A Shared Obsession: Chapter Four

by Satina

Chapter Four

Alex Krycek paced from one end of the short, smelly motel room to the other yet again.  He lowered himself onto one of the slippery vinyl chairs, then before he could register the feeling of the sparse padding under his ass cheeks, bounced up and resumed pacing.

Why the fuck were they making him stay around here?  He gave them the file and after what had happened during its retrieval, he felt as vulnerable as a wounded squirrel in an intersection.

He could practically hear Mulder on the prowl for his ass.  He knew that every second he stayed in the greater D.C. area, he came closer to never waking up to feel broken bedsprings digging into his lower back again.  Mulder would find out.  And when Mulder did find out, Mulder would find him.  He was certain of it.

What the fuck had he been thinking, poaching on the Fox's territory like that?  He of all people knew that Mulder's obsession with Scully went deeper than friendship, deeper than love, and deeper than lust…that polluting the perfect Scully with his rank physical need was tantamount to raping a part of Mulder's psyche, as far as Mulder was concerned.  A sin unforgivable, and probably one Mulder was willing to chuck his career to avenge.

Krycek should be thousands of miles away, buried seventeen stories underground, so he would have a chance of slipping off the Spooky psycho radar, at least for period of time long enough for some of his rage to subside.  Where's an abandoned silo when you need one?

Instead, he'd been ordered to remain in the area until his employers were sure that all traces of their cohorts' activities, which had been documented in that damned file, were obliterated.  Of course they had no idea he'd just done the stupidest thing in his not-exactly-stellar existence and would very soon be paying for it with his life.

So here he sat.  Like a rat in a cage.  With one very pissed off psychologist just itching to try some live vivisection on his ass.  He hadn't slept since he'd left Scully's apartment at 3:00 A.M. that morning.  He wouldn't sleep until he was well clear of Mulder's happy hunting grounds.  His hands clenched and unclenched as he willed his cell phone to ring with the 'all clear' phone call.

Nothing but the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

He couldn't stand one more minute in this musty, ugly little room.  He'd spotted a biker bar up the road a piece and decided he'd wait for the call there.

Mulder's gut burned with the effort of putting on a calm, reassuring face as he walked Scully into the emergency room and handed her over to the doctors there.  He wanted to leave before she came back out of the exam, totally unable to face her once she knew the truth about her assault.  He called her mother to come and pick her up and he walked back out to his car, willing himself not to throw up in the parking lot.

The sick fuckhead had drugged her and…and…what?  Mulder couldn't even let his mind fill in the blanks.  All he could see were the vivid purple and red marks on her neck, and the small, perfectly even white teeth that he knew had made them.  He jaw began to ache with the stress of his constantly clenching it, but he was unable to stop and simply accepted the pain as part of his preparations.

Think.  Think.  No, not about that.  Think about who would have put that file in your newspaper.

He made his way back across town to his apartment building and asked his neighbors if anyone had seen a stranger in the hallway early the previous morning.

The responses he got were less than friendly and one of his neighbors replied to him with a raised eyebrow painfully evocative of the one on his partner and said, "You've got to be kidding.  If the fucking president and Saddam Hussein played hopscotch outside your door I'd call it a slow day."

Mulder thanked her for her time and moved on, not missing any of the people in his building, no matter how hostile or avoidant they appeared.

He struck paydirt with the little old lady at the end of the hall.  She was still new enough in the building not to have been jaded by all the freaky goings on wrought by her spooky neighbor, and had not yet grown tired of peeking out when she heard creaks in the hall at odd hours.

She was able to give a very nice description of a man Mulder had received information from on one or two occasions, and from there it was a matter of a drive across town before Mulder caught the guy and cornered him in his building hallway.

"Listen.  I don't know your name and I don't care.  I know you gave me the medical file and I know you risked your ass to do it.  I'm not trying to get you in trouble, but I need to know one thing. A man has recently come back into possession of that file, and I need to know where that man is."

The young man for a moment looked like he was going to play stupid and act like he didn't know what this intense Fibbie was talking about, but at the last minute he decided that anything he told this guy other than exactly what he was asking for would probably just earn him an exhausting amount of physical and mental torture.  He said only two words, but judging from the calm, satisfied glint that came into the hazel eyes burning into his, they were the right ones.  Thank God.

"Sundowner Motel."

"Thanks."  Without another word, Mulder spun away from the man in a swirl of trenchcoat and sped away from the curb, tires screeching.

"Man I never want that guy looking for me that way," muttered the informant, unaware that he even said the words aloud and very glad that for now, he was on Fox Mulder's good side.  He scanned the area left and right before darting to the stairs and up to his apartment, where he started shoving things into bags and boxes, preparing to acquire a new address.

The clerk at the Sundowner had been more than accomodating when a tall, thin man with dark hair and a hard glint in his eyes had flashed a badge and a photo, and Mulder was trying to steady his breathing as he silently climbed the stairs, tightly grasping the keys to room number 14.  He crept to the window, attempting to see inside, but the heavy drapes were drawn and he could not make out anything inside.  He stood with his back to the wall, gun raised and held with both hands at chest level, straining to make out the faintest noises from within.  He heard nothing.

His fingers trembling with the need to close around a certain dusky throat, he quietly slipped the key into the lock and slowly turned the knob.

When his arm was not yanked forward with the force of someone opening the door, he steeled himself a moment then with a focused kick sent it snapping backward.  He quickly stepped in, catching the backswinging door with his foot and stood in the doorway of the room, legs spread, gun held with both hands, ready to commit murder.

The room was empty.

He took four deep breaths in and out, then stepped into the room, swinging his gun from left to right, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot.  Still no one greeted him.

He searched the small room and bathroom and found a black leather bag containing some toiletry items and a spare change of clothes.  Evidence enough that Krycek would return.

He made himself comfortable behind the half-closed bathroom door and began to wait.

Krycek was downing his third shot of tequila when the high screech of his cellphone made his hand jerk and a few drops of the precious golden liquid sloshed over it.

Damn he was jumpy.  This was just not like him.  He jerked the phone out of his jacket pocket and brought it to his ear, sucking the tequila from his fingers.

"Yeah."

"The sanitation is complete."

Krycek punched the 'end' button and sighed heavily.  Finally he could start to put some serious distance between himself and his most-certainly-accelerated doom.  He knocked back the third shot and threw a twenty on the bar.  He was feeling generous and didn't wait for the change, but walked out of the bar with a step considerably lighter than that which had bore him in.

He was scanning flight schedules and compiling necessary phone numbers in his mind as he closed the door of his motel room behind him.  He even had a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth as a dark gray shape came careening toward him out of nowhere and threw him hard up against his motel room wall.

Mulder didn't even bother with his usual litany of insults as his fist rocketed back and forward, repeatedly connecting with Krycek's nose and jaw, one blow barely connecting before another was rained down, giving Krycek just time enough to wonder if he would get to say anything before he became unconscious.  He supposed not.  But he had to try.

"Mulder!  Wait!"  A fist sank into his gut and all the air he'd been trying to form into words was forced out in a ragged whoosh.  As he struggled to gain enough breath to speak, he looked into Mulder's face and was honestly scared by the insanity he saw there.  The man actually had spittle foaming out from between clenched teeth and was making intermittent growling sounds as his fists connected with Krycek's face and gut.  Krycek tried to reach into the waistband of his jeans for his gun but Mulder yanked it out and threw it across the room and returned to pounding his hands into as much flesh as he could reach, holding Krycek up against the wall with his fist full of cotton T-shirt.

Finally Krycek recovered enough from the shock of seeing his arch enemy so out of control that he was able to bring his knee up into Mulder's groin then wrap it around behind his leg and throw him off balance.  In the second it took Mulder to regain his footing, Krycek grabbed for his swinging fist and made another attempt to speak.

"I didn't hurt her!  I wouldn't!  I didn't…"

Mulder's face contorted with the effort of training his growls into intelligible verbal discourse.

"You… broke… her… fucking… arm!"  He roared in Krycek's face and Krycek felt the warm spittle spray across his eyelids as Mulder's fingers closed around his throat.  Mulder's body was now pressed full-length against him, making it impossible to do anything except writhe fruitlessly under the violent onslaught.  He clawed at the hands cutting off his already labored breathing, and tried to bring Mulder back to himself long enough to at least let him know that he had not intended to hurt Scully.  Before he died, Mulder, and Scully, had to know that.  Krycek wasn't sure why he felt that way, he was only sure that for now, his one and only goal was to live long enough to make that clear.

"Muh… dah… plzzz…"  Krycek saw black explosions begin to swim into his visual field and felt his hands and arms growing weak.  He focused his eyes on Mulder's and willed him with all his might to give him a chance to explain before ending his life.

Mulder's eyes blazed with an empty, murderous rage as he continued to throttle the tender flesh in his hands, then he blinked and his lips closed over clenched teeth and Krycek felt the hands at his throat start to slack.

He coughed and sucked at the bit of available air, swallowing it into his bruised and throbbing windpipe, struggling to keep his knees from going out.  Mulder's hands remained wrapped around his neck, but he was able to recover his breath, and once he had enough to form words, he tried again.

"I swear."  He breathed and felt the other man's body heaving beneath him.  "I didn't mean to hurt her.  I didn't know she was hurt."  He swallowed, weakened by the razor-sharp intensity of the eyes boring into him.  "Please.  Mulder.  All I ask is that you hear me out."  His hands were clasped over Mulder's now but he was no longer pulling at the other man's grip, knowing his instinct to survive was not going to win out over Mulder's uncharacteristic berserker rage. He hoped that his surrender would provoke a show of mercy in his assailant.

Mulder's nostrils flared as he watched the man before him swim back out of semi-consciousness and begin to beg.  The blind red rage that had been directing him for the last half hour started to recede, leaving only a hot hatred and burning need to hear more.  Deciding that Krycek wasn't going to die without telling him the whole story, he stepped back and threw Krycek up against the wall again, and for the first time since Krycek had entered the room, pulled his gun from his hip holster and trained it on the trembling man.

"Talk,"  he spat, wiping the saliva off his lips with the back of his hand.

Krycek breathed a few more times and straighted his black leather jacket squarely on his shoulders.  He wiped the blood from beneath his nose, raked his own hand back through his hair, then cleared his throat painfully and spoke.

"I went there to get the file.  She was supposed to be asleep.  I thought she was.  She woke up and pulled her gun on me.  I swear to God I didn't mean to hurt her.  We were struggling, and… I just…"  Krycek couldn't meet the other man's eyes as he uttered the words that he knew would surely spell his end.  "I looked into her eyes, Mulder. There was such passion there.  Such intense feeling… rage… hatred… heat."  Krycek took a deep breath once more, wondering if it would be his last.  "I just lost control.  I had to have her."

He saw the change in Mulder's face at those words.  Saw the way they seemed to become black as night and he swore the temperature in the room shot up ten degrees as he felt the intense scrutiny of that gaze sear straight through to his soul.

"So you raped her."  Mulder growled the words out, barely intelligible through grinding teeth.

"No!"  Krycek's voice was firmer now.  "I didn't, Mulder.  I swear… not really."

"Not really?"  Mulder screamed, striding forward and placing the barrel of the gun against Krycek's forehead.  "Just how the fuck do you 'not really' rape a woman, Krycek?  And how does that woman end up with a broken arm?  I've had some wild sex in my time but nothing that had my partner ending up in the fucking emergency room!"

Krycek actually felt sick at the thought of one of those pale little arms that had been scratching up his sides being broken during their sexual frenzy.  He tried to remember when it might have happened and figured it was before he had made his move on her, when she was struggling against him after he'd destroyed the cellphone.

Scully, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.

"Mulder… I know you have no reason to believe this, but I didn't know she was hurt.  We struggled and I had her arms behind her back.  I was just trying to keep her from calling you."  He saw Mulder's face twitch, but summoned his courage to continue.  "I smashed the cell phone and she kneed me in the groin."  Mulder's eyes calmed just slightly at that admission of Scully's small triumph.  "I had her hands up behind her back and I guess in her struggles,"  he gulped, "she injured her arm.  I had no idea, Mulder.  It didn't happen during the…"  He swallowed again, feeling the moisture leave his mouth.  "…during the sex."

The fire leapt back into Mulder's eyes and Krycek fully expected to know oblivion in the next second.  But he was shocked when Mulder pulled the gun back a couple of inches.  He was even more shocked when he saw the tears begin to silently stream down over Mulder's face.  "But she was drugged… and you did rape her."  Mulder's voice was hoarse and flat.

Krycek breathed, wondering exactly what explanation of the night's events would buy him the longest remaining lifespan.  He decided that if he could make Mulder believe the truth, that Scully had willingly and enthusiastically participated, that he might have a chance of walking away from this.  Or at least waking up a nice coma.

"I didn't drug her, Mulder.  And it wasn't rape."  Krycek kept his eyes down, unable to endure the flayed-to-the-soul look in those eyes.  "She didn't instigate it, that's true.  But Mulder…"  he stopped, listening to Mulder's ragged breaths. "She did willfully and passionately participate.  She could have hurt me or stopped me, but she didn't.  I know you have no reason to believe me, but I need to tell you anyway.  I need you to know.  It was sex, not rape.  And Mulder… I made sure she enjoyed it."  Krycek looked up through his lashes as he said that, praying that Mulder's concern for his partner would outweigh his feelings of ownership and that he would be able to at least feel a little relieved that Scully had not experienced a violent, unwanted sexual assault on her body.

The broken sob which escaped Mulder's lips actually caused Krycek to gasp aloud.

"Nnno… that can't be true."  Mulder whispered it in a way that led Krycek to believe that indeed, Mulder had been convinced it was.  Then Mulder shocked Krycek even more when he lowered the gun and staggered backward, finally falling into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.  "You took her.  She was mine. MINE Goddammit and you took her!"  Mulder's voice was rising again, but his hands were at his sides, his finger no longer on the gun's trigger.  He wasn't even looking at Krycek, instead staring into his lap, the tears making tiny splotches on the fabric of his pants.

Krycek studied the shattered form before him with narrowed eyes, not quite ready to believe that he wasn't going to be eating a bullet very soon.

Why the fuck was Mulder being so vulnerable before him?  Was the guy really that gone over knowing that someone else had fucked his partner?  Jesus Christ, that man had it worse than even Krycek had imagined.

He found himself actually wanting to offer comfort to the man who had come in here with his one and only goal to kill him.  He rubbed at the hard, raw ache in his throat and blinked to clear away any residual dizziness.  Then he tilted his head to try to catch Mulder's eye.

"Mulder?"  He said it quietly, gently.  No response.  "Mulder."  This time it wasn't a question and Krycek's voice was firmer.  He saw the other man take in a deep breath but the face remained downturned and the eyes closed.  Krycek sighed.  He should be taking this opportunity to grab his shit and split.  But he felt an insane need to get through to this emotionally eviscerated man with the truth.  Mulder's precious truth.

He slowly stepped toward the slumped figure, still cautious and ready for the attack he knew could come at any minute.  But Mulder just sat there, eyes closed, tears continuing to fall from beneath the dark lashes. Krycek stepped right in front of Mulder and looked down at the sleek brown hair.  He felt a very dangerous urge to put his hand out and stroke it, but held it back, frowning at the very thought of such a tender gesture being bestowed upon his would-be executioner.  He sighed heavily.

"God, Mulder.  She's a woman.  Just a woman."  At that, the eyes opened and the head raised.  The eyes burned up at him from beneath lowered lids.  If looks could kill… Krycek would be a small black cinder scorched into the moss-green shag.  "I… I didn't mean it that way, Mulder.  Christ, I know she's special.  She's… she's fucking incredible, Mulder, I know that.  She's the most incredible woman I've ever known!  I just meant that you can't keep her on this pedestal any longer.  So she fucked somebody.  Yeah, I know.  She fucked your worst enemy.  But that doesn't change what you two have.  What you two will always have."  Krycek shook himself, cursing inwardly the lilting regret he himself could hear under the gentle words.

He always felt like some little punk looking in on their beautiful world from the outside, never getting to be a part of it.  Watching the dance, feeling his feet move, but never being asked to join those on the floor.  When he been with Scully, he'd been a part of that beautiful dance, at least with one half of that amazing couple, and it had been more incredible than he would ever have imagined.

For a small, dangerous moment, he let himself wonder what it would be like to be caught between the both of them, pulled into that scorching vortex of emotion and power, a third part to a destined-to-be-completed puzzle.  Following a sudden and strong impulse, he lowered himself to one knee in front of Mulder in a totally submissive gesture.

"She loves you, you know.  She always has.  Christ I could see it the first time you two were in the same room together."  Mulder actually seemed to be listening to him, now looking him directly in the eyes, the malice slowly being replaced by a hopeful skepticism.

"She'd do anything for you Mulder."  He saw Mulder's flicker of disappointment and immediately understood it.  "I don't just mean she'd back you up, Mulder.  Shit I don't have to tell you she'd give her last breath to save you."  Krycek actually let the corners of his mouth turn up in a small grin.  "I mean if you gave her half a chance, she'd give it all to you, anytime you asked her."

He almost didn't recognize the small, wistful voice coming from the usually so cool and confident lips less than a foot in front of him.

"But she didn't give it to me.  She gave it to you."  Mulder's eyes held only sadness now, and a tired, resigned pain that made Krycek want to reach out and take him into his arms.

"Only because you never asked her for it."  Krycek's voice was quiet and he allowed the sadness to seep into his tones, knowing it would ease Mulder's pain.  "She only gave it to me because she felt she couldn't give it to you.  She didn't want me, Mulder.  She wanted you."  Krycek's voice ended with a matter of fact note to it that left its veracity pretty much unquestionable.  It also left a taste of ashes in his mouth to say it out loud.

"Why?  Why does everything have to be so hard?"  Mulder appeared to be talking to no one in particular.  Krycek felt the intense urge to assuage his suffering.

"You make it hard, tovarich.  You don't allow yourself to live.  You don't allow people to love you."  Krycek felt an old, familiar and disturbing lump form in his battered throat.  He shut the door on it with all his will, blocking it with feelings of self-preservation.  To do otherwise was to go the way of complete madness.  As was to look into those deep, dark brown eyes as they stared at and into him.

"What the fuck am I doing here?"  Mulder's voice was distant, confused.  "I wanted to kill you.  I was going to kill you.  I was going to give up everything I have, including Scully, just so I could have the satisfaction of watching your life drain out of your face."  The words were said softly, with no emotion, and Krycek strangely felt no offense.  It was what he expected; nothing more, nothing less.

"I know."  He tentatively raised his hand and laid it, feather light, on the other man's thigh.

Mulder jerked beneath his touch and his gaze went from Krycek's face to his hand.  The eyes that raised to meet his again were puzzled, wary.

But, Krycek noticed with some surprise and relief, not angry.  He felt himself growing bolder, at the same time having no idea what his head would get it into itself to do or say next.

"Why…?"  Mulder's question trailed off.

"Why what, Mulder?"  Krycek leaned in, willing Mulder to continue.

"Why are you… you of all people… still here, telling me this?"

Krycek sighed and shook his head as if puzzling over the same question.  "I don't know.  I know we've been on opposite sides almost as long as we've known each other." Krycek bit back the old pain that threatened whenever he thought of the short time he'd held this man's fragile trust and destroyed it without a second thought.

"But now that everything's changed, now that The Project is in total chaos, and The Consortium members dead or missing, I don't think either one of us really knows who we're working for at any given time."  Krycek felt a new fear well up inside him, this one not for his physical safety, but his emotional well-being.  He braved it with a courage thusfar only displayed at the point of a cocked gun.

"I've always respected you, Mulder.  Always.  And I've often thought, that if things were just a little different, that we'd be working on the same team.  We both want the same thing."  Krycek was the one to look down at the floor now, wondering why he'd decided to bare all before this man.  He answered his own question with finality.

"I'm tired of being the only one who knows the truth."

He finally let himself look up into Mulder's face and saw that those deep, fathomless eyes were fixed on his with a look that always meant the wheels were turning a million miles per second. That look always made him breathless and this was no exception. He panted shallowly, waiting for the outcome of this furious thoughtstorm.

Finally, when he felt he could take it no longer, Mulder spoke.

"I… I guess there were times… times when I let myself think the same thing.  I guess… maybe that's why I hated you so much.  Because I really wanted to trust you."  Krycek was awestruck at the amazing courage this man was showing, baring his soul to one who had betrayed and hurt him over and over.  He was humbled by it as he had never been by any other experience in his life.  He waited, breathing lightly, for Mulder to finish, a part of him swearing that, no matter what the consequences, he would not be a part of hurting this man any longer.

"In Tunguska, when we were working toward the same goal, it felt… right, somehow.  Then when you betrayed me…"  Mulder's voice held no emotion, but Krycek felt a wave of familiar misery wash through his gut.  "I just closed off any feeling at all I had and turned it into self-preserving hate."  Krycek nodded.  He really did understand.  "And then, when you came to me that night at my apartment, and you… kissed me… and gave me back my will to continue, I hated myself for not hating you still."  Mulder's voice fell to almost a whisper as he finished, and Krycek felt the smallest flame of something he hadn't felt in a long, long time begin to stir to new life.

"I don't want you to hate me, Mulder.  I know I've done… some very wrong things.  Things that hurt people I… care about.  But please, understand, that I thought I had chosen the right team."  It was time to lay it all on the line.  This moment was just too precious, too rare and fragile, to hold back anything out of pride or fear of being hurt.  Mulder had put his deepest feelings on display, and it was Krycek's turn to go public.

"I know things, Mulder.  Things you don't know.  Things… you probably don't really want to know.  I sometimes wish now that I didn't, so that I could go back to living the kind of life everyone thinks is right and good.  But I do know things.  And because I do, I know that all bets are off, and morality is completely subjective."  He saw Mulder's eyes narrow slightly at that, but he pressed on, determined to at least make Mulder understand, if not agree.

"Yes I've killed.  Yes I've lied and stolen and cheated and broken every law, spiritual, moral or legal, that's ever been written.  But those laws, Mulder… they exist for a world other than the one I live in.  You know some small part of it now.  We're all of us on this planet just living on borrowed time now.  Things can't go on the way they have, with everyone wrapped up in their comfortable complacency and oblivion, allowed to be moral and upstanding citizens of a world that's about to be knocked on its ass.  It's just a matter of time, Mulder, before we either fight back or die.  I just started fighting earlier than the rest of them."

Krycek's voice softened to a gentle whisper.  "I'm not apologizing for the things that I've done, Mulder.  I wouldn't have done them if I hadn't thought I had to.  But I'm sorry they hurt you.  I will always be sorry for that."

Krycek finally sat back on his heel, leaning away from Mulder now and removing his hand from Mulder's knee reluctantly.  He could see Mulder's face fall into a blank concentration as he struggled to absorb, sort through, validate, categorize and maybe… just maybe… accept all of what Krycek had just laid at his feet.

Krycek stood and looked down at Mulder feeling an expression he would never have thought possible softening his features.  Things had gotten way out of hand and he was becoming afraid once again.

"I have to go."  He turned toward the bathroom to get his already-packed travelling bag, and wondered if he'd hear the snick of a safety being flipped off.  He didn't.  He retrieved the bag from the bathroom, ran a sweaty hand through damp hair, then made his way across the motel room.

"Mulder… I want you to think about what I've said here tonight.  Like I said…all bets are off now, and you and I might be the only ones who can make any kind of difference for the future.  If you can get past the choices I've made…"  Krycek didn't know how to continue. "Anyways, I'll be in touch."  With that he turned and walked out the door quickly, before he said something that got him into real trouble.

He threw his bag into the rental car he'd left in the parking lot and realized he was breathing easier, even through a scratched and bruised windpipe, than he had in a long, long time.  Now there was only one more person he needed to talk to before making his way out of town.

He turned the car toward Georgetown, feeling his heart tighten with anxiousness over making only his second apology in about ten years.

End Chapter Four
Continued in Chapter Five.

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