Schism

Marita Covarrubias makes a hissing sound when she's aroused, angry or upset. Take your pick because, right now, she's all three.

I haven't waited two hours for her without building up a raging hunger, and the minute she steps through the door of the suite my fingers are around her wrist pulling her to my side. I don't think about whether my lack of finesse will upset her. I don't think, period.

She doesn't seem to mind either, rubbing and moaning in my ear. Mara has always been the needy one, always wanting comfort. Reassuring her, I tell her how much I love her.

Well. I tell her how much I adore the various orifices and appendages of her body. Somehow the word 'love' just doesn't mean any thing when it's tacked after an intimate description of your partner's attributes. Unless of course, it's my Marya in question.

I tell her how much I love her breasts as we writhe against the wall, with barely enough presence of mind to close the door. I worship her with my tongue as we slide down to the carpet in a tangled heap of limbs. And as we rock together on fifteen thousand dollars worth of Persian silk, I give her the ultimate proof of my affection. I tell her I'll make her my queen.

"We'll rule the world together, you and I," I whisper, punctuating the words with my body. "You and me, baby, we can take them down. Would you like that baby? Just... you... and *oh my GOD! * ... ME!"

She shivers, and I renew the frenzy, thinking she needs more, wanting, willing to give her whatever I can, for the pleasure of these few stolen hours, before she had to rejoin her masters in the lobby. But she just clenches and waits for me to finish. Then -

"Let me go Alex."

I nuzzle her breasts. "Nah..." teasingly, waiting for the carrot after the stick.

"Let me go." She hisses, shoving with all her strength.

"Marya?" I roll onto my side and hold the good hand out placatingly.

She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. "I thought you knew."

"What are you talking about?

"It's over, Alex."

"What?"

"I said it's over." She must have seen something in my eyes, because she deigns to explain. "Alex, come on, you knew it couldn't last."

Of course. It's a bug. A test of her loyalty. Already I am inconspicuously angling my head to try and find the plant. The earring maybe? "A goodbye fuck, huh. Sure, sure."

"Alex."

I place a finger on her lips, remove the earring and throw it onto the floor. Bend over to her ear, whispering. "It's okay, Marya. I know they're listening. Just tell me where it's located so we can -"

"Alexei dummkopf Krycek, don't you bloody listen to a word I say? *They* are NOT eavesdropping. The area is secure as you bloody well know."

She is rocking back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest. I reach behind for the divan coverlet and pass it to her for a blanket.

"Dummkopf is German, Mara. A language I don't speak yet."

She takes it from my hand, but lets it slip to the floor. "It's over, Alex."

I realize too late that she is in some form of shock. Rising, I take her in my arms. She clings to me like a child, but refuses to say anymore than "It's over, Alex."

I lie down with my precious burden and chafe her arms until I can see and feel the colour return to her skin. Then I hold her tightly as she sobs and sobs into my chest.

"Ssh, baby, ssh, it'll be okay."

A plant, I think dumbly, my hand stroking her hair. It has to be.

Marya is mine and I am hers. A partnership. She knows it. I know it.

It cannot be over.

Marya is silent now. Perhaps she's asleep.

"I'm awake."

It amazes me, this connection of ours. Even at the beginning, when I knew her only as the Smoker's bitch and my 'parole officer', I was struck by the intensity of my response to her. True, my mind had been fucked as hell and I'd begun looking at oil slicks with genuine affection, but still -

Marita. My Marya. My foil, my counterpart.

We are perfect together.

"Marya." I try to make my voice soft and caressing. I used to think that I never could be tender, that it had gotten beaten out of me with all the other crap that Quantico taught as truth - trust, obedience and patriotism. But once I had lain with Marya I knew I could never treat her the way I did all the others. In fact, I wished there had never been any others.

"Marya," God, her skin, so soft, still wet, "Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I swear. Listen to me, I have dirt on them like you can only imagine -"

"Stop right there. Don't say anymore." Her voice, emotionless; her hands covering her ears.

"Marya?"

"I want to live, Krycek. Don't tell me anything."

"Marya. Listen to me." My begging, imploring, useless hand outstretched in a gesture of appeal that even I would find hard to resist, "We can be free of them, Marya. Think of it, FREE! Trust me.."

"I can't!"

There's silence, as I try to find the words to get through to her.

"Marya, I know how frightened you must be."

"No. You don't."

"Dammit, Marya, at least LOOK at me!"

She does, but there is no joy in her obedience. I let my hand fall back down to the bedspread. Useless. As usual.

We are silent for a long time. Looking at each other, but not really seeing.

She breaks the silence first. "Alexei," her voice catching, my heart turning as she spoke my name, "You're in too deep. I can't go with you."

"No, no, my Marya. Just hear what I have to say."

"Alex-"

"Marya! Give me a damn chance will ya?"

"NO!"

"What?"

"NO, NO, NO! I don't want to hear it!" Rising into hysteria, she claps her hands over her ears and screams.

My hand makes a sharp *thwack* against her cheek.

Then silence.

And fear. For the first time this evening, real fear.

Cold fear.

Marya's unmoving on the sheets, her perfect cheek unmarred by a blow meant to stun, not to hurt.

Marya.

Afraid.

"They already know."

Her silence fills the void left by the words.

Roaring in ears. Silence is so loud. The sound of silence.

Shattered by a short laugh. It sounds bitter, frightening.

"Wasn't it good for you too?"

Frightening me, Alex Krycek, who vowed never to feel again, on the day his father threw him out of the house. At ten. To live on the streets.

Bit by bit as the words come tumbling out, the shell encloses me, bit by bit.

Put a piece of shit inside an oyster and watch it grow into a pearl...

"I thought I wanted you, Alex. I still do. But I can't, can't risk it. Not now. God, if you only knew - knew them as I do. You haven't been with them as long, known - SEEN - the things they're capable of -"

"Tell me."

"No. I can't."

"Why?"

Silence.

Understanding dawns, again too slowly, again too late.

"You - "

"*You* told -"

"You told *him*."

"About us?"

Silence.

"What did he do to you? "- I'm clinging to a remnant of sanity, of hope, of the thought of the life we might still be able to lead.

Heartbeat. Say it Marya, say it -

"Nothing."

"YOU'RE LYING!"

"NO."

"You told him about us!"

Silence.

"He knows you're here. Because you told him. Willingly."

Silence.

Yes.

"And you'll go back to him. To his bed."

Silence.

"Slut."

"SLUT!"

"ANSWER ME GODDAMN YOU!"

Roar of backhand. She holds her hand to her mouth. Blood drips.

My hand stops. Retreats.

Turn away from her. Cower.

*What have I done?*

My lips are against the cold plastic, biting deep.

*I wish I could feel something.*

Splinters in my mouth and I feel the warmth flowing.

"I never meant to hurt you."

It sounds incongruous coming from her, with her bleeding mouth and tiny hands. But it's my hearts blood and she doesn't care.

After a moment she picks up her clothes and dresses. Adjusts her skirt. Turns to leave.

Stops.

Says.

"It isn't a game, you know. You play it like it is, but it isn't a game."

She waits. For an answer?

"Alex?"

I stare at the wall.

"A-Alex?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn, she's going to cry.

"I want to live."

It's a breathy whisper and I nearly turn around, but -

*Don't go...*

But it's in my head not my mouth and for once, she doesn't hear.

"I'll do anything I can to survive."

The door closes softly behind her.

Good exit line.

Bitch.

Bitch.

WHORE... pillows stuffed in my mouth and I am crying, crying, God it's been so long...

And tears turn to stone and the gun is out and in my hand, ready to scorch the walls of this suite, to break down the flimsy plaster until it reaches the groin of the bastard who's probably even now receiving a full report from Ms. Covarrubias...

"And then Krycek touched the exact spot... look, I still get goose pimples at the thought..."

Would it turn him on? Fucking bastard. Of course it would. He gets his kicks out of being a voyeur. I swear he jacks off while watching Mulder's surveillance tapes, even if he's just feeding the goldfish.

Mulder...

I knew I disliked Special Agent Fox William Mulder's fucking dopey face the day I first laid eyes on his surveillance tapes. Fucking dopey face that even a mother couldn't love.

(My subconscious knows I'm performing a mild form of transference here, pouring hate onto a safe target, instead of the fucked up son of a turd who should be feeling my gun at his head, but I don't care, I don't care, I don't fucking CARE!)

I hate him.

I fucking hate the son-of-a-bitch.

Oh, I can live with the fact that the man has a house, a family name and an eidetic memory. A house means mortgages, the name 'Mulder' carries its own shame everywhere he goes and the memory - he's been haunted by it for years.

What I hate, what sticks in my throat and turns my gut is his freedom. The luxury of the bastard's ignorance. At least he never knows when the Consortium is screwing him.

I can never forget.

The truth.

The TRUTH.

Fucker chases after truth in the blind faith that it's something he needs to be whole. Bloody. Stupid. Idiot.

Truth isn't a magic pill to be taken once so that all your troubles disappear. Truth is meant to be ingested slowly, in a painful digestive process that lasts the rest of your life and changes you from the day you begin to understand it.

I am stronger than him. I have seen the TRUTH and survived it.

Even the fact that *he* introduced me to *her*.

I think it ironic that the four of us, diametric opposites, are so strangely similar. Him and his virginal Scully. Neither of whom cross any kind of line unless it's yellow tape marked 'Police - don't Cross.'

Me and my - Marya. My touchstone. Like his.

Only better.

Because I saw what you have and knew it could be improved.

DAMN YOU FOX WILLIAM MULDER! Damn you for doing this to me!

If I hadn't seen - if I hadn't known how strong a partnership could be... if I hadn't hoped *stupid stupid fucked up Krycek* ... if I hadn't thought it possible for two people to change the world, then me and Marya -

But it wasn't a cheap imitation, Fox William Mulder! It was better, a damn sight better than you and your Special Agent Dana Scully.

Was. Better.

Marya...

FUCK THE SON OF A BITCH!

Why should he have his life so easy?

Fox William Fucking Mulder, scion of the distinguished Mulder family, cynosure of all eyes, particularly the lovely Ms. Dana Scully. Fucking tight assed bastard who wouldn't know love if it bit him on the nose. Fucker who lost a girl to the Consortium, yea sure, but made their life hell till they returned her.

And Scully would never run out on her Mulder, oh no fucking way. Never cheat on him or leave him for another man.

Believe me, I tried to make her.

Fuck them both.

And Marita Covarrubias too.

Fuck them. Up the ass. Together.

I can do this without them. All of them.

Watch me.

Watch me, Marya. Guard your back.

Taking the passport and documents folder awkwardly out of my bag, I study their contents for the first time since I received them from my new allies.

Tear up one of the tickets.

Look at the other.

Destination : Kazakhstan.

I throw my head back and laugh, laugh till the tears and blood mingle and I'm coughing, staining the pristine sheets with my own folly.

Marya, Marya, Marya.

Oh, Marya.

If only you had known.

But you don't!

Guess what, Marya. I'm not getting out of the game yet.

And neither are you.

NEITHER ARE YOU!

Come, Alexei, its time to go home.

Bear with me a while here. I'd like to thank my #1derful beta reader Harper, as well as Rita who told me about the list. And, um, Ms. A.? You don't know me, but I read your 'World' series and went back and looked at Krycek in an entirely different light. Thank you.