Dropped Angels

Marita and Byers sat in front of the computer, their intent faces eerily lit by the light from the monitor. Alex watched them carefully, a little surprised by how closely their chairs were pulled together, and how smoothly they functioned as a team. In the past eighteen hours, they'd broken four codes--low level security codes, sure, but when it had been him and Marita working on the codes, they'd been lucky to get one a day.

"They're working well together," said the woman sitting in a chair behind him, her voice as soft as velvet but scraping across his skin like wire. He turned away from the computer room, letting his eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the shadows where Agent Scully sat.

"Never would have figured Marita for a computer geek," he murmured, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. His prosthetic arm dug uncomfortably into his side but he didn't move. With Scully, he was careful to minimize any and all reminders that he had what might be considered a handicap. They were working on the same team for the moment, under a grudging cease-fire, but that didn't mean they trusted each other.

She stirred, ensconced herself more deeply in the armchair, and rested her hand on her stomach. Just that was enough to remind him of her pregnancy, which was a kind of reassurance. He wasn't the only one with a disadvantage. And in the long run, his would probably prove to be less debilitating.

"I try not to figure anyone for anything these days, Krycek," she said very quietly. He smiled in response. "Better to be expecting surprises, don't you think?"

"Oh, definitely." He added an extra note of sincerity to his voice to amuse himself, knowing that she could see right through him.

There was a tingle in the base of his spine again, and he just knew that Marita was looking at him over her shoulder. But he didn't turn around to confirm it. "You never know when someone you've figured for a friend will stab you in the back," he said a little too loudly. Just in case.

Scully tipped her chin and cocked an eyebrow, studying him. Abruptly, genuine amusement gleamed in her eyes. "No," she said, in agreement. "And you never know when someone you've pegged as an adversary will lend..." Her gaze glanced across his shoulder where he had it propped against the door. "A helping hand," she finished.

Alex gritted his teeth. But since she had reminded him that she remembered, he took his weight off his uncomfortably propped shoulder and prosthesis, and stepped out of the doorway. There was an armchair across from Scully and he dropped into it, then coughed a little as a cloud of dust puffed up.

The Gunmen had incredible equipment and kept all of it functioning perfectly. But as housekeepers, their habits left something to be desired. He probably got out the dusting cloth more often than they did. When he had a place to dust, anyway.

Scully leaned back into her own chair. Her slightly swollen belly pushed against the soft material of her sweater, and for the hundredth time that day, Alex wondered why she wasn't bothering to try and hide her pregnancy. He'd been certain that she would, back when they originally started to work with each other rather than around each other. After all, she'd made no mention of her test results--

Maybe she assumed I'd already know, he thought. A correct assumption, yes, but he wasn't certain if she'd been thinking logically enough at that point to even wonder about how much he knew.

"Where's Skinner?" he asked abruptly. The former Marine had demanded the control the little nano-toys, had been there for every meeting to make sure that Alex had given up his gun before he got within a mile of Scully and the Gunmen. A bulky, harsh-voiced bodyguard--or baby-sitter, depending on how you looked at the situation.

Scully made a dismissive gesture, then put her hands back on her stomach. Alex wondered if she knew how protective the gesture was, how much better off she'd be if she could just pretend the child didn't exist--at least while she was in company like his.

"Skinner's with Frohike and Langly. They have other things to attend to," she said quietly. "And I decided that if you were going to make a move, you'd have done it by now. Subterfuge beyond this level just doesn't seem to be your style."

"No, it's not," Alex muttered, and frowned, aware that Scully was watching him like a hawk.

"Your help has been invaluable," the agent told him. A little smile flirted with the corners of her mouth; a cat's grin. "Everything is going well, so far."

"Did you know that you sound like the smoker when you talk like that?" he asked idly, wondering if he could make her flinch.

He couldn't. She met his gaze dead-on, that same smile on her face. "I learned a few things about myself these past months," she assured him. "For one, I learned that I can be just as ruthless as *he* was."

"But can you be as cruel?" Alex leaned forward, searching her pale, set features. Her smile had vanished; she met his gaze calmly and coolly.

"I don't know," she said, after a long pause. "But I hope to find out."

After studying her eyes for a silent eternity, Alex forced himself to relax. He laughed and sat back. "I certainly don't want to find out," he told her.

"I think I'm scared of you."

Slowly, Scully's smile came back. "You ought to be," she agreed. "I don't think you're a stupid man."

He didn't respond, just continued to watch her. Gaze level, she stared back. There's something inside her, he found himself thinking. A will to fight that might be stronger than my own.

Inexplicably, he wondered if maybe he really *should* fear that latent power in her, but there was a sound in the doorway and her gaze shifted. The spell was broken, although Alex didn't bother to look around. He knew who it was.

He'd always know when she was there--

"We've got another one," Marita said softly, almost subserviently. Hidden deep in the shadows, Alex rolled his eyes. Subservient. It wouldn't last, which wasn't quite a shame...

"I think we're about to break through to another layer." Through the open door, Byers' voice sounded excited, enthusiastic. And a little breathless.

Cursing himself, Alex refocused on Scully just as one of her eyebrows arched, and then she nodded. "The two of you are incredibly efficient," she said. "But are you *sure* that you haven't tripped off any alarms? Gone through any trap doors?"

Alex didn't need to look to know that Marita was smiling. "Trust us, Agent Scully," she said coolly. "We're very good at this."

A rustle of cloth, the tap of high heels on linoleum, and then she and Byers were murmuring to each other. Alex frowned, lost his focus on Scully for a moment, intent on trying to decipher their words. His hearing was keen, and they weren't exactly far away, but they were speaking too quietly. He couldn't hear the words, just the tone--

"She isn't Byers' type," Scully said quietly, and chuckled when Alex refastened his gaze on her face. Then she seemed to reconsider. "Of course, the last woman he fell for was something of a double agent. And a beautiful blonde one, at that."

He forced himself to relax. "Why're you telling me this?" he asked nonchalantly.

She searched his face. "Because you seem a little...jealous," she informed him. For a moment, her eyes glittered brightly. He half expected them to turn red.

"Not likely. He doesn't compare to me in any way," Alex said, and then cursed himself because he knew he'd just confirmed that he felt...something. Not jealousy, he assured himself quickly. But something, nonetheless.

Scully nodded agreement. "No. He's intellectual, kind, respectful. Dignified."

"And a real snazzy dresser."

"He's also whole." She beamed him a bright, fake smile as he barely prevented a wince.

"That was a bit below the belt, wasn't it, Scully?" he asked, barely keeping anger out of his deliberately laconic tone.

"No, that was further north and a little to the east."

"Did you know that she fucked Mulder?" He was certain that would knock her back a pace or two, and bring him some vengeance.

It didn't.

"He told me," she said, and maybe her tone was a degree or two colder, but she definitely wasn't wincing. "He told me that a long time ago."

Well, that was a surprise. Alex nodded and shut up, studying the play of shadows over her face. In turn, her gaze was intent upon him, so focused that he unconsciously tensed, a part of his mind preparing to dodge a bullet. Instinctively sensing danger.

A few minutes later, Scully hummed a little sound, considering. "So, do you trust her?" she asked, casually.

Smooth as glass, Alex lied. "Absolutely." He tilted his head, aware that the cold little smile was playing around her lips, matching it with a faint sneer of his own. Question me, he challenged her. I'll play any game you have in mind.

"I'll bet I trust her more than you do," the agent said slowly, her gaze flicking away to the rectangle of light through which the sounds of computer work drifted. He was a little surprised by her shrewdness. But he shouldn't have been, and accepted that; the something in her eyes that hinted at her strength should also have warned him of her perceptiveness.

Alex began to wonder if he'd been underestimating her for years, or if in Mulder's absence, the dangerous parts of her nature had flourished.

"I need a drink," he said, rising from the chair. What he really needed was to get away for a moment, think about this new and improved Scully in more depth.

She nodded. "The guys are good with keeping their larder stocked. Just don't drink all of Langly's beer, and stay away from anything labeled with a big 'F'. Frohike makes his own liquor on occasion. I've seen it eat hot dogs whole."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, and walked away amazed. One moment she could be sending warning signals up and down his spine, the next she amused him with her casual almost-acceptance of his company. A complex woman, he thought again, and wondered if any of that complexity was just an act for his benefit. Designed to keep him wary of her.

He knew it probably wasn't. If he had been focused on her for all these years instead of on neutralizing Mulder as the potential threat...

Well, he probably wouldn't have been able to focus on her at all, really. If he'd been paying more attention in the beginning, the shooting in her apartment wouldn't have left her sister dying on the floor.

There were days when he regretted that mistake, regretted that an innocent life had been taken because he wasn't doing his job better. But he was good at shelving regret as quickly as possible. Any train of thought involving it dissipated within minutes, and was forgotten for months. That was how he functioned, and that was how he stayed in control.

There was nothing to be done about it. Nothing at all.

In the Gunmen's grungy kitchen, he found a paper cup and filled it with tap water, sipped idly. He didn't trust the contents of their refrigerator. Why Scully didn't play Snow White for the little dwarf and his buddies was beyond him--she certainly spent a lot of time in their headquarters, and seemed the type to need cleanliness. Maybe they weren't letting her lift a finger because she was pregnant; maybe she just *didn't* care.

Another little facet to a character that he was beginning to find fascinating.

He settled his hip against the edge of the counter and stared out the small window over the sink. It faced out onto the brick of a building just across the alleyway, but that was fine. He didn't need scenery, just a focal point.

His mind began to click through options and different analyses. Intelligence was something he wasn't often credited with, but it was an integral part of him--he couldn't have survived as long as he had, living the life that he had, without a brain that functioned well. Street smarts only carried a man so far. In a situation that required real thought, they left him on his ass...or bleeding in a gutter.

Or a Tunisian jail cell. He cursed himself daily for falling into Spender's traps time and again, cursed the man's almost supernatural ability to second and triple-guess him. He'd learned his lessons though, and finally taken the step that he'd been planning for more years than he could count. And Spender had faced a suitably ridiculous death.

The thought made him smile.

More than a half hour later, he was still standing in front of the sink, still focused out the window. His smile had faded, disappeared. He was looking into his own eyes in the glass, the darkness beyond it so absolute that he was reflected perfectly. He kept thinking that Scully was probably wondering what he was doing, would probably be coming out to track him down, but he'd moved past the problems and complications of her mind. That train of thought had only lead him down the path to wondering about the complications of Marita's mind, and onto a vague feeling that something was wrong. That something didn't fit.

Since the day when he had followed her down to the dock, she'd been working hard, doing everything exactly as he wanted. She'd even begun anticipating his next move and quietly arranging everything just so, as if she could read his mind and knew what he would need.

He'd never worked well with others, preferred to fight his battles alone and do his research without the hassle of dealing with 'assistance'. But he needed her now, and he couldn't find fault with her current behavior as his partner. Hell, he couldn't even ask for more.

But there was that tingle. The crawling feeling along his spine that he sometimes got when he turned his back to her, when he let her out of his sight. And the deep, gut feeling that he got whenever he saw her in the company of Byers--

Admitting to himself that the feelings her time with Byers aroused in him had nothing to do with the feelings creeping around in the subconscious parts of his mind wasn't an option.

There was just something...

The steady click of heels on linoleum dragged him from his contemplations, and he shifted his focus, using the mirrored surface of the window to watch the doorway. He knew it was Marita coming towards him, as if summoned by his thoughts; her gait was familiar and distinctly different from Scully's. The agent walked quickly, with a businesslike, impatient stride. Marita moved more languidly, her stride longer, the tap of her heels striking the ground less forceful.

She came into the kitchen and didn't look in his direction, headed straight for the refrigerator. He turned away from the window, leaned back against the counter again and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her as she dug around the shelves.

"We need fuel," she said tonelessly, obviously feeling his intent stare.

"Fuel. For a few more hours of sitting in front of a computer?"

Marita turned away from the fridge, her hands full of sandwich materials. "No, not a few more hours. We're nearly done, and once we've gotten through the final layers, there's nothing else we can do for a few days, until we've figured out how they move money in and out of those accounts." Her voice was a quiet monotone, her eyes cool and statementless. Alex held her gaze, studying her face, wondering what was really going on inside her mind.

Then she turned away, to the cluttered table, and started playing with the food. Her shoulders were set straight, the line of her back tight, her movements bordering on self-conscious.

She senses my mood, Alex thought, uncomfortably aware that if she knew him that well, he might be at a disadvantage with her. A few weeks before, she'd been open to him, seemingly too tired to guard herself. He might have let his own defenses crumble then, hadn't bothered to build them back up...

That's not permissible, he told himself. She was to be worked with, to be used, and to be fucked if the mood was right. Not to be trusted, not to be relaxed around.

"Byers thinks that we should only syphon out a little money the first few weeks. A hundred thousand, maybe two. Then make a few larger hits, more bold ones." She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, just began to more smoothly and efficiently build up the sandwiches.

"Byers thinks," Alex murmured silkily, letting just a hint of his annoyance slip to the surface. "When did Byers get to be the expert on the Consortium and how this ought to be handled?"

"He's not," Marita said, a little too calmly. "But I agree with him. We need to make it look like we're slowly becoming more bold, more certain of ourselves. Trip the alarms in perfect order, and there's intense dissension among their reforming ranks. As we take more without them being able to find a hole to the outside--"

He hated to admit that it made sense to not only fuck with the finances but also the minds in charge of the Consortium's new leaders. His plan had been to get in, clear out a huge chunk of change, depleting all of the accounts in a day or two. The money would come in handy, not only for their plans but also for daily living expenses, and as a weapon. The Consortium's members might not care about their fellow human beings--some of them didn't even care about the lives of their families--but they cared about their cash.

But, if they dipped into the funds more slowly, making it look like an inside job...

"All right," he said abruptly. "Tell Byers to go ahead and move slowly. I'll explain it to Scully."

"Already got her OK for the change of plans," Marita murmured, beginning to wrap the food back up. He growled at her, hating the fact that he was the last to know, hating the warnings that were sliding through his system like dark, icy ribbons.

"When it concerns the Consortium, you talk to me first." He moved across the kitchen quickly when Marita nodded and headed for the fridge with the leftovers. As soon as her hands were free and closed the door, he pulled her around and pushed her back into the cool metal. "Marita. Do you understand me? If you've got something to say to Scully about her hunt for Mulder, go ahead. If you've got something to tell the Gunmen about how they could get into the files more efficiently, go ahead. But if you've got a plan, or a change in plans, for how we deal with anything else--I know first." He wrapped his hand around her arm, dragged her aside. With a little effort, he had her boosted up on the counter, and stepped between her legs.

"Alex, quit it," she said calmly, meeting his gaze with hers shuttered and cool. But her hands shook a little when she reached out to push him back. "I understand. I'll even apologize. Just back off."

He shook his head, feeling his needs rush to the surface, dark and ready for violence. Not apologies. Certainly not understanding.

She was playing with him. Setting him up for something. And even if she wasn't, if his instincts were wrong and his paranoia was just working overtime...it wouldn't hurt to give her a little reminder about who was in charge.

"I don't want your apologies," he whispered, leaning into her and setting his teeth in her skin, just below her ear. He dug in sharply, just for a second, listening to her gasp and feeling her body tense and shudder. He hadn't hurt her, but there would be a mark on her skin. "That's what I want," he said, then trailed his tongue over the little dents his teeth had made in her soft skin. He wasn't sure if he was referring to the taste of her, the way she shuddered for him, or the mark he had made on her. He didn't care.

Maybe because I want it all, he thought, and nipped her earlobe because that made sense to him, the thought satisfying all his darker urges.

"When we go back to the cabin," he whispered in her ear, letting his mind flood with images. "When we turn into the drive, I want you to start sucking me off. Maybe before then. Maybe when we get on the highway--"

"You'll kill us both," she said flatly, but there was something humming just underneath the impassive tone. Something needy, edgy. Nothing submissive or apologetic.

He shook his head, backed off a little to meet her gaze. Her arms were straight at her sides, her hands clenched on the edge of the countertop, her face caught between cool logic and the rough passion that could flare between them. "I won't die for you," he told her, and put his hands on her thighs, pushing up her skirt. "You're good, but not so good that you'd be a distraction."

She smiled bitterly, didn't fight him when he used his hands to push her legs apart. "You're not worth dying for either." Speaking huskily, her voice laced with passion, she made the words sounded almost like endearments. It made Alex laugh.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, and wrapped his good fingers against her, hard, hoping to leave marks. "I wouldn't expect you to do anything more for me than suck. But when we got back to the cabin, I'd pull you upstairs with me, to the bed." The narrow band of her panties were no barrier, and his fingers slipped underneath, found her already wet. He smiled into her eyes, watched them half close as he gently pinched her clit.

This was how he preferred her. Hot, wet, her body accepting him. There was no threat here that he couldn't handle--not that she would ever be a threat beyond what he could deal with. But when she stopped thinking and just reacted, he sensed a total honesty in her that was lacking when they were working.

"Maybe I'll tie you down to the bed," he whispered, aroused by the scent of her, more aroused by the ideas that were forming in his mind. "Hands above your head, ankles against the footboard. Helpless."

"I'd fight you." Marita gritted her teeth as he abandoned her clit, began to trace gentle patterns around it. He watched with fascination and a deep sense of satisfaction as her skin flushed with arousal.

"I always win when we fight, Marita," he reminded her gently, before pushing two fingers inside her almost roughly, watching her back arch and her mouth fall open. "Remember that, and we'll both be better off."

He pumped his fingers inside her, passion clouding his mind and almost making him forget where they were, who was around. Almost--but not quite.

Rubbing his thumb against her clit as he pumped his fingers was enough to make her gasp. Her head fell back, against the cupboards, and a light glaze of sweat gleamed on her collarbones, in the hollow of her throat. Her hair was down for once, and little strands clung to the sides of her throat, shining silkily in the dim light.

"You look like a fallen angel." He drew his fingers from inside her, trailed them down her thigh to her knee, painting a trail of moisture, massaging it into her skin. She'd have to shower to get rid of the scent of sex, and wouldn't be able to get one before she had to go back to the computers--which meant that she'd trail it past Scully, and Byers wouldn't be able to miss it.

It'd be perfect if Byers walked in on this, actually, Alex thought hazily. He'd have a hard-on for months, but he'd know... that she belongs to me. That sharing a talent for computers with her means nothing compared to this. That he could never handle all the passion and the danger in her.

He dipped his fingers back inside her, gathering more moisture. This time, he rubbed it into the hollow of her throat, right above where her pulse kicked against her delicate flesh. Then he leaned down to taste her, enjoying the way her heartbeat jerked raggedly and her thighs tightened around the hand he had slid back between them.

"I'm not fallen," she gasped as he lingered, nibbling, wondering if the mark he had left on her neck had faded. It took him a couple seconds to refocus and to think back to his last comment.

He leaned away from her again, watching her face. "No? Well, you're certainly not a wing-bearing member of the species, Marita."

"I didn't fall," she repeated, and clenched her body around his invading fingers. "I... was dropped."

"Dropped." He stared at her for a second, unmoving, and then snorted. "You're amazing, sweetheart. All these little moments of heat and melodrama. Sometimes I wonder if you even realize how much of a soap opera queen you can be."

Her hands came up, moving for the first time since he had set her on the countertop, and wrapped around his forearm, guiding him to touch where she wanted. She was all gleaming strands of hair against the blue-green and chipped paint, white skin and dark suit, incredible heat and wetness between her thighs and eyes that were dark with passion, yet also cool underneath, almost distant.

No, no one else would ever be able to handle her. He doubted anyone else ever had.

Then again, there might have been one man...

Suddenly, he was just curious enough to ignore the heat of her body and the rising pressure in his own. "Did you even get to enjoy fucking Mulder?" he asked, stilling the movement of his hand. She grimaced, her hips twisting. "It must have been over fast. From what I hear, the man hadn't been laid in ages."

"Didn't matter, Alex," she whispered roughly. "He was fast, but he knew how to move, how to touch. And he was hung."

Behind them, in the doorway, someone cleared their throat. Alex froze, cursing himself for forgetting where they were, and looked over his shoulder. Scully looked back at him calmly, and he wished she was Byers, and slowly withdrew his fingers from Marita's body. His reluctant partner's thigh was shaking under his hand, but when he looked back at her face, she was already becoming composed, the flush fading from her skin, her eyes shuttered, cool and impassive.

"Correction," Scully said gently, drawing Alex's gaze back to her face. Her eyes were as clear and secretive as Marita's, but she was smiling faintly, amusement making her eyes gleam even in the dim light. "Mulder wasn't hung. Mulder *is* hung. No need for the past tense yet."

He wondered if she was losing her mind. There he was, with a woman sprawled across the countertop, the scent of her body heavy in the air, and Scully was arguing semantics about the size of Mulder's cock and what tense should be used when referring to it?

"Is hung," Marita murmured, agreeably, and his gaze swung back to her. She looked into his eyes for a cool, timeless moment, and then pushed at his shoulder and slid off the counter, straightening her skirt and her tousled hair. Then she walked to the table, no shake at all in her legs, the flush completely faded from her skin.

But he could still smell her, and smiled when she grabbed the plates with the sandwiches and excused herself politely. She'd be carrying the scent of arousal back into that cramped little area where she and Byers played with keyboards. The skinny little guy wouldn't be able to ignore it.

That was pretty damn near perfect, as far as he was concerned. A little extra torture for the computer geek, combined with a statement of his possession...oh yeah. Perfect.

When she was gone, he looked at Scully again. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow.

"I hope you won't mind if I ask you to sterilize that countertop," she said softly, smoothly.

He laughed. "Just tell me where there're rags and cleaning solution in this dump, and I'll make it all go away."

She pointed, and he headed for the appropriate drawer, moving carefully because his erection was straining at the seam of his jeans. He'd let Marita take care of it later. He hadn't been teasing her when he told her he wanted a blowjob on the drive home, when he told her that he would tie her to the bed if he felt like it. She'd be more wary and more willing to fight him if he warned her of his intentions, and that would only made winning more fun.

More gratifying.

"I'll put up with a lot of things from you right now, Krycek." Scully hesitated a moment, not from uncertainty as far as he could tell. She was just... considering. "I've forced myself to... overlook... many of the things you've done in the past because you're valuable to us now. I hate it, but I'm trying to accept that there are things that need to be done, things that only you'll be able to do." She watched him begin the clean up, and he nodded.

"I'm glad you can see that," he told her smoothly, scrubbing at the countertop. "I was pretty sure I'd have to slay dragons for you before you admitted that I was handy."

"But don't ever do something like that in this place again," she said, ignoring his words. Her voice was as gentle and quiet as spring sunshine, and twice as cool. "Not even if you feel the need to mark your territory. There are too many cameras in too many places, and you never know what the Gunmen will take offensive to--or find amusing enough to make into a home video."

The idea of the Gunmen watching a tape of him and Marita made him laugh. "No problem, Scully." He looked at her over his shoulder. "But if they do make that into a home video, try to get me a copy, all right? You never know when my sex life will take a swing for the worse again. Might be nice to have something to remember it by."

She studied his face for long minutes, and he wondered what she was looking for, confident now that she would find nothing he didn't want her to see. Playing with Marita had renewed his confidence.

"When you're ready, we'll discuss the change in plans," she murmured. "And we'll discuss the fact that you might be able to dominate Marita with sex and anger now, but you'll have to watch your back in the future."

She turned, walked away. Alex watched her go, then tossed the wash cloth in the sink and looked back out the window at the brick face of the building on the other side of the alley, wondering how the hell women had gotten to be so...dangerous.

Wondering how long he'd be able control his partner, and if he was even in control of her at all.

I was going to keep sex completely out of the equation. Really, I was. :) And I did try real hard, but damn. These two are smokin', at least in my warped little mind. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed...despite the smut invasion :) Please do write to tell me what you thought!