Taking Care Of Business

It isn't supposed to be like this. I'm not supposed to be in Dana Scully's bed.

Not that I'm complaining, but this wasn't in the plan.

The plan was simple, but naturally, because it was mine, nothing went right. She wasn't supposed to be home when I broke in that first night. She was supposed to care about the information I had. She wasn't supposed to seduce me.

She did. She has. Here I am, months later, in her bed yet again. I still don't know why she wants me here. I don't remember making any sort of deal, but back then she said something about quid pro quo.

She apparently decided the snippet of information I had that first night wasn't enough. She wants it all. She says it's only fair that she give something back.

This never felt right. I don't get bonuses for taking care of business. She's up to something, has to be. But then she wraps those velvet lips of hers around my cock, and the rest of the world and all the problems in it disappear.

It isn't supposed to be like this. I'm not supposed to be enjoying this plan so much.

I suppose it's a successful plan. During his post-orgasmic lethargy, Alex Krycek is a font of information. Half the time I don't think he knows what he's saying. Those are the things I pay most attention to; the things most likely to be true. The things he says without thinking.

I probably say a few things without thinking too. And I suppose those are also more true than most things I say to him. It's not a lie that he's the best I've ever had. It's true, and he likes hearing it. It's comments like this that usually start him talking.

We don't talk much otherwise. Our mouths are usually busy doing other things.

I know he wonders what I'm doing, why I seduced him that night, and why I continue these meetings. I think I've been fairly straightforward all this time. He knows what I want; I've never made a secret of that. I'm doing what Mulder could never do; using an angle he couldn't and wouldn't use with this particular informant.

I'm taking care of business.

Mulder doesn't know yet, but that's okay. I know exactly what I'm doing. Every time Alex is here, my gun and handcuffs are close at hand. But it's not time yet. Alex knows so much, and he's so wonderfully talented. I'll know when it's time, but until then, I'll enjoy every minute of this plan.

I'm barely inside the door and she can't keep her hands off me. We make love there on the floor and it's good, so good, too too good. Some of the novelty of all this should've worn off by now, but it's still the same. It's still so intense, sensory overload, that I can't properly enjoy it, savor it. I need to experience it over and over and over, burn it into my memory so I can draw on it when I'm not with her.

She seems happy to help. She does things to me that make me forget my own name and I can feel myself falling, diving off a cliff into the deepest abyss. I can see myself never, ever leaving her bed. I know I'm in too deep and I can't afford to be in so deep, but I don't care anymore. All I care about is kissing her, touching her, feeling her hands, lips, and tongue on me, slipping oh so deeply into her silky depths, making her moan, making her come, making her scream, screaming myself as I come hard with her name on my lips.

I need perspective. I need to pull back, get back into my own plan, get out of her bed.

I need to, but I don't want to. I don't know if I can.

I'm getting too deeply into this. I hate to look desperate, but it's so hard to look at him and not touch him. My body remembers what he does to me, wants him to do it again, needs to feel him inside me, so I let him. I know it's only a matter of time, but I'm not sure I can do what needs to be done when the time comes. I'm not sure I can give this up.

I told Mulder what I'm doing, where I've been getting all this information that he finds so fascinating. He was, to put it mildly, upset. Very, very upset. At first he didn't believe that I know exactly what I'm doing, but after a while I managed to convince him. It's all a means to an end, I told him, and he likes the end very much. He wants to be there when that end comes, but naturally I'd rather not have an audience. I suspect Alex might not mind, but that's not me. I managed to calm Mulder down when I told him, but that's only because he doesn't really have to think about what, specifically, I'm doing. I'm sure he'd rather not see it, and I'd rather he didn't see it. I don't think I can handle him seeing how much I enjoy it.

It's only a matter of time now. I hope I'm strong enough to do what I must do.

I smell smoke when I stumble into my own apartment at dawn. Not smoke from fire. Morley smoke.

He says that certain activities of mine have recently come to his attention. How, I don't know. It probably doesn't even matter. The bastard knows everything, every little fucking thing everybody does.

It takes a moment to hit me. It's the bugs in Dana's apartment. I must really be in deep; my brain must've shut down right from the get-go if I never realized that. I wonder how long he's known. I wonder if he gets off on watching and listening.

Hell, of course he does. Fucking bastard.

He's not happy. Of course he's not. I'm giving away all his little secrets. I don't see why it matters to him anymore; Mulder knows a lot of it already anyway. Besides, the projects are pretty much shut down. The rebels won the last round, the colonization's been put off indefinitely, and everybody's regrouping now. There's not really a whole lot more I can give Dana anyway, so I really can't see what his problem is.

I do, however, see what my problem is. I'm in deep shit for going behind his back. He seems to think I'm still working for him. I'd bring him up to date on that, let him know that I quit a long time ago, except that I'm staring into the barrel of his gun as we speak.

He offers me a deal. I'll be allowed to break cleanly from him if I go back and clean up the mess I allegedly made. Clean it up permanently; do what I do best. I don't believe for a second that he'd let me go and never bother me again, and he knows I don't believe him. Besides, I'll need his protection if I do what he wants me to do, what I must do. He knows this too.

I know he'll kill me if I don't do it. I can run, but I can't hide from him. He has less to focus on now; I'm sure it wouldn't take him long to find me. He's relentless.

I think the time has come to take care of business.

He's very surprised when I appear at his apartment. I conveniently forgot to tell him that I know where he lives. He's surprised, but not ungrateful. It's not until after we have sex on his sofa that he asks me why here instead of my place.

I thought about that long and hard, but eventually decided it would look better if he were arrested at his own apartment instead of mine. Mulder agreed, and he's outside, waiting for my signal to come up and help. I make up an excuse about a restless Mulder, likely to come to my place and settle in for a while if he finds me home. Alex accepts it.

We move on to the bedroom, and the sex almost makes me forget about what I must do. It's inevitable, really, and it surprises me that he doesn't realize what he's been doing. He's giving us everything he knows about the smoker and his operations, but in the process he's incriminating himself. I wonder if he's thought about his lack of immunity.

I can't help him with that. He entered into this pseudo-deal on my terms. He should've negotiated that at the beginning, but I don't think I could've arranged it even then.

I excuse myself, wrap up in a blanket, and head out of the bedroom. I tell him I'm hungry, ask if he wants anything, but he murmurs something incoherent and turns over. He's falling asleep, which should make my job a lot easier. Now I don't even need to go to the kitchen; I can just get my clothes and bag from the living room. I can collect myself, remind myself again that I must do it.

I hope I can.

He wakes as I'm fastening the handcuff around his wrist, pulling his arm away before I can fasten the other cuff to the headboard. It's my own fault; my hands tremble as I work and I'm too slow. He sits up fast and stares at me like I've just killed his dog or something. "What the hell?" he asks.

"Alex Krycek, you are under arrest." My voice is shaking; I can barely say the words. "You have the right to remain silent --"

"Arrest for what?" He's still sitting there looking at me... oddly. I wish he'd stop. I can't look into those green eyes and send this man to his doom. No matter what he's done, I can't.

But I must. "Don't you know what you've been doing? Didn't you know you'd go down with them?"

He moves slowly, drawing up more against the pillows. I think he's finally realizing what he's done. "I wonder if you know what I've done," he says. "Did it occur to you what would happen if a certain old friend of yours knew what we've been up to?"

"Isn't that your problem?" I lean forward and make a grab for the handcuff, but suddenly he's brandishing a large knife very close to my face.

"No," he says, moving it slowly back and forth in front of me. "It's yours."

I swore to myself I'd only do it if she pushed me, and she has. Arresting me. Some nerve! Whatever happened to immunity? Did she really think she could get away with this?

It's easy to slip back into my old familiar role of assassin. It's comfortable, exactly the opposite of the role of Dana Scully's lover. It's especially easy now that she's shown her hand. She's been fucking me for months, just to get to this point. I wonder where Mulder's hiding. He has to be close; I know he wouldn't miss this.

He'd be here by now if she'd been able to send a signal of any kind. I suppose she was going to wait until she cuffed me. Stupid move, my little redhead, very stupid. You don't know yet how stupid.

The smoker figures it's enough to do her. She could go on without Mulder, but he can't go on without her. He'll wallow in misery and self-pity, eventually self-destruct, and the smoker's precious projects will be safe. Or so he thinks.

Scully gasps a little as I wave the knife in front of her. "Yes, it's your problem," I tell her. "He wasn't happy about the conversations we've been having."

"Then why didn't he just kill you?"

"Because that wouldn't stop you from acting on all the things I told you." I inch the knife closer, watching her recoil from it. "This will."

I should've had a gun, I always have a gun, but using one seemed somehow wrong for this. Guns are so impersonal. In honor of our, for lack of a better word, relationship, in honor of how she betrayed me, I want this to be personal.

Besides, it's quieter this way.

I lean forward and she moves back again, and suddenly she's pointing a gun at me. "Drop it," she says.

"You won't shoot me," I tell her, reasonably sure that she won't. She needs me alive. "Besides, you moved too soon. There's still some big important things you don't know."

"Like what?" Her arm shakes just the tiniest bit, but she doesn't lower the gun.

I just shake my head. "Too late."

He lunges quickly, taking me by surprise. In a split second, the gun is gone from my hands, flying across the room, and I'm pinned underneath him. He raises the knife, and I know now that he'll really use it. I fight him, wriggling around, grabbing at his arm. He was off-balance to start with, so with some effort I manage to push him off me and grab the knife. I move to throw it away but he catches my arm before I can.

We struggle mightily, rolling around on the bed, each with a hand on the knife. I feel the blade slice across my face, I watch it slash his shoulder. The knife is trapped between us now, and I know he'll kill me if I give even an inch. Everything's moving so fast now and all I can think about is that I need to get away, get him away from me, so I shove him hard. He falls back, and I take that opportunity to scramble off the bed, fully expecting him to come after me.

He doesn't. I whirl around to see him lying in the middle of his bed... in a spreading pool of blood, with his own knife planted in the center of his chest.

It takes a moment for the sight to sink in. With slowly dawning horror, I realize what I've done. Paralyzed, I can only watch him as he pulls weakly at the knife, struggling to breathe. Oh, God, what have I done? I should help, I should call 911, I should call Mulder, but I can't move.

Somehow I manage to pick up the phone and dial 911, but it's too late. I know it's too late. I can't help him; nobody can. I can only watch as his blood spills out onto the bed, as the life starts to fade from those green eyes. I can only watch as his lips move, trying to form a word around the blood in his mouth.

By the fourth try, I still can't move, but I can understand the word.

"Samantha."

Oh, God, this isn't happening. God, it hurts so fucking much. I can't breathe. Every breath is like getting stabbed again, and God, it hurts so much.

I can't breathe, and she's staring at me. The bitch jammed a knife into my chest, and she's standing there fucking staring at me. Staring at me, watching me die.

It hurts so bad and I can't even make a sound and she's gotta know what she did and what she's missing and that she doesn't know anything and oh, God it hurts. Make it stop, she can make it stop but she's just staring at me and she did it, she can fix it, she can do something...

But she won't. She's just letting me die. Then she'll know what dies with me.

"Samantha?" she asks, still not moving, still not coming closer. Her voice sounds so far away and everything's getting all blurry except the pain; the pain's so bad, slices through me with every breath, God it hurts...

"You know where she is," she says. "Where? Where is she?"

Call 911, bitch. Call 911 and save me and I'll tell you, I promise I will, but you gotta get the smoker...

She's still not moving and I know I'm a goner, it hurts so bad and I can taste blood in my throat, in my mouth, God, who knew there could be so much blood, but she's gotta know...

Takes five tries to get the words out and I'm choking on my own blood and it hurts so fucking bad but she's not helping but she's gotta know... "Too... late... You... lose."

And the world fades to black.

I swore not long ago that I could never *really* kill Krycek in a story. I got this sudden urge to -- NO idea why -- and I had to see if I could really do it. Had to get it all down in one sitting too - this one took about four hours, in two sessions sandwiched around the Millennium series finale. Talk about a depressing evening.

Comments, criticism, etc. to MareZX@aol.com. And no flames just because I killed Alex, okay? Anybody who knows me knows how much I love him, so just don't.