image by Linzee
click on the picture to see the large version

AUTHOR: Eve (alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com)
TITLE: The Plan
RATING: this one is NC-17 . . . finally!!
PAIRING: K/Sc, references to K/M
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.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. I picked up Krycek on the side of the road one night, and you know what they say. Finders keepers. You like it with me, boy, don't you? That mean old Mr. Carter didn't know how to treat you. No, he didn't. Nooooo he didn't.
SUMMARY: Krycek finally comes back to town and things don't go exactly as planned...but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok, so the UST has really turned into RST. But I couldn't resist and threw in a little angst. I'll be the first one to say that there's more territory to explore with this one. However, due to many other commitments it will have to be put on hold, so I hope this tides you over for the time being. The song is "Rush Over" from the "Love Jones" soundtrack, written by a woman who's name I won't even try to spell 'cause it has wacky characters. I'll put the whole song at the bottom of the story.
AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: So this has taken me a really long time, and I'm not entirely satisfied with it. But I figures people needed a bit of closure so here it is. So I am open to suggestions and helpful criticism.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated, and always replied to!

Basement, FBI Headquarters
10:17 AM

It's been five days since I talked to Alex on the phone. He didn't show up on Sunday. At first I was angry, thinking that he'd just been playing me. Now I'm worried that something has happened to him. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in three weeks, I'm jittery, I rush home from work at night, I nearly have a heart attack every time the phone rings. It's even crossed my mind to contact the Lone Gunmen and get them to hunt Alex down. But then Mulder would probably find out, and I'd have to come up with a reasonable explanation. And there is no reasonable explanation for my feelings toward Alex Krycek. The only thing that comes to mind is 'pure unadulterated lust', and I don't think Mulder would accept that as readily as I have. Then again, maybe he would.

Something happened to me that day in the interrogation room. Or maybe it started even before that--I'm not sure. All I know is that I walked into that room and laid my eyes on Alex and something inside me shifted. He was no longer the remorseless killer that Mulder painted him to be. And Mulder was no longer the tarnished but indisputable hero that *I'd* painted *him* to be. After that the whole world turned upside down. I don't regret it, though. I feel more on an even keel with Mulder, like we're equals at last. And that's despite his constant and somewhat rude innuendoes.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

I finally look up from the report I've been staring at for the past twenty minutes. Worry about Alex is all I can think of, but something in Mulder's tone catches my attention. He sounds different. Quieter. Subdued. The look on his face is the one he gets when we're on a case and I get hurt. Like he's almost lost me.

"I'm fine, Mulder," is on the tip of my tongue. It's my standard reply when he asks. Mulder is too wrapped up in himself to be able to cope with my worries on top of his own. I'm supposed to look out for him--that's my job. And who's going to look out for you? a tiny voice inside me whispers.

"You seem sort of distracted lately. Ever since . . ." he trails off.

Ever since Krycek. Yeah. No kidding. I don't know what to tell him. I know what I *can't* tell him. I can't tell him about Krycek. I can't tell him that I know about their brief relationship. Even with all my worry a tiny flare of desire shoots through me and I feel my face flush. There is no denying that Mulder is attractive, but I never thought about him that way until . . .

Until Krycek. Everything seemed to lead back to one man.

"Scully?"

Mulder is obviously confused by my silence, by the high color that has suddenly appeared in my cheeks. "Mulder, I--it's not something I want to talk about." No use denying that something is wrong. The man is a trained psychologist, after all. There's a brief pause where I look down and can't meet his eyes. I hear some papers shuffling and then a sigh.

"I know I've been a jerk lately. I'm probably not high on your list of confidantes right now. But if you do want to talk, I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

All the tension leaves my shoulders. How can a person be such an insufferable ass one day and a compassionate friend the next? I meet his hopeful gaze with a tremulous smile. "Yes, Mulder, I know," I reply, reaching out to squeeze his hand. He wouldn't be so quick to offer his ear if he knew what was really bothering me.

The rest of the day goes by in a comfortable semi-silence. The knots in my stomach gradually loosen, and it's then that I realize just how much of my anxiety has to do with the tension between me and my partner. Before I know it the day is over, and Mulder surprises me with a hug before he leaves the office. Normally I'm gone before he is, but today I'm in no hurry. My sense of urgency is diminished. After all, Alex said he'd do what he could. Whatever he was doing in London must have taken longer than he anticipated. Still, a phone call would have been nice. Especially if all his phone calls were as good as the last one.

I grin to myself, realizing that I sound like something between a horny teenager and a neglected girlfriend. Too bad I can't call him. Then a thought occurs to me. I scramble for the phone, hoping that it's not too late to reach a live person at the phone company.

I give my badge number and request a list of all incoming calls to my apartment for the last week. After insisting quite emphatically that it's urgent FBI business, I'm assured that the results will be faxed to me within twenty minutes. Twenty minutes? How long does it take them to look something up in the computer? Do they type one handed?

I pace restlessly, and even resort to bouncing Mulder's basketball to keep my eyes off the clock. The whirring startles me, and then I'm at the machine like a flash, grabbing up the records. There it is. Friday night. 9:43 PM. The number isn't international, but he could have been using a cell. I reach for the phone, but pull my hand back at the last minute. I shouldn't call from here. Reluctantly, I decide to wait until I get home.

Back      Next      Back to Fiction