TITLE:  Cherry Ripe 
AUTHORS:  Rachel Anton and Laura Blaurosen
E-MAIL:  RAnton1013@aol.com and Mezzo4@aol.com
RATING:  NC-17
CATEGORY:  S, A
KEYWORDS:  Scully/Krycek
SUMMARY:  Sometimes remembering who you are means 
forgetting who you've been.
DISCLAIMER:  These characters don't belong to us and 
most folks are probably pretty happy about that.  
They are used without permission.  The poetry quoted 
is also used without permission and will be cited at 
the end.
ARCHIVE:  Sure but let us know.  
SPOILERS:  Small Never Again and Tunguska.  Nothing 
major.
THANKS:  To Cynthia for amazing beta-reading and to 
Alanna for encouragement.  You ladies are the best!


xxxxxx

"Just call me when you've found something.  Kay?"

'Kay?' is Mulder's way of saying, 'Yes, I am aware of 
the fact that I am blowing you off, and I suppose I'm 
kind of sorry for treating you like a minion, but 
please do it anyway.'  There might even be a thank 
you thrown in there somewhere as well.  Whatever 
combination of the above, it seems to justify the 
command for him, seems to makes him feel better about 
whatever he's doing at the moment.  I should refuse 
him, but I never do.  No, I'm a good girl, I press on 
and I do as I am told.  Please don't ask me why.  I'm 
still on the journey to figuring that out.

One time I told him no.  To this day I still laugh at 
the memory of the surprised look on his face, despite 
the situation I eventually found myself in.  How dare 
I refuse him?  the look said.  You always do what I 
need.  Why stop now?  Even though at the time it made 
me angry as hell, at least for one moment I had the 
simple satisfaction of refusing Fox Mulder.  It was 
liberating.  For a moment.  Until I got on the plane 
to Philadelphia, cursing him and myself the entire 
time.  Kind of like I'm doing now.

It is so fucking hot out today.  I don't think that 
the air in this car works very well anymore.  Not 
surprising since the odometer on this thing reads 
95,000 miles.  I'm starting to wonder if I haven't 
put on at least twenty of those ninety myself.

Where the hell am I?  It seems like I just keep 
driving the same stretch of road over and over.  And 
it just keeps getting hotter and hotter.  "It'll be a 
nice drive.  Kay?"  "It can't be but ten miles out of 
town.  Kay?"  "I'll catch up with you.  Kay?"

No, Mulder, not 'kay'.  Shit.  I've now pulled off 
everything I can without getting completely naked or 
risking losing control of the car, which amounts to 
suit jacket and my shoes.  I suppose I could take the 
T-shirt off.  No, the last thing I need is to get 
apprehended by identity-less government thugs when 
I'm half naked.  "Uh, FBI."  as I fish around my bra 
for my badge.  No, I'm not that desperate.  Not yet.  
Next intersection and I'll pull over and take of the 
hose.

No, next intersection and I'm turning around and 
going back to the hotel.  Why am I here?  There's 
nothing out here.  Nothing but nothing.  He insisted 
this was our last resort.  That if the location 
wasn't out here, it didn't exist, that it couldn't 
exist.  But he was certain it was.  Absolutely 
certain, he said.  Seems to me that last time he was 
absolutely certain I ended up in the middle of a 
desert.

I drive a little further and I'll be damned if I 
don't see an actual building in the distance.  Damn 
him.  I hit Mulder's number on my phone as I pull off 
the road and in front of it.  Antelope's?  Is that 
what the sign says?  Said.  It's deserted as anything 
around here.  Is THIS what he meant?  God, I hope so.

Looking for service.

Roaming.

Shit.

I don't want to, but I turn the car off and open the 
door.  It's not a sauna, it's not even an oven.  I 
think I've driven to bloody Mercury.  The air is so 
oppressive, I feel like I've had the wind knocked out 
of me.  And when I try to get up, a sinus headache 
overwhelms me like an atmospheric slap in the face.  
Mulder's got my Advil.  Shit.  Well I guess I'll at 
least take off these stupid nylons before they've 
seared to my legs.

xxxxxx

Shit.

This is not good.  This is very very bad.  What the 
fuck is she doing here?  I knew I was taking too 
long.  This chunk of metal has been burning a hole in 
my pocket for two days and I've been burning a hole 
in the floor of this dump for almost an hour now.  
Sometimes poetry needs to be sacrificed for 
expediency.  I forget that once in awhile.

I've been trying to select the perfect place to leave 
it, see.  A place that I could never forget just in 
case I need it again.  A clever place.  An easily 
described yet hopelessly remote place.  A place no 
one would guess but that makes perfect sense.  A 
place other than my pocket.  I like my pocket and 
all, but I'm a little sick of being a moving target.  
I need it off my person.  Now.

I picked Antelope's.  Well, that's not entirely true.  
It might be more accurate to say that Antelope's 
picked me.  Or maybe most accurate to say that my car 
decided to overheat about two miles away and I 
wandered into this ghost town looking for a mechanic 
and a bite to eat and discovered that there is 
nothing here *except* for Antelope's.  

I crawled in through the window and immediately 
decided that this had to be it.  The place.  I just 
had to find something to stuff it into.

Which brings me back to the current problem.  I've 
been standing here for an hour trying to imagine 
various hiding places and possible reactions to the 
discovery of said places.  See, I like to think that 
when people uncover a piece of my work they're 
shocked, awed at my craft.  The irony, the wit, the 
sheer brilliance, they say, scratching their heads 
and wondering where I learned this shit.  I like to 
think that I give the artist part of con artist true 
meaning.  

Anyhow, my mind works better, faster, in the cold.  
Always has.  And it's hotter than hell in this 
deserted, broken down dump.  Too hot to think.

Point is, I've been standing here like an imbecile 
for too long.  Way too long.  

How the hell did she find me?  

When I heard the car I thought it was one of them.  
Maybe even the old bastard himself.  Mulder didn't 
even cross my mind but it wouldn't have shocked me.  
But her?  Is it possible that she's been following 
me?

I've been underestimated plenty of times.  I try to 
be careful about not doing the same thing to other 
people.  I know how dangerous it can be.  I try to 
keep careful track of my enemies, potential and 
realized.  Looks like I missed one.

It's not that I doubt the lady's intelligence.  Not 
at all.  In fact, truth be told, I think she's 
probably one of the smartest people I've ever met.  
Smarter than Mulder even.  It's just that her 
subterfuge skills are fairly limited.  She doesn't 
have a sneaky bone in her body.  At least, I didn't 
think she did.  Sneaky enough to tail my sorry ass 
half way across the country unnoticed apparently.

Okay, time to take note of possible exits.  She 
pulled up to the front so I've gotta leave through 
the back.  Unless she's snuck around the place.  I 
take a peak between a couple of rotting wooden planks 
near the front door just to make sure.

She hasn't even gotten out of the freaking car yet.  
She's sitting in the driver's seat with her legs 
hanging out the door, looking straight ahead.  
Straight at me.  I don't think she knows I'm in here 
though.  If she knew surely she'd be heading towards 
the building, weapon in hand, not sitting there with 
a blasé expression on her face, fanning herself with 
a folded up newspaper and kicking her shoes onto the 
sidewalk.  Could it possibly be that her appearance 
here is coincidence?  She looks more like a 
disgruntled tourist than an FBI agent on a manhunt.

Maybe if I just wait here she'll go away.  

No.  This cannot be coincidence.  How could the world 
possibly be *that* bizarre.  She's here for a reason.  
Even if she doesn't know that I'm in this building 
she knows there's something here.  Don't ask me how 
but she must.

Okay, wait.  I think I missed a step.  I look away 
for two seconds and by the time I look back she's 
unbuttoning her pants.  This is absolutely, 100 
percent weird.  Maybe it's a trap.  It's a perfect 
set up: She starts to strip, distracting me, and 
Mulder jumps out of the shadows and starts beating my 
face in.  

God, she's really doing it.  She's taking off her 
goddamn pants.  Gotta be a trap.  Gotta be.

Or maybe she's just hot.  Watching her, I start to 
notice little details; the way her hair is matted and 
sticking to her forehead and her neck, the beads of 
sweat sliding over her chest, down the V-neck of her 
tight white T-shirt.  Man.

I really should be going now.  

The dowdy tan pants pool around her ankles and she 
demurely lifts one foot and then the other.  She 
bends over and lifts the pants, shaking invisible 
dust out of them and drapes them over the passenger 
seat of her car.  Panty hose.  She's wearing panty 
hose.  I have never been able to understand how women 
could wear those things at all, never mind underneath 
a pair of pants.  And at 4 p.m.  in the middle of an 
Oklahoma July, you'd have to be crazy to even 
consider it.  She seems to concur.  She reaches under 
the waist band of the wretched things and pulls them 
down over her thighs, calves and feet.  Once they're 
off she kicks them away and doesn't bother to pick 
them up.  Wise move.

 She's just sitting there in a T-shirt and her 
freaking underwear.  Her silky, white underwear, damp 
with sweat.  She's sagging sideways against her seat 
and her legs are spread wide as fuck and she's just 
sitting there like that.

I no longer believe this to be a set up.  There's no 
way in hell Mulder would've let me get this much of a 
show.  And neither would she for that matter.  She 
must just really think she's alone in this shit hole.  
Which is good for me in a way.  Very good.  I've got 
a hell of a chance of getting out of here without her 
spotting me at all.  If only I could stop looking.

This is stupid.  This is pathetic.  I'm not some 
desperate, horny loser.  I'm not Mulder.  I've got 
better things to do than sit here staring at a woman 
in her panties.  Scully's not even that good looking.  

At least, I don't remember her being all that good-
looking.  Of course I've only spent about fifteen 
minutes in her presence during the past five years.  
And every time, she's been with Mulder.  God forbid I 
glance at Mulder's woman.  I've done my best to 
ignore her and it's been pretty easy so far.  

I might have to start rethinking that policy.  

She's running her palms over the insides of her 
thighs now, mopping up the moisture as her head rolls 
backwards on her neck.  There's always the 
possibility that this is just a massive 
hallucination.  It is very hot.  Sometimes the mind 
plays tricks...

She's taking her underwear off.

Oh.

God.

She's taking her fucking underwear off.  She loops 
her fingers in the waistband, seems to hesitate for a 
minute, looks around furtively, shrugs and yanks.  
Once the scrap of fabric is away from her skin she 
curls it up into a ball and shoves it in the glove 
compartment, giving me an even better view of the 
damp, peachy curls between her legs as she leans 
back.  I can almost smell her from here, pungent and 
heady from the temperature.

This would qualify as a very bad thing.  I've got a 
hard-on for Dana Scully.  It's almost a suffocating 
presence.  I almost feel like stripping myself.

Then just as suddenly as it began, the red head 
review is over.  She grabs her pants and pulls them 
back on over her bare flesh, steps into her shoes and 
starts walking right towards the bar.

Dammit!  What the hell is my problem.  I must be 
seriously slipping.  It's too late to escape unseen.  
Thanks to my voyeurism, I'm stuck here.  I've only 
got a couple of options left.  I've got to let her 
capture me, let her think she's winning and talk my 
way out or I've got to hurt her.  It takes less than 
a half a second for me to decide.

xxxxxx

Roaming...

No Service.

Fuck.

I suppose since I drove all this way, I ought to at 
least check the place out.  As soon as I don't, this 
will have been the spot.  And if after tomorrow it's 
gone, Mulder would never get over it.

There I go again.  Concerning myself with his 
opinion.  Maybe there's some kind of twelve-step 
program I can enroll myself in.

The glass on the front door having long ago been 
smashed in, so I step in through the space left 
behind, not without catching my pant leg on a jagged 
piece at the bottom and scratching my ankle a bit.  
Bottle of Advil, new pantsuit, antibiotics for the 
infection I'll probably get.  The list is growing, 
Mulder.

I can see through the inside screen door to the sad 
remains of someone's means of income and perhaps 
pride and joy.  There are a few remaining chairs and 
booths with their tables missing.  On the wall there 
is spray-painted in red, "Danny loves Carrie 4-ever."  
Next to the declaration, "smoke weed."

As soon as I am inside, I feel uneasy, like I'm not 
entirely alone.  It's difficult to see in here, as 
it's nearing dusk and there's only small, stained-
glass windows on the two walls that I am able to see.  
The afternoon sun makes it through two broken 
windows, shining thick rays on the dusty, dirty 
floor, but not lending anything to visibility.

Before I am even aware of it, I'm reaching for my 
gun.  And just as quickly, I am immobilized, my arm 
twisted and pinned behind me.

"Nice show."

There is hot, heavy breath on my neck and the 
hardness of an erection pushing at my back.  My mouth 
dries.  I feel faint.  I can't move.  I'm going to 
get raped.

But the instinct to flee fades as quickly as it came 
over me and I take the opportunity my assailant seems 
to have given me to swing around and lay one into 
him.  As he yelps in surprise, I waste no time and 
take my foot to the protrusion below his waist.

He doubles over in well-deserved pain and drops to 
his knees.

"AH!  FFFFuck!  Bitch!"

I take a moment to let my eyes focus on him.  He's a 
young man, perhaps thirty and in apparently good 
physical condition.  Relatively speaking, anyway.

"Shut up!  Show me your face."

Slowly he reveals his pained face to me.  Oh God.  I 
should have known...

"Come here often?"  the bastard groans out.  "Or is 
this a working night for you?"

I'm still attempting to catch my breath.  "Wha...?"  
I pant.

His contemptible look nauseates me.  "Business must 
be really bad back in the D.C.  area if you're 
selling your stuff out here."

"Wha...what the hell are you talking about, Krycek?  
Selling what stuff?"
 
"Your secret life as a stripper.  Does Mulder know?  
'Cause that was quite a show.  I'll bet he'd love to 
see."

I stare him down in a way that makes most men run 
screaming.  But his smug look remains.

"Here," he says with a wink,  "I gotta quarter in my 
pocket for ya."

Unable to help myself, I take my gun and smack his 
face with it.  

"Ow!!  Jesus, woman, what the hell?"

"Get up!"

"Oh, I get it," he says in a pained voice.  "This is 
one of *those* kind of places.  Not usually my style, 
but I'll try anything at least once."

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.  Again, Mulder, 
thank you.  I grab Krycek by the arm and pull him 
upward as forcefully as I can manage.  My grip barely 
makes its way around his thick, muscular bicep.  

"Are we gonna dance now?"
 
"GET UP!!"  I scream and push the barrel of my gun 
into his neck.

He obliges me and stands up with obvious difficulty.  
Apparently kicking him in the groin was not the best 
thing for his erection.  That's too bad.
 
I push him toward the bar at the other end of the 
room, gun at his back.  What the hell do I do with 
him?  He's gonna bolt if I don't restrain him.  But 
where?
 
"Oh, you want *me* to dance?  I could get up on the 
bar, maybe they've got "It's Raining Men" on the 
jukebox."  

"Just shut up!"  

Ah, wonderful.  There's a foot bar at the bottom.  
"Sit down."

"On the floor?  It's kinda dirty."

Oh, listen to Mr.  "you gotta learn to live the rats" 
worrying about getting his ass dirty.  I look up at 
him, straight into his piercing dark eyes.  I can 
feel his breath on my face, I'm so close.  "You have 
a problem with dirt?"

"Depends.  Some dirt's good, some's just disgusting."

"Well I think you'll be right at home.  Now SIT 
DOWN!!"

"That's pretty tough talk coming from a lady with no 
underpants."

I give him a good shove to the floor and he lands 
harder than I would have expected.  He continues to 
laugh, leering at me the entire time I'm cuffing his 
right hand.

"Um, have I committed a crime?"

I look up quickly and am face to face with his lips.  
Heat creeps up through my neck and I look away 
quickly.

"Maybe," I hiss out.

"I'm just standing here, you're the one indecently 
exposing herself.  If anything, *I* should be making 
a citizen's arrest!"

I roll my eyes and sigh at him.  When I reach for his 
left arm, I can't control my blatant gasp.

"Oops, think fast, agent."

Mulder's voice echoes in my memory, telling me once 
how nice it was to be able to put both of his arms 
around me after his return from Russia.  Krycek...?

I let go of his arm quickly and attach the cuffs to 
the bar.

"Decent solution," he can't help but praise me.  
"This is kinda tight, though"

"I thought I told you to shut up."  I frisk him for a 
weapon somewhat reluctantly and look up only to be 
greeted with a repulsive sneer.

"That was awhile ago," he says and leans back on his 
elbow with a horribly macho grunt.  "Thought maybe 
I'd charmed you into changing your mind by now."

I rise and turn my back to him, suddenly unable to 
get past the notion that Alex Krycek saw me naked, 
that he knows that there's nothing underneath these 
pants but me.  A Sweaty, grimy me at that, too.  I 
know I should care less, but I'm finding it extremely 
difficult to keep a hard-line attitude aware that my 
suspect knows all my secrets.

"Now," I say as I turn around.  "I need to know some 
things...and you're going to tell me these things.  
Are we clear on that?"

He is still leering at me.  I wait for a sick feeling 
in my stomach, but it doesn't come.  Instead my eyes 
are fixated on the rise and fall of his chest and 
feel my stomach jump.

"I got no problem with that, he says through a 
stifled grin.  "As long as I have the answers."

Oh, you'll have the answers, all right.

"What are you doing here?"
 
"Looking for a drink.  A mechanic, maybe some lunch.  
Big mistake.  HUGE mistake.  He stops and laughs.  
This place is a freaking hell on earth.  Although now 
that you've shown up, things might just turn around.  
I keep hoping that one of the times you open your 
mouth, the place will frost over or something."

Son of a Bitch.

"Cut the crap, Krycek.  I want a straight answer."

"It's the truth," he insists pleadingly.  "Hey, I'm 
not gonna make shit up to please you.  What about 
you?  What are YOU doing here?  Where's Mulder?  I 
thought the guy couldn't go more than an hour without 
you in sight before he started convulsing."

Oh, God.  What am I doing here?  I don't have the 
desire, inclination, or energy to do this.  The 
headache that I had earlier has returned with a nasty 
vengeance.  It's now at the stage where its getting 
difficult to focus clearly.  I need to shut my eyes, 
just for a second.

I wipe the dripping sweat from my brow and let out a 
long, slow breath.  "Where is it," I ask through 
closed eyes.

"It?"

"Yes, it.  And don't try to snow me, Krycek.  We both 
know what I'm talking about."
 
"Don't say snow," he pleads and I almost feel guilty.  
"It's so freaking hot."

"Where is it?"

He remains still and continues to leer.  I have no 
idea why it's making me feel so uneasy.  It's only 
Alex Krycek.  I sigh and grunt a bit in frustration.  
In the distance, I hear the culprit of my headache 
approaching us.

"You know, you probably should be going."

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"Don't want to get stuck in a place like this with a 
bad, bad man in the middle of a storm, do you?  Who 
knows what might happen."

Goddamn that sneer!  If he thinks he's gonna wear me 
down, he's got another think coming.  

"We're not going anywhere.  We're not going anywhere 
until you tell me where it is."

"That's funny," he says and scoots his body lower to 
the ground.  "I was really hoping you'd tell me."

"Don't play this game with me, Krycek!  I know why 
you're out here.  Now tell me where it is."
 
"Game?"  he laughs.  "You think this is a game?  This 
is deadly serious, Agent Scully, and I really think 
you oughtta let me go."

"No," I demand in compensation for the unease I'm 
feeling.  "Tell me."

"I don't have any idea."

"Oh come on, Krycek!"  I yell in frustration, trying 
not to sound like I'm whining.  "Why the hell else 
would you be out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I told you.  My car broke down.  About two miles 
north of here."

"What are you doing in Oklahoma?"

"That's a very good question."

God, did he say something to me just now?  It just 
keeps getting hotter and hotter.  My head won't quit 
pounding and the nausea has set in now.  I can't see.

"Are you all right, Agent Scully?"  I think I hear 
him ask.  "You seem a little peaked."  

"Fine.  I'm fine."

I've gotta get out and get some air.  I also need to 
call Mulder.  He needs to get here and take care of 
his garbage.

"Hey!  Where the hell are you going?"

I pull open the squeaky screen door and look back at 
him.  My God, he almost seems frantic.

"Out."

"You better not leave me here, bitch!  I swear to 
God, you'll regret it!"

Well well.  Isn't this a strange and sudden turn 
around?

"Are you feeling all right, Krycek?  You look a 
little peaked."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME HERE!"

xxxxxx

Bitch.  Stupid, thoughtless bitch.

What is it with these people.  Mulder, Skinner, now 
her.  Is this part of FBI training?  Maybe I missed 
that day.  Cuff your suspect to the furniture and 
then leave him there to rot 101.  

There is nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing I 
despise more than being trapped.  I've been pretty 
nice about it so far, letting her cuff me and all.  
Hell, it was kind of exciting in a way.  She sure is 
something else when she gets all riled up like that.  
I'm willing to forgive the groin kick and the pistol 
whipping.  But this...this is not exciting, amusing 
or endearing.

"COME BACK HERE BITCH!"  I holler after her, pulling 
at my restraint furiously.  The metal rod runs along 
the bottom of the bar and I follow the expanse down 
to the end where the two are joined.  The wood of the 
bar is rotting.  I might be able to get the rod out 
and extricate myself.  I take a deep breath, an 
attempt to calm down a bit, wrap both hands around 
the bar and start shaking and pulling at it.  The 
prosthetic isn't much use and the real one is 
somewhat limited because of the cuffs but after a 
minute or so the bar starts wobbling a bit.

God, I've gotta get out of here.  So fucking hot.  I 
will not be stuck here.  Alone.  Not alone.  
Goddammit.  Stupid bitch.  Next time I see her, she's 
a dead woman.  No one does this shit to me and gets 
away with it.  Not anymore.

Goddamn this stupid plastic arm.  I would have been 
able to pull this bar out and bend it into a pretzel 
a few years ago.  Fuck fuck fuck.

I take another deep breath, trying to calm the 
bubbling panic in my chest.  This is so fucking 
stupid.  Stupid stupid phobias and memories.  It's 
actually gotten so bad that I thought about going to 
therapy.  Can you imagine?  I'd love to see the look 
on that particular shrink's face.  See doc, I got 
locked in this claustrophobic, hot, empty missile 
silo and spewed black oil from every bodily orifice 
for about a week and now  I have this strange fear...  
I don't know if they've got seminars for that kind of 
shit or what.  Maybe I should ask Scully who she goes 
to for her post-alien abduction trauma.

I would except that Scully's NOT HERE...

Okay, relax.  I still haven't heard her start her 
car.  

"SCULLY!"  I call out again as loud as I can.  My 
voice is already raw from yelling so damn much and 
the fucking heat.  I wonder if she'd let me go if I 
just gave her the damn key.  I'm almost tempted.  

"SCULLY!  GET BACK IN HE..."

Thank God.  She's back.  I never thought I'd be so 
happy to see that fucking face.  She stands in the 
door silently for a second and I let out a deep 
breath and relax against the bar, trying not to show 
how completely relieved I am.  She puts her hands on 
her hips and tilts her head to the side, regarding me 
strangely and I realize that I'm soaked with sweat.  
I lift my fake arm and wipe my face along the sleeve 
of my shirt, leaving a trail of moisture on the 
fabric, and try to regain control of my breathing.  
She continues to stare blankly and it's actually 
making me a bit uncomfortable.  What the hell is she 
staring at?

"You're still here," I say stupidly, needing to fill 
in the empty space.  She lets out her own breath, 
looking like a wet, deflated balloon.

"Yes, I'm still here."

She doesn't sound all too happy about that fact.  She 
runs her fingers through her hair and squeezes her 
eyes shut tightly.  I think she feels as crappy as I 
do.  Maybe even worse.

"Are you okay Scully?  Seriously.  You look sick."

She points her gun at me and walks completely inside 
the bar until she's standing directly in front of me, 
about ten feet away.

"I'm fine.  Agent Mulder's on his way."

She's lying.  On both counts.  It's so obvious it's 
pathetic.  Like I said, not a sneaky bone.  

"Oh boy.  A party," I say, more to humor her in her 
delusions than anything else.  I just wonder why he's 
not
coming.  She couldn't reach him?  Or maybe he just 
didn't feel like dragging himself over here.  No, 
he'd never miss an opportunity to smack me around.  

"Now I want some answers," she tries to growl, tries 
to intimidate.  She's wilting though.  

"Why don't we wait till Mulder gets here before we 
start the interrogation.  He's much better at it than 
you."

She chews on her bottom lip and rubs her nose.  She 
is SO lying.  It's funny.  

"Tell me where it is."

Wonder if she'd come fish it out if I told her.  
Might be worth it.  

"What's in it for me if I do?"

"I won't shoot you."

"That's a given."

"You think so?  Don't be so sure.  I wouldn't have 
any qualms about putting a bullet in your head Krycek 
and
there's not a jury in the world that would convict 
me.  Probably not a soul that would miss you either."

Okay, I'll give her the jury and the missing me thing 
but she's full of crap about the rest.  She'd never 
shoot an unarmed, handcuffed man just because he 
won't give her what she wants.  She's not as 
psychotic as Mulder.

"Stop, you're gonna make me cry."

"Don't try me Krycek.  Tell me why you're here."

"I told you.  For a drink.  And the ambiance."

I've got to admit, when she fires a round into the 
bar, about a foot from my head, I almost jump.  

It looks like the sound was worse for her than for me 
though.  She closes her eyes for a long moment and 
rubs her temples with her free hand.  Not a good idea 
to make big boom-booms when you've got a big 
headache.

"Tell me," she tries again.  She's got to tire of 
this soon.  It's getting stupid.  

"So, where's Mulder?  How long have we got before he 
joins us?"  I can't resist teasing her.  She's too 
easy.  

"Not long enough for you I'm sure.  Now you can tell 
me now or you can wait for him to beat it out of 
you."

"Well, we wouldn't want to deprive him of his one joy 
in life.  I know how much he gets off on hitting me 
when I can't defend myself properly."

Not that I usually try to stop him but that's a whole 
other can of worms.  Not one I feel like opening with 
Scully right now.

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you or something?"

"Hell no.  I'm not asking for sympathy.  I just 
wonder what's in him that makes him act that way.  
What kind of twisted psyche he must have..."

She laughs shortly and shakes her head.  Her tongue 
darts out to moisten her dry, chapped lips and she 
swallows.  All this in a sort of slow motion as if 
any movement whatsoever made her ache.

"You're one to talk about twisted psyches Krycek.  
You're a liar.  And a murderer."

"I do what I have to.  Doesn't mean I enjoy it.  I'm 
not a sadist Scully.  I don't get pleasure from 
hurting people."

"And you're saying Mulder does?"  she asks 
disdainfully.  God forbid someone think such a thing 
about her precious Mulder.  

"Maybe not people in general but me, yeah."

She opens her mouth, wanting to defend him, and 
sighs, resigned to the fact that on this one small 
point, she really can't.

"It doesn't really matter.  I just wonder why..."

"Shut up Krycek."

"What?"

"SHUT.  UP."

She stretches her neck out and starts rubbing the 
side close to her shoulder.  Then she sits down, 
cross legged, on the dirty, disgusting floor with a 
sigh.  There's a rumble in the distance.  The storm's 
getting closer.  Maybe that's why she's got a 
headache.  Like a kitty cat.

"Are you sure you're okay Scully?  You need a 
massage?"

She gives me a disgusted look like I'm making some 
kind of lewd suggestion.  I guess to a woman who 
hasn't gotten laid in a decade a massage is pretty 
damn lewd.

"The only thing I want from you is for you to tell me 
where it is.  If you're not gonna do that keep your 
damn mouth shut."

"Is it a migraine?"  I ask, as quietly as possible.

"What?"

"Your headache.  Migraine?"

"No it's sinus.  God.  What's it to you?"

Pissy pissy.  If I hadn't seen her naked from the 
waist down I'd think she was on the rag or something.

"I get migraines.  There's a place on your hand where 
if you squeeze it it helps with headaches.  I could 
show you if you want."

"I just want you to be quiet.  Please."

"Well, don't come begging for it later..."

She kicks off her shoes and puts her gun down next to 
her.  She rubs her hands over her face, wiping some 
of the sweat off, and then down her neck again.  Her 
head rolls around on her shoulders and she makes a 
very small sound similar to a whimper.  I take 
another good look at her and notice the tear and 
small blood stain on her pant leg.  She must have cut 
herself on the way in.

"Your pants are ripped," I tell her.  I'm usually a 
better conversationalist but, ya know, the heat.

"Wow, you must have been an honor student."

Little snot.  I'll bet she was a prissy little tattle 
tale when she was a kid.  Probably one of those girls 
who make you chase them around the playground for a 
kiss and then when you catch them they call the 
teacher.  One of those pretty, smart girls who think 
they're better than everybody.  Who think you're a 
pile of worthless shit if you don't have the right 
sneakers or your father's poor.  Maybe she's right 
about my own twisted psyche though cause I feel the 
same deranged need to impress her as I would have 
felt when we were children.

"Yeah I was actually."

She looks at me skeptically and I feel compelled to 
continue.  I wish I had my old report cards, my 
degrees, diplomas, awards, everything with me so I 
could shove them all in her face.  

"Even got myself a Ph.D.."

xxxxxx

This back and forth nonsense with him has been 
nothing resembling anything of an interrogation.   
It's more like a game of matching wits.  Or a 
childish playground argument.  "My mom's smarter than 
yours."  The pathetic part of it all is, even though 
I should know better, even though I am well over 
thirty years old, I find myself needing desperately 
to win.  If I were a stranger walking by, I'm sure 
I'd be wondering when they were just going to get it 
over with and get a room.  Again, thank you, Mulder.

A Ph.D., though.  Huh.

"What?  You think I'm some kind of mental defect or 
something?  I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

"I didn't say anything."

"Well you looked pretty damn surprised."

He wants me to ask him in what.  I can just feel it.  
He's got an equally desperate need to impress me, too 
I think.  All right, I'll bite.

I ask, but not without a heavy sigh.  "In what?"

"Why don't you guess?"

"Guess..."  I repeat to myself and rub my eyes.  Have 
I damned Mulder in the last few minutes?

"Come on, it'll be fun.  It's not like we've got 
anything else to do now, is it?"

"Krycek, right now ALL I want to know from you is 
where the hell it is.  You tell me that and I'm outta 
here."  Suddenly I remember what just may be my only 
leverage with this man at this moment.  "I just may 
even uncuff you," I add.

"Not good enough," he counters, unaffected.  "Anyway 
I told you, I don't know where it is."

"You don't really want Mulder to get here to find out 
you've told me nothing.  Do you?"  Oh good one, Dana.

"Oh, I think he'd be happier that way.  Then he'd get 
to be the big man and try to pummel it out of me.  I 
think he'll feel emasculated if you get it first."

I stare down his incessant leer, but again, the 
bastard is unaffected.  He swallows as though he's 
trying not to laugh at me.

"When *is* he going to get here anyway...?"

"He'll be here any minute," I say as authoritatively 
as I can muster.

"Well then calm yourself."

I nearly tell him to fuck himself, but refrain.  Who 
knows what weird-assed things that would provoke from 
him.

For the first time since I got here, I notice that 
there is a staircase on the one wall.  A staircase 
leading to nowhere.  While I ponder it's peculiarity, 
a strong wind whips past the building, seeming to 
cause it to sway on its foundation.  The building 
must have been two floors.

With a frustrated grunt, I get up off the floor to 
examine the odd staircase and the entire place more 
closely.  Maybe I'll be able to find it on my own.  
Find the treasure AND capture the villain.  Gosh, 
he'd be so proud.

Apparently the upper rooms have been missing for a 
while, as there is a patch over the space at the top 
of the staircase.  The way the wind is whipping 
through this place, I wouldn't be surprised if that's 
how they lost the other floor.  Or maybe those were 
rooms where the working girls took their customers 
and some church basement women's club came in with 
fiery demands that the devil's floor be removed.

Holy God, I can almost hear them, see them.  The 
groups of temperance movement women, never before 
having set foot near such places, now invading the 
lairs of the beast seeking to rid the world of the 
vile substance that they knew as alcohol.  Those who 
came in peacefully as well as those with much more 
ferocious intent, spilling kegs and breaking bottles.  
Screaming and laughing and yelling...

God, how could they stand wearing all of those 
clothes in a summer heat like this?

"I wonder what this place was like in its day."

I jump and shiver a bit at his voice.  I was really 
fading away there.

"I'll bet it was one of those cowboy saloons with 
shoot-outs and showgirls and poker."

I believe he's right.

"I wonder how many people have gotten killed in 
here."

I run my hand over two bullet holes in the wall and 
peer closely.  I'd be willing to bet there's still 
blood there, permanently stained in the wall.  I 
shiver again.

"Many," I say out loud unintentionally.  Fortunately 
my ridiculous comment is covered up by a crack of 
thunder.  The storm is getting closer.  

"Lots of ghosts, I'll bet."  I look out of the corner 
of my eye at him.  Good.  I think he didn't hear me.  

"Sounds like the storm's coming.  Maybe we should 
tell creepy stories.  I've got a good one about a guy 
with a hook for a hand...oh wait, that's my life."

I don't acknowledge him, but continue my roaming.  
Then I see it.  Through the occasional flashes of 
lightening, I notice for the first time the portrait 
painted into the wall behind the bar.  My God, I'm 
surprised it's even here still.

It is a woman, pale-skinned and bare, lying across a 
red velvet couch.  She has long, curly golden-blonde 
hair that drapes across her shoulders and the couch, 
yet does not cover her perfectly-shaped breasts.  She 
is long-legged and not too skinny, most likely in 
accordance with what was at the time considered by 
society to be the ideal body shape for a woman.  And 
although it is painted directly onto the wood panels, 
it has the appearance of, if touched, you could feel 
the soft, smoothness of the woman's skin, the 
silkiness of her hair.  She appears to be looking 
straight at me, too.  Watching me.  I'm almost glad 
that it's getting darker.

"She's certainly...endowed."  Krycek has noticed her 
too.

"You know, I always wonder if those are ever real 
people."

"Probably somewhat."  

"Somewhat?"

"It was probably the artist's girlfriend.  She was 
probably some scrawny, butt-ugly little thing but he 
saw her the way she's painted there."

I turn and stare at him.  Who *is* this guy?

"So, she was real but not really the way she is 
there."

Again, I believe he is right.  But why?

"What?"  he asks me.  Apparently I'm still gaping.

"Sociology."

He laughs quietly at my guess.  "Are you a detective 
or something?"

Then he starts something that nearly makes me pee my 
pants.

"A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her and all in vain
So she was come through wind and rain..."

He's reciting poetry.  He's fucking reciting poetry.  
Porphyria's lover?  Is that what it is?  Oh my God, I 
really did wander into the Twilight Zone.

"...Be sure I looked into her eyes
Happy and proud at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
made my heart swell and still it grew..."  

I keep my back to him, completely at a loss as to 
what to say to that.  Was that some kind of clue to 
where it is?  Or just one for his asinine guessing 
game?  Or is he really trying to impress me?

I hope it's my headache, because I don't think I've 
ever felt so confused in my life.

"God, its hot as hell in here," he says pointlessly.  
"You think the ceiling fans still work?"

So much for impressing me with his intelligence.

"Well it definitely wasn't electrical engineering..."

"Ouch," he feigns.  

He is right, though.  It is fucking hot in here, even 
with the sun fading fast.  I think I might just going 
to melt into the floor in a minute.

"Maybe you should try to open another one of the 
windows.  Or break one."

"I'm sorry if the temperature isn't to sir's liking."  
For some reason I want him to suffer, even though I 
am doing the same.  "So I break all of the windows 
and then you can complain about the rain coming in on 
you."

"Mmmm," he says, closing his eyes.  "That would 
feel...so good."

I have no idea why, but I'm staring at him again, 
watching him lay there, his dark navy shirt even 
darker from being drenched in his sweat, sticking to 
his muscular form.  One hundred and ten f-ing degrees 
and he's wearing long sleeves.  It surprises me for 
some reason.  For all of the things I'm sure this man 
has probably done in the name of survival, he'll 
suffer in extreme temperatures for the sake of 
concealing his artificial limb.  I guiltily sneak a 
look at that arm, trying to determine where the 
prosthetic begins.  It's getting too dark in here 
anymore to see any kind of detail, though.

He's trying to control his breathing, I can tell, 
perhaps to keep from getting any warmer.  His chest 
rises and falls at a slow steady rate, and his mouth 
is open.  He certainly has "grown" since I last saw 
him, despite the absurdity he's been displaying here.  
He looks much older, though.  I suppose having your 
arm hacked and learning to deal with that while 
keeping the lifestyle which he keeps will do that to 
a person.

Finally he opens his eyes and I look away quickly.  
Maybe I should break another window.

"Think the rain's keeping Mulder?"

I jump at his question.  "Huh...?  Oh."  I walk 
toward the back door.  "He'll be here."

I drag a three-legged chair to the door and prop it 
open.  A magnificent gust of wind blows into the 
room.  

"Oh...God, that feels so fucking good..."  he moans.

I swallow hard and feel my cheeks tingle at the sound 
of his voice.  I blame my headache for my shallow 
breath.

"Hey, do you have any food in your car?"

xxxxxx

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."

xxxxxx

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."

xxxxxx

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.

xxxxxx

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 sesation 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.

xxxxxx

I have what some people might call strange luck.  I 
don't think anyone would call it good but I don't 
think it qualifies as bad either.  It basically boils 
down to a tendency to get into awful, potentially 
deadly situations and end up escaping by the skin of 
my teeth, occasionally with one less limb.  I've 
cheated death more times than I can count but never 
without a cost.  Never in a way that left me feeling 
like a lucky guy.

Tonight I feel like a lucky guy.  Tonight I know what 
people mean when they say "I got lucky last night."  
I don't think I've ever really thought of getting 
laid as getting lucky.  In my experience the whole 
thing has had very little to do with luck.  It's been 
about skill.  The skill of the hunter.

And while I wouldn't discount skill as a factor in 
this situation, I'd say in all probability luck was 
at work here in a big way.  Hell, it was luck that 
brought us both to this house of crapulence to begin 
with.  And now it's luck that's allowing me to be the 
first man to see Dana Scully's breasts in the 1990's.

Strangely enough though, my eyes are drawn more to 
her face than to her cleavage.  Her eyes are closed 
as she removes her bra and tosses it to the side and 
she's chewing on her lower lip nervously.  Her cheeks 
are turning pink.

I only get a quick glance before she raises her arms 
and crosses them over her chest, covering herself.  
Her shyness is surprising and sexy as hell.

"Let me see you Dana," I whisper and my voice cracks.  
It's a small crack but it's a crack.  I think this 
woman might have more power than I ever imagined.  No 
wonder Mulder's so fucking whipped.  

She looks down at the floor and slowly drops her arms 
to her sides.  Her hair falls down over her eyes and 
she runs her hands over her pants nervously.  I wish 
I could reach out and force her chin up.  I wish I 
could fucking touch her.

Well, I guess it's more of a challenge this way.

"Look at me."

A little better.  Didn't sound like a fourteen year 
old boy that time.  Yeah, I've still got some control 
here.  No problem.

"You're so beautiful Dana.  So perfect."

She really is.  As alluring as her embarrassment is, 
it's completely incomprehensible to me.  How could 
she be embarrassed about showing me this?  Absolute 
perfection.

"Look at me," I ask again.  Well, plead.  I want her 
to see the way I must be looking at her.  To know.

She gives a small shrug and a sigh and lifts her 
head.  Her eyes are open but they dart around a bit 
before settling on mine.  When we're finally looking 
one another right in the eye, her breasts fully 
exposed, I think she gets it.  I think she sees.

She swallows heavily.  Her nipples harden under my 
scrutiny.  No secrets anymore, Dana Scully.

Her hair is still hanging down over her eyes and my 
hand is still attached to the bar so I lean over and 
take the errant strand between my lips, pulling it 
back from her face.  I've got a lot of practice using 
other body parts to perform acts normally done with 
fingers.

This brings my face very close to hers and I take the 
opportunity to stroke the side of her face with my 
cheek.  Her skin is so soft and sweet that I think my 
stubbly, rough face might leave marks.

"Kry....I...."

"Alex," I correct her and then cut her off with a 
deep kiss before she gets her wits back.  This woman 
really knows how to kiss.  Lots of guys talk about 
womens lips in relation to blow-jobs but personally 
I've never found that terrifically important.  Some 
lips look better when you watch but they feel pretty 
much the same.  But kissing, you've gotta have good 
lips for kissing and she has got one set of amazing 
lips.  Big and wet and soft and best of all, 
encouraging.  I could spend weeks just nipping and 
sucking at those lips.

And her tongue, holy God.  I'll bet she's one of 
those girls who can tie up a cherry stem into a 
little bow in her mouth.

I feel her nails digging into my scalp, directing my 
head towards southerly regions and I smile against 
her.  She needs this badly.

I trail a path over her neck and collar bone with my 
mouth.  More of those light, delicate kisses that 
seem to drive her crazy.  When I reach her left 
breast I start to increase the pressure, kissing a 
little harder, until finally reaching out and 
flicking my tongue over her nipple.  She shudders and 
swallows a moan.  She's trying so hard not to make a 
sound.  I wonder if she thinks being quiet will make 
this less real.

I wrap my lips around her and suckle her like a baby 
and her fingers tighten their grip on my skull.  Her 
chest is heaving with every sharp intake of breath.  
She can be as quiet as she wants but there's no 
hiding the fact that this is making her feel 
something.  Who would've thought that Dana Scully 
would get off on having her breast sucked by a 
"blabbermouthed assassin from hell"?

The thought makes me laugh and it makes me moan and 
the sounds vibrate over her flesh.

"Come here," I murmur into the space between her 
breasts.

"Ha..."

"Come here."

I press on her thigh, the only part of her I can 
reach right now, trying to show her what I want.  
What I'm starting to need.  She's just too damn far 
away over there.

"Come here.  On my lap."

She takes a deep breath and then, amazingly, she does 
it.  She crawls on top of me and straddles me.  As 
soon as her crotch settles on mine I groan wordlessly 
and jerk up against her.  God, I need this more than 
I realized.

Her eyes widen and she stops moving.

"Mum, I...," she mumbles and her skin flushes.  She 
seems vaguely taken aback by the fact that I've got a 
dick for some reason.  I move against her again and 
wink at her.

"Cry...cek......God," she grunts through clenched 
teeth.

"You feel good," I tell her, rocking against her in a 
now-steady rhythm.  I can feel the warmth of her 
naked chest, pressing against me through the cotton 
of my shirt and the heat burning between her legs is 
detectable even through two layers of clothing.  Her 
hands are hanging limply at her sides.

"MM., I...ha, no...."

She shakes her head and suddenly looks very 
frightened.

"What's wrong Dana?"

"I..."

"Are you scared?"

She shakes her head again but I don't believe her.

"I won't hurt you Dana.  I promise.  And nobody has 
to know."

"M...Mulder..."

Goddammit.  I'm really getting sick of hearing that 
fucking name.  I take a deep breath and swallow a 
heavy lump of anger.

"Mulder won't find out.  I swear Dana.  Nobody will 
ever find out."

She swallows and a tear wells in the corner of her 
eye.  It lingers there for a second and then rolls 
down her cheek.  I don't know what to think of that.  
Part of me is immeasurably proud to have melted the 
cold-hearted bitch I once knew to be Dana Scully but 
that part is overwhelmed by the part of me that wants 
more than anything in the world to make her feel 
better.  She's incredible.  I can't believe she's 
crying.

I lick the drop of moisture from her face and kiss 
her cheek.

"I won't hurt you Dana.  Look at me.  I'm at your 
mercy here.  Take whatever you want."  

This is certainly true.  I've never been a big fan of 
being tied up or otherwise restrained during sex.  
Whatever kinky thrill the whole thing might have held 
for me faded almost immediately the first time I 
tried it and turned into annoyance and, ever since 
the silo, panic.  But in this situation it's taken on 
a whole new dimension.  If I was free to move she 
would have an out.  She'd be able to tell herself 
that I forced myself on her, that she had no choice.  
This way though, she's the one who's gotta do the 
work, she's gotta take the initiative and make 
whatever she wants to happen happen.  I can tell her 
what to do all I want but ultimately she's got the 
power, and the choice.  I think we both need it to be 
this way.

"I want...I..."

She breaks off and leans in to kiss me with a new 
ferocity.  Her tongue works its way half-way down my 
esophagus and she starts moving with me, grinding her 
crotch into mine.  When she pulls back we're both 
panting.

She squeezes her eyes shut and runs her hand over her 
face.

"I can't...I can't..."

"Yes you can.  You can do whatever you want Dana."

"It's...no...it's not right," she whispers and her 
eyes focus on some distant point behind my head.

"Right?  I don't know if it's right Dana but God, it 
feels so good."

"Mmm...no," she whimpers when I start licking her 
neck.  I don't know how I got to the point where I 
feel like if I don't fuck her, I'll die, but somehow 
I have.

"Take off your pants Dana," I tell--beg?--her.

"Wha...oh...no.  I've...I've gotta...go."

I try not to laugh but it doesn't work.  She has to 
go?  That's a good one.  

"I don't think you need to go Dana.  I think you need 
to come," I whisper into her ear and she trembles and 
grinds against me.

"God Dana, you feel amazing."

Too amazing.  If she makes me come in my pants after 
all this I'm gonna be humiliated for life.  I might 
just have to kill her so I never have to look her in 
the eye again.

I slide my tongue around her ear and down to the 
tender patch of skin where her neck meets her 
shoulder.  I bite her there and I watch her hand 
clench into a fist on her pantleg.

"God, Kry...Kry..."

"Alex," I try again.

"Oh God, Aleexxx," she hisses and my dick throbs 
unbearably against my jeans at the sound.

"Take them off Dana."

She closes her eyes for a long, suspense-filled 
moment and another tear drops from her wrinkled lids.  
Then she opens them again and stands up.  She pulls 
her fly open and yanks her pants down and off to the 
side very quickly and then she's back on top of me.  
Completely naked.

My breath catches in my throat and my hand moves 
towards her against my will causing the cuffs to 
chafe the already raw skin on my wrist.  I need to 
feel her in the worst possible way.

"Dana, I wanna touch you so bad."

"You can't...no," she tells me nervously.

"I know.  I know.  It's okay.  You're in control 
Dana.  Do whatever you want."

She sits there staring at me and breathing heavily 
with a lost and confused look on her face for a long 
time.  I don't think she's got a clue what to do with 
me.  Not that I can blame her.  This whole situation 
is so fucking surreal.  I know what I want though.

"Do you wanna touch me Dana?"

Please.  God, please say yes.

She gives a small nod and reaches her trembling hands 
between us.  She presses her palms against my chest 
lightly at first and then really hard.  She digs her 
fingers into my shirt like she's molding clay, 
squeezing and massaging my pectoral muscles.

"That's good Dana.  You can touch whatever you want."

She smiles and her hands drift a little lower, to my 
stomach, which she gives the same treatment.

"So hard..."  she murmurs and I have to strain 
against the self-satisfied smile I feel threatening 
to take over my face.  I've had to work very hard to 
keep my body strong and I'm glad it's paying off in 
this particular way.  I'm glad somebody appreciates 
it.

Then her cool, adept fingers slide under my shirt and 
she starts caressing my bare skin and she tucks her 
head under my chin, laving my Adam's apple with her 
tongue.

I gasp and press my whole body upwards and into her.

She's still shaking.

"Mmmyeah..  so good Dana."

She pulls back and smiles again.

"Yeah?"

Christ, she seems genuinely surprised.  

"God yeah.  You feel so fucking good.  I can't 
believe it."

She kisses me again and rubs herself against me and I 
swear to God I think my dick is gonna just bust 
through my fly at any second.  I can feel how wet she 
is through my jeans.  I can smell it.

"And this?"  she whispers into my ear.  I don't trust 
myself to talk so I just grunt and nod.  Then I feel 
two of her fingers sliding underneath the waistband 
of my jeans.

"What else is good Alex?"  she asks me coyly.  I 
think she knows pretty damn well what else is good.  
I thrust up mindlessly and she smirks.

Then she starts unbuttoning my buttons and I think I 
might cry myself just from the relief.  When she's 
done she looks down at me and I wonder if she likes 
what she sees.  She just stares for a little bit, 
looking almost shocked.  I guess it's been a really 
long time since she's seen a hard dick.

Then suddenly her hand is wrapped around me and I 
squeeze my eyes shut and moan.  She just holds it in 
her hand for awhile, squeezing and releasing every 
couple seconds, and staring, wide-eyed and curious, 
almost as if it were one of her little science 
projects, a mystery she's trying to unravel.

"Da...Dana, I..."

Oh man.  She's got me.  I'm gone.

"I...oh fucking-A," I sputter when I feel her tongue 
on me, running circles over the head.  I look down 
helplessly and remember my blow-job mouth thoughts 
from before.  I think I was wrong.  Seeing those lips 
down there enhances the experience more than I ever 
thought possible.

"Dana...Dana..."  

Stop?

Yeah, that's what I *should* be saying.  Christ, I 
really don't want this to begin and end with a blow-
job.  But it feels so fucking nice.  How am I 
supposed to tell her no?

"SCULLY!"  I call out urgently when I feel her lips 
closing around me.

She looks up, startled and pulls back.

"I..."  she stammers and blushes.  She actually looks 
sad to have to stop.  And maybe a little embarrassed.

"Dana...God.  This is gonna be over way too quick if 
you keep doing that."

She shrugs and sits up again.

"If that's all you want then I guess that's okay but 
I don't think it is.  I think you need more.  And I 
wanna give you what you need Dana."

"I...need..."

"I think you need to be made love to Dana."

"I need....yes.  Yes," she nods and kisses me hard.  
She rises up on her knees and positions herself over 
me, tantalizingly brushing her heat against me and I 
almost start cursing when I realize I've gotta stop 
her again.

"Dana, wait."

She scowls.

"What now?!"

I laugh a little bit and she glares at me.

"I think you're forgetting something doc."

She arches her brow and settles back down on my legs 
with a sigh.

"Reach into my back left pocket."

"Wha...?"  

There's a trace of fear in her eyes and I realize she 
probably thinks this is some kind of trick.  

"Reach into my back left pocket and take out my 
wallet Dana."

She does.  Very slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Open it up and look in the front pocket there.  And 
don't laugh at my driver's license picture."  

She does as I ask and pulls out the condom with a 
combination of relief and further embarrassment.  I 
guess she's wondering why she didn't think of this.  
I guess she's kicking herself in the head cause God 
only knows where I've been and what kind of germs 
I've got, etc.  Well, I am clean but she'd never 
believe me if I told her that.  And I just know that 
in a couple days or a week or whenever her senses 
come back to her she's gonna realize what she did 
here and I don't want her to start panicking about 
venereal diseases.  That's not an association I want 
her to make with this situation.

She opens the package and looks back and forth 
between my cock and the rubber a couple times.  I 
think this might be the first time she's completely 
realized that we're going to have sex.  Better not 
let her linger on the thought for too long.

"It's okay Dana.  Go ahead," I encourage her and she 
takes a deep breath and puts it on me.  I have to 
look away because the sight of her tiny hands doing 
this to me is almost too much.  

Then she rises to her knees again and takes me in her 
hand, directing me to her entrance.  When she's 
poised to sink down onto me she pauses for a minute 
and rotates a little.

"Tease," I grunt and she laughs.  

"Open your eyes Alex.  I wanna see you now."

With some effort I force my eyes open and she looks 
at me for a few seconds.  

"Oh...Alex," she moans breathlessly and then she 
kisses me and then she finally brings herself down 
onto me and I bury myself in her watery depths.

xxxxxx 

Oh my.

Oh my God.

I can't breathe.

I can't think.

I'm going to faint.

Oh God.

I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut.  I can't 
look at him anymore.  I can't believe this is 
happening.  I can't believe it.  Oh God oh God oh 
God...

Just don't say it, just don't tell him how this is 
making you feel.

He's everywhere, though, God.  He's so hard and so 
big and it's nearly painful bringing him inside of 
me.  It's been, oh God, so long, so long, since there 
was anything there at all.  Anything real.  And it's 
like I can feel him, God, everywhere.  It's 
incredible.

"Fffffffffuck, Jesus, you're so...fucking...tight, 
God, Dana-mmmmmm," he grunts out through clenched 
teeth.  I worry for a split second, trying to 
remember if that's a good thing.  I think it is.

It has to be because he rotates his hips into me, 
forcing a soft grunt from my mouth.  He does it again 
a few more times and I finally realize to shut my 
mouth to keep myself from making the noise.

So far I have only sat still, straddled and squatting 
over his lap, just relishing in the feeling of having 
someone inside of me, feeling that fullness like I 
don't think I've ever felt it before.  But he keeps 
lifting his hips toward me and I can't let him think 
I have no idea how to do this, that I'm some kind of 
frightened, inexperienced virgin.  So I lift myself 
up on my shaky legs.  Almost immediately I fall back 
down on him, unable to hold myself up.

Oh God, that's nice.

More.

"Oh, yeah," he hisses, this time catching my eye.  
"Oh, yeah, that'ssss...good.  Ssso good..."

I can't help but smile a bit.  I'm doing that to him.

I rise up again, this time with a tiny bit more 
control and then slide slowly down again.  He lets 
out a breath through pursed lips, blowing it onto my 
breasts and I shudder all over.  I do it again and he 
responds to my movements with his own thrusts.

"God, Da-nnnna...You are so...You look so beautiful, 
so beautiful..."

My skin tingles even more intensely from my breasts 
and up to my cheeks.  I can feel my ears burning and 
realize that I can no longer hear the rain.  I hear 
only Alex's panting.

I put my hands on his shoulders so that I am able to 
change my direction, the angle at which I'm stroking.  
My heart leaps in my throat and I feel myself start 
to really climb now.  Oh God, I want this.  So bad.

I move faster and he lets out an "Oh shit," loudly, 
followed by a distinctively masculine groan.  I, on 
the other hand, am still trying to remain quiet.  I 
don't want him to know.

"Dana, will you do...ah...somethinggggg..."

No way, lover.  I'm not taking them off.

"Why don't you...mmmm," he stops and lifts his hips a 
little bit higher a couple of times.  Then he leans 
down and takes one of my breasts in his mouth.  The 
action of his thrusts combined with this renders me 
ineffective.  My God, I think he's got the whole 
thing in his mouth.  Oh God oh God oh God.

Yeah, right there.

He leans his head back against the bar, letting my 
breast fall out of his mouth.  Oh God, Krycek, don't 
stop, please.

He continues to push up against me and I take to 
rocking back and forth now, virtually unable to hold 
myself up anymore.  His face drips with sweat and 
he's panting laboriously.  "Why don't you, 
touch...them, Dana.  I can't.  You do it."

The thought of what he's asking me to do causes me to 
soar even higher and I have to bite down on my lips 
to keep from making a sound.  I do, however, speed up 
my strokes and to my utter disbelief, I see my hands 
reach for my own breasts.

He smiles big and I smile reflexively.  His green 
eyes are nearly black and for the first time I notice 
his lashes.  They're remarkably long and quite 
beautiful.  Not effeminate, yet they seem to soften 
his whole face.  I bend down, keeping my hands on 
myself, and kiss his eyes lightly.  I believe I felt 
him twitch and grow inside of me.

"Mmmm, God, you're unbelievable..."  He half-moans, 
half-laughs.

I'm rolling my breasts around in my hands, arching my 
back toward him.  It is for his benefit, yet I'm 
finding it extremely exciting myself.  I squeeze my 
nipples and a small "oh" escapes my mouth.

He continues to watch me, smiling at me with I think 
is awe.  Amazement almost.  Not hunger, not desperate 
need.  He's just watching.  Watching me.  Like I'm 
the most amazing thing he's ever seen in his entire 
life.  I can't believe that I'm the most exceptional 
woman he's been with.  I just can't imagine that.

He's definitely getting bigger, I can feel him.  He's 
probably more than ready.  Yet he's holding back, I 
think.  He's slowed down.

Speaking of ready, I think I'm pretty near that 
myself.  My body seems to be moving faster and faster 
of its own accord, and I climb higher and higher, my 
muscles below ever tightening.

Oh my God.

What the hell am I doing?  I can't.  I can't do this.  
What am I doing?  I've got to stop this.

If only I'd thought of that sooner.  Can't exactly 
stop now.  Can't exactly say you didn't ask for this.  
That I didn't encourage it.

I rip my hands away from my breasts and sit back a 
bit, hoping that it will ease the contact.  And I 
squeeze him with all my might.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."  he shouts, shutting his eyes 
again.

I take a deep breath and try to speak forcefully.  
"Where is it?"

His eyes pop open and he breathes out a "Wha...?"

"Tell me.  Nnnnow!"

He laughs, expending a huge amount of energy and 
causing his body to shake dangerously beneath me .

"You're...you're good.  In more ways 
than...ahh...one."

He's trying not to do it.  He's trying to wait for 
me.  Well I'm sorry, but it isn't going to happen.

"Fffffffucker, tell me!!"

"No way."

I squeeze again as hard as I can and he screams.  He 
fights back by grasping at the bar behind him and 
lifting his hips higher into me, making me moan 
against my will.

I move up and down as quickly as I can, taking care 
that I don't fall over the edge with him.  It won't 
be much longer.

"G-ahhh-d, Krycek, you little shit, tell me!!"

"No, no, God, Dana, you..."  His breath and moans 
quicken and finally he ends it with a loud, bellowing 
groan.

As he rides it out, thrashing wildly, I hear the 
snapping of wood and realize that he's pulled himself 
free from where he was attached.  

I should feel recompensed, justified.  I was able to 
resist it, to resist him in the end.

If it wasn't for the fact that I feel like crying now 
more than ever.  He'll probably go now, taking my 
car, my money, maybe even my clothes, so that I'm 
found out here naked and have to explain why I am 
this way.

I look up and he's on his knees, rolling the used 
prophylactic of off himself.  He's breathing heavily 
and watching me savagely.  I should feel disgusted by 
it.

Then more suddenly than I am prepared for, he grabs 
me around the waist, the cold metal of my handcuffs 
brushing my ass.  I tell myself not to look scared.

"Let go.  Get...get out of here," I demand.
 
"Wha...?"
 
"You got what you wanted.  And apparently what you 
needed.  Now go.  The keys are still in the car.  Go 
ahead, take it all."

His look is of absolute disbelief.  He smiles and his 
top lip curls upward.  "You're crazy," he tells me.  
"What, you wanna pay me for that?  Would you feel 
better about yourself that way, Agent Scully?"

"Just go already."

"Uh-uh.  No fucking way."   He's still smiling at me 
and he brings his face closer to mine again and pulls 
me tightly to him.

"Krycek, let go of me."

"Nope."  He starts to kiss my neck and I feel what 
was left unfinished stir within me at an even greater 
intensity than before.

But I realize I must fight him and so I begin to 
squirm in his embrace, trying to free myself.  "Let 
me go...bastard."  

"Dana, shh, calm down," he whispers and begins to run 
his lips lightly all over my cheeks.  It is only then 
that I realize, much to my horror that I have been 
crying this entire time.  My face is soaked with 
tears.

"Get...away..."
 
"That was amazing, Dana," he whispers in to my ear 
huskily.  "*You're* amazing."
 
"No..."  I object weakly as he takes my mouth with 
his again and pushes me down toward the floor.  I 
hold on to him tightly, suddenly terrified and 
excited by the thoughts of what he might be planning 
to do to me now.  Now that he is free and at a 
decided advantage against me.

Yet he lays me gently down on the dirty, scratchy, 
dusty floor and runs one finger over my cheek.  He 
backs up again and merely stares at me.  Again, I 
expect to feel uncomfortable, but I do not.
 
And then I hear the clinking of metal and what sounds 
distinctly like the unlocking of handcuffs.  My eyes 
grow wide with disbelief when I see what he's doing.  
The key!  He took the key, the bastard.

His grin is devilish.  "Won't be needing these 
anymore, huh?"  

"You...How?  When?"

"Ah, the mysteries are endless..."

I don't believe this.  I don't believe I let this 
happen.  Any of it.  "How long?"

He curls up his grin and I know exactly the comment 
he's wanting to make at that.  His brows raise and he 
says proudly, "Since the hand massage."

It has to be some kind of trick.  He must have some 
kind of skeleton key.  There's no way I could have 
let that happen.  But why wouldn't he have gotten 
away long before then?

"No...how...?  I mean, I you..."

"Guess you're lucky I wanted you more than I wanted 
freedom."
 
I close her eyes and pinch my brows together.  I'm 
such a fool.  Such a bloody fool.  But I'm finding it 
hard to not be pleased to hear him say that to me.

"God..."

"Shh..."  he bids me and leans over my body, running 
his fingers over my face.  

"Why don't you just go," I spit out, not opening my 
eyes.

"I wanna touch you," he says gently, with an air of 
surprise in his voice.  "Now that I can."

"Why...?"

He chuckles lightly.  "Why?  Why wouldn't I?"

I shake my head and attempt to squeeze more tears 
back into my head.  When I feel his finger run down 
my side feather-lightly, I jump a bit and shiver.

He lies down on his side, next to me and continues to 
touch my body, tracing lines with his fingertips and 
massaging lightly with his hand.

"You're so soft, so warm."

"Mmm..."

"Felt so good inside you," he says directly into my 
ear, his hand drifting lower.

"What," I stop and swallow, "are you doing?"

"Shh, I'm just touching you, Dana I just wanna make 
you feel good, as good as you made me feel."

His voice is wonderfully soothing.  Hypnotizing.  I 
want to hear more, but I know I can't.  

"Nno...no, please..."

"No?  Why not?  Why don't you wanna feel good, Dana?  
Don't you feel like you deserve it?"

"Don't.  Just...don't."  I squeeze my eyes shut eyes 
tightly and try not to think about how his words, his 
questions are making me feel.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I dunno..."  God, I'm crying again.

"You don't have to be afraid."  His hand trails down 
between my thighs, nudging them apart.  My body does 
not wish to stop him.

"I can't...do this," I cry.  "Oh, let me go, please."

He places his open mouth on my shoulder and then 
trails them and his tongue up to my neck.  His hands 
stroke the insides of my thighs.

"What do you mean you can't?  Of course you can.  You 
need it.  You deserve it."

And I do want it.  Want him to finish it for me.  Oh 
God.

"Please let me...oh God...Alex..."

He moves his hand higher and my legs move apart even 
further.  He begins tracing his finger around the 
outside, with just enough pressure, making me light-
headed.  I swallow hard and force back yet another 
whimper.

"I won't hurt you, baby," he swears to me.  "I 
promise."

Then he is gone from my side and before I can miss 
the warmth of his body, I feel his hair on my thighs, 
his head having assumed itself between my legs.

I am no longer physically able to hold my body as 
still as I have been once I feel his lips on me.  He 
kisses me there, several times, before darting his 
tongue outward and into me.  He runs it all around 
once inside me and then moves upward.  When he 
reaches the place that aches the most, I shake and 
moan, unable to control myself.

"Oh God..."  I pant.  I want this.  I've wanted this 
for a very long time.  I've wanted and needed it.  
And right this moment it doesn't matter that it's 
Alex Krycek.  Right this moment I'm thanking God that 
it is him.  

He moves his lips and tongue in sensuous rhythm, 
driving me higher and higher, closer to the brink, to 
the point where I'm without coherence.  He latches 
his lips to me and sucks as hard as anything I've 
ever felt...

And then I am lost.

xxxxxx

For someone who just had what sounded like a pretty 
damn amazing orgasm, Dana Scully does not seem like a 
very happy camper.  She's crying again, silent tears 
trailing down her cheeks, and as soon as I move away 
from her body she wraps her arms around herself.

I scoot up so that my head is next to hers and try to 
wrap my arm around her.  Post-coital snuggling on a 
filthy cement floor.  Seems wrong somehow but it's 
the best I can offer her at the moment.  She's 
shaking so badly though that I can barely get a hold 
of her.

"You okay?"  I ask.  It's pretty obvious that she's 
not.  

She doesn't answer me but she turns on her side to 
face me and grabs the front of my shirt, burying her 
face in my chest.  I roll over onto my back, pulling 
her on top of me.  She's naked and I'm completely 
clothed so it only seems fair that my ass is on the 
floor and not hers.  I wrap my arm tightly around her 
back, feeling a strange need to shield her.  From 
what, I don't know.

God, I can't believe it's over already.  I tried.  
Really, I did.  I wanted it to last.  I wanted it to 
last a very long time.  But she was too damn good.  
Better than I ever would have imagined in my wildest 
fucking wet dream.  So good that the shock of it all 
took something away from my ability to fully 
appreciate it.  I'd like to do it again.  

Somehow I don't see it happening though.  She seems 
pretty much done for the night and we're sure as hell 
not gonna be here in the morning.  Well, I'm not 
anyway.

Still, it's nice to be holding her.  Fucking Dana 
Scully is something I never thought I'd do in this or 
any other lifetime.  Holding a post-orgasmic, naked, 
crying Dana Scully on top of me is something I never 
thought I'd *want* to do in this or any other 
lifetime.  But it's nice.  It's good.

She's clinging to me, curling up into me like a 
mattress.  I can be a mattress.  It's good to be a 
mattress.

We lie like that for a long time and all I can seem 
to think about is how small, how fragile she seems.  
It doesn't feel like there's another person resting 
all of her weight on my body.  She's like a feather.  
A trembling, sweaty feather.  Appearances certainly 
can be deceiving.  Who would have known Special Agent 
hard-ass could be this vulnerable, this exposed, this 
soft.  And who could ever guess that the tiny angel 
resting on my chest is capable of turning into a 
woman of steel at a moment's notice.

I wonder how many people have seen her like this.  I 
wonder if she's like this every time she has sex or 
if I'm even luckier than I thought.

"Why...why are you still here?"

Her voice sounds raw, like she's been screaming.  
Ironic considering her concentrated efforts to remain 
silent.

"What do you mean?"

"Mulder's not coming," she tells me as if it were a 
terrific revelation.

"Phew."  

She looks up at me with a small smile.

"Seriously, you're free.  I can barely move.  You won 
Krycek."

"Alex," I interrupt her and kiss her forehead.  

"You should go."

"I should have gone a long time ago."

The minute I heard her car probably would have been 
the best choice and there were a thousand and one 
other opportunities after that.

"Why didn't you?"

"I'm not sure," I tell her honestly.  "I guess this 
is the best date I've had in a long time."

"Date..."

"The truth is Dana, I was having fun.  I like talking 
to you.  You're one of the most interesting people I 
know."

If she knew the people I know she would probably 
realize what a compliment that is.  As it is she 
seems to think it's some kind of joke.

"You are.  And you're also very beautiful."

She looks up at me again and her brows knit together.  
So very beautiful.  

"What?"  

She shakes her head slowly, scared.  Or confused.

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't...I don't know."

She doesn't want to.  That's the real answer.  

"Is it so unusual for someone to think you're 
interesting and attractive Dana?"

I realize how odd what I'm saying must sound given 
our situation.  It really does sound like something 
someone would say on an actual date.  It's just so 
strange to me that this woman could be 
so...overlooked I guess.

"I...I don't..."

Her lower lip starts trembling and she bites it 
angrily.  She looks down quickly, trying to hide the 
fact that she's started to cry again.  I don't 
mention her tears but I squeeze her a little tighter.

"What am I doing here?"  she chokes out quietly.

"I have no idea."  

"God, what am I doing?"

"Shh, it's okay.  It'll be okay Dana," I whisper even 
though I'm pretty sure it won't be.  Not for her or 
for me.  Or for anyone else.

"What am I doing?"  

It's starting to sound like she actually wants an 
answer.

"Um...having fun," I offer lamely.  She actually 
laughs a little bit through sniffles.

"You won't...um, I mean...um," she sputters.

"Won't what?"

"Um...Mulder..."

I feel my jaw and my stomach clench upon hearing that 
name again.  It's turning into an automatic response.  
That can't be a good thing.

"I told you Dana.  I won't tell him.  I'm not that 
stupid."

"The...the bureau..."

God, next thing she's gonna be begging me not to tell 
her mom.

"Dana, I won't tell anyone.  I told you that.  I'm 
real good at keeping secrets.  And besides, who the 
hell would believe me?"

She nods, relaxing a lot.

"Kay," she murmurs through a yawn.

"Just don't you go bragging to all your girlfriends.  
I've got a reputation to uphold here."

She laughs softly and tucks her head under my chin.  
Her breathing is finally steady and I don't feel 
moisture dripping off her face anymore.

I close my eyes and listen to her breathing and to 
the rain, trying to let myself go for a minute.  I 
have to make a concentrated effort to relax and enjoy 
any given moment and this one really deserves the 
energy.

"Alex..."

"Hmm?"

"That poem...from before...what was that?  Was that 
the whole thing?"

"It's Thomas Campion.  And no, it wasn't the whole 
thing.  Would you like to hear the whole thing?"

She hesitates a moment and then nods.

"Look at me," I tell her and she does, lacing her 
fingers together on my chest and resting her head on 
her hands.  I stroke her cheek with my palm.

"There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as I 
run my fingers over her cheek and down her chin.  I 
guess some people might say that reciting beautiful 
poetry to a beautiful woman is corny.  Or maybe if 
they knew it was me, manipulative.  Well, whatever.  
She seems to like it.

"A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow
There cherries grow which none can buy
Till 'cherry-ripe' themselves do cry"

The thing is, I'm not being the slightest bit 
insincere here.  Her face really is a heavenly 
paradise and her lips really are like cherries.  And 
she should know that.  

I kiss her forehead and move my finger over her chin, 
up to her mouth.  

"Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,"

Her lips are parted slightly and I run my index 
finger over the top one.  It's warm and wet and I can 
feel her breath blowing on my fingertip.

"Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds filled with snow,"

I move on to her lower lip and the very tip of her 
tongue touches my finger.

"Yet them no peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'cherry-ripe' themselves do cry,"

I slide my finger between her lips and she takes it 
into her mouth, sucking gently, tasting the remnants 
of herself on my skin.  It makes me gasp and she 
chuckles lightly.

I move my hand from her mouth back to her forehead 
and trace her eyebrows.

"Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till 'cherry-ripe' themselves do cry."

I lean down and kiss her full on the lips, softly but 
with a stronger need than I had just five minutes 
ago.  I think it's time for me to go.

I pull away reluctantly and she looks up at me with 
sleepy, poetry-softened eyes.  She yawns and rests 
her head under my chin again.

"Literature," she mumbles into my shirt.  

I don't answer her because she knows she's right.  We 
lie in silence for several minutes and I concentrate 
on breathing in her scent.

"How's your head Dana?"  I ask quietly after awhile.

She doesn't respond and I notice that her breathing 
has become deeper and heavier.  Like she's sleeping.  
Sure enough when I look down her eyes are closed and 
her mouth is open and she's actually fucking 
sleeping.  On top of me.  

I can't believe it.  She fell asleep.  She must be 
either completely wiped out or more trusting than I 
thought.
Maybe both.  She's amazing.

I really do need to go now.

I indulge in a few more moments of watching her in 
slumber and then reluctantly, as gently as I can, 
move her body off of me and back onto the floor.  She 
jerks her arm but doesn't wake up.  It must be a 
combination of the killer headache and the emotional 
and physical drainage she's suffered at my hands 
causing her to lay here in this near comatose state.

It's almost dawn.  When I go out to her car I can 
hear the birds beginning to chirp incessantly and the 
sky is a strange greenish, gray color.  The rain's 
stopped and it's about 30 degrees cooler than it was 
a few hours ago.  Soon though, probably by noon, 
it'll be hot as hell all over again.  By that time I 
should be far away from this god-forsaken state.

I take almost everything out of the car, including a 
blanket from the trunk, and bring it back to the bar.  
She's still dozing, completely naked in the middle of 
the floor.  The thought of someone else coming in 
here and seeing her like this makes me unspeakably 
and inexplicably angry so I kneel down next to her 
and cover her with the blanket.  I put her belongings 
next to her in a pile and tuck the blanket around 
her.

For an endless, deranged moment, I consider throwing 
her over my shoulder, tossing her in the backseat of 
the car and taking off to Mexico or Canada.  She'd be 
pissed at first but eventually she'd realize how much 
better off she'd be.  She'd see how much happier she 
is with someone who appreciates her, who tries to 
make her feel special and perfect every day of her 
life.  She'd forget about Mulder.

I almost have myself convinced but reality is a 
difficult thing to escape for very long.

I lean over and brush an errant strand of hair from 
her forehead and place a final kiss on her cheek.  I 
let my lips linger on her skin for several seconds, 
trying to memorize her taste and texture, and then I 
stand up.

"Thank you for letting me see you, krassavitsa," I 
whisper and then I walk out of Antelope's and into 
the chilly darkness.

xxxxxx

"Oh my God!"  

I gasp and sit up quickly in my bed.  I think I'm 
late for work.

Except that I'm not in my bed.  Except that I'm naked 
and not in my bed.  I feel a cool breeze rush through 
the room and my eyes forced into focus.

Oh, yeah.  That's right.

Memories, images come crashing back on me, but for a 
moment I wonder if any of them are actually real.  I 
had sexual intercourse with Alex Krycek?  Why in hell 
would I do that?

Yet I am naked.  Naked and sitting on a damp, dirty 
floor with a blanket wrapped around me that I know I 
did not take out of the car.

I hug my legs up against my chest and wipe my eyes on 
my knees.  And then I smell a faint scent on me.  I 
bring my nose to my shoulder and inhale.  I smell 
like him.  Not Mulder.  Like him.  I also smell 
another familiar odor and it makes me aware of the 
soreness I feel.  The aching of someone who has not 
engaged in intercourse for quite sometime.

I'm strangely happy for it.

I wrap the blanket around me and get up slowly from 
the floor.  My legs feel shaky and very weak.

"Krycek?"  I call out quietly, my voice echoing into 
emptiness.  "Krycek?"  I try a little louder.

Dammit.  He's gone.  And I don't know if I'm upset 
because he left or if I'm upset because he got away.

I wander slowly over to the door and I'm shocked into 
the realization that my rental car is gone as well.  
Fucker!  He took advantage of my vulnerability, 
wowing me with ridiculous poetry recitations and 
helped himself to my dignity, and all of my things.

I feel tears creep up into my eyes and throat and if 
it wasn't for the fact that I feel so lethargic, I'd 
put a hole through the wall with my foot.  I can't 
believe I was so willing, so, so stupid.  He seemed 
so sincere.  He said I had cherry lips...

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  God, what the hell am I 
going to tell Mulder?

I turn back to the spot.  The place where Alex Krycek 
made me feel things I haven't felt for a long, long 
time, things I've never felt in my entire life.  The 
place where he made me feel like the most beautiful, 
sexiest woman in the world.

This is why it's been so long.  Because I'm a goddamn 
sucker.  I can't believe he broke me.

Just as I am about to close my eyes, I notice a 
familiar pile of things on the floor next to the 
spot.  I go over and for some absurd reason, I fall 
to my knees, needing to be close to it, however 
filthy it is.

It's all here.  My shirt, my bra, my pants, even my 
jacket and the stupid pair of nylons I threw away all 
that time ago.  My bag, my gun, my money, it's all 
here.  Everything but my underwear.  He left it here 
for me.

And then my phone rings.

It takes me nearly four rings before I answer.  It 
can only be one person and I don't know if I'm 
coherent enough to think, let alone speak.  
Especially to him.  

"Hello?  Scully?"  He prompts me.  "Are you there?  
Are you all right?"

"Uh...yeah.  Yes, I'm fine.  Where are you Mulder?  
You sound so far away."

"Where are you?!  I've been calling you since last 
night.  I must have left twenty messages on your 
voice mail."

He sounds genuinely concerned.  I almost feel as 
though I've deceived him.  But I don't feel the guilt 
that I would have expected.

Unconcerned by the filthy floor, I sit down and pull 
my pants on, trying to figure out the best way to 
tell him where I'm at.

"I-uh, I followed those directions you gave me, just 
like you'd wanted, and-"

"Did you find it, Scully?  Did you find anything 
out?"

To say the least, Mulder.

"Uh, no not exactly...uh..."

Mulder starts spewing out all kinds of what I suppose 
is relevant information and I am unable to comprehend 
any of it.  I feel so disjointed.

I stand to zip my pants and when I stick my hands 
into the pockets to straighten them, I feel something 
foreign inside.  

"So, Scully, you never said.  Did you find anything?"

I pull out a folded piece of paper and what looks 
like a locker key.  The paper says simply, 
"Washington-Dulles INTL."

"Ye-yes," I say slowly and bring the paper to my 
nose.  It smells like him.  "Mulder, I'm going to 
need you to come get me."

"Uh...okay," he says.  "Where...where are you?"

I tell him my approximate location, though I can 
barely remember how I got here, it seems like weeks 
ago that I was driving down I-35 in the blistering 
heat.

I press 'End' before giving Mulder the opportunity to 
say anything more.  I can't bear talking with him 
right now.  I hope he doesn't bombard me with a 
million questions when he gets here.

I pull on the rest of my clothes and take a final 
pass by the portrait behind the bar.  Bidding her 
goodbye perhaps, perhaps thanking her.  I'm not sure.  
Her eyes smile at me knowingly, telling me she knows 
things, things I know I don't want to, even though I 
should.  That she'll always remember what happened 
here.  And that she promises to keep the secret.

I resolve to give to her the memories so that I don't 
have to take them back with me.  So that I can walk 
out of here as I am doing right now and leave the 
event within the confines of this building.  Until 
another Oklahoma tornado sweeps the rest of it away.

The sun is rising and I figure the time to be around 
7:00 a.m.  The temperature is beginning to rise 
already.  I hope Mulder gets here soon.  Before I 
really begin to sober up.

I look down at the items in my hand and realize that 
there is more writing on the piece of paper.  I 
unfold and read it aloud in a whisper.

"Under the lime tree
on the open field,
where we two had our bed,
you can still see 
lovely broken flowers and grass.
On the edge of the woods in a vale,
tandaradei,
sweetly sang the nightingale.

"I came walking
to the meadow,
my love was already there.
And he received me,
Blessed Lady,
the joy of that will last.
Did he kiss me then?  A thousand times, at least,
tandaradei,
look now, how my mouth is red

"Then he made 
a lordly
place to lie in, all of flowers.

"There's a good laugh there
even now
for anyone coming that way;
he could tell, by the roses, 
tandaradei,
just where my head lay

"If anyone found out,
God forbid, he lay by me,
I'd be ashamed.
What he did with me there
may no one ever
know, except for him and me
and one little bird,
tandaradei,
which will not say a word."

And at the end are his own words,

"You win."

A shudder passes through my entire body and suddenly 
I need to sit down on the wet ground.

And so I sit and I wait.


End

Poems cited:
"Porphyria's Lover" by Robert Browning
"There is a Garden in her Face" by Thomas Campion
"Under the Lime Tree" by Walther von der Vogelweide