Treachery

by Jillian

Fox Mulder is going to be the death of me one day.  I angrily slam the car door shut as I head for my apartment.  I would hate him if I didn't love him.  As I walk up the steps of my building, the events of the day come back to mind.  Mulder had been in a bad mood from the moment I arrived at work.  Things between us had become strained lately.  Ever since Diana Fowley came around, things haven't been the same.  We were moving in such a good direction, and then she arrived.

Today started badly and quickly became worse.  We were arguing about something trivial, and then somehow got on the topic of Diana.  I still maintain that she cannot be trusted, but Mulder will not agree with me.  At least, not openly.  I think that he suspects her involvement but won't admit it, even to himself.  That doesn't excuse his argumentative manner in the office, or the things he said to me in the heat of an angry moment.  He's a smart man: he deduced that I was indeed jealous of Fowley, and he wasn't afraid to say so.  Still, whether I was jealous or not, I just knew she was not truly on his side.

I slide the key into the lock on my door, and push it open roughly, the anger still burning in my veins.  I slam it shut behind me and just as I go to turn on the light, I hear somebody else stand up from my couch and begin to speak.

"Keep it off.  I'm not supposed to be here," I can make out his emerald eyes from where I stand, and quickly reach for my gun.  I point it at him, but he doesn't flinch.

"What the Hell are you doing in my apartment, Krycek?"  I demand angrily.  My pulse quickens and I can feel the adrenaline surging through my body, adding to my anger and frustration.  God, I hate this bastard.

"I came to talk to you.  I came to help."

"You've never done a damn thing to help anyone--you only mask your own selfish motivations as favors."

"But this selfish motivation will help you, Scully.  And Mulder."

"Why didn't you go see him?"  I ask, knowing Mulder is whom he usually speaks to.

"He won't believe me.  It incriminates his little angel, Fowley."

My anger continues to rise with the mention of her name.

"You can put your gun down, Scully, you're not going to shoot me.  I'm unarmed."

"I think I'll hold on to it, thanks," I replied sarcastically.

He walks towards me slowly.  It was dark in the apartment, and outside the evening was beginning to dim the daylight away.  He had closed all of my shades.  I angrily wonder how he got in here, and if he further violated my privacy while he was waiting for me to arrive.  His deep green eyes are staring at me, and I have trouble holding his gaze for longer than a moment.  I hate him with an intense passion.  There's something else though, that prevents me from dealing with him.  I find him devastatingly sexy.  He's an attractive bad boy, and that's always been hard to resist.  Combined with my hatred for him, well, it creates a very ill-conceived cocktail of lust.

"Why give me the information?"  I ask.

"Because, Smokey knows I'm on to his bullshit scheme.  I know that all of the plans for colonization have fallen through.  I'm one of the few who survived, who wasn't killed in the hangar that night.  He wants me dead, because I know the only one he's going to save is himself."

"What do you know?"

"I know that Fowley's on the inside with him, working with him.  That she knows about colonization and a new program he's working on.  You found enough records on her yourself to incriminate her."

"Why should I believe you?"  I ask, my voice still remaining steady.

"You already believe me, Scully.  I know that you do," he says, drawing closer to me.  "I know how much you hate her.  Mulder's asking for proof.  I'd had some friends of mine bug his place.  I have tapes of the two of them.  Of her promising to help him."

"Prove it."

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket.  He takes out small black recorder, and he pushes a button.  The voice of the Smoking man fills the room.

"I've trusted no one.  Treachery is the inevitable result of all affairs.  Every man believes he has his own good reason.  I have little doubt of my son's disloyalty to me.  Certainly he led Mulder and Scully to us.  His mother must know by now her central role in the grand plan…  That's she's as much alien as human.  Do you wonder why I've chosen you?  You've never betrayed me.  Now I need someone to trust."

The next voice belongs to Diana Fowley, "I'll help you.  It's not too late."

Shocked, disgusted, and somewhat pleased that I had been right all along, I was speechless.  I slowly lowered my gun to the table beside my door, not sure what to do with myself.

He stops the recorder and adds, "There's more, too."

"And you're willing to give me this?"

"I am."

"How do I know it's even real?"

He moves even closer to me, so close that I can feel his hot breath.  Intimidated, I back up, and feel my back hit the door of my apartment.

"You don't know it's real.  But you believe that it is, Agent Scully.  You hate her, don't you?  Hate that Mulder trusts her, that he loved her once?  That he touched her in all the ways you want him to touch you, but that he never has.  You know that you're smarter and more attractive, why did he choose her?  Why does he still choose her?  You hate her with everything you've got inside of you."

"I hate you more, Krycek," I spit out.

His lips move down to my neck, and then up towards my ear.

"Hate, Agent Scully, is a very powerful emotion.  It's passionate, isn't it?  Especially when combined with lust," he emphasizes the last word with a thrust of his hips against mine, and I can tell that he is lusting after me just as I am lusting after him.

"Fuck you, Krycek," I say, trying to maintain my resolve.

"Fuck me, Scully?"  he laughs humorlessly, "why, that sounds like a pretty good idea right now, doesn't it?"

"No," I reply, breathless, "it sounds like a very, very bad idea."

And with that, our lips meet.  My mind is frantic.  This is wrong.  This is wrong.  This is wrong.  But my traitorous body doesn't care.  Something in my mind is screaming to push him away from me, to grab my gun and just kill this bastard.  All of the terrible things he's done, but here I am, letting him tear off my blouse like an animal.  I want him.  I hate him so much, but I want him.  And I'm going to have him.  Or rather, I'm letting him have me.  His mouth is nipping at my neck, and I realize that for the first time since I was sixteen, I'm going to have to cover up a hickey tomorrow.

We only remove the minimal amounts of clothing necessary.  This isn't exactly about reverence for one another's bodies, and there is nothing slow about it.  Besides, I imagine that undressing is a slow and difficult process for him due to his prosthesis.  I always believed that he built up the rest of his body and acted like a tough guy to compensate for the loss of his arm.  The truth is, in the moment of passion, he was so powerful and overcoming that I forgot about his injury.

I heard the tear of a condom wrapper and knew that I wasn't going to stop him.

His mouth hungrily travels over my neck towards my collarbone, down to my breasts, and back to claim my mouth again.  I moan into his mouth as we kissed, and at the same time, I am ashamed of myself.  What am I doing?  Having sex with Krycek!  The man who I hated more than anybody else.  But oh god, how I wanted him.  I close my eyes as a sudden thought takes over my mind: what would Mulder think?

If he ever found out, he would be devastated.  I can't even imagine how disappointed in me he would be.  How sick it would make him.  But I can imagine it--it's the same sick feeling of betrayal I get when I think of him and Diana.  When I imagine that he went to her house this evening after our fight, and I imagine them doing the same thing Krycek and I are doing.  Diana Fowley and Alex Krycek are our independent downfalls, but all of it is laced together.  I hope Mulder never finds out about this, because I never want him to feel the pain I feel when I imagine him with Diana.  Him with a woman who helped orchestrate my abduction.  Who took away my ability to have children.  Who gave me cancer.  Who almost killed me.

And here I am, fucking the man who killed his father.  And my sister.  But something in my mind just won't allow me to stop.  My irrational mind told me to keep going--it felt good.  And it did feel good.  It was deliciously bad…it reminded me of my encounter with Ed Jerse or Daniel Waterston or one of my mother's cigarettes.  My rational mind reasoned that at least I'd get the tape.  On the other hand, Krycek could use this against me for the rest of my life.  Not that he had any real proof, but still…

We finish moments later, catching our breath.  Everything inside of me that had been pleased with my encounter with Krycek begins to fade away.  There is no more smug pride that asserted that Mulder wasn't the only one who can get laid.  There is no more passionate attraction.  No more raging anger.  No more hatred.  Just disgust.  And not even with Krycek.  With myself.

We compose ourselves, but neither of us say a word.  He takes a small cassette from his pocket and places it on my table.  His eyes meet mine again.  They are sated, tired, lacking the fire that was there earlier in the evening.  I'm sure that mine look weak and empty, tired and aching.  He knows what I feel for Mulder.  He used that to do what we did here tonight.  And I let him.  I let him use me; I fell apart under his skillful manipulation of my mind and body.

"I won't tell Mulder about this," he tells me.

"Why should I believe you?"  I ask.

"Because I know he'll kill me if he ever finds out I touched you," he says with a wry grin, and then he silently leaves the apartment.

Krycek's words stay with me.  Mulder would kill Krycek.  But what would he say to me?  What would he do?  He would call me a traitor, and that's what I am.  A traitor.  I love Mulder, and I have for a long time.  And now I've gone and slept with the enemy.  It doesn't matter if Mulder has, too.  At least his relationship with Diana had some semblance of romance.  What I and Krycek just shared was angry sex, motivated by hatred and lust and base animal instincts.

Tears begin to stream from my eyes.  Mulder trusts me, and I have betrayed that trust.  I will never have the strength to tell him.  Even if what he did was wrong, I was supposed to be the strong one.  I felt awful.  The Smoking Man had said it himself…  'Treachery is the inevitable result of all affairs.' I have become the traitor.  Even our relationship as friends and partners is not impenetrable to treachery.  I feel sick to my stomach when I realize this.  I have done what both of us have feared since the moment our partnership began: I have betrayed it.

I spend the next few minutes digging through some of my drawers to find the tape recorder I know that I have somewhere.  Finally, I find it.  Steeling myself for more anger and pain, I insert the mini-cassette that Krycek left for me.  I push play.  I hear nothing but static, and wait for the conversation to begin.  I check that it's rewound.  I wait to hear something.  Anything.  But all I get is silence.

Son of a bitch.  The tape is blank.  Bile rises to the tip of my throat and I feel dizzy.

Truly, treachery is the inevitable result of all affairs--and an affair that began as treachery could end no other way.

End

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