cover by Rike

AUTHOR: Eve (alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com)
TITLE: The Interrogation
SPOILERS: Gah. There's nothing past Paper Clip, but I mixed and matched to suit my own nefarious purposes. If I don't mention it, assume that it didn't happen.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to apologize in advance to all Americans for my gross distortion of geography and motel room pricing and everyone else for the suspiciously long day.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated, and always replied to!

9:20 AM
Basement, FBI Headquarters

"But Mulder--wait! Where--"

The other end of the line is already dead. I snap the phone shut and without looking toss it on his desk. A great feat of rebellion for me. Then I straighten the pile of papers the phone has scattered.

He's done it again. Mulder has gone off on some wild goose chase based on information I doubt is more tangible that a shoelace. If there's any connection at all. A wrong number. A paper at his door. The off hand remark of a complete stranger. These are all clues to Fox Mulder. Clues of his conspiracy that he has no problem expounding to me in the relative safety of our basement office. But when it comes down to actually going out and doing something, he ditches me time and time again. I've tried to rationalize it away. He's so used to working alone that he doesn't always think to call; he thinks I'll be mad at being dragged off to parts unknown in the middle of the night for some case that sounds absolutely ludicrous; or, because I'm a woman, he doesn't think I can handle myself and chooses to pursue his task alone rather than risk my life. There's likely a grain of truth to all my theories, but it comes down to just one thing: he can be such an ass sometimes. He didn't even say where he was going.

There will probably be a dead body somewhere along the line that he'll want me to autopsy. Other than that, I won't hear from him until he returns, finding nothing, but convinced that another part of the puzzle has been set in place. He'll either show up at work one day, or I'll get a call saying that he's in the hospital. Again. Such is my life.

I sit down at his desk, adjusting the chair so that my feet touch the ground. Normally I put a phone book down so he won't have to fix it the next time he sits, but I'm too irritated to care. There'd a pile of paperwork on the corner of the desk, away from all the clutter. No doubt so I can spot it easily. Well screw it. Mulder can start writing his own damn reports. What did he do when I was gone?

I sift through the mess in front of me, quickly growing bored with cow mutilations, UFO sightings in Texas, and vampires. Apparently Ogopogo has made another appearance. The reports quickly form three piles on the surface of the desk: somewhat bogus, bogus, and completely bogus. I sigh in defeat and reach for the paperwork. My defiance has lasted an entire twenty minutes this time.

2:03 PM
Basement, FBI Headquarters

By two I'm bored out of my mind. I think I actually nodded off once. I've even added a few new holes to Mulder's ceiling. I can't get the pencils to stay up there like he does. The paperwork is done, I've filed everything that can be filed. Lunch in the cafeteria was less than savory. At least with Mulder there I would've had someone to talk to. Mostly everyone just avoids me, like I've caught the 'spooky' bug. The highlight of the day comes at one thirty when some heavy breather calls looking for Mulder. At first I think it's one of his paranoid schizophrenic 'sources' because the breather is very adamant about speaking to Mulder and that he can't leave a message with me. Out of sheer curiosity I call up to the switchboard and ask to have the number of the last caller. It's for an adult video store.

At four I contemplate calling Miss Bobby Jane Jenkins of Abilene, Texas, about her UFO sighting for something to do, because when I realize I've got one of Mulder's supposed 'sighting' pictures stuck to my cheek, there's no denying that I actually fell asleep this time. Maybe I need a new mattress. Or maybe I need some work to do. Thankfully, the phone rings just then. Skinner wants me in his office. ASAP. God. What did Mulder do now?

I had a dream about Skinner once. He called me up to his office and when I stepped inside he was laid out on his desk wearing nothing but a grin and a strategically placed bowl of strawberries. After that, every time I saw the AD I got a craving for a strawberry milkshake. Thank God there's an ice cream vendor a few blocks away from the building. After a week Mulder commented on it, and I'd had to resort to carrying candies in my pocket until the obsession passed. I gave him some lame excuse about sugar and hormones and he dropped it.

Kim ushers me in to Skinner's office. I wonder for the thousandth time if they're having an affair.

"Sit down, Agent Scully. I've just gotten word that Agent Mulder has Alex Krycek in custody."

"Sir?" I have trouble believing that Mulder captured Alex Krycek on his own. Mulder is a good Agent, but Krycek is a trained assassin. If you catch him, you better believe it's because he wants to be caught.

"Krycek was found in New Mexico. I'd like you to meet Agent Mulder in Monument and aid him in the investigation."

"And what are the details of the investigation?"

He hands me a file over his enormous desk, and I have to lean forward to grab it. I suddenly become aware of the fact that the blouse I'm wearing is a little more low cut than I'm used to. Skinner's eyes widen just for a second at my exposed cleavage before he schools his face back to its normally stoic expression. As I lean back he clears his throat and answers my question.

"The details are sketchy. I haven't been able to speak directly to Agent Mulder yet--this report was passed on by a local sheriff. It seems that Krycek was just following Mulder, but no one knows for sure. I want this one by the book Agent Scully. This weasel isn't getting away again. Everything's arranged--your flight leaves in an hour. I hope that's enough time to prepare."

And if it isn't, what can I do about it? Especially since my plan was to go home and have a relaxing bath before flopping into bed. "Yes Sir," I reply as I leave the office. So I'm the babysitter. Make sure Mulder doesn't kill Krycek before we can prosecute him for--for what? There's absolutely no proof that Krycek has done anything, other than sketchy eye witness accounts and some circumstantial evidence. Kim smiles at me on the way out and then enters Skinner's office. I wonder if I have enough time to stop for a milkshake.

7:33 PM
Monument Police Station, New Mexico

So, the elusive Alex Krycek. I have no idea why we're all here, because the casefile that Skinner handed me is sitting, unread and forgotten, on my kitchen counter. I eye Krycek coolly as Mulder gets in his face, jerks him by the collar of his leather jacket a few times, raises his hand as if to slug him, then slams him back in the chair so hard it almost tips over. To his credit, Krycek regains his balance quickly, the smug expression never once leaving his face. I realize that Mulder is looking at me like I'm supposed to say something. What could I say? Truth be told, I haven't been listening to either of them for the past ten minutes. It's too much effort. Mulder accuses, Krycek denies, blah blah blah. I wonder what would happen if I told him I was going to go for a nap.

Mulder's face reflects his confusion at my silence, and even Krycek seems a little more unsure than he was a second ago. That's right. I'm the one with the chain--I rein Mulder in when he gets out of control. Not this time. You're on your own, just like me.

Mulder spins away to continue his interrogation, refocussing his energy on Krycek. Krycek, however, is watching me now. I meet his eyes, noting that they narrow slightly as we size each other up.

He's bigger that I remember. Either he's been working out, or those butt ugly suits were really good at hiding his physique. The Leave it to Beaver haircut is gone, a harsh buzz in its place. I can see blood on his lips from a cut Mulder must have caused before I got here. There is an air of cold, calculating arrogance about Krycek. He's no longer the fresh faced rookie who pukes at the sight of a dead body and follows Mulder around like a lost puppy. No, he is something else entirely.

And he looks good.

Krycek keeps staring back at me as Mulder rails, unaware than no one in the room is paying attention to him. I resist the tug at the corner of my mouth. The mere mention of Krycek's name is enough to send Mulder into cataplexy. Something must have happened while they were partners. Krycek's betrayal isn't enough to cause this devotional hatred. I've asked Mulder about it enough times to realize just how stubborn my partner is. Still, even though he continues to claim that nothing else happened, I have an idea.

When Mulder really gets on a roll he can go for hours. I settle back against the wall to continue the staring contest. Yeah, Krycek's a killer, but I've got two X chromosomes. If I pull out the eyebrow arch he's a dead man. I get a sudden flashback to the milkshake I had before getting on the plane. They didn't have strawberry, so I had to settle for banana. I sense a new dream coming on.

I lick my lips and note that Krycek's gaze follows the movement. Interesting. I do it once more just for fun. Sure enough, his eyes lock onto my tongue as it sweeps across my upper lip. On a whim I run my fingers under the collar of my blouse, all the way down to the V and back up again. Man, this blouse really is low cut. No wonder Skinner's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Krycek's adams apple bobs once. Very interesting. I feel naughty. Three acts of outright defiance in one day. I think that's some sort of record for me.

Apparently Mulder has realized that he's shouting to himself, because he grabs Krycek by the lapels to get his attention. I wonder where he got that leather jacket. It looks expensive, despite the obvious wear. Mulder slaps Krycek on the side of the head and the smirk falters briefly as he breaks eye contact. I win. But I'm supposed to be making sure that Mulder doesn't beat him to a pulp. Somehow I think that if Krycek really wanted to hurt Mulder, Mulder would be on the floor faster than you could say 'the speed of light'. But I'm the responsible one here. And Krycek already has more than enough reason to charge Mulder with assault.

"Mulder." The commanding tone of my voice surprises even me. It's the first time I've spoken since laying eyes on our prisoner. Two sets of eyes snap toward me. If I can believe it, Krycek looks a little relieved. Mulder looks startled, like I just woke him from a dream where he was beating on Alex Krycek.

"Mulder, I think you should step outside for a moment."

"Scully--"

"Now Mulder. He's handcuffed to the chair. I'll be fine."

Mulder lets go of Krycek's jacket and gives him one last parting swat, avoiding my glare as he leaves the room. "If he pulls anything, I'll be right outside," he says before shutting the door behind him. Mulder must have scowled at Krycek because Krycek's smirking over my shoulder. When the door bangs shut he relaxes, shoulders sinking, eyelids drooping slightly.

"You two do an excellent good cop bad cop."

Those are the first words I've really heard out of his mouth since Mulder's interrogation began. His voice is different than I remember, too. Lower. Harsher.

"Is that what you think this is?"

He shrugs. "What else could it be? Mulder flies off the handle. You fix it. It's always that way."

I can't help but snort. Isn't that the truth? He looks surprised by my tiny outburst but remains silent. If it weren't for the fact that I've been wearing these pumps since seven this morning, I think I could just stand here and stare at him for days. There's something fascinating about this Alex Krycek. The other one was clean cut, geeky, easy to brush off and ignore. This one exudes confidence, even when he's letting Mulder beat him up. I wonder how he makes such a good spy. He has a little too much presence, is a little too good looking . . .

"You know, your interrogation tactics leave much to be desired."

I step over to the table and slide myself onto the edge. My feet are dangling above the linoleum, but these damn shoes are giving me blisters anyway so I let them fall to the floor and flex my toes. He's looking at my feet now, and I lean toward him.

"What makes you think I give a damn about anything you have to say?" It's not harsh--just the plain statement of the truth. And if I can bait him, we'll all get out of here and I can go home to bed. Being annoyed at Mulder uses up a lot of energy.

He leans forward, as far as he can with his wrists cuffed to the chair, trying to crowd my space. He's close enough that I can see there's still blood oozing out of his lip. And a shadow of a bruise is beginning to form on his left temple. Geez Mulder.

"Well, Scully, if you don't care what I have to say then why are you here?"

"Because Skinner gave me the ticket and told me to keep a leash on him." No need to explain who 'he' is. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. What is wrong with me today? I'm blaming it on fatigue. We stare at each other a beat, and then to my utter disbelief, Alex Krycek, spy and assassin, starts to laugh. I wonder if Mulder will think it's some sort of demented war cry and batter down the door. I watch Krycek's shoulders shake with glee as he lowers his head to the table to contain himself. Every once in a while he snorts. It's almost five minutes before he's silent again. His head is only ten inches from my thigh. I wonder what he'd do if I started petting him. His hair looks soft, and I figure he should let it grow out. A woman likes something she can run her fingers through. Like Mulder's hair. Only not on Mulder.

Krycek turns his head and looks up at me with one eye. "Do you always do what you're told Agent Scully?"

I stop the childish "Do you?" just in time. Since I know the answer to that would be "Of course not," I don't see the point. Instead I pull a tissue from my pocket and dip it in the water glass behind me. I'm getting thirsty for another milkshake. But first things first. I reach for Krycek's face, surprised that he doesn't jerk away. He lets me cradle his chin in my palm while I dab the blood from his lip. The laughing has split open the cut again.

"You'll need stitches for that."

"I'll manage. You never answered my question."

"I'll answer yours if you answer mine." I start probing around his temple.

He grins. His even white teeth show when he grins. The spy guild must have good dental. He could be a model in a toothpaste ad. "Ooh, I love a game. But I thought you didn't care what I have to say."

I don't. But this is my job. I can't just walk out of here and say that I stared at him for an hour. I supress a yawn.

"Why are you in New Mexico?"

He doesn't even hesitate before answering. "I was following Mulder."

I'm fairly certain that's the first bit of truth anyone has gotten out of him all day. "Why?"

"Uh-huh. My turn. Do you always do what you're told?"

He'd probably laugh at what I considered rebellious. Waiting until the next day to do the dishes. Running a yellow light at a busy intersection. Waiting until the last minute to file my taxes. What I'm doing right now. And what am I doing right now? Playing twenty questions with a known felon while I tend his wounds and wonder how soft his hair is.

"No," I answer.

"Like what?" He realizes his mistake and leans away from my grasp, patiently waiting for my next question.

"Why were you following Agent Mulder?"

"The usual. Looking out for his sorry ass."

I can't quite bring myself to believe that one. Still, he's pretty smooth about it. His arms must be throbbing by now, but he just cocks his head and stares up at me like the answer's obvious. But what do I expect him to say? 'The usual--trying to kill him', 'The usual--trying to thwart his attempts to expose the government conspiracy to conceal the existence of extraterrestrials'. That last one seems a little long winded for Krycek. He doesn't strike me as a man of many words.

I watch him relax and tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers to get some feeling back into them. I bet that if he really wanted to, he could stand up and knock me unconscious with that metal chair, handcuffs or no. I wonder why he doesn't. Probably because he'd never get past Mulder and all the police in the building.

I know I told Mulder I'd be all right, but there's all sorts of ways a man like Krycek could hurt a small woman like me. He doesn't look especially big sitting all slumped in that chair, but I think he's the same height as Mulder. Disguised strength. Making himself look small, vulnerable, frumpy clothes. Except for the jacket. I think that when Alex Krycek dies I want his leather jacket. And those eyelashes. No man should have glittering green eyes framed by the darkest, longest eyelashes I've ever seen. It's just not fair. If we can find eyewitnesses to his crimes, I bet they'll be able to identify him by those eyelashes alone. My eyes drift from his, down his nose to his lips. Suddenly I realize his mouth is moving.

"Are you listening to me Agent Scully?"

Shit. He must have asked me something. Or he could have just confessed to a dozen murders and I wasn't paying attention. Maybe I should have told Skinner that I wasn't in any shape to carry out this assignment.

"Yes," I answer, and realize he just used up his question. I can't help but grin. "My turn."

It's funny the way his face goes from annoyed to confused to depreciating. He finally grins back at me like we're sharing some private joke and waits for my question. I win again. There's only one thing I really want to know here. I couldn't care less why he was following Mulder--people follow Mulder all the time and he's still alive and well. And any confession I get out of him won't stand up in court because of Mulder's earlier beating. It would be dismissed because the confession was made under duress. At least, that's what he'd argue. And he'd win.

"What happened between you and Mulder when you were partners?"

I swear it's like I just shocked him with a cattle prod. He stiffens and the grin disappears. Guess he wasn't expecting that one. I slide off the table onto the linoleum, cold enough to send a jolt of wakefulness through my body, and there's enough room between him and the table that I can stand comfortably in front of him. I brace my hands on either side of the chair and lean toward him.

"Did you turn him down?"

Krycek's glittering green eyes widen in surprise--he doesn't even bother to point out the fact that I've asked two questions. Unfortunately, he hasn't answered either of them. I try again.

"Did he turn you down?"

I've been to Mulder's apartment enough times to catch a glimpse of his 'video' collection. And let me tell you, it's not all het. In fact, het would be in the minority. Krycek swallows, moves his head back slightly to get away, but there's really no place for him to go.

"I tried to seduce him to gain his trust," he says. Now his voice is downright hoarse. Wonder if I'm doing that?

"And?" I can pretty much figure it out on my own from here, but I still want to hear it.

"And he fell for it. But then he found out I wasn't gay . . ."

Yeah, that's what I had figured. I'm not a Special Agent for nothing. My fine detective skills also notice the direction that Krycek's gaze is taking. I'd forgotten about my blouse. I almost pull away before deciding that I can use this to my advantage. Lucky for you I wore a really nice bra today. Hope you appreciate it. And he seems to. Appreciate it, I mean. His breathing is a bit quicker, short puffs against my chin. I can smell berries. Krycek must have eaten a blueberry muffin in the past hour.

When AD Skinner accidentally looked down my blouse that morning it was like he wished he'd never seen anything. But Krycek--Krycek looks like he wants to take a bite out of me. He actually licks his lips. It's been a long time since a man looked at me that way. Especially since I started working with Mulder. This would be a really bad time for Mulder to come back in. He's bound to get curious soon because he's been out in the hallway for a half hour. The man has the patience of a Christmas Eve crowd at Barney's. So I ask the thing that I'm really curious about.

"And how far did your seduction go?"

His eyes snap up to mine. There's all sorts of interesting emotions swirling around in them. Confusion. Respect. Wariness. Desire. Amusement. I think he actually leans toward me. His nose brushes my cheek, just for an instant.

"That's five questions. You're not playing by the rules, Dana."

I have to admit that his use of my first name startles me. All through med school I was Ms. Scully and then Dr. Scully. In Quantico I was Cadet Scully, then Agent Scully, and finally, just Scully. The only person who calls me Dana is my mother, and I don't see her often enough to be used to it.

"I told you I don't always do what people tell me--Alex." The name rolls off my tongue like a foreign word. I've written the name Alex Krycek, I've spoken it to various law enforcement officials. But he's always been Krycek. Like I've always been Scully. I think Mulder would say there's a certain psychology behind only referring to people by their last names. Keeps things at a distance, less personal, more objective. And it's true, because when I think of Krycek, I think of spy, assassin, double-agent, murderer, thief. When I think of Alex . . .

I get another whiff of blueberries and my mouth begins to water. I really need that milkshake. I don't think they have blueberry milkshakes. And then it comes, unbidden, a vision of Alex Krycek laid out on this very table wearing nothing but a grin and a strategically placed bowl of berries. And then the bowl tips to the side and the berries spill like marbles over strong thighs, bouncing onto the worn linoleum floor. Oh. My. God.

My breath catches, and a tiny line appears across the bridge of his nose as he frowns, looking like he's trying to read my mind. I pray to God that Krycek's spy abilities are not aided by any type of ESP. What are the rules about kissing suspects in custody? Because if he tilts his head to the side just a little, and I lower my mouth . . .

When I think of Alex I think of a man who maybe isn't all that different from me, who's just on the wrong path. Who maybe would have caught my eye when he was Mulder's partner if I hadn't been so jealous and he hadn't had such bad fashion sense. Who has the most amazing eyes I've ever seen on someone who wasn't an airbrushed model, with stubble and messy hair and know-it-all-smirk that just screams lazy sensuality.

"You didn't answer my question," I whisper. I think I'm going to kiss him. I try to tell myself it's purely an interrogation technique, that I'll be able to get anything out of him after this. But even I'm not that deluded. His nose brushes against my cheek again, and again, and now I can tell he's doing it on purpose, trying to see how close I'll let him get. His eyes are closed, those impossibly long lashes spilling onto his cheeks. But when I feel his mouth brush the corner of mine, I forget all about his eyes.

I think about the fact that I'm with a criminal. I think about losing my job. I think about Mulder standing outside.

"He's a screamer, Dana."

Next      Back to fiction