Title: Catharsis
Author: Felicia Smith
Email:
Rating: NC-17
Categories: Romance/Angst
Summary: Scully and Krycek collide, dissolving the
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended, I'm simply toying with the universe of Mr. Carter
The sound of suede pumps angrily smacking against hardwood floors reverberated across the otherwise empty apartment, serving as the background music for an infuriated murmuring.
"Meet Diana Fowley, my not-so-ex-lover, and all around Anti-Scully. Take in her long chestnut mane, impossibly leggy body, and immense intellect. Isn't she perfect? Meet Diana Fowley, me ex-lover…."
Dana Scully was smoking, a rarity, her ashes were haphazardly falling on the floor of her very expensive, otherwise immaculate apartment. The last time she had a nicotine-fix was a direct consequence of Mulder's flirtatious behavior with Detective White; she may have recognized her pathetic behavior, but refused to see the emerging pattern.
Her normally boxy business suit was strewn about the furniture, and in its place, a plum-hued silken dress hugged her frame intimately. Her hair was not its usual coiffed structure either; it had been fastidiously curled and hair-sprayed into a look that was purposely messy. Dana Scully looked hot, and she was knew it.
She had been prepared to knock some sense into a certain Special Agent's disproportionately large head, but things had gone very, very wrong.
Scully's fingers traced the amethyst chocker that lied delicately in the shadowy hollow at the base of her neck. Her mind was whirling, but not with Newton's Laws of Gravity or the improbability of telepathy, as one might have thought. Instead, she was planning the method of her attack. Step one, enter the office and shut the door dramatically, triggering Mulder's inherent paranoia and snapping his head up. Step two, stalk toward him in a predatory fashion, swinging her hips, and maybe if she was feeling risky, licking her lips intermittently. Step three, push him back into his well-worn chair, straddle him, and commence knocking sense into his head, through mouth to mouth resuscitation.
Perhaps it was the steamy movie playing in her head, but she had somehow neglected to hear the breathy alto of her arch nemesis, a certain Diana Fowley in the room. She snuck in through the door to the office, and was just about to slam the door shut to rouse Mulder's attention, and hopefully arousal, when she saw it. His hand skimming up and down Diana's side, and her body perched upon his thigh, her mouth firmly attached to his neck, whispering sweet nothings into the moistened skin.
Dana's eyes flew open, and with a gasp, and the harsh smack her hand made against the flesh of her chest, very thoroughly alerted the lovers to her addled presence. Mulder pushed Fowley off his lap unceremoniously, and made a lunge to grab Scully's arm, but the sounds of her heels were already fading down the hall.
Her normally stoic tear-ducts laid siege to her make-up once inside her rental car, and blurred her vision until she thankfully, made it home alive.
After a heaping portion of Haagen-Dazs ice cream, her spirit was significantly improved; she fixed her make-up and prepared herself for a night out, a night to feel validated and beautiful. It was time to shed the stigma of being the patron saint of Platonic Relationships.
Scully realized then, she was always in the shadow of someone else when it came to Mulder, whether it was his sister, Samantha, his mother, Phoebe Greene, Detective White, Kristen Killar, Diana Fowley, or most often, himself. She had undergone the Ed Jerse fiasco in order distance herself from her dependency on Mulder, to finally break through her fixation on pleasing the strong male presence in her life. But when had she asserted her needs? When had she eaten her proverbial tail, like the snake permanently etched on her lower back? She was surprised her skin had not blistered from the irony of it all, that her tattoo declaring her independence had not simply faded away after feeling the gentle pressure of Mulder's hand on Scully's lower back.
For that matter, when was the last time a man had looked upon her with passion, since they had called her by her name, Dana? She had become the "Ice Queen" to everyone around her. The last man whose heart she had thawed was S.A. Pendrell, and she hadn't even given the time or effort to learn his first name, let alone recognize the feelings he harbored for her. Who had she become, and where the hell had she buried Dana Katherine Scully from her past?
Determined for an adaption of How Scully Got her Groove Back, she strapped on her highest heels and made her way out her front door. For the second time that night, the normally analytical mind of Dana Scully had been clouded by the heady combination of pheromones and fury, and made her remarkably incognizant of her surroundings. She had barely had room for undergarments, never mind a gun, under her tight dress and was consequently left incredibly vulnerable.
A leather encased hand vaulted out of the depths of darkness in her hallway, clamping itself over her nose and mouth, making it incredibly hard to breathe. Her mind slipped into a primeval state, pumping adrenaline into her veins, shoving her knee into her assailant's stomach and punching the intruder square in the nose. A deep, guttural, oomoph, greeted her ears, and she ran as quickly as her petite legs could carry her.
Dana barely had enough time to punch the down button for the elevator before her body was crushed against the wall, forcing all of the air out of lungs. She was thrown over the shoulder of the intruder, and was carried back into the familiar cream and lavender palate of her home. She wrenched her hands from behind her back and ripped the mask of the man, preparing herself for the worst, when she unveiled Alex Krycek in all of his smug glory.
"Why, Dana, fancy meeting you here!"
Her open palm was caught in his strong grip before she made contact with his annoyingly handsome face. She often wondered why all the handsome men were either oblivious to her presence or engaged in the Consortium. He managed to cuff her hands together without inflicting anymore damage, and after he finished his task, he took in her appearance for the first time.
"Fuck, plans tonight? I'm sorry I picked tonight, Dana, but I needed to do this. Shitty timing I guess."
Her laugh was bitter and cold, the jagged taunting of the "Ice Queen". "Krycek, what the fuck do you want? Enough beating around the bush, I want your murderous ass out of here as soon as possible. Coincidentally I'm not especially fond of the smell of rats, or in your case, rat-bastards." She set her jaw then, preparing her face for the blow that her words had surely warranted.
Instead, Krycek did nothing. He sat down, laid his head in his hands, and pulled his recently grown hair at the roots. He had known she wasn't going to make this easy, but he could see he was up for a brutal battle of the wills. Fortunately for him, patience was one of his specialties, perhaps, the trait that had kept him alive for all of this time.
After a moment, he began; "Look, Scully, I get it you hate me, Fuck, I hate me. But that's irrelevant. I'm here to tell you everything I know; you and Mulder can't go groping along in the dark anymore. It's going to lead you two to your deaths…
"Are you suggesting, I rely on the words of a traitor thrice-over to shed light on the situation? You are out of your mind, Krycek. Should I list the reasons I don't trust you? You got me kidnapped, killed my sister Missy and Bill Mulder, you…"
"God damn it Scully, you need to listen to me! There is so much more than the two of you know, more than you can find out through your work on the X-files! I'll tell you all of it, but first, I need to set the record straight.
I regret ever stopping Mulder from reaching you in time at Skyland Mountain; I live with that weight in my chest every day. You already know most of what they did to you, the harvesting of your ova, the tests they performed on you, but what you don't know is why."
His eyes flitted to her face then, and he saw her fury has been subdued into what looked to be her business face, the façade she slipped on when she donned her F.B.I. attire. He couldn't tell whether it was an improvement or not.
"Dana, I understand that you think I'm the archetypical villain, but I'm not.
My parents were upper-class in Russia, and received educations that lent themselves towards manufacturing a cure. As a child, I overheard their arguments about Purity, the black cancer, and my Mother's acceptance of the…. toppling of humanity. She always used to tell me that everything has a precedent, and history always repeated the same "pirouetting dance of creation, evolution, and destruction". She could have been a poet. I think."
Krycek's lips turned up then, and a slight chuckle escaped his tightly closed lips.
"So I've known about it since then, and I decided to dedicate myself to their cause. The Cigarette Smoking Man realized my potential; he told me I could leave Sasha behind and become Alex, with all the American trimmings. He promised me my work would aid in the creation of a cure, that all I would need to do was infiltrate the Bureau in order to maintain the secrecy of the project. I would be the man that stopped the leaks to the people. No progress can be made in the face of mass hysteria, Dana.
Obviously, I needed to be assigned to Mulder. He was getting too close, as were you. Your student at Quantico, Rachel O'Neil, was one of our own too. Rachel was supposed to keep tabs on you, and she did her job well. She made the report that it was you who the Consortium needed to worry about. Your name still held clout, unlike Mulder's, your scientific background and pass work with infectious diseases also made you a threat. Not to mention your stubborn nature and annoying need to do whatever Mulder asks of you."
Krycek's smirk appeared then, acknowledging he had given her ample ammunition to trigger her retaliatory response.
She shocked him then, with barely a whisper, she urged him. "Go on."
Taken aback, Krycek paused and studied her features, looking for a crack in its stony formation. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. What she believed, what she didn't. It was driving him insane. He was sweating under his leather armor, a rather un-assassin-like reaction.
"Well, uh, orders were sent down the line to kill two birds with one stone so to speak. By capturing you, Mulder's spirit would be broken. They hoped the scare would force you to leave the X-files behind you. That instead you would want some normalcy. But they didn't know you.
I told them it was asinine, that by harming you they would create a drive for you to find out what had been done to you while you had been kidnapped. That Mulder would be enraged, and would have become recklessly dangerous. His death would have triggered a crusade. He thinks it's his romantic quest, but he has made "the Truth" imperative to you and the Lone Gunmen, too.
They didn't listen to me; Duane Barry was brought down in order to distract Mulder. Surely, he would have been assigned to the case. An ex-Bureau, alien abductee? Who else would have even been considered for the job?"
Krycek saw it then, the crack. Scully's eyebrow quirked a bit, she had found him funny. Encouraged, he rolled ahead.
"The….Consortium as you call them, have been actively looking for a cure for the black cancer, albeit unsuccessfully, for the last fifty years. The Syndicate made a deal with the devil; they would facilitate the colonization of Earth in exchange for the key to survival; the alien fetus.
If in possession of the fetus, there would still be hope for the continued existence of humanity. The melding of alien and human D.N.A. would create an alien hybrid, an amalgam that would at least ensure at least a semblance of a future for us. Hybrids would become slaves; the extraterrestrials would rule the planet, and humans would become little more than serfs and lab rats. However, there was a price to pay.
In exchange for the fetus, the Syndicate brokered a deal. Each man would forfeit over a member of their family as a sign of good will; they were told the loved ones they relinquished to the aliens would be safe when Ground Zero hit.
There is still some slim chance for me, you, and the other six billion people, though. A rebellion has been growing, becoming stronger, in the past few years; another race of extraterrestrials that are trying to wipe out Purity and the threat of colonization. You saw them, on the bridge that night. Their faces are mutilated…"
It became too much. "Krycek, untie me. I'm listening, just…please, untie me." His startlingly green eyes met her then, and she was unprepared for their intensity. Involuntarily, a harsh gasp was pulled from her lips, betraying her demeanor. Dana Scully had realized two things simultaneously; 1) His eyes were too beautiful. He must wear color enhancing contacts, and 2) he was completely, utterly unattainable. Her type, exactly.
Confused, Krycek interpreted her sharp intake of breath as sign of pain. He eyed her wrists, bloody and bruised. She had never even felt the pain.
"Fuck."
"Shit, Scully, this wasn't supposed to be an attack. I needed you, well, subdued. Just, uh, lemme help."
Click. She could have left. Could have elbowed him in the nose, and made a dash for her gun in her bedside table. But, she didn't. She just continued sitting in her off-white chair, trying to join together the heartless killer and concerned informant. Caught in her reverie, Scully hadn't noticed she had been ferried into her bathroom.
Krycek had filled up the sink with warm, soapy water, and collected the necessary medical supplies in minutes. Scully was begrudgingly amazed; Mulder still asked her where her facecloths were years into their partnership.
Alex sat her upon the incredibly expensive, purely decorative bench, a move which would have sent Dana into a frenzy when she wasn't shell-shocked, and proceeded to gingerly rinse and disinfect the shallow abrasions. His face read of remorse, and his gentle, soothing touches said "I'm sorry" with every tentative flutter.
After her wounds were properly attended to, he lifted his head to meet her, still kneeling by her feet. Their eyes met then, sapphire and emerald locking, hypnotizing one another. And with a dream-like languor, Krycek lifted her wrists to his mouth and tenderly kissed the bandages.
Scully's eyes swam with tears, when was the last time she had been cared for like this? She had become so self-reliant; she had forgotten how it had felt to be on the receiving end of comfort. With Mulder, it was her who waited by his bed, who stitched up his cuts, who held his hand through thick and thin. When was the last time someone had made an effort to keep her completely informed? Scully had become accustomed to being ditched, because of Mulder she had over three taxi services programmed into her mobile phone. Without really knowing it, Krycek had stripped Scully's defenses down, and left her feeling incredibly vulnerable.
"Thank you." The words were so simple, so quiet, Scully was shocked they had been formed by her own lips. She wanted to feel the outrage, the burning pain, accompanied with his presence, but the venom had been replaced by something she was not comfortable with. She didn't have much time to psychoanalyze herself, because Krycek had swung her petite frame into his arms and was carrying her to the master bedroom.
Thoughtlessly, she twisted in his arms, and grazed her lips ever so slightly over his. His arms shook, but remained otherwise motionless under her exploratory flutters. When she finally sunk down, he relented. Their kiss was sweet, and understanding. Passionate, yet unhurried and relatively chaste. The bed was soon under her, and his hands joined the orchestra. They traced the dip of her waist, and curve of her neck, tickling. Her mind was empty, clouded by her arousal.
The plum silk was sumptuous under his hands, but incomparable to the luscious lips under his own. Entranced by the hypnotic smell of her perfume and arousal, Krycek traced the prominent bow of her upper lip with his tongue. Her back arched, and the tiniest of sighs greeted his ears. Their tongues met then, pirouetting, soothing, and alternately becoming the dominant and the subservient. They had never experienced anything like this kiss, it felt familiar, right.
His left hand cupped her neck, and made the maddeningly slow journey to her breast. Surely, she thought I'm dead. This can't be real, pleasure of this magnitude on Earth. His touch was fleeting, but intoxicating. But she realized she must be alive, because Alex fucking Krycek wouldn't be in heaven.
The smack reverberated across the otherwise empty apartment. The right side of his face was stinging, but so were her eyes. Krycek was aghast; he opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, clapping her still smarting hand over his mouth.
"You killed Missy you bastard! Then you have the nerve to come in here, my home, shackle me to my own furniture, and then come towards me with romantic intentions? What are you?"
She was met with silence. He opened her nightstand, and lifted out her SIG.
"Do it. I deserve it. I swear to you, I didn't take Missy from you; the man who did is already dead. I found him, and killed him. Slow, and painful. I knew you would think it was me. But, I liked you, even then. I heard about what happened, and I did it. But, I'm still a bastard, you're right. I'm like the plague. Everything I touch gets fucking ruined, diseased. I'm a fucking rat bastard. I was just planning on coming here tonight to tell you everything I knew, and then turning myself over to the Consortium headquarters. I'm ready for it, Dana. Just do it, please."
Her face was emotionless. The tears from her prior outburst had left salty tracks down her face, and Krycek thought that the sight of her so broken, so pained, must be his own personal hell. But then he realized, he must be alive, because the face of Dana fucking Scully would never be in amongst the eternally damned. He felt the weight of the SIG being removed from his hand, and didn't even bother to close his eyes. He was ready.
The cool barrel of the gun colliding with the right side of his face had been unexpected. From the bile rising in his throat, Krycek had to guess his cheekbone had been fractured. Scully removed the clip then, and threw the SIG across the room. The pair didn't move.
Scully picked up Krycek's hand after a minute, and simply said, "I believe you." Krycek had never been religious, never understood the benevolence of God. Russia had been brutal, and surely, if God existed, he had forsaken that land. But at that moment, he felt renewed.
Her fingers traced the angry wound then, and her teeth clicked against his as their mouth collided, almost cruelly. The pain was quickly being eclipsed by the growing surges of passion and dizzying arousal. Dana's tongue was probing about Krycek's mouth, flicking and sucking here and there, eliciting moans and more frequently, throaty growls. He became afraid he may lose his mind; Alex detached himself from her crimsoned lips, and made a maddeningly slow journey down the milky-white column of her throat, alternately leaving tender kisses and sharp bites, soothing both with the small movements of his tongue.
Scully had transcended to another plane of sensitivity during the course of his administrations, her tiny hands grasped his leather coat, embedding her nails into the buttery fabric. Breathy sighs had intermittently greeted Krycek, but when he laved her earlobe with attention and blew air on the thrumming skin, a jarring moan cut across the room. He became enraptured with the musicality of her tone, and determinedly began the descent to the zipper of her silk dress. He captured the zipper in his teeth and drew it down her side, slowly revealing slivers of the body he so desperately wanted to discover.
He was driven by his guilt, by his lust, and was fearlessly laying his tattered soul out the one woman who had the power to disintegrate it completely. Scully was cognizant of his vulnerability and basked in the power he had quite literally laid into her palm; she needed this, needed to be reminded she was desirable, worthy of attention. Utterly exposed, the two battle-weary soldiers were comparing scars, and for the first time in a long time, opening up the hearts that had been embittered due to a long, long cold.