamily, her voice about a thousand times softer than I've ever heard it. This might be easier than I thought.
"So, how does it feel?"
"It's…fine."
"Better?"
"Mmmm," she sighs and the corners of her mouth turn up in a perfect, tiny smile. Her headache should be long gone by now so I start to widen the strokes of my fingers to other parts on her hand.
"Good?"
"Mmm, less nauseous."
"Good. You look better."
This gets her attention. Her head perks up a little bit and she laughs lightly through her nose.
"I can't even imagine how I look. Probably like a drowned rat."
"No, you look better. Much better krassavitsa."
She's so relaxed now, almost hypnotized it seems, because of the massage, that it takes her a beat or two to catch that.
"Wait, what? What did you say?"
"That you look better. More relaxed."
"No, after that. You said something. It sounded like another language. Russian maybe?"
"I did?" I ask, as innocently as humanly possible.
"Yeah, you did."
"Oh. I guess I did."
"So, what was it?"
I pause for a second for dramatic effect. Gotta make this exactly right, completely perfect.
"Krassavitsa," I whisper and she opens her eyes and her brows furrough.
"What does that mean?"
"Why don't you guess?"
She rolls her eyes and I actually feel the tension returning to her body through her hand. Strike one.
"It doesn't mean drowned rat, I'll tell you that."
"Oh well that narrows it down then," she says with a bit of sarcasm but her voice is still soft and lilting. All is not lost.
"You're funny."
"Shut up," she snaps. Strike two.
"No, I'm serious. You make me laugh. Not many people can do that."
This is absolutely true. Usually when people amuse me it's because they're so pathetically stupid. She makes me laugh because she's just funny and that's all.
"I know my life probably looks like a regular riot from the outside but really, I don't laugh very often."
She smiles and I rub my thumb over her wrist lightly. She doesn't seem to mind so I wrap my whole hand around her wrist and start massaging her lower arm.
"It means beautiful. Beautiful woman."
Her brows furrough and she frowns skeptically.
"You're pretty funny yourself Glasnost boy. What does it really mean?"
Her bone feels so tiny in my hand. I could probably break her arm right now. Good thing for her that's the last thing I wanna do.
"I'm not being funny. Look it up when you get home."
"Look, I realize I'm not exactly at my best right now but that's no reason to make fun."
"No, I disagree. You are at your best."
"I'm dirty, sweaty, grimy, and quite possibly stinky."
"Yes you are. And I've never seen you look more beautiful."
Her mouth drops open and her eyes get wide and she looks, frankly, a little too shocked. I'm not sure if it's because this is coming from me or because it's been a decade since she's heard it at all. I hope it's the first but I don't think so.
"You're always trying to hide it, you know? With all that makeup and those sensible suits and the gunk you put in your hair to make it pin straight. But this is just you. Nothing to hide behind. And you…are beautiful."
Her eyeballs dart around and shocked turns into frantic and very very confused.
"You look almost offended. Don't people tell you that all the time?"
"My mother," she mumbles and looks at the floor.
"I mean people who aren't related to you."
She sighs and shrugs.
"No, I guess not. I guess there isn't really anyone to tell you that is there?"
She looks up at me again and now I see something else swimming in her eyes. She's afraid but not of me. Then she pulls her arm out of my hand.
Not so fast Dana. I'm not gonna let her run from me now.
"It makes me sad," I whisper, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. She offers some perfunctory resistance but I know she's not trying as hard as she could.
"I've seen you. Alone. At night."
I bow my head a little bit and move in closer so that our faces are almost level and only a few inches apart.
"Wh..when?"
"Lots of times. I've seen those silk pajamas no one ever gets to touch but you. I've seen you writhing around on your big, empty bed. Touching yourself."
Okay, so this is a stretch. The one time I was assigned surveillance of the Scully home was probably the singlemost boring night of my life. She sat on her couch in an ugly sweatsuit with some kind of mud mask on her face and yellow putty in her hair watching Casablanca and eating microwave popcorn and then fell asleep. I complained to my superiors about being given shit work and I hollered so loud they never made me do that again. But she doesn't have to know that. It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter because I can tell by the way she's shaking her head, by the way she's pulling her wrist away, by the embarrassment and panic and excited flush on her face, that she does have silk pajamas and she does writhe around on her empty bed, touching herself. What a surprise.
"You're so beautiful Dana. So beautiful when you do that. Such beauty shouldn't go to waste like that."
Her mouth moves wordlessly and a small gasp escapes from her lips.
"There should be someone there. Someone to appreciate that beauty. To touch you the way you touch yourself. To watch your face when you come."
She tugs hard this time so I tighten my grip and pull her closer to me.
"You're lying," she insists but there is a question in her voice.
"Does it really matter Dana? It's true isn't it?"
She shakes her head slowly and looks at the floor again.
"Are you gonna waste your whole life waiting Dana?"
"I…"
"Don't you want more than your hands?"
"Let me go," she demands with absolutely no conviction. I shake my head and then I lean in and cover the soft, damp skin at the side of her throat with my mouth.
*************************
Stop. Oh, God, help me stop. Because I cannot stop myself. There is an actual mouth on my neck. A man's lips. And then his teeth. And then his tongue. And it feels so incredible I could cry.
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be…oh God… This isn't right. God, please help me stop this.
"Mmm, you smell so good…" he whispers into my ear before letting his tongue slip inside.
"Nnno," I finally manage.
"Yeah, you do," he gently protests.
My head becomes extremely heavy on my neck and leans into his probing tongue. His mouth opens and he takes nearly my entire ear into his mouth, running his tongue all along the outside of it. I gasp quite sharply and he laughs, the vibrations coursing through my entire body.
"Sssstop," I plead weakly.
"Why?" he says and rubs his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply. "You seem to like it."
Oh my God.
"Mmmstop…Kry…nno…Let go."
"Not yet," he sighs.
"Let go. Let…" He's barely done a thing to me and yet I am completely paralyzed.
"Do you really want me to?"
Oh God, I don't know, I don't know. How did I get here? Help me.
"Yes…" I whisper.
He's moved back to my neck now, kissing me with an open mouth, each touch nearing my jawline. He still holds my hand in his cuffed one, rubbing his fingers over the skin. My heart leaps into my throat with every swipe of his thumb.
"Or do you just feel like you should want me to?"
"Yes…no…uh…"
"S'matter, Dana? You sound a little confused," he breathes onto my neck.
His hand continues an upward rise on my arm, stroking it delicately, starting with my wrist and moving up my forearm and then down again, sending an unwelcome wave of sensation down my back. I know I should tell him to stop, to take my hand away and run far, far away, but I am still paralyzed.
After a while he pulls his head away and his eyes meet mine.
"Mmmhwhat…what are you doing?"
"Your skin is…so soft," he whispers, the air from his voice spreading over my face. "God Dana, you're so beautiful," he adds, moving his mouth to my other ear. He nips the lobe with his teeth and makes a tiny moan.
"Ssmm…sto…don't."
He kisses my chin. "How come?"
"Don't. Pleasssse."
"Dont you like it?"
No, no I'm not supposed to. This isn't supposed to be…God. I swallow hard and a whimper escapes shamefully from my mouth. Again he chuckles.
"No, I…"
"No? Really? Are you sure about that, Dana?"
I wish he would stop using my first name. I wish he wouldn't be rubbing my nose with his own. I wish that he didn't smell so masculine. I wish he wouldn't be making those little noises in his throat. I wish I wasn't wishing he would kiss me.
"You don't have to be scared, Dana."
"I'm not…scared. I'm not."
"Then what?"
Oh God, I don't know what. I can't exhale.
"Mulder…" I croak out.
He pulls back slightly, so that his mouth is directly in front of my own. "I don't know why you're so worried. Mulder's not coming."
"Yes, yes he will be here. He's coming..gah…" Good Lord, I'm shaking. I'm also holding onto his hand for dear life. And he is holding on to mine as well.
"We both know that isn't true," he speaks straight into my open mouth, he every word just barely a whisper, almost inaudible over the pouring rain. "Now why don't you just relax, Agent Scully?"
I think my eyes are actually tearing. God, what am I doing, what am I doing?
"I won't hurt you. God, I promise, Scully. I won't hurt you. Relax."
Oh, I want that. And I believe him.
"I…oh…"
Then he starts to barely run his lips over mine. My jaw is slack, my body tense. Light, teasing kisses he places on my lips, over and over, until I'm dizzy enough to fall over. I shut my eyes, hoping that it will help me distance myself from the moment and lessen the sensation.
He moves over to my cheek and it affords me a moment to swallow and breathe. I need to think about…um…
In a low, barely audible voice voice, he starts, "There is…"
My eyes pop open. He's going to tell me something. Maybe this is right after all. Maybe it's making him talk.
"There is what?" My attempt at a harsh demand is rendered ineffective by the sensual timbre I hear in my voice.
A small smile curls his lips and I see his dark green eyes dart up toward mine. His kisses resume at my hairline and in between he continues, "There is a garden in…"
Okay, garden, garden, garden. What could that be? Madison Square Gardens? New Jersey? Busch?
"Where? What garden?"
My voice catches in my throat upon speaking. I feel his smile this time against my cheek and he laughs slightly. He pulls away and kisses the other side of my face over and over, whispering, "There is a garden…" He pauses and moves back to the other side again, this time nearer to my eye. "A garden in her face…"
What is this? Code? Sounds so familiar. I repeat it over and over to myself, attempting to memorize and decipher it.
As soon as I think I've distracted myself from his ministrations, he's near my ear again, speaking into it and sending chills through my entire body. "There is a garden in her face where roses…" a kiss to my eye, "and white lilies…" another to my nose, "grow."
White lilies and roses? What on earth could he be referring to?
He pulls back and I feel as though I am forced to look into his eyes despite the fact that he is the one at the disadvantage. I am nearly frightened by what I see in them. Not a look I've seen yet tonight. "A heavenly paradise is that place…," he murmurs a bit louder and I shiver.
"Wha…mmm…" I can't ask him. I cannot speak.
"…Wherein all pleasent…" he pauses yet again to place a kiss at the corner of my mouth, "fruits…do flow."
It's not a clue, it's not information. It's a bloody poem again. Exquisite words whispered in my ear by a murderer. A traitor. A thief. A liar. Who may very well be trying to trick me out of information, dignity, and, very likely, my life. And yet at this moment I'm finding myself wanting to hear more. Wanting taste him, to feel his skin the way he is feeling mine. I want to know what it's like. I shouldn't, but I need to. God, I need it.
He pauses, his mouth directly in front of mine, his nose resting at the side of my own again. When I hear how heavily he is breathing, I realize that my breath has matched his. After an eternity of waiting, he inhales deeply, seeming to draw the breath from my own body, and then feeds me with the next line.
"There cherries grow…which none may buy…"
I feel myself reaching for his mouth with mine, and I am nearly powerless to stop it. My forehead leans into his as he quickly and breathlessly whispers the final line of the verse.
"Till 'cherry ripe' themselves to cry. Oh, Dana…"
Before he has the opportunity to finish my name, I grasp his head in my hands and push my mouth onto his. I kiss him with a fervor I don't think I've ever kissed anyone with before. It's not even a fervor. It's a definite hunger. One I was not aware I even possessed.
His lips are soft and hot and surprisingly sweet. And his kiss is beyond thrilling. I suck at his bottom lip and I feel his tongue teasing my upper one. I gasp and thrust my tongue into his mouth and he moans, long.
I can't get enough. I don't think I will ever get enough. Our tongues roll and twist around each other's with a nearly voracious forcefulness. I want him. I need to have him. I want to feel him.
My hands find their way under his shirt and I run them all over his torso, letting my fingers glide up to his pectorals and back down to his waist, tracing the finely-defined lines of all his muscles with my nails. He whimpers and sucks on my tongue.
We continue our animal kiss, groaning into one another's mouths and when I can no long breathe, I break it off. We are both panting heavily, myself nearly heaving for oxygen.
"Wow," he smiles. "You're unbelievable…"
I don't know quite what to make of that comment, but I can't ask him to clarify regardless. I am still trying to catch my breath.
"Who knew…"
Before I am able to say anything, he dips his head down and starts laving my neck, then moving down over my chest. He attempts to reach for my shirt, pulling at the bottom of it, but hindered by the handcuffs to raise it any higher than my waist.
Frustrated, he stops pulling at it. He rests his hand on my waist and leans toward my ear again. "Take these off, Dana. Take these off and let me touch you."
Touch me, please, yes, touch me. Oh God how I want that. Need that. But I can't take the chance. The chance that he still may just be trying to trap me. The chance that he may leave me.
"Can't."
"I won't go anywhere," he says, dropping his head to my chest. "Do you think I'd run out on this?"
"God…Krycek…I…"
"Take off your shirt, Dana."
I should be punching him, but I'm holding his fingers at my waist, praying that he won't stop talking to me like that. That he won't stop looking at me like I'm the most amazing thing he's ever seen.
"Take off your shirt for me, Dana. I wanna see you, I wanna…taste…you."
I whimper as he lowers his head and starts biting at my nipples through my shirt. My eye drips a small tear and I feel my groin burn, ache. I have to force myself to not cry aloud.
When my eyes open again, he is looking up at me with a doe-like gaze. He starts to suck at me, through the two thin layers of clothing covering my breast, until I can feel the moisture seeping through. I'm now shaking more than ever before with need.
In the back of my mind, there is a voice calling for Agent Scully. It's Mulder's voice, it's Skinner's voice, it's my mother's voice, it's Father McDuffy, it's my aunt Kate. All of them, telling me how wrong this is, how detrimental it could be. What a mistake I'd be making, the many things I'd be throwing away by giving into a shallow human need.
And to them I say: Agent Scully doesn't live here anymore.
I push Krycek's hand away from my waist and pull my shirt from my body quickly. The rain has cooled the temperature dramatically at this point and it has gone from being humid in the old building to damp and nearly chilly. A breeze comes through the door Agent Scully had propped open eons ago and I shiver, making me very aware that I am naked before him, more naked than I have been in front of any man in a long time.
I avert my eyes from his and reach behind to the clasp of my bra. I hesistate a moment and remove the piece of clothing.
End Part Two
Continued in Part Three