My legs slide down into the empty bathtub and I lay there bonelessly
panting with the cool air peaking my nipples and creating goosebumps on the
rest of my flesh. I don't want to move. Ever. Again. Slowly, the
background music begins to work it's way back into my awareness. A
lifetime later I force my eyes to open, somewhat surprised to see the walls
of my bathroom, the flickering candlelight. I'd almost expected to be
transported to some bliss dimension where Krycek would be standing there
with the top button of his jeans undone, staring at me with a blazing green
come hither look. That would be an x-file all in itself. My own personal,
private x-file.
Speaking of Krycek . . . I glance around the tub, groaning with the effort of reaching for the phone that's underneath my right calf. Even before I get the phone to my ear I can hear him shouting my name over the line.
"Scully! Scully can you hear me? Are you there?"
"I'm here, Krycek." Barely. I'm surprised he actually hears my soft- spoken words over his own yelling.
"Jesus! I thought you'd died or something!"
"Me too," I smirk. Then the full meaning of his words penetrates my lust addled brain. Because it sounds like he cares. Like he'd really be upset if something happened to me.
"That's not funny, Dana. Well, yeah, it is, but--" He lets out a creative string of curses, ending with, " . . . give me a myo-fucking-cardial infarction."
I'm impressed. He must really have been paying attention in pathology class. I wonder again if he was one of the hundreds of faces I taught. I'll have to remember to ask him, but now just doesn't seem like the right time.
"Relax, Krycek," I say, not pausing to consider the absurdity of my words. When I used to think of reassuring Krycek, it was usually more along the lines of, "You have the right to an attourney."
"I'm fine. I'm better than fine, actually."
"Yeah, well I'm not." I can see that pouty expression in my mind. So he was worried about me. And he probably didn't get to have a mind-blowing orgasm like I just did. No wonder he's upset.
"Well, if you're so worried, what are you doing in London?" It's a blatant invitation, and I'm shocked at myself until I remember that I just got off while on the phone with him.
"Currently, I'm chaining myself to a radiator so I don't run to the airport."
I roll my eyes. Krycek is a drama queen. Who knew? "This is going to be an awfully steep phone bill, you know."
"It's worth it."
There. My heart did that flip flop thing again. I should say something back, like "Yeah, it is" but the words freeze in my throat. I'm not good at sentimental at the best of times. And right now I'm laying in an uncomfortable, cold, slippery bathtub.
"Dana," he says, and has to clear his throat before continuing. His words sound uncertain, almost like a question. "I can be back in the States by Sunday night."
That's two days from now. He's asking my permission, if it's really okay that he comes to see me. Hell yes, I think.
"But you'll miss church," I joke. I haven't gone to church in a long time, but it's more subtle than shouting, "Get your ass over here NOW."
He chuckles. I wonder how many people get to hear him laugh. Somehow I think I'm one of the privileged few. Because he can't have all that many reasons to laugh.
"I'll do what I can, okay?"
"Okay."
"I've got to go."
"Okay." Suddenly that's all I can say. And no, it's not okay. But I know he's got a job to do--a dangerous job. And if he gets himself killed because he's being distracted by me, I'll kill him.
I hear a sound over the line, like he was about to speak and stopped himself. After a beat he says, "I'll see you later, Dana." I don't think that's what he was going to say, but I don't know how to ask.
"Yeah. I'll see you Kry . . . Alex." I can almost hear his delighted smile over the line. Well, it doesn't seem right to call him by his last name after what just happened.
"Bye."
He's gone before I can even reciprocate. I stare at the phone for a minute, and then let my hand drop onto my stomach. Two days, I keep telling myself. Two more days.
I might still be lying here in the bathtub when he arrives. Might not be such a bad idea. Plus I really don't think I can move my legs.
Speaking of Krycek . . . I glance around the tub, groaning with the effort of reaching for the phone that's underneath my right calf. Even before I get the phone to my ear I can hear him shouting my name over the line.
"Scully! Scully can you hear me? Are you there?"
"I'm here, Krycek." Barely. I'm surprised he actually hears my soft- spoken words over his own yelling.
"Jesus! I thought you'd died or something!"
"Me too," I smirk. Then the full meaning of his words penetrates my lust addled brain. Because it sounds like he cares. Like he'd really be upset if something happened to me.
"That's not funny, Dana. Well, yeah, it is, but--" He lets out a creative string of curses, ending with, " . . . give me a myo-fucking-cardial infarction."
I'm impressed. He must really have been paying attention in pathology class. I wonder again if he was one of the hundreds of faces I taught. I'll have to remember to ask him, but now just doesn't seem like the right time.
"Relax, Krycek," I say, not pausing to consider the absurdity of my words. When I used to think of reassuring Krycek, it was usually more along the lines of, "You have the right to an attourney."
"I'm fine. I'm better than fine, actually."
"Yeah, well I'm not." I can see that pouty expression in my mind. So he was worried about me. And he probably didn't get to have a mind-blowing orgasm like I just did. No wonder he's upset.
"Well, if you're so worried, what are you doing in London?" It's a blatant invitation, and I'm shocked at myself until I remember that I just got off while on the phone with him.
"Currently, I'm chaining myself to a radiator so I don't run to the airport."
I roll my eyes. Krycek is a drama queen. Who knew? "This is going to be an awfully steep phone bill, you know."
"It's worth it."
There. My heart did that flip flop thing again. I should say something back, like "Yeah, it is" but the words freeze in my throat. I'm not good at sentimental at the best of times. And right now I'm laying in an uncomfortable, cold, slippery bathtub.
"Dana," he says, and has to clear his throat before continuing. His words sound uncertain, almost like a question. "I can be back in the States by Sunday night."
That's two days from now. He's asking my permission, if it's really okay that he comes to see me. Hell yes, I think.
"But you'll miss church," I joke. I haven't gone to church in a long time, but it's more subtle than shouting, "Get your ass over here NOW."
He chuckles. I wonder how many people get to hear him laugh. Somehow I think I'm one of the privileged few. Because he can't have all that many reasons to laugh.
"I'll do what I can, okay?"
"Okay."
"I've got to go."
"Okay." Suddenly that's all I can say. And no, it's not okay. But I know he's got a job to do--a dangerous job. And if he gets himself killed because he's being distracted by me, I'll kill him.
I hear a sound over the line, like he was about to speak and stopped himself. After a beat he says, "I'll see you later, Dana." I don't think that's what he was going to say, but I don't know how to ask.
"Yeah. I'll see you Kry . . . Alex." I can almost hear his delighted smile over the line. Well, it doesn't seem right to call him by his last name after what just happened.
"Bye."
He's gone before I can even reciprocate. I stare at the phone for a minute, and then let my hand drop onto my stomach. Two days, I keep telling myself. Two more days.
I might still be lying here in the bathtub when he arrives. Might not be such a bad idea. Plus I really don't think I can move my legs.