Title:  Disaster, Fiasco & Tragedy
Authors:  Zoe Takashi (zoe.t@att.net) & Louise Wu (toes@att.net)
Fandom:  X-Files
Pairing:  Scully/Krycek
Archive:  Yes to RatB, SKRA, Gossamer, WWOMB.
Classification:  S (Story).
Rating:  NC-17 for sexual content.
Warning:  Anal sex. Some kink.
Note:  What are a couple of slashers doing writing a het story? 
If god had intended men and women to fornicate, he'd have given 
them matching genitals, right? Please pray for us godforsaken 
sinners.
Spoilers:  Tunguska/Terma. Takes place after Scully's cancer 
remission, but before Emily.
Summary:  Scully and a gay Krycek trapped in a cell together.
Beta Thanks:  Loren Q, Flimsygirl Ness, Alex, Lyrical Soul
Inspiration Thanks:  Rachel Anton's World Without End, Book One, 
the first sex scene. Wow!
Disclaimer:  Scully, Krycek, Mulder and other X-Files characters 
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement of 
rights is intended.

Comment:  This story was written using a technique we call method 
slash writing, which is based on method acting. We each *became* 
a character and controlled that character's words and actions. 
For more information on this writing technique see: 
http://lzl.dreamhost.com/Docs/Method.html



Disaster, Fiasco & Tragedy

Starring:
Zoe Takashi as Dana Scully.
Louise Wu as Alex Krycek.


Part 1:  Disaster

Oh, fuck... my head hurts. Wakey, wakey, Krycek.

I glance around the room and find myself alone in what is 
obviously a cell. It seems familiar. I'd know that smell 
anywhere. It's a distinctive odor that is part hospital, part 
Chem lab and mildly nauseous. This must be the old Consortium 
facility near Baltimore.

I check the door. Locked.

The last thing I remember is breakfast at a diner in Dupont 
Circle. That smoking son of a bitch must have had one of his 
cronies pick me up. I'm pissed and mortified that some no-count 
goon was able to get the drop on me so easily. I don't recall 
what happened, but a lump on my head gives me a not-very-subtle 
hint.

I'm oddly grateful that I've already been infected with the Piper 
Maru black oil, because it makes me a questionable subject for 
their tests. So I don't have to worry about being hauled off to 
one of the labs as a non-volunteer for their hideous experiments.

What I *do* have to worry about is more prosaic. Torture is very 
likely. A bullet in the brain is always a possibility.

They took my leather jacket, which had almost everything 
important in it--my gun, car keys, wallet, fake identity, money 
and my emergency stash of Valrhona chocolate. My stomach growls 
at the very thought. I search the pockets of my jeans, finding 
one dime and a piece of sugarless gum that has come loose from 
its wrapper and is now covered with denim lint.

On the bright side, they did not take my arm. Seems they see it 
as merely a useless piece of plastic. How wrong they are!

I hunker down at the door. There's no fat keyhole to look 
through, but there's a good sized crack between the side of the 
door and the molding, about eight inches off the floor. I can see 
the lower half of what appears to be a guard. Nice hiking boots. 
My size? Perhaps, but even I wouldn't take shoes off a (soon to 
be) corpse.

I'm not going anywhere for a while I suppose, so I pace around 
the room, which is only six paces long and two paces from the 
wall to the bed. It's your basic fucking cell. Plush compared to 
Tunguska, but only consisting of a toilet, tiny sink in the 
corner and a single bed with a thin, gray-striped mattress. And 
me without my leather jacket to use as a pillow. I guess I'll 
have to check out before bedtime. No window, just bare concrete 
walls. If they'd shown the slightest consideration for my mental 
health, they'd have hung a scenic painting or provided a live 
plant.

I kneel and look under the bed, not really expecting to find 
anything, but because it would be stupid not to. Check out the 
territory... The only thing I discover is that their cleaning 
crew sweeps everything under the bed. The dust is thick enough to 
conceal a corpse. If the janitor should show up while I'm in 
here, I'm going to hide his body under there as his comeuppance. 
Alas, no one has left me any weapons or gourmet chocolate buried 
under the dust bunnies. My nose twitches with a threatened 
sneeze, so I rise to get away from mite heaven.

There's nothing to do in here and I'm almost compulsive enough to 
clean under the bed, but no one has provided me with a mop or 
bottle of Pine-Sol. And I might need the four sheets of toilet 
paper for something more pressing.

I lower myself to the floor again to peer through the door crack. 
Those hiking boots are coming toward me and the door is being 
unlocked. I jump up and put myself behind the door, bracing a leg 
for maximum leverage. The door opens inward halfway and something 
large is thrown directly onto the bed. I shove hard on the door 
with my booted foot, but someone is pushing back on the other 
side. I release my weight from the door, hoping for sudden 
slippage, but it just closes again and I hear the snick of the 
lock.

There's a sound coming from whatever they threw on the bed. It 
sounds suspiciously like a giggle. The lump rolls over, pushing 
red hair away from a pale face, and sits up.

Oh, god. It's Dana Scully.

"Alex Krycek!" She sounds... happy? "Krycek, Alex. Alex 
Krycek. A period Krycek. Alex K period." She flops back on the 
bed and waves her fingers in front of her face.

Or maybe it's a psychotic Scully clone? Taking my life into my 
hands, I step closer to the bed, peering at her with trepidation.

She looks up at me. "Oh, hello. Are you still here? Never mind. 
Of course you're still here. Stupid question to ask someone 
standing in front of you, Dana. Shouldn't Mulder be hitting 
you?" She glances around the room. "Oh, another dream." She 
suddenly sits up and leans forward reaching out to tap my 
prosthetic arm. "But I've never dreamt that before. Hmm... 
wonder what that means?" She flops back again, tapping her 
forehead with a finger. "Mulder would know. Not that I could 
ever ask him. Supposedly you're everyone in your dreams, so it's 
curious enough that I manifest myself as you, but I don't know 
why I would cut off my arm. Oh look... a spider web." She points 
at the ceiling.

I can't hold back a chuckle. The lovely Agent Scully is stoned 
out of her mind. Someone has obviously given her something to 
make her talk. It's quite effective.

Someone gave me a blabbermouth cocktail once. I remember talking 
about my high school Algebra teacher in loving detail... 
including his fondness for pristine white Nikes and the fact that 
he dresses left. I suppose it takes a lot of patience to conduct 
one of those interviews.

Of all the people they could throw in here with me, Scully 
wouldn't exactly be my first choice. I'm sure if Mulder were here 
he'd find some way to blame me for this.

I've got to get out of this funhouse before something worse 
happens.

I squat on the floor again, peering through the door crack. Same 
shoes, facing me.

I hear a thump and turn around to find Scully crawling around, 
butt up in the air and her face a mere inch from the floor. She's 
wearing some sort of loose pajama type clothes of nondescript 
color. "This place is a mess. Toxcitia, ghiardia..." She's 
close to the toilet. "And I know that's crawling with staph." 
She crawls back to the bed and peers under, issuing a high 
pitched squeal. "Eww.... why would I dream up something so 
heinous? It must have been the pizza. I should never let Mulder 
pick dinner." She rocks back on her heels and stares at me. 
"You're not being very cooperative. What's the matter with 
you?"

Fuck, I'm doomed. What's a gay boy like me doing trapped here 
with psycho babe? I wish this *was* a dream. What am I going to 
do for entertainment until checkout?

Sitting up, I lean back against the door. "Cooperative with 
what, Scully? Just what is it you'd like me to be doing?"

She looks perplexed. "Don't get all stiff'n'starchy with me, 
Alex."

Alex?

"You are my subconscious and I want you to behave!" She starts 
to mumble. "Of course, you never do... always springing stuff on 
me at night when I should be resting and I have to carry around 
this shit all day..." She trails off then looks at me intently. 
"But at least you're usually *engaging*. This time you're just 
looking under the door. I wonder what that means? Me looking 
under a door... doors aren't one of those Freudian genital 
metaphors, are they? No... that's door knobs. Stay away from the 
knobs... I don't like it when we get all sexual. It's creepy the 
next morning."

God, Scully's a loon. She always did seem a little... repressed. 
This is almost fun. Maybe there is entertainment to be had here 
after all.

"Yeah," I reply absently. My fingers play with my earlobe, a 
familiar fidget, as I pull my thoughts together. "So, Sc--Dana, 
tell me about some of those sexual dreams."

She grins at me. "Whew... I thought we were going to have to 
have a talk about that whole 'Scully' thing. I worry when I start 
referring to myself as Scully, and you know how it bothers me. 
What was the question? Oh... sex dreams. I was perturbed when you 
started popping up in my dreams but I know my libido doesn't 
realize you're a rat bastard... it just thinks you're damn sexy. 
I have to be asexual practically every waking moment so I really 
like our raunchy sex dreams but it's sometimes hard to live with 
the next day. Hey, can I look at your arm?" 

*I'm* in Scully's sex dreams. Gulp. For some reason I don't want 
to think about too carefully, the very idea fills me with sheer 
terror. As well it should, I suppose, if you consider my sexual 
history with women. The words disaster, fiasco and tragedy come 
to mind.

"Sure, you can look at my arm."

She scoots over on the floor, in a rather crablike movement. It's 
cute, really. Is that an oxymoron? Dana Scully cute?

I offer the arm for her inspection. "So which one of our sex 
dreams is your favorite?"

She grips my arm and begins looking it over. "Huh? Oh, the 
fisting one but I wish we could get to the end of it." She sighs 
and continues poking at my arm, her nose very close to the elbow 
joint.

Fisting? Oh, Christ. I believe I just stopped breathing. And 
somehow that seems like a good idea. I really want to know just 
who's fisting who. I surreptitiously take a glance at her 
forearm. Tiny. I could take that. Just a little bigger than some- 
What the fuck am I thinking? Damn. I don't want to know who's 
fisting who in Agent Scully's smut dreams.

Really. I don't want to know.

On the other hand, this *is* a once in a lifetime opportunity to 
gather some intelligence about Dana Scully. I can't resist.

I inhale awkwardly and find myself coughing. I flex the 
prosthetic's elbow for her amusement. "So what about your Mulder 
sex dreams?"

"Oh dear. It's going to be one of *those*. You want to talk 
about my sexual repression and bizarre fantasies and why my 
sexuality manifests itself in the form of Alex fucking Krycek. 
Fine. Fine. Fine. You are such a pest sometimes." She sits back 
and releases my arm. "Mulder and sex? How can you put those two 
in the same sentence? Do you think I'd be dreaming up you if I 
could get wet over Mulder? Now, Skinner, on the other hand..." 
She trails off and looks at me speculatively. "Okay. You wanna 
have the sex talk again, then you're going to have to put out. 
Oh, and I want to see the stump."

Before I can digest what that all meant she leans forward and 
locks her lips onto mine.

Kissing a woman is nothing like kissing a man. Her mouth is so 
soft and small. My tongue practically fills it up.

Um, just when did my tongue end up in Dana Scully's mouth?

Ack! I can't believe I'm in a Consortium cell locking lips with 
Scully. Who unplugged my brain? And why am I glancing out of the 
corner of my eye at her forearm?

This is a really bad idea. She tastes like peppermints. My cock 
is twitching. It knows it shouldn't. Woman equals trouble in 
Krycek's thesaurus, but...

Hell, my arm is around her shoulders and I can feel her breasts 
on my chest.

I break the kiss before it's too late, and struggle to refocus my 
thoughts. I am unable to meet her eyes. "Um, so Mulder's no fun 
to have sex dreams about because you've actually had sex with 
him, right?"

"What? No. This is a very strange line of questioning. Why would 
I so carefully create the asexual Dr. Scully just to go and mess 
it up by sleeping with my partner? And best friend." She sighs 
and chews her lower lip. Pulling away, she turns onto her back 
and rests her head in my lap. She waves her hand theatrically, 
barely missing my nose. "I'm ready for my examination, Dr. 
Scully." She idly rubs the side of her head against my crotch. 
"What's your next question?"

I never really noticed how attractive she is. Sky blue eyes, 
shining red hair and perfect fair skin. Just the kind of woman 
I'd go for if I went for women, but I'm not going to. Right? 
Because it would be a very, very bad idea. I just know that 
Mulder would kill me. Assuming Scully didn't eliminate me 
herself.

My fingers are stroking my earlobe rather furiously. I'm scared 
out of my mind. It's stupid really. She's... what? 105 lbs of 
woman? I've got at least 70 lbs on her. 

Uh, fuck. Focus... "Is Mulder bisexual?" I take a chance and my 
hand touches her hair. So fucking soft.

She moans and pushes her head closer to my hand and then rubs it 
firmly against my groin. "Probably. I mean, he and Krycek seem 
to always be brandishing their erections at each other right 
after Mulder smacks him around."

Isn't that the truth? I think Mulder doesn't realize he's doing 
it, but I sure do. Christ, I get hard every time he touches me. 
How does this woman figure these things out? I hope I'm not 
*that* transparent.

"There was this guy a couple of years ago but Mulder always 
insisted they were just pals. I never really bought it. I have to 
say, the image of Mulder getting fucked by another man, 
especially Krycek, is well, really hot."

Yeah, tell me about it, babe.

"It's a good thing he's got that firm moral center or he'd be in 
real trouble." Scully giggles. Presumably at the absurdity of 
the last statement. Her hands are at her waist and she suddenly 
pushes her top up to just below her breasts. She begins to lazily 
stroke her midriff and traces small circles around her navel. 

Her stomach is smooth and white. Not so flat as to be 
unappealing, with just a hint of roundness. I'm tempted to touch 
it myself, but I keep my hands in her hair. I'm a lot more likely 
to get away with that.

I wriggle my fingers through her scalp, watching the shiny red 
strands tossed back and forth.

As I mindlessly stroke her hair, the obvious suddenly dawns on 
me. I could do the nasty with Scully right now. She'd let me. 
Maybe even wants it--wants to finish that dream of hers. Who'd've 
ever thought that Dana Scully would be hot for me? Wow. It 
boggles the mind.

What was my train of thought? Oh, yeah, getting the scoop on my 
favorite G-men. "What about Skinner? You ever do him?"

Her hands travel up under her top and one of them peeks out the 
neck opening and waves at me. She giggles, passes her hands over 
her breasts and then resumes stroking her abdomen. Now the bottom 
half of the right breast is visible.

Nice. I've never understood the male obsession for giant breasts. 
Must be most guys never get over breast feeding or something. I 
like 'em small, just a modest handful. Scully's look good. I 
could so easily slide my fingers up her shirt, but her confession 
of attraction for me isn't enough to overcome my fear of death.

"Sure. Who wouldn't? I'd be willing to bet the real Krycek gets 
a hard-on for Skinner."

Yessiree, my dick stands up for Walter Skinner, but our last 
encounter was less than gratifying. The bondage was nice, but I 
think that blow to my gut permanently relocated my liver.

"The man has an incredible body but it's kind of hard to get a 
good fantasy going because he's so distant and withdrawn all 
time. Who knows the real Skinner?" She looks up at me. "But I 
guess the same goes for you, huh?" She strokes my jaw and runs 
her fingers over my mouth. "And me." She wrinkles up her 
forehead. "But you are me."

Yeah, right, babe. Jesus, she's fucked up. I could probably get 
her to do anything right now. If I only had a video camera, I'd 
love to see the look on Mulder's face. Of course, it would be the 
very last thing I ever saw, but it would almost be worth it.

Before I can tell it not to, my tongue swipes across her fingers. 
I'm a lot more turned on than I'd care to admit. "So how did you 
lose your virginity, Dana?"

She rolls her eyes. "We keep coming back to this, don't we? I 
was sixteen, and my brother's girlfriend was visiting. He was off 
doing guy-things and left his girlfriend, Katie, and I to hang 
out. I don't really remember how we got to touching but we had 
chemistry and the rest is history." She makes a dramatic gesture 
with her hands and then resumes stroking my face.

Oh, my. The image of a teenaged Scully and another chick is 
unbelievably hot. My dick responds like Pavlov's dog. Me and 
every het man (or reasonable facsimile) in America wanted to be 
there.

Damned if I'm not ogling her forearms again.

I suppose... I could bottom... to *her*.

What a joke! I've bottomed to every woman I've ever fucked. All 
three of them. Ever since 85-pound Delilah Sanchez dragged me 
into her back yard the summer after tenth grade. Shit! What is it 
with me and women?

This isn't my planned next question, but I can't stop myself. 
"So, what did you do to her?" Then I do a classic male move. 
Shifting my hand so slowly as to be imperceptible to the naked 
(female) eye, I start moving it in the direction of her navel.

"Well, that's a new question. First, I tried the things I had 
discovered I liked... you know, when masturbating... then she 
showed me what she liked. How she wanted me to touch her clit, 
how to move my tongue so it felt right to her, how many fingers 
to put in her cunt, how many in her ass." She sighs and grabs my 
hand, placing it on her stomach. "Only one other woman since 
Katie but it's always such a sensual experience. More focused on 
subtle pleasure, you know?"

No, I don't suppose I would know but, if Katie were here, I'd be 
content to watch and learn. With my hand on my cock, of course.

I move my hand lazily across her stomach. Her skin is so warm and 
smooth.

Women's bodies just don't feel like men's bodies. So damned 
smooth and soft. Do you have to use creams and shit to get it 
like that or does it just grow that way?

My hand slides up under her shirt, drawing across one smooth 
breast. I can't sense the nipple, until I feel it spring up under 
my fingers. "So, um, what's the kinkiest thing you ever did?"

Fuck, I'm glad she's not asking *me* these questions. It's just 
my dumb luck that she's the one on dope and not me. Hate to think 
of the impact on my already sleazy reputation if she asked me 
questions like that and I answered them... 

She wiggles a little under my hand and sighs, resting her hand on 
my chest. "Well, I had a boyfriend in college who liked me to 
tie him up and spank him. Haven't thought about him in years. I 
think *not* spanking Mulder is pretty kinky. I want to fist you 
but we never get all the way to the end." She pouts a little 
then seems to lose her train of thought. I feel my T-shirt yanked 
up and her lips and tongue tease my navel.

Well, if you insist, babe.

My fingers rub her other nipple to hardness, then I glide them 
down to the waistband of her pants. I slip inside and stroke her 
belly.

She squirms and tries to scoot up so my hand goes lower. She 
sucks hard on my stomach, biting lightly as she releases the 
flesh. 

Reaching lower, I feel the soft brush of curls and deliberately 
move past where those fingers most want to go. 

I stroke her inner thigh. Every inch of Scully is silky smooth. 
Just touching her makes me feel a bit lightheaded.

She moves around and gets on her knees, my hand now cupping her 
butt. Before I can even react she unbuttons my pants and her 
small hand closes around my cock. She pulls it out and suddenly 
releases it, staring at it open mouthed.

"What's wrong, Dana?"

She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face, looking like she's 
concentrating. Opening her eyes again she looks back at my dick. 
"No. Make it smaller." She starts pressing at it as if she can 
condense it. 

Oh, Christ. Psychotic clone girl, it is. It doesn't hurt but I 
don't think I want her to go too far down that path.

Of course, I'm *used* to having everyone complain that my cock is 
too big.

She stares for a few moments then shrugs her shoulder. "Well, 
okay." Suddenly her head is in my lap and her lips close around 
the tip of my dick.

I certainly have a knack for getting myself into utterly 
absurd... oh, fuck, never mind... that feels so fucking good.

Dana Scully is sucking my cock.

I groan incoherently and my hand squeezes her ass rhythmically. I 
wish I could reach her clit.

"Fucking good dream, Dana." My fingers trail up her crack, 
teasing a path to her upper back and sinking into the back of her 
hair, grasping it tightly.

I resist the urge to fuck her mouth. Dana is not a gay man and it 
would be unwise to do anything that might upset her while she has 
essential components of my manliness in her mouth. Those urban 
legends about lesbians and men's cocks just might be true.

She swings her legs around so they are straddling my thighs--not 
an easy task for the petite woman--as her tongue and lips journey 
down my shaft until her chin bumps into my jeans. She blows her 
breath on the wet underside of my cock as she moves her head back 
up and takes me down her throat. She's worked about three 
quarters of my dick into her mouth and I feel a spasm in her 
throat. She changes the angle and takes a little more. I can't 
help but wonder where she's putting it. Rising back up, she 
swipes her tongue across the tip.

She sits up, shaking my hand loose, and looks at me. "You taste 
different." She thrusts her hand in my hair and pulls my head 
forward, claiming my mouth and exploring the recesses with her 
tongue. "Everywhere." She licks her lips. "Better." Her mouth 
settles on mine again.

Scully kisses very aggressively for a woman. Of course, if a 
woman wasn't aggressive, the chances of her having sex with me 
are about nil.

I need to feel flesh. I pull her forward so she's sitting on my 
chest. My hand grabs at her shirt until I manage to get it off 
without too much interruption of our frenzied mouth-to-mouth 
contact. Casting the shirt aside, I reach for her pants. "Let's 
get these clothes out of the way, Dana."

Christ, if that door opens now and they toss in Mulder, I'm going 
to be pissed. Dead and pissed. Unless he's been having dreams 
about me, too. What a lovely thought.

She stands up and shucks her pants, standing before me naked, 
holding out her hand. Her pubic hair is the most beautiful copper 
colored thatch. My jaw is hanging open. A natural redhead then.

I rise and she pushes up my shirt. As I pull it over my head, her 
mouth clamps on my nipple, sucking and rolling it with her 
tongue. Her hands find my jeans and start pushing them down. When 
they reach my ankles, I sit on the bed to unzip my boots and yank 
off the jeans.

Dana's watching me. I see her eyes flick to my left arm and 
there's a question on her face.

"What?"

"I wanna see." Her voice is kind of breathy and girlish.

"Oh, hell," I mutter, shaking my head. "It's not pretty and, 
if I don't wear it, I'm going to be very clumsy."

"Oh, come on, Alex! I wanna see! Please... you can put it back 
on if you want." She's almost bouncing on her heels. Her breasts 
bobbing in an almost hypnotic way...

Emitting a heavy sigh, I reach for the straps to remove the 
damned thing.

I've got to make sure I get it back on right, with the pads in 
exactly the right places. Once I was careless and when I went to 
bend the elbow the outer two fingers gripped and I shattered a 
glass in the prosthetic hand.

I slide the straps off and remove the prosthetic, revealing the 
stump of my arm, which rather looks like I stuck it in a garbage 
disposal. I'm not ashamed, but I also get tired of seeing the 
same looks on people's faces when they see it. Pity. Revulsion. 
Imagined pain.

From Scully, I get fascination. "Oooh." She reaches out to 
touch it, lightly trailing her fingers along the scars. She moves 
in real close and stares at it, twisting herself into a strange 
position so she can look up at the stump. Following her fingers, 
she runs her nose and then her cheek along the scar tissue. 
"Hmm..."

Well, that's new. I'm frozen like a statue, feeling vaguely 
embarrassed. 

Her mouth and tongue follow the same path. She pulls back, still 
tracing her fingers up to the shoulder and back down, looking 
puzzled again.

I eye her uneasily. "Now what?"

"I just don't understand it. I can't think of any reason why I'd 
manifest myself without an arm, so I must be wishing it on 
Krycek. But why would I do that? It's very curious." She looks 
like she's going to pursue the thought, but her face relaxes and 
she pulls me down for a kiss.

Kissing is a little more in my sexual repertoire than having a 
nose rubbed on my stump. I wrap my arm around her waist and 
battle for the right to enter her mouth. I lose and our tongues 
tangle happily in my mouth. Her tongue feels about half the size 
of mine--and, of course, it's incredibly soft, like the rest of 
Dana Scully's body.

Also quite happily, my erection is trapped between our bodies, 
leaving a line of pre-cum under her breasts. She doesn't seem to 
mind. Pulling her mouth away, she leaves a trail of kisses up the 
side of my face, pulling my head down so she can lick my ear. 
Turning my head to the side, I suck on her neck and get the 
strongest reaction from her yet. She gasps and her whole body 
jerks. She writhes and moans as I continue my attentions on her 
neck.

Struggling for breath, her voice is raspy. "Oh yeah, Alex, you 
know I like that." Suddenly she pushes at my shoulders and steps 
out of my embrace. Mustering a stern expression, she points at 
the mattress. "On the bed." And ruins the effect by following 
up with a giggle.

She's quite a bossy little thing. I imagine her dressed like a 
cliche of a dominatrix. And giggling like a four year old. Who 
*is* this woman, really?

I nod my compliance, but reach for the prosthetic first. She 
waits patiently, watching my every move, as I strap it on and 
adjust the pads around my shoulder. I quickly run it through a 
few test motions to make sure I got it right. Elbow bends. Wrist 
flexes. Thumb grips. Middle fingers grip. Smaller fingers grip. 
She stares in fascination through the whole exercise.

Sometimes this is a fucking lot of work.

As long as I don't try to grasp any tender body parts that can't 
be replaced we should be fine.

Then, like a good boy, I hop on the bed. I lay on my left side, 
holding my arm out to her. She practically pounces on me. Pushing 
me onto my back, she straddles my waist and begins to stroke my 
chest. Her cunt and upper thighs are slippery on my skin. The 
woman is definitely turned on. "I wish my brain would come up 
with some nicer surroundings." She leans her head down to the 
right of mine and sniffs the mattress. "Something that smells 
better." She sighs through a pouty expression.

Something about that adorable pout makes me want to take her some 
place really nice. But, alas, I'm ill prepared to do that right 
now.

Her expression clears and she resumes her attack on my body. Her 
fingers find my nipples and pinch both lightly. She leans down to 
lick one, then the other, before lying on my chest, head nestled 
beneath my chin.

Those fingers tease my lips and I suck two in my mouth. She moans 
and wriggles her body against mine. "I'm not passionless, right? 
Or cold?"

I try to suppress a chuckle. "Um, no, Dana. You're passionate 
and sexy and a hell of a lot of fun." I slip from her grasp and 
roll onto my side for another kiss.

Her fingers find my hair and hold on. My tongue explores her 
mouth. Then I tug free--not without some painful loss of hair--
and slide further down the bed. As my face passes her belly, I 
catch a scent that goes instantly to my head like the finest 
dope. I simply have to have a taste.

I kiss my way downward from her navel. Her body presses closer 
and her fingers tangle loosely in my hair. I rub my face all over 
her red curls, which are--not surprisingly--soft. It's a 
wonderful tickle on my cheeks. "Alex..." Her voice hitches and 
her legs flail a bit. And that fantastic smell is doing just what 
it's designed to do. Melt the man and crank his lust up to the 
boiling point. I'm definitely melted and cranked.

Braced on my fake arm, I slide my fingers up her thigh and lower 
my face to her clit. She's very wet. My hand brushes her thigh 
languidly as I take my first lick. Sweet. The taste is almost 
floral... so damned sweet. A deep groan fills the room. That 
would be me.

Her gasp follows my groan, her body becomes rigid, then relaxes 
into my touch. "This is much better... so much better. I'll have 
to eat pizza more often." 

She's a total loon, but when presented with the entirely baffling 
collection of women's body parts it *is* reassuring to hear that 
I'm doing something right.

My cock responds to her enthusiasm. I have to stop myself from 
humping her leg. I nudge her over onto her back, so I can get 
better access. Then I pull open her labia and make a sloppy 
tongue assault on her cunt. I probe inside her and then return my 
attention to her clit.

Her body arches toward my mouth and this time it's her moan that 
echoes off the walls. She pulls one leg toward her chest, 
dropping the other open on the bed. I glance up at her in time to 
see her gnawing and sucking her own knee.

Separating her mouth from her limb, she looks at me. Her face is 
flushed and her eyes are unfocused. "Oh no, Alex, don't stop." 
Voice husky with desire.

Nice that. For a moment I feel almost in control of this bizarre 
encounter.

With no small amount of my own enthusiasm, I return my mouth to 
her clit. Experimenting, I establish that aggressive tongue 
action under the hood of her clit makes her pull away slightly. 
But tonguing circles around it makes her sigh. And lapping 
vertically across it makes her legs go rigid. Penetration with my 
tongue seems to calm her down. No point in that then.

My lips fit so nicely around her clit. It's a delicious thing to 
nibble.

I hear a strangled scream as her hips jerk away and then press 
toward my mouth. As if she can't decide whether she wants more or 
less. Good and bad then. I try it again. This time her pelvis 
surges forward and then retreats as she whimpers. She loses 
control of one leg and it bangs against my shoulder. "No... 
uh... yes. Oh fucking hell..."

She really should just wrap those legs around my head. I'd ask 
her to, but then I'd have to stop what I'm doing for a lot longer 
than I care to.

Increasing the pace a bit, I lick her clit up and down and then 
return to the nibble. Anything that makes her go berserk like 
that has got to be a win. Plus it feels so damned good between my 
lips.

This is the most fun I've had in weeks. It dawns on my dim little 
pheromone-addled brain that this evening's pleasure will come at 
some horrific cost that will only become apparent later. But I 
can't bring myself to care, and my body is way past the point at 
which I could make a more prudent choice.

A constant stream of gasps, whimpers and moans are coming from 
her as she flails around under my tongue. I feel her legs start 
to tremble as both of them settle on my shoulders. I glance up. 
Her head is turned to the side as she breathes through her open 
mouth. Her body is covered with a fine sheen of sweat, her hands 
gripping the mattress above her head.

Her toes suddenly dig hard into my flanks and then those 
trembling legs finally wrap around my head as she screams and her 
body begins jerking spasmodically.

A sobbing kind of pant follows as her body begins to relax and 
she attempts to retreat from my tongue. I look up at her. Her 
chest and face are flushed and her nipples have become rock hard.

Scully looks quite beautiful sprawled out before me in her post-
orgasmic haze. I can only hope the drug cocktail she's on has a 
long half-life, so I don't suddenly find myself with the real 
Dana Scully and discover too soon how short my own life will be.

I ease out of her grasp and press one finger right on her clit.

She gasps and her hand reaches for mine. When I don't move the 
finger, she allows it to remain.

Delilah taught me this. It was mandatory to put pressure on her 
clit afterwards to get that last little bit of pleasure out of 
the fleeting orgasm. Of course, women can have twelve more, so I 
never really got the point, but I thought it was worth a try.

I flash a coy smile down at her.

There's just no polite way to say, "You didn't forget about my 
dick, did you?" I know I didn't. While she's enjoying the post-
orgasm stupor, my cock is the *only* thing on my mind. I cast 
another lustful glance at her forearms. Her delicate hands are 
quite beautiful, too. Well why not?

"Did you enjoy that, Dana?"

C'mon babe. Tell me what I stud I was, so I can prop up my flimsy 
male ego and forget about pleasing you for a while, so I can get 
what I need.

"Yes, yes, yes." She pulls me down and opens her mouth for my 
tongue. After several long moments, she turns her head to the 
side gasping for breath. My mouth finds her neck and she responds 
instantly.

Such a delightfully sexy woman. Surely this cannot really be Dana 
Scully. I want to play with her forever. Would our captors get 
upset if they returned to find us unwilling to depart?

She makes several abortive attempts at speech but finally manages 
a breathy and halting request. "I want to fuck, Alex. But I want 
to do it my way. Do you care? Will you let me?"

She wants to fuck "her way." Is this just another bad idea 
nested inside of the original bad idea? What further bizarreness 
could come bursting out of her repressed subconscious? Do I even 
want to know?

But it's simple really. My cock is hard and I want her to do 
something about it.

"Well, I suppose... within reason." I'm certain that my dubious 
expression is not radiating masculine confidence, but I'm feeling 
cautious.

I loom over her for another kiss. She must also enjoy the taste 
of herself, because her kisses are even more fervent.

She pushes at my shoulder to get me to roll over on my back, 
maintaining the contact of our mouths as she straddles my chest 
again. She's wetter now and her upper thighs are slippery. 
Breaking the kiss, she slides down my body, kissing and licking 
her way down my chest--either unaware or uncaring that she's 
licking her fluid off my body.

Her mouth settles on my cock and she swallows me all the way.

She's unexpectedly good at sucking cock. Too good. My mission, 
should I decide not to humiliate myself, is to keep from coming 
in the next 20 seconds.

She caresses the length of my shaft with her mouth a few times 
before pulling off to suck my balls, one at a time, into her 
mouth. She laps at them gently for a few moments, one hand 
lightly squeezing whichever one is not in her mouth or under her 
tongue.

My hips start to writhe. I've been turned on for a long time. Too 
long.

With a light kiss on the head of my dick, she positions her hips 
above mine and slowly sinks onto my cock.

"Oh, god, Dana..." I meant to say something, but I have no idea 
what. My fingers stroke the side of her face. "So good."

Her cunt stretches to accept me and she's so wet the penetration 
just forces more fluid out of her body. She groans when I'm fully 
inside her and she begins a slow rhythm for a few short moments 
before pulling off and inching forward.

"What? Don't..." I stammer.

Ignoring my feeble complaint, she reaches between her legs and 
positions my cock at her ass and, before I can grasp her 
intention, she presses down until my cock head is lodged in her 
anus. She gasps and throws her head back as she begins an even 
slower descent.

Oh, Christ. I love anal intercourse this way. I don't have to do 
anything, just get my cock squeezed fantastically by her tight 
ass. Damn. I didn't know women even liked this stuff.

What did I ever do to deserve this from Dana Scully? Maybe I'm 
the one who's dreaming here.

My hips rise to meet her ass. With only moderate success, I 
struggle not to buck into her. I could so easily knock her across 
the room and, more importantly, off of my cock.

Belatedly, it occurs to me that I might do something for her. My 
hand glides down the center of her chest, across her belly and 
locates her clit. I stroke it gently with my thumb. She groans 
and grabs my hand. I think she means to pull it away but she 
presses two fingers over my thumb to guide me in the motion she 
wants. Her hips pick up a faster rhythm, my cock sliding smoothly 
in her ass. Her free hand moves between my chest and her thigh, 
bracing her weight. Her sounds are more guttural and feral this 
time and I fight the urge to come as her fingers tell me to pick 
up speed on her clit.

I feel the telltale trembling in her thighs. Her hair is stuck to 
her face and neck. Her hand clenches on my chest, biting into the 
muscle as her body becomes rigid. She thrusts down hard on my 
cock as her ass begins to spasm with her orgasm. She stops 
breathing as her body writhes uncontrollably.

Some man in the room makes an embarrassingly animal grunting 
sound. Rather like a moose in distress.

I fall apart completely, thrusting into her, my brain passing 
into a liquid state. Surely insanity will follow. I think my hand 
is still in the vicinity of her clit, but I don't much care, 
because my own body is disintegrating and the only signals 
working in my brain are pleasure.

The truly grand thing about having someone sit on your dick is 
that after you come, you don't even have to collapse.

I have no idea how much time passes. When I'm capable of rational 
thought again, I find Dana sprawled on my chest, her hand idly 
stoking my hair. "Thanks for sticking with me on that, Krycek."

The sound of her calling me Krycek again makes my whole body 
tense.

As she turns I get a glimpse of her lovely backside: a curvy ass 
with a circular tattoo just below her waist. It's a snake eating 
its tail. Agent Scully is just filled with delightful surprises.

She rolls off me, stands and begins pulling on her medical issue 
clothing.

Now that my baser needs have been addressed, my mind immediately 
begins to consider unpleasant topics. Such as, what Dana Scully 
is going to do to me after the drugs wear off and she realizes 
that I have taken advantage of her altered state. If that isn't 
enough for her to justify my immediate castration, surely she'll 
kill me to guarantee that never can I speak of the juicy details 
regarding her sex life and dreams.

Suddenly, my need to escape this awful cell seems very immediate.

Unwilling to meet her eyes, I locate and tug on my 501's. Fresh 
socks would be nice, but I manage with the dirty ones. I grab my 
T-shirt and slip silently to the floor to investigate the crack 
in the door. Those same boots are still on duty.

With a sigh, I lean against the door.

If that crack was a little wider, I just know I could crawl right 
through it. And be shot by the guard. But at least I'd die with 
my genitals intact.

The boots don't move. C'mon, you gotta pee sometime, buddy.

I glance at her forearms longingly.

I hear a short, surprised laugh. "When these drugs wear off 
completely and I have to wrap my brain around what happened here, 
I'm probably not going to be very happy. But I'm pretty sure you 
can have *that* whenever you're ready for it."

Jesus fucking Christ! Is she saying that she'd fuck me if she 
*wasn't* on drugs? Gotta be I misunderstood... or it's a trick or 
something.

Too late, I attempt damage control of my face. She must have seen 
my astonishment.

She's looking at me but her face is expressionless. Suddenly, she 
closes her eyes and her brow furrows as she takes a deep breath. 
Turning around she sits heavily on the bed, rubbing her forehead 
with the palm of her hand. "You can stop looking at me like 
that. I'm not going to kill you. At least not today."

Flashing me a speculative look, she continues. "Do you know why 
you're here? Why we're in the same cell? Where we are, for that 
matter?"

I'm not very comfortable with the new, adult Scully, but we need 
to cooperate to get out of here. "We're at a Consortium facility 
outside Baltimore." I take another look through the crack before 
I turn around and face her. "I don't know why you're here. 
Although since they drugged you to the gills, it's an easy guess 
that they wanted you to tell them something. As for why we're in 
this lovely cell together, that's probably someone's sick sense 
of humor."

"Krycek, I know why I'm here. Mulder. The question is why are 
*you* here?"

Sorry, Agent Scully. Information flows one way as far as I'm 
concerned.

"Probably the same thing... information... but I haven't been 
interrogated, so who knows?" Careful to keep my tone light, I 
inquire, "So what did they want from you?"

"Mulder!" She jumps off the bed and starts pacing. "'Scully, 
it's me. I have some information I need to follow-up on but I 
can't tell you anything about it. You're better off if you don't 
know anything. Don't want you to worry, though. I'll see you 
soon.'" She finishes parroting a message from Mulder and 
screeches to a halt in the middle of the cell. "Oh, Mulder, you 
selfish pain in the butt. I'm gonna kick your ass when you turn 
up."

It's not difficult to believe that Mulder's at the core of this. 
No wonder they haven't fucked. She's probably *already* castrated 
him.

She drops her head in her hands. "And the absurd thing is they 
won't believe I don't know anything." She groans. "He's 
obviously in way over his head on something." She flashes me a 
suspicious look and stalks over to me. "Do you know anything, 
Krycek?" Her finger is poking my chest. "Do you know what he's 
up to? If he's safe?"

"Whoa, Scully!" I hold up my arms in a surrender gesture. "I 
haven't seen Mulder since Tunguska. I don't know where he is. Or 
what sort of trouble he's stirred up. Honest." It's the truth.

I squat down to check my crack again.

"Krycek?"

I turn around to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, head 
resting in her hands.

"Yeah?"

She remains silent, her fingers drumming on her forehead. At last 
she gives an exasperated sigh, looks up and focuses an intense 
gaze on me. Gotta be her PMS face.

I'm a dead man.

"I do remember everything that happened." Her blue eyes are 
unwavering.

A scuff mark on my prosthetic thumb is suddenly very intriguing. 
"I suppose you think I'm a total louse for taking advantage..."

"Not for taking advantage." Her disparaging tone confirms that 
she *does* think I'm a louse. "Like I said, I do remember 
everything. You were rather opportunistic with your voyeuristic 
questions, but I think that's a guy-testosterone kind of thing 
rather than a rat bastard trait. Of course, I don't have high 
expectations for your behavior, but I think it's fairly clear 
that I jumped you. I don't feel guilty about it or blame you for 
having a response. We both know that, if in control of my 
faculties, I would not have chosen to have sex with you. 
Regardless of how appealing your pheromones are. However, I'm not 
prepared to spend countless hours regretting a satisfying sexual 
encounter. Life is too fucking short." Her voice is completely 
steady, eyes intently focused on me.

Well, I *am* a fine lover. Hot stuff, Krycek. Two out of four 
women said so. I've lost count of the men, but I'm pretty sure 
I'm batting better than 500 with the boys.

I'm impressed by her generosity. Too kind of her to acknowledge 
my pheromones and admit that the encounter was pleasurable. I am 
also awed by her dignity. It appears that she can tough her way 
through any situation--no matter how potentially humiliating. I'm 
sure if the tables were turned, I'd be hiding under the toilet. 
She's fucking amazing.

"Now, that's what I have to say to the opportunistic male and 
surprisingly considerate sex partner--because you do seem to be 
several people, Krycek. But I have something to say to the rat 
bastard I'm more familiar with. I would be... perturbed if some of 
the, umm, information you obtained were to be repeated. I want to 
know if you plan to try and embarrass me or use any of this 
against me."

Would that I could find some clever but nefarious way to use this 
fascinating information. We *both* know that I'm quite capable of 
it.

I raise an eyebrow toward her. "Well, *Dana*, I hate to admit 
this but I neglected to record our special time together. And 
it's not like anyone is going to believe what I have to say about 
cunnilingus with Katie, spanking your boyfriend or you sitting on 
my cock ass-first."

Underneath my smart-ass patois, I realize that I genuinely want 
to reassure her. It wigs me out. I hate to think I'm getting soft 
or something.

Her expression doesn't change but her voice is a little harder 
when she replies. "Oh good. I see we can add 'testy four year 
old' to your list of personalities. And don't think I didn't 
notice that you evaded the question. Why is that, Krycek?"

She's too damned perceptive. 'Testy four year old' is my core 
personality. Everything else is an act.

What does she want from me anyway? My word that I won't use the 
information? I don't fucking get it.

"Frankly, *Scully*, I was a little afraid of ridicule if I said 
something direct such as 'No, I won't try to use it against you.' 
If you're looking for me to make a promise here, you'd better 
think about how highly you value my word." I *am* a little 
fucking testy. I hate having to be the one to remind people of my 
dubious sincerity.

She gets up and moves to stand in front of me. "I am Fox 
Mulder's partner. I have years of experience with people being 
evasive. I'm perfectly aware of your character--at least as much 
of it as I've seen--but if you don't give me your word, you won't 
be breaking your word. And that's what I want. If Mulder ever 
shows up at my door asking if I really prefer anal sex, I want to 
be able to be mad at you for breaking your word. As it stands 
now, all I will have is feeling foolish because my brain likes to 
make my sexuality look like *you*."

Shit, the woman is fucking intense. She may be Mulder's partner, 
but she is completely unlike him. It appears that my low-life 
word actually matters to her. She's treating me like a human 
being here and I haven't a clue how to cope with it.

She sits back on the bed and rubs her hands against her eyes. 
"God, my head hurts." She looks back at me, snapping, "And the 
only person doing any ridiculing in this room has been you. I 
told you I won't blame you, so let it go."

I can't for the life of me figure out what I'm supposed to say 
now. I squat on the floor again, stalling, peering through the 
door crack. And then I rise and make myself look at her. "I'm 
sorry. I won't try to use it against you."

I had intended to protect myself with another lie, but as the 
words came out, I realized that I want it to be true. Clinging to 
a tiny piece of self respect, I guess... Pitiful.

She arches a delicate brow and tersely replies, "Thank you, 
Alex."

I want to kiss her, to let her know that I'm not just some jerk 
who wanted a hole to put his dick in. Or maybe rub her neck, but 
I can't bring myself to do it. Instead, I just gaze at her 
dolefully.

For some reason my mind flashes to Melissa Scully lying dying on 
the floor of Dana's apartment. I am such a piece of work.

"I don't mean to be an asshole. It... uh, just... Well, I..." 
Well, now that we've cleared that up. Dumbass.

I grimace and shrug my shoulders. I squat back down and stare 
through the crack. I think I'll just stay here a while.

"Krycek, get off the floor. Would you kindly enlighten me as to 
your mental state? I've seen Mulder smack you around and you can 
still manage to conjugate three coherent sentences afterward."

Gaping up at her from the floor, I bite back my desire to reply, 
'Huh?' What does she want from me? I'm starting to long for those 
beatings that Mulder gave me.

I'm tempted to confess that she's thrown me for a loop because I 
can count the number of women I've slept with on my fingers. *My* 
fingers. The count would be four as of about an hour ago. But 
there's not much point in confiding in her. I am such a fucking 
idiot.

I don't get off the floor, but I do relinquish my crack enough to 
turn toward her. "My mental state? Well, actually, I'm a bit 
baffled. I hardly expected that black lunged son of a bitch to 
help me get laid. And even if I had divined that bit of whimsy, 
you're the last person I expected to find attracted to me." My 
fingers are tweaking my earlobe again. "And don't take this the 
wrong way, but you're also almost the last person I expected to 
find myself attracted to."

God, I hope that's enough true confessions to keep her happy. 
What is it with women wanting to talk about your feelings? It 
makes me feel so damned inadequate.

What she said finally sinks in and I have to ask myself why am I 
having such a hard time stringing together a few words. Why the 
fuck am I even trying to level with her in the first place? I 
must be the one on drugs.

She scoots back on the bed to lean against the wall and pull her 
feet up to rest on the mattress. "I doubt our cigarette smoking 
host thought--even in his wildest dreams--that placing me in a 
cell with you would result in anything resembling sex. I'm sure 
he expects at least one of us..." She looks pointedly at me. 
"... to come out of here the worse for wear."

Why is it so fucking obvious that if we scuffle, I'm the one 
who's going to be dead meat? It may be true, but it casts 
unpleasant aspersions on my manliness.

Scully continues, "As for me finding you attractive, well, I 
gave up on trying to comprehend that a long time ago, so I doubt 
you'll find any revelations on that score." Her tone is somewhat 
testy.

She closes her eyes, lightly tapping her lower lip with her index 
finger. "I'm not likely to take anything the wrong way. And I am 
probably more surprised about it than you are. I have become 
accustomed to people not finding me sexually attractive. And I 
believe I already mentioned I observed your tastes run to tall, 
dark-haired, hazel-eyed, slightly neurotic men with a propensity 
for ditching their partner."

I suppress a growl. Coming out to Scully was a definite non-goal.

And what's this about *slightly* neurotic? She's very generous 
with *Mulder*, even though the man can outdo me at the 'testy 
four year old' act any day of the year.

The response headed for my face is chagrin, but I manage to short 
circuit that in favor of my multipurpose blank look. It's time to 
get the hell out of here.

I run my thumb up the groove in the forearm of my prosthetic, 
popping open the battery compartment. After prying out the two 
extremely heavy lithium batteries--an act that makes the 
prosthetic freeze--I remove the two items cached underneath the 
battery compartment. My lock-pick set and a small knife. I 
reinsert the batteries and close the panel.

She looks a little surprised. "How handy."

If we're going to get out of here, both of us need to be armed. 
It unnerves me to even think about giving her my knife. I can 
only hope it won't come in contact with any of my favorite body 
parts.

I open the knife and hold it out to her. "It's not much of a 
weapon, but it's better than none."

Scooting off the bed, she reaches out and accepts the knife. 
"Mmm. Thanks. What happened to your arm, Krycek?" Her tone and 
expression rival me for neutrality.

I check the crack again, before I even think about answering. 
"Tunguska. Mulder. Major fuck-up. Someone thought they were 
doing me a favor." 

She's quiet for several moments as if trying to digest what it 
all means. "How many surgeries did you have before you could use 
a functional prosthesis?"

"Three," I reply reluctantly. "You know this was a lot more 
fun when we were chatting about your sex life." Maybe I do mean 
to be an asshole.

She doesn't rise to the bait. I'm surprised to hear her chuckle. 
"Well, there's not much of my sex life left to discuss. How much 
phantom pain do you have?"

Well, I thought we were pretty hot together, but maybe banging 
what you think is a dream image of an assassin when you're held 
captive and stoned out of your mind doesn't count.

I shrug, a gesture that hasn't felt right since Tunguska. It's 
lopsided and, if I'm not careful, the two smaller fingers on the 
prosthetic twitch with the movement. "Some."

She chews her lip for a second. "I did a rotation in med school 
working with amputees. There is some particularly heavy scar 
tissue on the inside of your stump that is likely to put pressure 
on major nerves--possibly contributing to excessive phantom pain. 
Your doctors should have cleaned it up better. Uh, another minor 
surgery with a good doctor could help if followed by several 
weeks of rigorous muscle therapy." 

I suppose this is kindness, but I hate talking about my arm and 
the thought of another surgery is unbearable.

"Yeah, I guess that's good to know." I check the crack again. 
"Um, thanks."

Thankfully, she's content to drop it there. "Well, we make an 
unlikely pair of collaborators, but I'd really like to get out of 
here before they decide to try a more practical drug on me. Any 
ideas?"

"Yeah. I'm just waiting for the guard to take a leak. Otherwise, 
the first one of us out this door is probably going to get 
shot." I peer through the crack again. "When the fucker finally 
responds to the call of nature, I'm going to use my picks. Once 
outside, I'll go for the guard and you search the outer room for 
other personnel, weapons, my leather jacket and anything you were 
carrying that you want back. Okay?"

"Fine. But you apparently know what's outside that door and I 
don't. Care to fill me in on what I'll be facing?"

"It's an open room, about three or four times the size of this 
one. The exit's on the right. The bathroom's on the left. There's 
a desk about 12 feet in front of this door." I stand away from 
the door. "Take a look through the crack, you can see the 
guard's shoes and the lower metal legs of the desk."

She kneels on the floor and angles her head down. "Hmm... Oh 
my." She jumps away from the door and points at the crack. 
"Boots! Left!"

"Shit, get out of the way!"

She stands up and plasters herself against the wall.

The pick is already in my fingers. I drop onto my knees and ease 
it into the lock. 

I've always done this one-handed, with my right hand, but I've 
never been quite as adept at it since I lost my arm. It makes no 
sense.

It takes a minute before I can feel the tumblers. I hope he takes 
his time in the head. I open the door as quickly as I can and 
still keep it quiet. I peer around the edge and the guard is not 
visible. That's a fucking relief.

Bolting through the door, I plant myself outside the restroom, 
pressed flat along the wall. The door opens out, so I have 
something to hide behind. I can hear him pissing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scully quickly and 
methodically covering the room, keeping watch on the exit door. 
She already has my jacket draped over her arm.

The toilet flushes and the door starts to open. Bastard didn't 
wash his hands. My left arm is ready as he steps into view. The 
plastic fingers close around his throat. He starts to flail, but 
I get in one quick squeeze and a sickening crunch tells me that 
his neck is crushed.

As his face turns grim and goes flat, I recognize him.

I fucked him once. He wasn't very good.

I squat over the corpse and relieve him of his key ring and his 
weapon--a Walther--usable, but not one of my favorites. I check 
the clip.

Scully is suddenly at my shoulder, her expression blank. She 
holds out a Glock--not mine--and shoves an extra clip in the 
pocket of my jeans. "Switch with me."

What the fuck? We don't have time to discuss this, so I have to 
do it and trust her. Or not. I go with my gut feelings.

I take the Glock and pass her the Walther.

"Our stuff is by the door. Let's go."

At the exit, I stop, look and listen. It's dark outside, but the 
labs upstairs will have some personnel at night. I ease the door 
open and step out. A quick glance back tells me that Scully is 
behind me, the Walther at the ready.

I discover that I trust her to back me up. Mulder's a lucky man.

The parking lot is not well lit, but I can see about 30 cars. 
Discarding the key ring on the grass, I whisper to Scully. "I'll 
hotwire some transportation. See anything you like?"

"Yeah. That red, convertible XJ16. Gotta wonder who's driving 
that thing. But it's probably got an alarm. I'd go for that Ford 
F350 over there in case we have to drive though anything."

The woman likes them big. It's in an especially dark corner of 
the lot.

"The Ford then." We creep along the edge of the building to 
avoid being seen from the windows above. I lead the way from the 
building to the truck, walking awkwardly in a half crouch trying 
to avoid casting any large shadows.

As we near the truck, two cars come up the main driveway. I dart 
behind the truck and Scully's right behind me. We squat without 
moving as the two park closer than I'd like. Damned if they don't 
exit their cars and stop to have a chat about fifteen feet from 
us. I can't make out the words. One of them--a suit--looks 
vaguely familiar. The other's a scientist, I think.

Getting into the truck could be a problem. I'll break a window if 
I have to, but that will make a lot of noise. That rear sliding 
window looked flimsy. I'll try that first.

Scully's huddled so close to me that I can smell her. Nice. Ever 
the professional, she doesn't move and her breathing is slow. The 
slender finger on the Walther doesn't even twitch.

Finally, I hear, "Okay, Robert. But I want to see the complete 
results first thing in the morning. So don't..." I lose the 
audio again, but the fuckers start walking to the building. I 
tuck the Glock in the waistband of my pants, giving Scully a 
meaningful glance to make sure she understands that she's the 
point man now.

"Scully, my knife?"

She passes me the knife and I open the blade. I crawl into the 
bed of the truck and move to the front.

Crouched down as low as possible, I begin to cut away the rubber 
seal of the window. Nature's corrosion has assisted me with the 
task. I quickly scrape a hole in the rubber and pry the window 
loose. Using my fake arm, I get two fingers under it and force it 
to the right. It groans, but not too loudly, I hope.

Sticking my arm through, I reach and open the driver's side lock.

I regret losing the opportunity to watch Scully wriggle her 
pretty ass through the window, but we've saved precious time.

I hear Scully hiss. "Krycek, down!" I flatten myself in the 
truck bed and wait. After a few seconds I hear a car start and 
leave, followed by several more seconds of silence.

"Clear."

Jumping to the ground, I see that Scully's already opened the 
driver's door. I squat underneath the steering wheel.

Even in a truck this size, I've always been too big to do this 
comfortably, but I'm certain to be more adept at car theft than 
the diminutive Scully.

Twisting myself into a neck-wrenching position, I find the 
ignition wire and cut it open. After no small amount of fumbling, 
the engine turns over. It's way too loud, the owner obviously 
stinting on routine maintenance.

I scoot out of the way and gesture for Scully to enter the cab. 
Keeping low, she quickly crawls into the cab of the truck. Her 
shirt rises up and I get another quick glimpse of her tattoo.

I slip in after her, close the door and gun the engine. I turn on 
the lights with great trepidation, but a truck leaving with the 
lights off seems more likely to be noticed.

Soon, we're headed down the main driveway toward a small guard 
shack. I can make out a head in a uniform cap. Manned at night. 
Of course.

I retrieve the Glock from my pants and hold it under the line of 
sight pointed outward. Scully's already done the same with her 
weapon. With my right hand on the gun, I have to drive in first 
gear all the way to the shack.

It appears to only open on the entrance side. As I approach the 
exit, the arm lifts automatically. We slide through unimpeded. 
The guard glances up, but doesn't seem alarmed in any way.

I slide the safety on my weapon and hold it between my legs. 
Increasing speed very gradually, I make my way onto the service 
road and navigate toward the highway.

"Thanks, Krycek." Scully is looking out the rear window but her 
expression is blank.

"Sure," I mumble, not knowing what else to say.

Gotta love this woman. Not one complaint about my killing the 
guard. I could really work with her. If we were on the same side, 
anyway.

There's a soft drink can in a cup holder on the dashboard. I pick 
it up and discover it's half full with warm Mountain Dew. I 
almost reconsider, but I'm very thirsty. I peer inside, 
cautiously looking for cigarette butts, but it looks clean. It 
smells okay. I take a drink. Yuck. But it wets my mouth at least. 
I hold it out for Scully.

She shakes her head. "I hate Mountain Dew. Judging by the 
expression on your face, you don't like it either."

"There's a chocolate bar in my jacket. Or there was anyway."

"Interior or exterior pocket?"

"Exterior."

She fishes around for a second and finds the chocolate bar. As 
she pulls it out, a condom falls on the seat. Without pausing, 
she picks it up and sticks it back in the pocket, muttering 
something that sounds like, "Never there when you need it."

She sets the jacket next to me and opens the bar of Valrhona. 
Breaking off a piece, she scoots over and holds it up to my 
mouth.

I open my mouth and allow my lips to brush her fingertips as she 
inserts the dark chocolate square inside. The feel of her soft 
skin makes my cock twitch. The rich chocolate flavor overwhelms 
the lingering taste of Dana's cunt.

She *could* suck my cock while I drive, but I am not going to 
take my so recently rescued life into my hands and ask.

Staying in the middle of the seat, she breaks off a piece and 
places it in her mouth. "Oh."

I glance at her. "What?"

She looks at me and her expression reminds me of how she looks 
during sex. "This is really good. I've never had it before."

I know my chocolate, babe.

I'd like to taste her mouth again, but somehow I doubt that she's 
going to invite me in when we get to her place. 

I smile and keep driving. "Can I have another piece?"

Another chunk nudges at my lower lip.

She stays next to me for several moments to feed me but only eats 
two small pieces herself. Eventually, I tell her I've had enough, 
and she wraps it up before placing it back in my pocket. She 
slips back over to the other side of the seat and rests the 
Walther in her lap.

She stares out the window in silence for a long time before 
sighing. "Will you drop me in Crystal City?"

What the fuck? "I'd planned on taking you home."

She lied about Skinner. She's fucking him. Shit, I'm about to act 
out like a jealous boyfriend. Chill out, Krycek. Her sick mother 
probably lives in Crystal City or something.

She shakes her head. "No. Mulder's obviously involved in 
something serious if someone is willing to abduct me just on the 
chance that I know something about it. I need to talk to 
Skinner."

The memory of my last visit at chez Skinner calls out to me like 
a beacon to my stupidity. I am *not* going there again.

I don't bother to conceal my frown. "Fine. How about I drive to 
Union Station and you can take the car from there?"

She looks a little surprised. "Why? Something worrying you?"

I roll my eyes. "Well, Walt's not exactly my best pal."

"Ah." She looks amused. "I wasn't going to ask you to come 
with me, Krycek."

"I'm going to have to ditch the truck anyway."

"Umm... and your point would be?"

I'm not fucking going anywhere near Skinner's condo. It could be 
a trick of some kind. And as soon as Scully's out of my sight the 
truck will be worse than useless.

I wonder if I still have any money.

"What I said. I will drive to Union Station and I will leave you 
the truck." I take another sip of leftover Mountain Dew. 
"Scully, would you pass me my wallet? Inside right hand 
pocket."

She retrieves the wallet but looks at me questioningly. "How are 
you going to drive and handle the wallet?"

"Oh, please." Irked, I steer the truck with my knee and take 
the wallet from her. I make a big deal of using both hands to 
open it and examine the contents. My ID is there, but Brian 
Hanson might as well be dead. I've still got the $220 I had this 
morning. I suppose I didn't pay for my breakfast. I can live with 
the guilt.

She gives a weary sigh. "Krycek, there's one little problem with 
your plan to leave me the truck. This is the largest truck Ford 
makes. I'm not sure I can reach the pedals without mashing my 
body into the steering wheel."

I suppress a laugh. It never fucking occurred to me, always 
having had the opposite problem of where to stick my damned legs. 
With a sigh, I reply, "Here." I pass her three tens. "I'll 
drop you off in front of one of the Crystal City hotels. You can 
take a cab to Walt's."

"Jesus. And I thought Mulder was paranoid. I suppose you think 
Skinner arranged to have me kidnapped so you could rescue me, so 
I could lure you to his street where he has an entire SWAT team 
waiting to arrest you." She breaks off and stares out the window 
muttering to herself. "Fucking lovely. I have nothing on but 
virtual pajamas, no shoes, no ID, no place to put the money 
except in my hand and I know I smell like sex. And he wants to 
drop me off in front of a *hotel*. What a perfect end to this 
wonderful day."

No one can make me feel like a heel like a woman, and Dana Scully 
is a master. Christ, I suppose that once I fucked her, it became 
my responsibility to see her home safely to her door. Or even 
worse--A.D. Skinner's door.

"Don't have a seizure, Scully. I'm clueless here. But, now that 
you mention it, it makes all the sense in the world to risk my 
life so you don't have to take a cab while barefooted and 
smelly." The look she flashes me could freeze water at 50 paces. 
I take a deep breath to calm down a bit. "You know, I think 
we're both a bit cranky right now. Maybe we could... um... just 
cut each other a little slack?"

She takes a deep breath and nods her head. "I guess it doesn't 
matter where you leave me. I'm just feeling a little, uh, 
unprepared for any problems that might arise."

After a heavy sigh, I give in. "Fuck it. I'll take you to 
Skinner's. Just ... um, feel free not to mention my name... I 
mean, could you give me at least a half an hour to ditch the 
truck before you send anyone after me?"

Her voice is quiet. "Krycek, I'm not going to send anyone after 
you. I can't not tell Skinner that you were there but I certainly 
plan to leave out most of the details of our time together." She 
frowns a little. "From my perspective, I kind of owe you right 
now and I do not think setting the FBI on you is, well... never 
mind."

I'm stunned. Scully's been more than fair with me. I wonder why. 
It's impossible to fathom. It's unnerving how well she 
understands me and how little I can return the favor.

I nod.

We don't speak at all for the rest of the drive, but it's a 
comfortable silence. After driving through D.C., I exit the 
expressway and start winding the car through the streets of 
Crystal City. I pull over across the street from Skinner's condo 
and keep the engine running. No sign of Walt or anyone who looks 
like one of his boys.

I turn to her, almost not wanting her to go. I haven't a clue 
what to say.

She glances at me for a second and then opens the door, hopping 
to the pavement. She looks a little uncomfortable. "I... well, 
thanks again, Krycek." She stares at the Walther, as if trying 
to decide what to do with it. She slips it in her waistband, 
pulling her top down, but has to keep her hand over it to keep it 
from slipping. It creates a very obvious lump.

Scully starts to step back and shut the door, but pauses. "The 
offer stands."

She can't be serious. Can she? I take one last look at those 
lovely hands and her slender forearms. I can't afford to even 
think about this right now. I shake my head to banish the 
thought.

"Um, Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She looks at me directly and nods. The truck door slams shut and 
she moves behind the truck. Waiting for a few cars to pass, she 
quickly darts across the street, disappearing into Skinner's 
building.

**

Part 2:  Fiasco

Escaping and my concern for Mulder have been in the forefront of 
my mind for what feels like hours. While waiting for the 
elevator, I listen to the little whispers in the back of my mind.

Did I have sex with Alex Krycek? Did I really offer to do it 
again? And did the same Alex Krycek actually rescue me and drop 
me off at my boss's house? For some reason, the last seems the 
most shocking.

Probably because I now feel indebted to the rat bastard. Who'd've 
thought he'd help me flee a Consortium facility and then leave me 
safe and sound on Skinner's doorstep? This must be some kind of 
alternate reality.

I step in to the elevator, grateful there is no one around. I 
feel underdressed and uncomfortably aware that I reek of sex.

Oh shit. God, you would think I was Mulder. Rushing in without 
thinking about what I'm doing. Skinner is too observant to not 
notice the condition I'm in. Shit, shit, shit. How am I going to 
explain this?

Get a grip, Dana. Best to tell as much of the truth as possible. 
Just leave out the little detail about jumping Alex Krycek. 
Right. I can do this. But how to explain the smell? I'll just 
have to act like the clothes smelled this way when I got them. 
That seems reasonable, right? No, not really, but is Skinner 
really going to question it?

God, I hope Mulder's okay. And if he is, he won't be when I'm 
finished with him.

Standing in front of Skinner's door, I almost chicken out and 
head home to call from there. But it's too late now... I'd have 
no choice but to walk home. And that doesn't seem like much of a 
choice.

I reach out and ring the doorbell.

I sincerely hope I'm not waking him up. Truly, truly hate dealing 
with a cranky Skinner.

The door opens revealing a bare footed Skinner, in jeans with an 
open shirt. "Agent Scully?" He gestures for me to come in, his 
forehead crinkled with concern. "Are you all right?"

Probably because I've had sex on the brain all night, but it's 
impossible not to notice how good he looks. I don't think I've 
ever seen a physique as nice as his. Jesus, I've got to get my 
mind back on business. And speaking of my mind... I have a nasty 
headache.

I'm suddenly aware of how woefully unprepared I am for this 
situation. I feel terrible and, despite my urgency to get here, I 
really just want to curl up on my bed and think about what has 
happened. I feel like I'm coming unglued and do not want to do 
that in front of Skinner.

No choice, Dana. I take a deep breath and steel my resolve.

I hesitantly enter his apartment. "Uh, yes. I'm fine now. 
Mulder's in some kind of trouble." I turn to face him as he 
closes the door. No point in beating around the bush.

His stern face flashes his 'not again' look. "Do you need 
medical care?"

"What? No. Well, maybe water would be good." Am I babbling? I 
need to get rid of the gun before I drop it down my pants. "But 
first, an evidence bag would be nice." I pull out the Walther, 
uncomfortably aware that I'm flashing my midriff at my boss.

"Have a seat, Scully."

I select a very comfortable, overstuffed chair.

His eyes give away his concern, but he gets me a glass of water. 
Then he retrieves an evidence kit and a first aid kit.

He opens an evidence bag and I drop in the gun, glad to be rid of 
the damned thing. My throat is incredibly dry. I reach for the 
water, hands trembling and some water sloshes on my pants. I 
close my eyes, unable to believe I'm in this situation, and take 
a drink. I certainly appreciate Skinner's solicitousness but 
there is something more important at hand.

"What's going on, Scully?"

I suddenly realize I have forgotten something very obvious. 
There's paper and pen on the end table next to me. Grabbing both 
I start writing general directions to the facility where I was 
held while I begin explaining the situation.

"Sir, Mulder is off investigating something. I don't know what 
it is, but he must be in over his head if someone went to the 
trouble to kidnap and interrogate me. We need to begin an 
investigation into his whereabouts."

"I can resolve that mystery. I just bailed him out of jail in 
North Carolina a couple of hours ago. He's fine. I'm more worried 
about you, Scully. You say you were kidnapped?"

My mouth opens and then closes. Mulder is safe. I was in lockup 
with Alex Krycek, and Mulder was safe the whole time. I have a 
sudden overwhelming need to get out of here. I stand up, shaking-
-in part from a rage I refuse to even acknowledge, and in part 
from the drugs still in my system. I murmur to Skinner. "Sorry 
to bother you, sir. I'll prepare a report for you by tomorrow 
morning." The pen and paper are dangling from my fingers. I take 
a step, then realize the condition I'm in. How exactly are you 
going anywhere, Dana? And you still need to get a team out to the 
facility to investigate.

"Sit down, Agent," he says in that A.D. tone that leaves no 
room for argument. "Tell me what happened. Start from the 
beginning."

I collapse in the chair trying to salvage my dignity with some 
sort of numbness. It's not working. I can't quite wrap my brain 
around everything that's happened today. Has it only been one 
day? "Uh, I was leaving for lunch. Approaching my car in the 
Hoover garage, when two men jumped out of a black van parked next 
to me. They wrestled me into the van, ripped my jacket off and I 
felt a prick on my arm.

"Things became a little fuzzy after that. I was conscious but 
not able to move much or speak. Some kind of powerful sedative. 
I'm not entirely clear on how I lost my clothes. I vaguely 
remember struggling with someone--or several someones--when they 
were removed and replaced by these smelly things." I tug at the 
shirt. My trembling is getting worse and I'm sure my head is 
going to explode. I feel my composure slipping and drop my head 
in my hand trying to regain some sense of balance.

When he speaks, his voice is abnormally soft. "Scully, were you 
sexually assaulted?"

My head snaps up. If I had half a brain right now, I would have 
seen that coming. "Uh, no. No." Skinner nods gently. I write 
one last note on the directions and tear off the page, handing it 
to him.

"Rough directions to the consortium facility where I was held. 
We should send a team..."

Skinner is dialing the phone before I can finish my sentence. 
After several minutes and many more orders, he sets down the 
phone and looks at me.

His voice is gentle and almost soothing. "Okay, so what else do 
you remember?"

I wish I didn't have to do this. "They left me alone for a 
while--I don't know how long--so the sedative could wear off. 
Eventually three men returned asking questions about Mulder's 
whereabouts and the case he was investigating. When Mulder didn't 
show up today, I checked my voicemail at home. He had left some 
vague message about leaving and not wanting me to know what he 
was doing because it would be *safer* for me." I shake my head 
at the irony of the situation.

He looks calm, so I continue. "I told them I didn't know 
anything. They didn't believe me so they gave me some drug 
cocktail, presumably designed to make me more receptive to 
questioning." I find myself frowning. "It didn't have quite the 
expected result. I became a little hyper and excessively chatty, 
but unfocused, and they couldn't question me." I cringe at the 
memory of those first few minutes. "Uh, they said they'd have to 
wait for the drugs to wear off and then try something else."

I don't even want to say the next part, but leaving it out could 
look really bad if the information were to come to light later. 
"So they left me in a cell with Alex Krycek."

"Krycek?" His eyes are wide. "What did that son of a bitch do 
to you?"

This morning, I would have had the same reaction. "Well, he 
rescued me."

"Really?" He frowns and rubs his temples as if he has a 
headache, too. "Why would Krycek rescue you?"

Really good question. Because I gave him a mean blowjob and sat 
on his dick? I don't think Skinner would appreciate that. I opt 
for a neutral shrug. "The man's motives are, as ever, a complete 
mystery. He was being held prisoner and took me with him when he 
engineered his escape. I didn't feel like I was in a position to 
say no."

"How did you get from there to here?"

"We stole a truck from the parking lot and Krycek dropped me 
here." This sounds worse and worse.

Skinner's impassive mask slips and he gapes at me for a very 
brief moment before his typical Assistant Director expression is 
back. "You and Krycek stole a truck?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Krycek brought you here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are we talking about the same Alex Krycek? Former agent, Alex 
Krycek?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are aware that this man is a suspected felon?"

"Yes, sir. Do you think I should have persuaded him to give me 
his guns, the keys to the truck, and consent to take him to the 
Bureau?"

Skinner becomes quiet and a frown reminiscent of indigestion 
appears on his face. After a few minutes he says, "At least you 
got here safely." He shakes his head and opens his mouth to 
speak again but the chirp of a cell phone interrupts him.

He retrieves it from the dining room table. "Skinner." 
"Mulder, calm-" "You-" His voice rises to an almost yell. 
"Mulder, shut up!" "Scully's here. She's safe." A grim smile 
reaches his face. "Alex Krycek brought her here." "Relax. 
She's fine, Mulder." "There's no need for that." "Mulder, I've 
had enough of you today. I'll drive her home, you can talk to her 
there." "Mulder, god dammit!" He closes the phone and turns to 
me. "He's on his way."

I could almost cry. But I won't. "I don't want..." to see him. 
Oh heavens. When have I ever avoided Mulder? I have every reason 
to be annoyed with him, but Mulder is one of the few people who 
has any ability to see beyond the image I project. I don't feel 
like I can deal with him now. I pull my knees to my chest, using 
them as a prop for my head.
 
Suddenly aware of how this must look, I quickly sit up straight 
and relax my expression. "Of course. Ah, how did he know I was 
missing?" My voice is now shaking as bad as the muscles in my 
arms. God, Dana, get a grip!

"When he couldn't reach you, Mulder went to your apartment after 
I bailed him out."

There is some vital piece of information missing. "Why was he in 
jail?"

"B&E. He broke into the home of a scientist in Durham. Had what 
he thought was proof of American research on the black oil, 
including a sample of the Tunguska rocks, but the Durham P.D. 
confiscated it as evidence. And when I tried to retrieve it, it 
had apparently been stolen from their evidence locker." He 
shrugs as if to say, 'what else?'

My head is going to explode. I know it with absolute certainty. I 
can't deal with any more. My head is in my hands and I manage to 
only half suppress a whimper. Skinner is suddenly in front of me, 
crouched down. "Scully? Do you need a doctor?"

"No. The drugs are wearing off, leaving a nasty headache behind. 
It's not terminal."

"Mulder will be here soon and can drive you home." I groan. 
Alone time with Mulder. Perfect. Skinner misinterprets my groan. 
"I'll get you some aspirin."

Maybe this will all look better tomorrow. I doubt it.

**

"Scully, what happened?"

"Mulder, please, not now. Can you just take me home, and we can 
talk about it tomorrow?"

We've been driving for fifteen minutes and Mulder's incessant 
questions are driving me crazy. After he got the short version of 
my day from Skinner, he bustled me out of there quicker than I 
could blink. Which, of course, meant Mulder wanted to interrogate 
me and didn't want to do it in front of our boss.

I've been so busy trying to deflect his questions, I've forgotten 
to be pissed at him. Just as he opens his mouth with another 
rephrasing of the same question (what happened with Krycek?), I 
lean over and punch him in the arm. 

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For the stupid stunt you pulled! This whole mess is your fault. 
Do you ever think before you make these idiotic decisions, 
Mulder?"

He gives me a sideways look and evenly replies, "Seems like 
everything turned out okay, Scully. Unless something else 
happened to you." He looks at me directly and there's a flash of 
guilt in his eyes. "Did something else happen, Scully?"

"NO! How many times do I have to answer that question? I told 
you, I'm fine. No one hurt me. I feel a little queasy from the 
drugs and my head hurts, but some sleep will cure all my ills. 
Now will you drop it?"

"But, Scully... Krycek?"

"What about him?" Keep it under control, Dana. Mulder is too 
astute... can't afford to let anything slip.

"He didn't do anything to you?"

"God, Mulder. Like what? I told you he didn't hurt me and, as 
soon as the drugs wore off enough for me to function, he 
engineered our escape and took me to Skinner."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. You know him better than I do... why don't you 
tell me?"

"Do you remember everything that happened while the drugs were 
affecting you?"

Nice change of subject, Mulder. "Of course. I was a little 
goofy, which probably amused him to no end, but I wasn't in a 
coma." 

"And he... Krycek didn't... try anything?"

I'm tempted to act like I don't know what he's talking about, but 
playing dumb has never worked for me. "Anything? Mulder, are you 
asking if Alex Krycek made sexual overtures to me?"

He looks uncomfortable, his tone a bit petulant. "Well..." 

I keep my voice even and tell him the *exact* truth. "I can 
assure you, he did not put the moves on me."

At that moment, Mulder pulls in front of my building. I grab the 
keys out of the ignition and remove my spare key, then toss him 
the ring. I'm slamming the car door when he starts to get out.

"No, Mulder. I'm exhausted and I feel wretched. I am going to 
turn off my phone and I will call you when I wake up tomorrow." 
I start up the walk, then decide to nip the upcoming 
interrogation in the bud. I look back at him. "And if you decide 
you want to talk about this further, be prepared to explain what 
you thought you were doing this morning."

His expression is a cross between worried, hurt and guilty. 
Normally, I would try to reassure him but I'm just not in the 
mood. I turn and head inside.

**

4 weeks later

Mulder ditched me this morning. Thank god things are getting back 
to normal. In the four weeks since my incarceration with Krycek, 
he's been unusually solicitous and it was starting to wear on my 
nerves.

Fortunately, it looks like he's recovered from his tour de guilt 
and it's back to business as usual.

Except, nothing has been 'usual' since that day.

Alex Krycek.

Seventy percent of my idle thought processes over the last four 
weeks have been devoted to my few hours with this man. I just 
cannot stop thinking about it.

I suppose I should feel guilty. But I don't. I gave up feeling 
guilty about my sexual attraction to the rat bastard years ago. I 
came to accept that my subconscious manifests my repressed 
sexuality in the form of one Alex Rat Bastard Krycek. Of course, 
I never expected to actually *have* sex with him.

I should be more troubled that I had sex with Alex Krycek. 
Murderer, betrayer... all around son of a bitch. But what really 
bothers me is that it was the best sex I've had in years. In 
truth, one of the best sexual encounters of my entire life. Is 
that fair? If I believed in past lives, I'd have to wonder who I 
offended. 

I feel a flash of anger--one of many such moments over the last 
month. Why did it have to be good?

God damn you, Krycek. If you've ruined me to have sex with normal 
men... moral men... hell, *straight* men... I'm gonna fucking 
kill you.

I would never have chosen to have sex with Krycek, but now that I 
have, I need to decide if I would do it again. Because I extended 
an invitation. Granted, he's not likely to accept it, but... what 
if?

For the 900th time, I ask myself, what was I thinking? 

I get home from work late and have to rush my shower. I'm 
buttoning my blouse when the doorbell rings, announcing the 
arrival of my date. I grab my shoe and head for the door. I tug 
it on as I reach for the knob.

The door opens to reveal an attractive, if somewhat bland 
looking, man in his mid-thirties.

"Hi, Roger. Come on in. I just need to grab my purse and we can 
go." He gives me a peck on the cheek as he enters my apartment 
and, not for the first time, I notice the complete lack of 
chemistry between us.

I suppose I could be misreading it. We might get in bed together 
and do just fine.

A little voice whispers, 'he'd never let you act out your 
fantasy. But Alex would.'

I hate that voice sometimes.

The phone rings as we start out the door. I ignore it. We're half 
way down the hall when my cell phone chirps. Damn.

"Scully."

"Scully, we have to leave for Batesville, Arkansas."

"What? Now?"

"Yup. Got a report of *four* crop circles..."

I cut him off. "Mulder, who ever heard of crop circles in 
Arkansas?" I flash an apologetic look at Roger. He leans against 
the wall with a patient expression on his face and waits.

"Exactly. We need to get down there."

"Mulder, not tonight."

"Whatsa matter, Scully. Got a hot date?"

"Yes."

"What? With who?"

I know he'll find out if I don't tell him, so I might as well get 
it over with. "I'm with Roger right now."

"Roger? Roger who? God, not Roger from accounting? Say it ain't 
so, Scully."

"Yes."

"Ugh. Why? What are you gonna do with him? Hey, are you looking 
for investment advice or something?"

I sigh. "No, Mulder."

"Then there's nothing to do with him. Dump the loser and come 
pick me up. Our flight is in 90 minutes... I'll see you in 20."

There's a click indicating Mulder disconnected. I resist the urge 
to pitch my phone through the wall.

I'm ambivalent about calling off my date. On the one hand, Roger 
is fairly uninspiring as a romantic interest. Conversely, I have 
few opportunities to have a life outside of work and I resent the 
interruption.
 
I tactfully dismiss Roger and prepare to leave. On the way to 
pick up Mulder, my mind inevitably returns to the subject of Alex 
Krycek.

If he doesn't turn up, well... there's nothing to worry about.

If he shows up... hmm... do I arrest him? What a conflict. I owe 
Krycek and even if I didn't, I'm not sure I could arrest him 
after accepting an invitation *I* extended.

Which leaves me to figure out if I would fuck him again. Well, 
actually, if he takes me up on my offer, it would be to fist him.

I wonder if I can do that... consciously go to bed with the rat.

As Mulder begins harassing me about Roger, I decide that I can. 

**

Part 3:  Tragedy

Two weeks later

It has been six fucking weeks and I'm still thinking about Dana 
Scully's forearms. She has many nice parts, actually, but she 
mentioned the fisting thing and now I'm obsessed with it. Her 
arms are just the right size--maybe 20 percent larger than 
anything that's been in my ass before. And those delicate fingers 
would feel so nice inside me. The mere thought makes me shiver.

If I allow myself to consider the truth, I actually like the 
little redhead. As a person. But it's not as if we're going to 
start dating or something, so I put that out of my mind.

But she did suggest that she'd fist me... her exact words were 
"...I'm pretty sure you can have *that* whenever you're ready 
for it." She couldn't have meant it. It must have been the 
residual effect of the drugs or a trap. It seems ridiculous to 
even consider it. However, it was equally ludicrous to think I'd 
feature prominently in her sex dreams.

The sensible thing to do is forget about it. The possibly life-
saving thing. The only reasonable choice. Forget about it, Alex. 
It would be completely insane to try to take her up on her offer. 
She'd probably arrest you, hurt you or humiliate you. You have 
nothing to gain and everything to lose.

Mulder's out of town, but she's not. So I drop change in a 
payphone around the corner from her place.

"Hello?"

"Scully, do you recognize my voice?"

Her tone is neutral. "Yes."

"If I came by just to talk, do you think you could avoid 
shooting me or arresting me or anything else that would be 
hazardous to my health?"

"Yes." Her tone is so calm, so professional sounding, I'm 
positive she's got a SWAT team in her apartment ready to take me 
out.

Nonetheless, like the horny fool I am, I find myself standing 
outside her door fifteen minutes later. I have to psyche myself 
up to knock.

She opens the door, SIG Sauer trained on my chest.

I'm not surprised to see the gun. Surprised only that she hasn't 
already aimed for my nuts and pulled the trigger. I stand still, 
trying to keep my face blank. "I left my gun in the car, 
Scully." It's actually true. I *did* leave my gun in the car. A 
possibly fatal mistake. But I'm clearly thinking with my dick 
here.

She lowers the weapon and stands back, motioning for me to enter. 
My intestines are screaming, 'It's a trick! Don't go in there!'

I step into the apartment.

Scully closes and locks the door. She's wearing darned close to 
nothing. A flimsy robe that clings to her curvy little body. Damn 
she looks good. I practically have to use my hand to close my 
jaw.

She gestures for me to sit. I select a safe place on her couch. 
She leaves me alone in the room and returns without her gun. 
Settling calmly into an armchair, she looks as if a chum has 
dropped by to chat.

I will never understand this woman. If the good lord had meant 
men to fuck women, he'd have made them easier to understand.

"What is it, Krycek?"

I make a placating gesture. "I brought something for you. It's 
in my pocket. Okay?"

She nods.

I retrieve a bar of Valrhona and pass it to her.

Her eyes widen. I just know she's going to tell me she's on a 
diet or something. "Thank you. I looked for this a couple 
times... couldn't find it anywhere."

Placing the chocolate on the table, she taps her lower lip with 
her index finger. Then she catches herself doing it and stops 
abruptly. My hand goes automatically to my earlobe.

Her voice is quiet and gentle. "Why are you here, Krycek?" She 
looks at me quizzically. "Or do you want me to call you Alex for 
the rest of the evening?" 
 
"Alex," I reply. C'mon, you can do this, boy. "We, um, started 
something we never got to finish."

I am so certain she's going to nail me with some ugly but true 
remarks about my character or start reciting a list of my crimes. 
I've tried for days to think of some clever defense... 'It's like 
James Dean... my bad deeds just enhance my roguish good looks. 
Right?'

Standing up, she moves over to stand in front of me. I was wrong. 
She's not going to talk to me, she's just going to kill me. With 
her bare hands. Those same hands I've been drooling over for 
weeks.

What she does is a much greater surprise. She reaches out and 
touches my jaw lightly. "Hard for you to come here tonight?"

Fuck, who *is* this woman? This is like walking a minefield 
without a map. I look up at her with what I hope is an earnest 
look. "Yes, Dana." I kiss her fingertips.

I'm trying desperately to send her a non-verbal message. I don't 
want to talk about this, babe, but I can be a good boy. At least 
for long enough for you to fuck my brains out. Do you want me to 
beg? I will. Let's just avoid any discussion of my character or 
lack thereof. Please?

Her thumb is rubbing my lower lip. I can feel it like electricity 
arcing down to my cock.

"One night, Alex. Tonight. I will arrest you the next time I see 
you."

I churn through disbelief, relief and lust. I'm so fascinated 
that Dana Scully would consider such a thing that it's damned 
tempting to ask why. But there is really no point in opening that 
can of worms when I'm about to get laid. If she thinks about 
this, I'm certain to lose. Could it be possible that women think 
with their groins, too? Nah. That would be too simple.

She steps away from me and gestures toward her bedroom. Somehow, 
I can believe she'd fuck me before I can believe she'd invite me 
into her bedroom. It has to be a trick. Mulder is in there with a 
machine gun. That's why she's making me go first.

I hold my only weapon--my left arm--at the ready and enter the 
bedroom. Besides the obvious lack of irate partners, land mines 
and nuclear weapons, it's a disarmingly innocent looking room. 
Tasteful Shaker furniture. Feminine drapes and bedspread.

Christ, she's just tossed her robe and a nude Dana is gazing at 
me. I forget to breathe and somehow manage to mutter, "So 
beautiful, Dana." She is indeed lovely with her curvy body, 
smooth white skin and brassy red hair.

She gives me a glance that suggests maybe I'm better than a can 
of dog food myself. I watch her give me the head-to-toe and feel 
oddly proud that she's ogling me. Yeah, me... hot, masculine, 
scared shitless.

She tugs the blankets off her bed, dumping them in a heap on the 
floor. Then she comes to me, putting a hand on my stomach over 
the waistband of my jeans. "You sure?"

I'm standing here in front of an open bed with a naked Scully and 
*now* she wants to talk? "I should be asking *you* that 
question." I bite my lip and frown. "I'm no fool. Turn down a 
chance to try something new that I've fantasized about... with a 
beautiful woman who I admire? I'm many things, not all of them 
nice, but I'm not a fool, Dana."

No, wait, I *am* a fool. Krycek, you were supposed to tell her 
something useful, like how gorgeous her blue eyes are, not remind 
her to question her judgment about choosing you as a fuck buddy.

She reaches toward my face with her thumb, smoothing between my 
eyebrows. Smiling, she says, "Better. But your answers are still 
a little evasive. I really like it when you're direct."

Evasive? Moi? Hell, yes. And proud of it. In an alternate 
universe, the non-evasive Alex Krycek is deceased.

I slip my arm around her waist. She's naked and I'm fully 
dressed. She writhes against me, as if enjoying the textures of 
my clothes. I catch myself biting my lip again. Using her thumb, 
she extracts my lower lip from my teeth. "Allow me." She tugs 
my head down and captures that lip between her own teeth.

Damn, she makes Delilah Sanchez seem meek. And men are supposed 
to revile aggressive women. So why do I feel the urge to kneel 
and ask her permission to kiss her toes?

She nibbles at my lip before applying a little pressure. It 
doesn't hurt, but almost. Then she sucks it into her mouth and 
soothes it with her tongue. Then she's in my mouth, caressing the 
underside of my tongue.

My hips are starting to move. I'd hump her leg if it wasn't a 
foot too low. I groan into her mouth. My hand glides up her back, 
making its way into her silky hair. Touching and exploring. I 
pull my lips free and kiss the side of her face. "I'm sure, 
Dana," I whisper, nuzzling her cheek. My lips find her neck, and 
I kiss, suck and gnaw gently.

She gasps and moves her head to give me better access. After I've 
brought her to shivers chewing her neck, she breaks away and 
rests her head against my chest, catching her breath. She feels 
so good pressed against me. It makes me lightheaded.

After a moment, she pushes my jacket from my shoulders, catching 
it as it falls. She turns to lay it across a chair.

I start pulling up my T-shirt. She bats my hand away and pulls it 
off herself. She goes to work on my fly. I try to help, but she 
pushes my hands away. "Stop. I want to undress you."

I force myself to lower my hands to my sides.

Her lips and tongue play with one of my nipples while she 
unfastens my jeans.

She shifts behind me, sliding her hands into my pants and pushing 
them down. I feel her fingers on my ass, stroking and teasing my 
crack. Any blood that wasn't already in my cock reports there 
immediately. Inside my head, I'm begging, 'Yes, Dana. Fuck me. 
Please, babe.'

In front of me again, she captures the other nipple in her mouth. 
I'm unable to stop myself from rubbing my cock against her body. 
She pulls away and guides me to the bed.

I smile at her nervously as she removes the rest of my clothing. 
I feel like such a pampered boy toy. Does she see me like that? I 
sincerely hope so. C'mon, babe. Have your way with me.

Dana gestures to the bed and I lie down. She gazes at me for a 
moment and then climbs on the mattress. She slides up my body, 
licking the tip of my cock on the way.

"Dana," I whimper. That was supposed to come out a little more 
manly, but I'm falling apart. If I told her I was a topman, she 
would surely die laughing. I'll keep that in mind for use as a 
weapon, in case she suddenly becomes sane later tonight.

Straddling my waist, she leans forward and captures my mouth 
again.

I curl my arm around her tiny waist, pulling her closer. I suck 
on her lower lip, nipping it gently. She begins to chew on my 
upper lip. Settling her mouth squarely over mine, she caresses my 
lips and tongue briefly before breaking the kiss. She moves down 
a little, leaving little sucking kisses along my chest.

She looks up at me, her chin resting on the back of her hand. I'm 
about to ask what's running through her brain, when she says in a 
low voice, "Close your eyes."

"What?"

She smiles. "Just for a little while. I want you to react... not 
anticipate." As she speaks her hand rests lightly over my eyes.

This is it. I'm a dead man.

Against all reason, I close my eyes and feel her move off me. I 
can tell by the way the mattress shifts that she is sitting on 
the bed next to me. One hand glides over my abdomen and begins a 
lazy caress.

My lower quarters are tingling from her touch. Except for my 
cock. If it could speak it would say in a throbbing tone, 'Touch 
me.'

After a few moments, her weight leaves the bed and her hand 
passes over my eyes again to remind me to keep them shut.

I hear a few muted noises and the sound of a drawer shutting. I'm 
about to open my eyes when I feel her weight further down on the 
bed. A breath later, her warm wet mouth closes over my cock, 
slowly working it down her throat. One small hand lightly 
squeezing my balls.

I emit an embarrassing hybrid groan/whimper. Apparently, she's 
going to suck me before she kills me. Okay. Fine. I'll come 
easily.

She continues working her mouth up and down the length of my 
erection for a few moments.

Who'd've thought the demure Agent Scully could suck cock like 
that? If I weren't such an arrogant asshole, I'd admit she does 
that better than I do.

Pulling her mouth off my dick, she shifts her weight as she moves 
to kneel between my legs, pushing them further apart.

Her mouth returns to my cock, swiping across the tip, before 
lightly licking and sucking at my balls. Her teasing mouth 
departs again and her hand grasps mine, guiding it to my leg. 
"Lift your leg, Alex."

Ahhh. The moment of truth. Will I spread my legs for this woman? 
Hell, yes!

I pull my leg to my chest.

Her arm lifts the other leg, pushing it up. Her voice is low and 
soft. "Will you be able to hold this leg?"

Sure, babe. I catch my left knee with the forearm of the 
prosthetic.

This has to be a bad idea. I feel so vulnerable and exposed. Duh. 
This is what you're here for, you moron. It's just that in my 
fantasies I feel so much more in control and less like a lump of 
meat about to be skewered. On the other hand, giving myself to 
this woman is distressingly arousing. My dripping cock is bobbing 
between my legs.

Her hands travel down the insides of my thighs, moving to stroke 
my cock a few times before caressing my ass cheeks. The fingers 
of one hand tease along the crack, brushing repeatedly across my 
anus.

Oh, fuck, yes. My ass is so damned sensitive.

Her voice is a murmur. "Mmm... just lovely. You have such a nice 
ass, Alex. I was quite perturbed with myself to have not made an 
effort to get acquainted with it when we were in the cell."

"Yeah, you and me both, Dana," I mutter inanely.

I hear her throaty laugh, just before I feel the light touch of 
her lips on one ass cheek. She trails her lips to the other 
cheek, biting gently. Her hands and mouth leave my body. A moment 
later, I feel one slick finger probe my anus as her other hand 
closes around the top of my cock, thumb rubbing across the head.

I inhale suddenly. 

Her finger presses into me, exploring my anal passage for a 
several long moments. Pulling the finger out, she releases my 
cock and quickly returns with two fingers, thrusting inside me 
and brushing across my prostate.

"Oh, Christ."

At my reaction, she finger fucks me, pushing deeply and rubbing 
my prostate with each thrust.

The most bizarre sounds are coming out of my mouth. Moans or 
sobs. My ass matches her pace, thrusting onto her fingers. I 
remind myself to breathe.

The rhythm of her fingers slows and her other hand strokes my 
inner thigh. I feel the bed shift as she pulls her fingers almost 
all the way out. A moment later, she adds another finger, slowly 
pressing into me as her warm, wet tongue swipes across the head 
of my dick.

That tongue could really stay there for a while. I wouldn't mind, 
babe.

Moving her fingers in my ass, she glides across my prostate 
again. I gasp and feel the head of my dick quickly sucked in her 
mouth and then released.

So damned intense. It's like being fucked and sucked at the same 
time. Generally an impossibility without two dates.

The caressing hand leaves my thigh and I feel cool lube join the 
warm lubricant already on her thrusting fingers. She begins 
working the rapidly warming fluid into my body as she presses her 
fingers open, stretching my ass.

Dana's other hand caresses the cheeks of my ass. Her tormenting 
tongue returns to tease the head of my cock, pressing into the 
slit. Her fingers--those silky smooth fingers--keep working my 
ass, thrusting in, rubbing my prostate and stretching me.

I need... I need more. "Dana, please."

The warm wetness of her mouth travels to my inner thigh, sucking 
hard as I feel the fourth finger nudge my anus and she begins to 
press inside. There's a hint of a burn as those fingers breach my 
anus.

The sucking on my leg stops and her warm breath caresses my leg 
and groin. The coolness of more lubricant touches my anus as she 
presses the four fingers inside. She works slowly, subtly 
rotating her hand and stretching me.

That's Special Agent Dana Scully's hand inside me. It must be a 
fucking dream.

It feels so damned good... the way those fingers can touch me as 
no cock ever could.

Occasionally adding more lube, she stretches and explores my ass 
for what seems like an eternity.

Her tongue slips across my dick again, lapping a few times before 
blowing on the wet head.

"Uhhhh nuhhh." Why is she tormenting my cock? Why don't I care?

Her free hand strokes my balls, squeezing and caressing as she 
rotates her hand and pulls back slightly, pushing back in with 
the thumb this time.

Fuck. Now *that* burns and feels like heaven all at the same 
time.

She presses in a little further. Pressure builds at the ring of 
anal muscle as her knuckles press against my asshole. Her soft 
voice cuts across the sound of my gasps and moans. "Look at me, 
Alex."

I'm so lost in the sensation that it takes me a moment to process 
her words. My eyes open and I see the pale redhead sitting 
between my legs, staring at me intently. Her gaze is hard and 
soft at the same time. Beautiful. One of her hands lifts to 
lightly stroke along the length of my cock and the other is out 
of view--but certainly felt.

"I want you to look at me when I fuck you, Alex." Her voice 
quiet but firm, eyes focused and intense. She rotates her hand 
slightly, pressing in a little more.

I try to reply, 'Yes, Dana.' I can hear the words in my head, but 
what comes out is, "Uhhhh... ohhhh." I force my eyes to lock on 
to her crystal blue eyes.

Her hand leaves my cock and disappears as she glances down. I 
feel more lubricant touch my stretched asshole and I shiver with 
both want and fear when I see her stroke the lube onto her 
forearm. She catches her lip between her teeth briefly and her 
expression softens. Lifting her eyes back to mine, she pushes 
until her knuckles breach my asshole. The largest part of her 
hand is in the grip of my ass when she asks, "You want this, 
Alex?"

"Umhhhh..." I have to concentrate to get the words out. "Oh. 
Yes."

Her whole damned hand is inside me. I whimper plaintively, gaping 
at the sight.

Think, mouth. Lips. You can do it. "Fuck m... m... me, Da-na." 
And, babe, if you'll just touch my cock again, I'll die a happy 
man.

Her gaze never leaves mine as her hand slides further into me. 
There's a sudden sense of release as my asshole closes around her 
narrower wrist. She stops, then I feel her fingers move, brushing 
across my prostate as she closes her hand into a fist.

I struggle to breathe. And when I find air again, a low keening 
cry comes from my chest.

Dana strokes my inner thigh and lower abdomen, now staying away 
from my straining cock. I desperately want to let go of my right 
leg, to free my own hand for my cock. But somehow I don't think 
she'd be pleased. And, for some unfathomable reason, this seems 
important.

Pressing in further, her knuckles rasp across my prostate. I 
groan and start to tremble. She begins to slowly fuck me on her 
forearm, her hand buried deep in my ass. 

Almost as desperately as I need stimulation on my cock, I need to 
tell her something about what I'm experiencing... but I can't put 
it into words. Except words I dare not say...

She begins to slowly twist her arm as she pulls out, turning it 
back when she pushes into me again. For the first time since her 
hand penetrated me, she breaks her gaze and watches her own arm 
twisting and sliding in and out of my ass. Her eyes roam across 
my body and face, returning to my ass again. When her eyes again 
meet mine, her expression is almost possessive.

"Alex... tell me what you want." Her voice is husky and a 
little rough.

She already fucking knows. Wants me to say it. It is painfully 
clear to me that I'd do anything she'd ask of me right now. I 
manage to spit out, "My cock..."

Continuing the slow, twisting thrust in my ass, her other hand 
closes, very lightly, around the base of my dick. Her eyes never 
leave mine. "You want to come now, Alex?"

"Yesss," I hiss, my hips thrusting under her hand, as much as 
they can in my awkward position. "Please."

She presses up, putting pressure on my prostate, and begins to 
lean forward. She stares at me for a moment before telling me 
what I want to hear. "Come for me, Alex." Her mouth closes 
around the head of my dick.

Dana Scully is god.

My body collapses into a series of shudders that feels like an 
all-body orgasm. I can't tell my ass from my cock from my nose. 
I'm flying high on my brain chemistry and the only thing 
anchoring me is her beautiful arm buried in my ass.

When I'm again semi-cognizant of reality, I'm aware of her 
tongue, slowly circling the head of my softening cock and her 
hand unmoving in my ass. Her wet mouth leaves my dick and she 
looks at me. I can barely focus. "Close your eyes again, Alex. 
Just relax." My brain is too fried to do anything but obey.

Her fingers uncurl in my rectum and she slowly begins to withdraw 
her arm. I cry out when her hand and knuckles begin to pass 
through my sphincter. Her free hand rubs my thigh in a reassuring 
motion and then her fingertips slip out of my ass.

I immediately feel bereft at the loss. Whimpering softly, I 
realize I need to touch her. And then, I become aware of awful 
pins and needles in my legs. My shoulders feel bruised from the 
strain of holding those legs.

There is no touch for a moment but I hear some faint noises. A 
towel passes over my ass and then her weight shifts as she guides 
me to relax my hand and release one leg.

As my leg stretches out on the bed, her hand rests on the other 
leg. I release the prosthetic arm and her hands lower the limb to 
rest on the sheets. My legs are stiff and painful, but I'm still 
dazed and rather mindlessly happy.

I hold out my arm blindly, wanting her close.

Suddenly, I feel the tickle of her hair on my shoulder and then 
her weight on my chest. I wrap my arm around her and clutch her 
to me.

I manage to mutter, "Thank you," before I slip onto my side, 
half on her body, half off. I cling to her like a barnacle, 
rubbing my face into her hair. "Dana..."

**

Consciousness slowly returns. I blink in the dim light of the 
room, trying to get my bearings. I feel a warm body pressed 
against my back, breath on my neck and fingers idly running 
through my hair. Dana.

Oh, Christ, I fell asleep on Dana Scully.

When she detects that I'm awake, there's a quiet whisper in my 
ear. "Welcome back. You okay?"

"Dana, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I didn't... I don't usually... 
Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry."

"Shh, Alex. Nothing to apologize for. I knew you needed some 
recovery time."

Who *is* this woman? Fuck, I'm such an asshole. I should have 
gone down on her first, or something. I briefly consider the 
possibility of shrinking in between the pillows and disappearing.

Instead, I try to be brave. I turn over and put my head on her 
shoulder. I'm nuzzled between her breast and her chin, before I 
even realize that I'm acting like a lovesick puppy. Her hand 
begins to lazily stroke my back.

How incredibly vulnerable I have allowed myself to become with 
this woman. This is a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

She had every opportunity to arrest me or hurt me. Fuck, with her 
hand up my ass, I'd have probably given detailed confessions for 
my crimes. Just to get her to touch my cock.

But the real reason I'm hurting is that I want her. Plain and 
simple. As a lover. Maybe even a friend.

Chill, Alex. This is a one-time deal. There won't be any sending 
flowers or taking her to the movies. Just tonight. That's all.

Then I'd better make the most of it.

Bracing my weight on my good arm, I lift myself over her body for 
a brief kiss. "What can I do for you, Dana?" I kiss her cheeks. 
"You've done so much for me tonight. Tell me your fantasies and 
let me do it all for you."

Her lips brush across mine then press against my cheek for a 
moment. Pulling back, her steady gaze locks on mine. "That was 
my fantasy, Alex." Her fingertips touch my jaw, then her hand 
drops. Without moving, she seems to pull away. Her voice is soft 
but her eyes are remote. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Great." I allow my weight to press down on 
her, as my lips find her neck.

She moans faintly and tips her head so I have better access. 
After a few moments, she begins to pull out from underneath me. 
She wiggles to a seated position and looks back at me. "I'm 
going to get dressed. You don't have to get up until you're 
ready." Her voice is still soft and her face is relaxed.

Fuck. She's asking me to leave.

My hand reaches for her shoulder and my eyes meet hers. "Please, 
babe, don't send me home without letting me make you come."

One brow shot up as soon as the word 'babe' passed my lips. She 
takes a breath and starts to say something, then seems to 
reconsider.

Oops. I really didn't mean to say that, babe.

Shaking her head, she starts again. "Alex... it's just not what 
I want right now. I thought I would, but I'm satisfied with the 
experience. Let's just let it be. Okay?"

But I want to please her. Need to please her. It seems vital in 
my current frame of mind. Urgent even.

Reality check, Krycek. She got what she wanted. It's done. Get 
out while you still can.

I can feel the frown on my face. My eyes flick to the floor as I 
force my face to neutral. "Yeah. Sure. If that's what you 
want." I rise to retrieve my clothing.

Somehow I feel emasculated.

"Alex?"

I turn to face her.

"I enjoyed this. More than I expected. As strange as it may 
sound, can you accept that I am pleased enough that an orgasm is 
not going to enhance the experience?"

Must be a woman thing. It doesn't make any sense to me. "I... 
Okay, Dana." I find my clothes are folded in a nice pile on a 
chair with my jacket. I tug on my jeans. I'm damned lucky I got 
what I did from this encounter. I'm holding my T-shirt, facing 
the wall, when I ask the question that's been troubling me. 
"Why?" I clear my throat and force myself to turn and face her. 
"Why did you... would you..." I don't know how to ask it.

As always, her gaze is direct but there's a faint, brief flash of 
discomfort on her face. "I... the day we met, at the autopsy... 
I dreamt about you for the first time that night."

My jaw falls open. Me just playing a role--green, adoring G-man--
and cool, distant Dana Scully dreaming about me. 

"I've had a lot of practice at getting past any discomfort over 
being attracted to you. And plenty of practice at assuming 
nothing would ever happen.

"What happened in the cell was better than I had ever expected. 
And your apparent interest in my biggest fantasy, well," she 
shrugs, "it took me four weeks to decide what I would do if you 
decided to take me up on the offer. But I never actually expected 
you to."

She briefly rubs her forehead before continuing. "So, why? 
Because I wanted you. Just something for myself... a rarity these 
days. Getting to know a little of the man behind the rat bastard, 
has been... distressing. I would really rather have not found 
anything to like about you, Alex. Because it doesn't change 
anything."

No, it doesn't does it? It was a pleasant fantasy though. I made 
many irrevocable life choices, never knowing quite what I was 
giving up. Until today. And other days like this one, when I saw 
what I wanted and I couldn't have it.

I squat to slip on my socks and boots.

She rises from the bed and steps into the large walk-in closet. 
After a few moments, she emerges dressed in pale blue scrubs. 
Even though quite different, they remind me of the outfit she 
wore in the cell. She crosses the room to stand in front of me. 
One hand lightly touches my waist. "Thanks... for coming here 
tonight."

"And if I were an architect or an accountant and not what I am, 
would you want to see me again?"

"I would have been after you a long time ago." Reaching up, she 
pulls my head down and presses our lips together. She murmurs 
against my lips. "Now, Alex, be kind... please go. Before I ask 
you to stay."

When she steps away, I can see the truth in her face. She wants 
me, too, but can't accept it.

The consequences of my own actions are smacking me in the face. I 
realize I'm letting her see my sadness. What a colossal mistake 
that is. I retreat to my blank face.

She follows me to the front door.

I kiss her forehead, because I have to touch her again. 
"Thanks," I mutter almost inaudibly. For the truth. For your 
hand up my ass. For treating me like a decent human being.

She nods her head, looking faintly sad herself. She squeezes my 
hand, then reaches for the door knob.

The door snicks shut behind me.

Fuck. I don't know if that was the hottest sex of my life or the 
worst revenge that has ever been visited upon me. Both, I guess.

I walk down her street at the fastest possible pace that won't 
draw attention. When someone's potted plant gets in the way, I 
kick it viciously into a brick wall. The shattering sound of the 
pottery is oddly satisfying.
 
My car is parked a few blocks away. By the time I get there, I 
know exactly where I'm going. There's a bar in the city. I'll 
pick up a bottom boy who won't say no to whatever I demand. I'm 
going to fuck his brains out to try to erase the distressingly 
sweet time I spent with Dana Scully.

**

END