Dirty Laundry IV: The Tragic Ending by Amber M. Howard

Title: Dirty Laundry 4: The Tragic Ending
Author: Amber M. Howard
Rating: R
Keywords: KSR, character deaths, angst.
Spoilers: End Game
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. They will probably not like the way they are treated in this fanfic, but then again they mistreat and kill them in every season finale. Who are we kidding here?
Background: Oh, so much has happened. First Mulder finds out that Scully is carrying on some kind of nymphomanical affair with Alex Krycek, then he goes after Krycek in a wonderful burst of Alpha-male stamina, and gets his naked ass hung on display in the J. Edgar Hoover Building (hmmm, that's appropriate in a way). Not the type of caveman to give up the slightest chance of dragging his woman back into his office by her hair, he goes after Krycek again, only to be used as a mattress by the couple to the horror of the Lone Gunmen, who catch the entire thing on tape. Then we find that the Smoking Man is holding the real Scully bound and gagged in a warehouse basement.
Summary: Are you now convinced this author is a led astray shipper at heart, and she is now going to make everything all better? Hardly.

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.

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.

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.

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 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…>

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