Title: Uncertain Allies I - Last Respects
Author: Lycanthrophile (lycanthrophile@imadethis.org)
Fandom: The X-Files
Spoilers: Season 4
Disclaimer: I don't own them (duh!). They all belong to
TenThirteen Productions. No copyright infringement
intended.
Rating: PG-13 for male/male and male/female relationships
Summary: Scully goes to Mulder's apartment to pay last
respects and finds someone else had the same idea.
Word Count: 3,554
Notes: To Cathy Lee, who suggested I write a longer story -
here's the beginning of another series. And to Nicci, who
did a wonderful job corrupting me - this is all your fault.
:-)
Archive: Please inform me
Scully walked the familiar path to apartment forty seven
with leaden steps. [Why do I keep doing this to myself?]
she thought. And the same voice in her mind answered. [You
know why.] It was a pilgrimage to the man she cared for
deeply and an attempt to come to terms with his suicide.
It had been five days since she had identified Mulder's
body. She hadn't been back to work since the awful hearing
where she had revealed his death. Truth be told, everyone
was shocked, from that self-assured cigarette smoking
bastard and down to the janitors that cleaned their
basement office, that Mulder had committed suicide.
Whispers had begun floating around as soon as the news
broke. "I always thought he was crazy, but offing himself?"
And "Will she take up where he left off, the spooky heir to
the spooky throne?" Skinner forced her to take an
indefinite leave, for her mental, as well as physical,
health. He also promised her that if she wished to resume
investigating the X Files when she returned, the department
would still be there. Scully almost loved Skinner for that.
She would resume, but, unlike Mulder's obsession to expose
the existence of extraterrestrial life on earth, she would
use what little time she had left to expose the conspiracy
that had killed Mulder and was killing her piece by piece.
The moment she stood in front of the door to Mulder's
apartment, she knew something was wrong. The door was shut,
and to all appearances, looked perfectly normal. But there
was a sense of the apartment being inhabited. It was not a
psychic sense, but subconscious hints that lead her
instincts to warn her that she would not be alone inside.
Scully drew her gun and tried the door knob. It was
unlocked. She edge the door open, and slipped inside, and
her heart skipped a beat. There was a man in the apartment,
standing over the very spot where Mulder died, his back to
her. She watched as the stranger's shoulders shook with
silent sobs, bringing the black leather jacket tossed over
him perilously close to sliding off.
She leveled the gun at the stranger's back, almost silently
easing back the hammer. The man's crew cut head snapped up,
sensing her presence. He did not turn to look at her. "You
wouldn't shoot an unarmed man in the back, would you, Agent
Scully?" asked a gravely voice as he slid something into
his right jacket pocket.
Scully's eyes narrowed and she saw red. "Krycek," she
hissed. Here was the man who had a hand in her abduction,
her sister's death, and so much of Mulder's pain. A wild
longing filled her to pull the trigger. But she was not one
to give in to her emotional impulses. "What the hell are
you doing here?"
He didn't look at her, but stared out the window that was
next to Mulder's beat up couch. "Paying my last respects."
Krycek's voice, usually filled with unfeeling disdain, was
curiously choked with tightly leashed emotion.
"Respect?" Scully spat, incredulous. "You have no respect
for anything. You're here to make sure that the
perpetrators of this crime remain undiscovered."
"You're wrong, Agent Scully." Krycek turned to face her.
Unsettled by his movement, the jacket slid to the floor.
"I'm here to expose them."
Scully managed to stifle her gasp at the sight of Krycek's
empty left sleeve. She remembered Mulder at the
Congressional hearing, saying, "It's good to be able to put
my arms around you. Both of them." She had been puzzled by
the remark, and Mulder had never gotten around to fully
explaining it. And now it made perfect sense.
She managed to tear her gaze from his missing arm to stare
into his face. Krycek looked as if he hadn't slept in days
and done laundry in a week, let alone bathed. [Are those
really tears?] she thought, observing the wet streaks
trailing down his face. But his face itself was the stone
mask she was used to seeing on this man. "You wouldn't
believe what an advantage this actually is," Krycek was
saying matter of factly, shrugging his left shoulder. "Most
assassins, despite their claims of emotional coldness,
hesitate at the thought of executing a cripple. It gives me
the split second needed to run, or kill."
Scully didn't take the conversational gambit. She was idly
curious how Krycek lost his arm, but not enough to waver
from her original question. "You said that you were here to
expose the people who did this." Krycek nodded. "Why?" she
bit out.
"There were other ways to neutralize him," Krycek said in a
low, shaky voice. "They didn't have to murder him."
Scully stated what she assumed to be fact. "He committed
suicide."
And Krycek stated what he assumed to be fact. "He was
murdered. Even if he pulled the trigger himself, you know
that it was murder."
"And why do you care?" Scully spat. "You betrayed him and
tried to kill him."
Krycek's eyes flamed at that accusation. "I *never*
attempted to kill him," he hissed. "Yes, I lied to him.
Yes, I betrayed him. Yes, I misdirected him. But I never
tried to kill him."
Scully kept on the attack. "But you did kill his father and
my sister."
Green eyes shifted back and forth before he answered her.
"Mulder's father, yes. But your sister no. I was there, but
the evidence proved I wasn't the gunman. And from what I
heard, Luis got better than he deserved."
"But you were there. Just as you are here now." The gun
never wavered from between Krycek's eyes. [Just do it. Pull
the trigger,] a voice screamed. She repeated her question
with more emphasis. "Why are you here?"
"Because." Krycek's mask slipped a bit before he regained
control. But Scully could see the pain in his eyes before
he spirited it away to some dark corner of his soul.
It was enough for Scully to realize why Krycek was here. It
was enough for Scully to realize why Krycek had not killed
Mulder when he had the chance. It was enough for her to
realize why Mulder always spoke of Krycek with such
vehemence. It was enough for her to realize why Mulder
would as soon beat Krycek as look at him. "You had feelings
for him, and he once returned them."
"Yes," Krycek hissed, as if the admission hurt him. "You
knew that he was bisexual, right?"
Scully nodded. She had guessed that early in their working
relationship, when she had found 'the videos that weren't
his.' Half of them were straight, the other half gay.
Mulder, through paranoia or fear of being hurt in a
relationship, had been very cautious and discrete about his
attractions to other men, and unless she hadn't found those
videos, she wouldn't have had a clue.
Krycek continued. "The old smoking son of a bitch knew it
too. He also knew that I am. My original assignment was to
get into Mulder's pants, and use it to discredit him. But
then Duane Barry came along and the plan... was altered."
"Were the two of you lovers?" Scully asked, perversely
intrigued. She also wanted no reminders of her missing
time, and did not want anyone, especially this man to know
about the nightmares she still had because of her
experience. And guiding the conversation away from that
subject was something she had grown adept at practicing.
"Yes," Krycek whispered. "After you were taken, Mulder
turned to me for comfort I was all too happy to give. But I
never gave Cancerman the proof of indiscretion he asked
for."
"And why should I believe you, you lying son of a bitch?"
Krycek's forest green eyes stared into her sky blue ones.
"Because I loved him as much as you did. Oh yes," he
continued. "The Cigarette Smoking Man knows your little
secret also."
Scully was surprised, but not overly so. She thought she
had hidden the fact that she loved Mulder quite well. That
tar-lunged bastard seemed to be able to get a hold of any
information, no matter how closely guarded. She had
admitted it to herself soon after she began working with
Mulder, but never found the courage to tell him. [Actions
must really speak louder than words.] "Did Mulder have any
idea?"
Krycek shook his head. "He didn't have a clue. He was a
very astute man, but very dense when it came to people he
was close to," he said without irony or sarcasm.
They stood in silence for several minutes until Krycek's
stomach rumbled loudly. "How long has it been since you had
a meal?" Scully asked.
Krycek thought for a second and then shrugged his
shoulders. "Don't know, a day at least," he mumbled.
"Then why don't you come with me and something to eat?"
[Why am I offering?] Scully thought.
Krycek's eyes brightened a bit at the thought of food, but
he still remained wary. "And be met at your door by a dozen
law enforcement officers? I don't think so," he asked,
wincing internally at how jaded he sound.
"I see what you mean, Krycek." Scully thought for a moment.
"There's a Chinese takeout a few blocks away. I can have
them deliver." She had no desire to turn Krycek over to the
police right now. He had too many answers that she needed,
and if he went to jail, she would never get them.
Krycek shook his head, disbelieving. "*You* are offering
*me* dinner?"
"I'm offering you a temporary truce," Scully said. "And a
meal. Are you going to take me up on it or not?"
Krycek pondered it for several minutes. "Okay. But it's not
easy to think in terms of a truce when a gun's being aimed
between my eyes."
Scully lowered it, unaware that she had been still point
the gun at Krycek. She took a step towards him and then
wrinkled her nose. "Why don't you take a shower."
Krycek shrugged a little sheepishly and picked up his
jacket. "I guess I do have a bit of an... aroma. When you
live with the rats, you get used to the stench of the
sewer."
Scully watched him move off to the bathroom. [What the hell
am I doing?] she thought. [He's an enemy and completely
untrustworthy. Who knows what his game is, coming here.]
But still she found herself moving to the phone and
ordering 'the usual' she and Mulder had when ever they had
a working dinner.
She heard the water start and a loud groan. Scully moved to
Mulder's bedroom, chastising herself for not frisking
Krycek for weapons. She looked at the discarded clothes,
wondering how the man could bear to wear them. The tee
shirt and cotton briefs had turned to a dingy gray and had
a several more holes than when they were first sewn
together. The jeans and canvas basketball shoes with velcro
tabs were scuffed and ragged, and the socks in desperate
need of darning. She found a set of Mulder's boxers,
sweatpants, and an old but clean white tee shirt and left
them for Krycek.
But it wasn't kindness that motivated her, nor the smell.
This gave Scully a chance to paw through Krycek's things
and see if he was without a weapon as he claimed. The only
thing she found in his jeans was a beat up leather wallet
with less than twenty dollars in it, and two driver's
licenses from two different states in two different names,
and a social security card with a third name on it , none
of them his. [If 'Alex Krycek' is his real name,] she
thought.
She turned her attention to his jacket. If she was going to
find a gun, it would be here. But strangely enough, there
was no weapon of any sort. Krycek, for some crazy reason,
had been walking around unarmed. It was a fatalistic
indication of how far he had sunk in his survival
expectations. The only thing in his jacket was a dog-eared
picture of Mulder. When she heard the knock at the front
door, Scully hastily replaced the picture. As she opened
the door, she could hear the water shut off.
Krycek leaned back against the slick tile, wondering what
the hell he was doing. His plan had been simple enough when
he heard about Mulder's death - get in, lay some ghosts to
rest, and get out. But here he was caught by Scully and
going to sit down to a meal with her like they were
friends. The next time he had expected to see her, he
expected to either be cold on a slab, or in handcuffs.
[Now there's a thought.] Krycek remembered the last time he
had been in Mulder's apartment, and in handcuffs. [Great,]
he thought. [Now I'm tired, paranoid, hungry, *and* horny.]
He sighed and stepped out of the shower, grabbing the gun
he kept with him at all times, and stopped short when he
saw the clothes on the bed. Mulder's clothes. He lifted the
tee shirt to his face reverently. Closing his eyes, he
inhaled, breathing in the scent of Mulder. He shivered.
Scully had no way of knowing, but she had chosen almost the
exact outfit Mulder had been wearing when he had come over,
the same night they had made love for the first time.
[No crying, not here, not now,] Krycek told himself sternly
as rebellious tears seeped from the corner of his green
eyes. For all he knew, Mulder's apartment was still bugged
and Cancerman's henchmen were on their way to finish what a
carbomb, an olien, and a Russian gulag didn't. [It's stupid
for me to stay here any longer,] he thought. [It just
increases the chances of Cancerman finding me.] But if he
left, he wouldn't be certain where or when his next meal
would be. So he would eat and get away as quickly as he
could.
He dressed, still a little off-balance, missing the use of
his left hand. But it felt wonderful to have showered and
be in clean clothes. He slipped the gun he had carried into
the bathroom back into his jacket pocket, his fingers
brushing against the photograph. [I thought I left this in
the other pocket. Scully must have rifled through my
clothes.] His estimation of the FBI agent rose another
notch. She was willing to call a truce with him, but not
fully trust him, a wise decision when dealing with anyone
as far as Krycek was concerned.
He waited until he heard the delivery boy leave and then
went into the living area. Scully had put the take out
containers down on the coffee table and was finding some
plates. The small table in the kitchen area was covered
with Mulder's paperwork, and it seemed a sacrilege to move
it. The only open area to sit and eat at was the couch.
Both Scully and Krycek looked at the couch, and then to
each other. Both were thinking that if a piece of furniture
could be haunted, this couch would definitely be a
candidate. This was where Mulder lived, and eventually
died. Here was where he slept, ate, watched his videos, and
thought up some of his strange theories. It didn't feel
right to sit there and eat. Krycek looked back at Scully.
He picked up one of the bags of Chinese food and moved to
back to the bedroom. Scully followed, picking up the other
bag and carrying it along with the plates.
Somehow, Mulder's presence was less prevalent in his
bedroom. It was just as messy at the rest of the apartment,
but didn't quite seem as personalized as the couch. Krycek
sat down on the edge of the bed next to the wall, cross
legged. Scully sat down at the far end, plates and food
forming a barrier between them.
But as they ate, some of those barriers tumbled. They found
themselves sharing stories about the things Mulder did that
was a source of endless amusement or exasperation to them.
They talked for hours, each trying to find some sense in
Mulder's seemingly senseless death. Krycek meanwhile, was
disturbed to find himself growing attracted to Scully. It
seemed disrespectful somehow, Mulder being dead for less
than a week and he was having feelings towards another
person. [I'm just feeling this way because this is where we
spent a few nights.] That and the fact that he had been
involved with the plot that was supposed to lead to her
death and instead lead to the death of her sister. [I'm
supposed to be a heartless son of a bitch.]
Eventually, Scully noticed the late afternoon light
streaming in the window. "It's late," she said. Krycek
nodded, the stone face mask having dropped back into place.
If he had the lost-puppy-look, or the woe-is-me look,
Scully would have gone with her instincts that he was lying
about the whole situation. But the young man was struggling
not to let his emotions show. And suddenly, Krycek wasn't
the horrible monster any longer, but an all too human, and
handsome, man. [I shouldn't be attracted to him,] she
thought. [He's part of the reason I'm dying of cancer.] But
she needed to touch and be touched, to reassure herself
that she was still alive, if only for the moment. While in
an internal war with her emotions and her logic, she
reached out and touched his left shoulder.
Krycek jumped from the unexpected intimacy. No one had
touched him gently since Tunguska. He looked up into
Scully's eyes and saw the pain that was there, wincing a
bit when he realized he had caused some of the it. He tried
to pull away, but Scully kept her hand on his shoulder. "I
should go." But he made no move to leave. Almost against
his will, he raised his hand to her face.
Scully didn't flinch when Krycek reached up and stroked her
cheek with the back of his fingers. Warning signals flared
through her mind. But she almost managed to sublimate it.
[Your grief has you doing things you normally wouldn't
consider.] She reached up and also stroked his stubbly
cheek, going against the grain of his beard.
Krycek rubbed against her hand. "This is wrong," he purred.
"I shouldn't even be here." He grabbed her wrist. "What the
fuck are we doing, Dana?" he asked, looking down at her.
But of its own volition, his hand slid up and down her arm.
['Fuck' is right,] Scully thought, staring back at him."We
should be mortal enemies," she said, trying to inject some
reality into the situation. She failed miserably as far as
she was concerned. "But tonight, I think we are just two
people trying to comfort each other over the loss of a
loved one, Alex."
Krycek stood there, shocked as the words came out of her
mouth. He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to back
out, and brushed his closed lips against hers. He pulled
back almost immediately. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...."
He fell silent.
Scully studied the man before her. "You're right. We
shouldn't," she said with not a little sadness.
Krycek sighed and tenderly brushed Scully's fiery hair away
from her eyes. "Regrets?"
"Yes," Scully said. "But I don't think Mulder would have
forgiven me if I did."
"I know he wouldn't have me and I wish that he were around
so we could find out. You were the only thing he
considered... uncorrupted." Krycek looked up at the ceiling
and exhaled loudly. "I guess it's back to the basement for
you and the sewers for me."
Scully rolled onto her right side. "I could always use a
source, Alex. And a partner."
Krycek raised his eyebrows. "In bed?"
"On the streets. I need all the help I can get if I'm going
to finish this before I...." Scully couldn't complete her
sentence.
Krycek's eyes widened. "Cancer?" he asked, shrewdly tapping
a finger just above the bridge of her nose.
Scully nodded. "Inoperable. It also has metastasized."
While she could not speak of Mulder's death without
struggling to suppress her emotions, she had no
difficulties speaking of her own.
"They did this to you." Scully confirmed Krycek's statement
with a nod. "Why?"
Scully stared straight ahead. "To make Mulder believe the
lie."
"But which lie?" Krycek murmured in an undertone.
Scully did not want to start debating alien existence with
Krycek. They had more urgent things to discuss. "Now what?"
she asked.
Krycek had clicked back over to the street survival mode.
"I think it would be best if I got up and left, without you
knowing where I went."
Scully arched an eyebrow. "And how do I contact you?"
"You don't," Krycek said. "If I'm needed, I'll be there."
They sat there for several more minutes without saying
anything. Krycek uncrossed his legs and swung them over the
edge of the bed. He looked back at Scully for a moment.
She looked back. "Take care, Krycek."
"You too, Agent Scully." Krycek stood and walked out of the
room. Scully didn't move until five minutes after she heard
the front door shut.
The End
