AUTHOR: Eve (alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com)
TITLE: Phantom Pain
Characters: Krycek, Scully
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Essence/Existence, William
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. Don't sue.
NOTES: started out as a challenge from Rachelle and took on a life of its own: 100-200 words about phantom pain using the phrase "Sometimes I can still feel it."SUMMARY: Sometimes I can still feel it
This was happenning too fast. One minute she was a regular pregnant woman, and now her unborn baby was being hunted by aliens and she was in a stairwell with Alex Krycek, who had been assigned as her protector by Mulder of all people.
"He's gone," Krycek said lowly, peering out into the hallway. There was a loud bang from above and she jumped and clutched his arm, feeling silly. She let go quickly, realizing she'd grabbed his left arm. The unnatural firmness under her fingers was an unpleasant reminder of what they'd all lost in the last few years. What they could still lose.
"I'm sorry," she said, not sure what she was apologizing for. She glanced up and found him staring down at her with an unreadable expression.
"Sometimes I can still feel it."
Phantom pain. Scully pressed one hand to her stomach.
"Come on," he said, and she took his hand firmly in hers without thinking twice.
*** Scully wandered aimlessly throughout the apartment, straightening pictures, fluffing pillows, rearranging whatever she could get her hands on. Avoiding the empty room at the end of the hall.
Well, maybe 'empty' wasn't the right word. As she inched closer she could see the edge of a changing table. Her hand drifted to her stomach because she couldn't bring herself to go any closer.
Sometimes I can still feel it.
Without warning a sob clawed its way out of her throat. She'd barely given a thought to that voice since half-hearing vague details about its owner's death. Now the memory came back so sharply she wondered if she wasn't hallucinating. The quiet words, not designed elicit surprise or pity or disgust. Just an unexpected and puzzling admission.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs though there wasn't anyone in the apartment she could disturb. No one to bother, no one to hear. No one to turn to. He must have felt like that.
She stared down at her hand, remembering the grounding feeling of his fingers gripping hers. He was the one who was supposed to survive, who *always* made it through--that's why it had been him leading her through the building and not Skinner, him shielding her from Billy Miles and not Doggett; him holding her hand and not Mulder.
Not Mulder. But Krycek wasn't around anymore either, was he?
She wiped her tears roughly with the backs of her hands and pushed away from the wall, wondering, if he'd been able to choose, would Krycek have stuck around, or would he have disappeared like Mulder?
It was strange how she could remember Mulder's voice, his infuriating passion, but the sensation of his arm around her shoulders was fleeting.
She could still feel Krycek's hand in hers.
*** Scully paused with the key millimeters from the lock.
There it was again. That crawling sensation down her back that let her know that something wasn't right. She felt . . .
Like she was being watched.
Her hand slid toward her holster, and she pretended to fumble with her keys to mask the movement. A moment later she had her gun drawn and pointed down the hallway, feeling spooked and stupid at the same time. A door down the hall opened and she hid her hand under her coat, not wanting to give any of her neighbours a heart attack, but keeping her finger on the trigger just in case.
"Ah, Dana! I thought that was you."
"Hello Mrs. Henry," she said, relaxing.
"Don't tell me you're just getting home from work now?"
"It was a busy day."
"Dear, you've always worked too hard. You're lucky to have such a wonderful mother to take care of your little William so much."
The friendly smile she'd been sporting froze and an all too familiar pang swept throughout her body. "Yes, I'm very lucky," she choked out with effort. "It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Henry." Scully slid her gun into the holster and unlocked her door.
"Oh Dana, before I forget--" She disappeared into her apartment for a moment and reappeared with an envelope. "One of your friends stopped by, but you weren't home. He asked me to give this to you."
Friend? He? Hopes soaring, she hurried towards her neighbour so quickly that the older lady took a step back. "What did he look like?"
Mrs. Henry frowned. "Oh, you know. Tall, dark hair. I think I've seen him here before. He seemed very upset that you weren't here."
Oh Mulder, why didn't you email, or phone? She knew she was acting like a bit of an idiot, but she grabbed the envelope and tore into it.
"Oh yes, and there was something wrong with his arm," Mrs. Henry added thoughtfully. Scully froze. "I asked if he was alright and he assured me he was, but--" She turned concerned eyes on Scully. "He didn't look alright."
"Was it his left arm?" she asked quietly and carefully, wondering how she could sound so calm when her mind was racing. William. Mulder. William. Mulder William Mulderwilliammulderwilliammulder.
"Yes. Yes it was, come to think of it."
Krycek.
*** She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Henry's worried voice as she rushed into her apartment, slamming the door behind her. Before she even realized it, she had her phone in her hand, dialing Skinner's number.
"Skinner."
"How did Krycek die?" she blurted.
"Agent Scully? Is everything okay?"
"Please Sir, it's very important that I know."
"He was shot several times. He died of a gunshot wound to the head."
"Who did the autopsy?"
"Are you sure--"
"Sir, the autopsy?"
A tired sigh came over the line. "There was no autopsy, Agent Scully."
"Where is Alex Krycek buried?"
"This is something that I'd rather not discuss."
All he'd been willing to tell her the one time she asked was that Krycek had been killed shortly after her escape from Billy Miles. She'd suspected that Skinner may have played some role, but now she wondered if he'd been the one holding the gun.
"Just tell me one thing: is there any chance that Krycek could have survived?"
"What is this about?"
"My neighbour said she saw someone--a man. Her description could fit Krycek."
"Scully, Alex Krycek is dead. You have my word on that."
From the tone of his voice she was supposed to be relieved or glad. Instead she felt a strange sense of disappointment. Krycek *had* helped to protect her from Billy Miles. Twice. Who knows what would have happened to her otherwise . . .
"Sorry to bother you so late, Sir. I'll see you on Monday."
"Agent Scully, what--"
She hung up and stared down at the letter. Fingers trembling slightly, she slid the single piece of paper out of the envelope.
Mulder. It had to be. It--
It wasn't his handwriting.
She sat down heavily on the sofa. He could have had someone else write it down for him, but the language was all wrong. It lacked that strange combination of professionalism and intimacy that was purely Mulder. It sounded . . . desperate.
I need to see you. You probably think I'm crazy. I'm not.
At least, I don't thinkMeet me in the park Sunday morning at 9:20, by the old fountain. I'll be sitting on the east side.
Please.
There was no signature.
*** Scully glanced around the park. There were a few stragglers rushing to get to work, even on the weekend, but other than that she was surrounded mostly by retired couples taking leisurely strolls, dogwalkers, and families. Her watch told her that she still had three minutes before she had to go over to the fountain.
She'd been having a coffee, watching from the west for nearly 10 minutes. No one had approached the fountain. Either her mystery person was leaving it to the last second, or he--or she--was already there.
Straightening her shoulders she moved forward and winced at the abnormally loud clicking that her shoes made on the sidewalk. She was slowly drawing closer to the fountain, coming around one side, there was a dark sleeve, dark hair--
Mulder turned at her startled gasp, his face lighting up in a smile. She rushed into his open arms, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling his familiar scent. He was here, and he wouldn't leave her again.
--and the back of a head that definitely didn't belong to Mulder. There was an almost overwhelming ache in her chest. She hadn't lost a limb, but it was phantom pain nonetheless. A part of her was gone.
She must have made a noise, because the mystery man started to turn, and she *knew* the split second before his profile came into view who it would be but that wasn't possible because he was dead Skinner had said so and Skinner wouldn't lie about something like that would he? He was a hallucination, a ghost.
Ghost Krycek approached her and all she could do was stare at him stupidly. He looked completely solid, the wind even ruffled his hair a little bit. He didn't look like she remembered him, cold and desperate and determined and so sure of himself. He was wearing dirty jeans and a navy blue hoodie, and he looked . . . scared.
"Krycek?" she blurted.
He suddenly rushed forward and grabbed her arms. She was too surprised to think of struggling, of pulling her gun, of anything she *should* have done.
"Is that my name?" he hissed.
"What?"
"My name--Kry-cek?" He stuttered over the two syllables.
"What?"
"Agent Scully!"
She focused over Ghost-but-not-ghost Krycek's shoulder and saw Doggett hurrying toward her. What the hell was he doing here?
Krycek froze for a second, his eyes widening in horror, and then he took off. She watched helplessly as Doggett burst into a sprint and chased after him. He returned a minute later looking winded.
"You alright?" he asked
"I'm fine. He just grabbed me."
"Who was that guy anyway?"
"You didn't see his face?" she asked, studying Doggett's expression intently. Surely he wouldn't have forgotten what Alex Krycek looked like.
Doggett shook his head. "Nah. He was too fast. Do you know who it was?"
Really, she wasn't sure if the man she'd seen actually was Krycek. So it wasn't a complete lie when she told him, "No, I have no idea."
*** She stalked out of Skinner's office with a frown. First, Skinner had told Doggett to keep an eye on her. Then Doggett had insisted they make a report about the incident even though *she* insisted it was nothing. They'd been called into Skinner's office before she even had time to take her coat off. Skinner hadn't brought up her curiousity about Krycek's death, but he had given her an extra hard glare when she told them she'd simply gone for a walk and a stranger had run up to her.
She'd lied to Skinner before, but always for Mulder. About Mulder. Never for herself. And never about Alex Krycek.
Glancing around, she let her hand fall into her coat pocket, fingers curling around the worn letter. The page had been folded, refolded, made into an airplane, crumpled, smoothed out, and folded again. She wanted to rip it up and throw it away, had in fact been on the verge of holding it over a candle flame. It was proof that she'd lied--Doggett would hound her mercilessly if he found it. But it was also proof that maybe she wasn't going crazy. Someone came looking for her, someone left a letter, someone had been there to meet her in the park. She wasn't imagining it. Wasn't imagining . . . Krycek.
TBC
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