AUTHOR: Eve (alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com)
TITLE: Category Mistake 3
PAIRING: tentative K/Sc friendship.
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: everything that happened in Requiem, except for the part where Scully finds out she's pregnant.
DISCLAIMERS:Uhhhh...sure. I own them. Riiiiiiiiiight.
NOTES: the first story was inspired by my Philosophy 231 Prof. I liked this little universe so much that I decided to stay and dabble a little while longer. Indulge me.
MORE NOTES: Scully's a big crybaby in this one. I don't like it either, but you've gotta cry before things get better.
SUMMARY: Krycek confronts Scully, but the results aren't quite what he expected
FEEDBACK: feedback and helpful criticism welcome...please!The key in the lock alerted him to her presence. He sat up and glanced at his watch, blinking bleary eyes. Scully had left work at five on the dot, but obviously hadn't come home right away. In the meantime, he'd been sitting in her annoyingly neat apartment for three hours. So much for spontaneity.
He was sitting in a dark corner, hoping to jump out and scare the bejesus out of her at the appropriate time. But instead of walking in and turning the lights on and doing Scully-like things, she stood in the doorway for a moment, slight figure outlined by the light from the hallway. After a few moments she shut the door behind her, but didn't come any farther into her apartment.
"I know you're there," she said into the shadows. "So why don't you just kill me now and get it over with."
Holy Christ. She must have eyes like a hawk. And her voice . . . He wondered if she'd been drinking again. But no, there was no slurring, no giggling. She just sounded . . . empty. Dead.
Taking a deep breath he stepped out of his hiding spot, gun at the ready. "And where's the challenge in that?"
Puffy red eyes snapped up to meet his, and she gasped, "Krycek!" Then she pulled out her gun and aimed straight at his forehead.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. First she wanted him to kill her, now she was threatening him. Couldn't this woman make up her mind? It occured to him that she was a little too surprised to see him. So who did she think she'd been talking to?
"You know, you should be a little more careful about asking strangers to kill you. Next time, someone might take you up on that offer."
"What do you want?"
"You have some things that belong to me."
At his words, and the deadly tone of his voice, her face blanched. Her grip shook a little as he advanced on her.
"My jacket. My weapons. My keys. My goddamn arm!"
She backed up, eyes widening as her shoulders hit the door. Tears welled up in her eyes. She was trapped, and she knew it.
His hand snaked out and grabbed the gun from her hand without protest. He placed his gun against her temple and ground out. "My arm. Where. Is. It."
She choked back a sob and stuttered. "In the--the l-laundry room. B-behind the washer."
He stepped back and watched her slide bonelessly to the floor. His leather jacket was sitting behind a washer? Succumbing to humidity and dustbunnies? He stomped to the laundry room and peered behind the appliance. Sure enough, a large bundle was wedged in there. Grunting and cursing, he managed to pull the washer out far enough to reach his belongings. And with only one arm it was no easy feat. He set his jacket on the washer and opened it. Inside was his gun, knives, his spare gun, and his arm. His wallet and keys were in the jacket pocket. Satisfied that everything had been recovered, he slipped into the old familiar leather and stored all the weapons away. He wished he could put the arm on right now, but it would take too long.
He strolled back into the living room, intent on making her pay for his humiliation, speech prepared. It would be psychological torture, of course. No way was he going to physically harm a maybe-pregnant woman. He stopped when he saw her still by the door, knees pulled up to her chest, hands fisted in her hair. And she was shaking. Everyonce in awhile a ragged sob escaped her lips, otherwise she was completely silent. He was caught between annoyance and pity. As his boots came to a halt by her feet, she looked up at him with teary blue eyes.
"Are you going to kill me now?" she whispered.
The recrimination on her face was almost too much for him. He didn't need to torture her. She was doing a fine job all on her own. And the way she was looking at him, like a little kid who'd lost her dog. Or her Fox.
Any and all traces of anger quickly drained from him as he sighed and gestured for her to get up. She obeyed slowly, watching him with a confused and wary expression.
"I'm not going to kill you, Scully. I just wanted my arm back," he said, holding up the prosthetic limb.
She looked between the arm and his face, and then her gaze slid down to the floor. He tucked the limb under his armpit and watched the top of her head.
Her voice was a dry whisper. "I'm sorry. For what I did to you."
You better be. He shook himself of the thought and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. She tensed, but didn't move.
"At least you sent Marita to get me."
She glanced up quickly, surprise written on her features.
"Yeah, she recognized your voice. She seemed quite impressed that you were able to find her number."
Scully sniffled. "It was the Lone Gunmen."
The Lone Gunmen. Hmm. He hadn't really given them any serious thought in, well, never. They seemed resourceful enough, but somewhat . . . bumbling. Maybe he'd pay them a call one of these days. His own team still couldn't decrypt Spender's files. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear her soft mumble.
"What?"
"Were--were you telling the truth? About Mulder?"
He was lost for a second. He said a lot of things about Mulder a lot of the time. Then it hit him.
"Why take Mulder and leave a filthy thing like you?"
"Because he chose to go you crazy bitch!"
That was him. Mr. Tact. But if he recalled correctly, he had a knife at his eyeball at the time, so you could hardly blame him.
"Scully. I don't think he chose to go--to leave you. You know Mulder. He needs that Truth he's always looking for." That was true, at least. If Mulder knew what was waiting for him up there, he probably would have run the other way. But she didn't need to hear that, not right now.
She laughed shortly, fresh tears streaming down her face. Scully Waterworks Inc. She probably deserved to let go after everything she'd been through.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispered. "I've been so sick . . ."
Well, that answered that. She was pregnant and didn't know it. Her chin fell to her chest as the sobs reemerged in earnest. Awkwardly, he slid his arm around her shoulders. Without another hesitation, she buried her nose in his shoulder, clutching the lapels of his jacket.
He only intended to give her a little comfort, not to let her snot up his favorite coat. But she clung to him like he was a life preserver, and he found himself cradling the back of her head and whispering soothing nonsense. Marita's parting words from last night echoed in his mind.
"You know, now that Mulder's gone, Scully's the last link we have."
"Mulder will be back."
"It'll be months before that happens. And you know as well as I that it probably won't really be him. We need her, Alex."
We need her. He wasn't as sure of that as Marita was. In the past two days he'd seen two sides of Dana Scully that he hoped never to see again. Drunk and crazy, and sobbing mess on the verge of a breakdown. The Old Dana Scully, that was someone they could have used, nevermind the fact that she would never agree to help them. But whatever he was holding in his arms--no, he didn't need that.
She obviously needed someone, and that someone was Fox Mulder.
"Is there anyway to find him?" she whispered against his chest.
"No," he replied softly.
"Will he come back?"
After a brief pause, he said, "Eventually. But Scully . . . you've got to be prepared for the possibility that Mulder, well, Mulder might not be Mulder."
"What do you mean?"
Well, this was it. This was the moment where he either walked out of the apartment and let her wallow in her misery, or he told her everything. Both options seemed equally impossible, so he settled for a compromise. She couldn't stay here. If she walked into her own apartment expecting someone to be waiting to kill her, it wasn't safe. She could take him to the Lone Gunmen to decrypt the files. Whatever information they got that pertained to her directly, she could have.
"Do you really want to know?"
He was glad to see the question sink it, glad to see that she paused to think about it. A spark of that cutting intelligence flared briefly in her eyes before she nodded.
"You're going to have to come with me." Scully tensed and let go of him, face wary. Before she could object, he added, "It isn't safe here. I can give you your answers. Some of them, anyway."
He counted ten heartbeats before her shoulders slumped forward and she slowly nodded again. "Just give me a second," she said, edging around him to go to her bedroom. The door shut behind her, so he sat down on the couch to wait.
We need her, Alex.
He sure hoped Marita was right.
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