: S, Scully/Krycek
Rating: PG-13 for S, L, and V

Distribution: Any ol' where

Disclaimer: Dana, Alex, and Fox belong to CC, 1013 Productions, and Fox
Television. Other characters mentioned herein are mine, nyah nyah.

Special thanks: To my Vark for the opinions, and to Megan Reilly and
Ripley of RATales for being interested.

NOTE: The first part (which would be good to read before this one) of
the Devil Series can be found at my website:

Summary: Scully's wild roadtrip with Alex Krycek continues...in a hotel

"The Devil's Silk" (1/1)
by RhymePhile

Scully kicked the blanket from her bare legs at 3 a.m. and finally gave
up trying to fall asleep.

Nighttime restlessness was uncommon for her; she had to blame it on her
mind being occupied with matters other than a good night's rest. Well,
her mind and...other parts that hadn't been occupied in six years.

Perhaps the events over the past few days would cause insomnia in
anyone, she thought, especially if they had experienced what she was
going through right now.

It was doubtful, though.

Were there any other FBI agents out there who had run off with an evil
and mysterious leather-clad rogue?

She couldn't think of any, but if there were, she'd bet money they were
all men. She giggled softly. Right now, she was in a class by herself.

She sighed, and turned over to face the window. The blinds remained
partially open, allowing the streetlight to reflect through the streams
of rain running down the window. Odd shadows danced across the hotel
room walls, shifting and swirling in time to the cascading water.

Ever since she was a child, Scully could recall rainstorms lulling her
to sleep. Tonight all this one was doing was keeping her awake.

She stretched slightly, realizing after she did so that she was
extremely tense and uncomfortable.

It certainly wasn't the bed.

Good Lord, it was king-sized with red silk sheets. And the hotel room
Alex had chosen, she noted, was as spacious and well-furnished as an
apartment overlooking Central Park West. There was a living room with a
fireplace, and a huge bathroom covered in mirrors and Italian marble.
The bedroom suite itself was enormous--this was no Motel 6.

She definitely was not used to such opulence, and she didn't think Alex
was either. But he was trying to impress her, which she found strangely
sweet. A man who she had heard was a cold-blooded killer made the
concierge return with two-dozen fresh roses after Alex decided the
petals in the room weren't fragrant enough.

Scully was drowning in luxury for the first time in her life. She had a
huge bed, an enormous hotel suite, and, according to Alex, anything her
heart desired.

"Katie," he had told her, "tonight, anything is yours."

"Anything?" she had purred, curled up in the red silk of the bedcovers.

"Well," he admitted, "for tonight only. Tomorrow we get the back seat of
my Cadillac again. We need to keep moving."

"I can take it. I'm as good in the back seat as I am in the front seat,"
she teased. "And you may regret your generosity for tonight. If anything
is mine, I'm going to take it...anything and *everything*."

That conversation, she realized, was over 3 hours ago. They came up for
air and glasses of champagne at one a.m., and then she continued taking
advantage of Alex's generosity until...

Now she understood! The whole reason she was restless and jumpy was
because it had been hours since she last had any...Alex.

She rolled over, but he wasn't next to her in bed. Then Scully
remembered, to her disappointment, that Alex told her he was going to
get ice for the champagne.

When was that?

Her memory was a little foggy since those last toasts of bubbly. She was
a little drunk, in fact, because she and Alex finished two bottles right
after Scully received the phone call.

They had just begun to try out the silk sheets--to test the thread
quality, Alex had said, since he *was* paying a fortune for this
room--when Scully's cell phone rang.

Scully told him she wanted to get rid of it somewhere along the road,
but Alex suggested she hold on to it. He may have been expecting what

The conversation on the phone, she recalled, was rather short.


"Yes, Mulder, it's me."

That was when Alex had grabbed the phone from her hand.

"Mulder, you know who this is, and if you open your mouth once while I'm
talking, I hang up. Understand?" The pause had been been a quick one.
"Good. Now pay attention, because what I have to say should make you
realize that coming after her is pointless...she made a decision, and
this time she didn't do it for the Bureau, or for her career, or even
for you, Mulder. She did it for herself, and she left with *me*. Dana
Katherine Scully followed her *heart*."

With that, Alex hit the END button and plunged the phone into the
champagne ice bucket.

Scully smiled to herself when she remembered what Alex had said to her
with that evil grin of his: "I'm still not quite sure about that thread

There was still much to learn about Alex Krycek.

Actually, there was *everything* to learn about him, and Scully
convinced herself to stay on the defensive, no matter what her heart

She was confused, because for the first time in her life--as Alex had
said to Mulder--she followed her emotions instead of common sense.

Now that she thought about it, aside from the short conversation they
had about Alex's trip to Bureau headquarters to get her, he hadn't said
much. He did say he wanted Scully at his side when colonization began,
but he never explained why. "I need you with me" were the words he used.
Was it love? Lust? Simple companionship? Or was it another reason?

She couldn't be sure.

From their wild trip in the Cadillac and the incident on the highway, to
the champagne now buzzing around her brain and sex between silk sheets,
she definitely wasn't thinking clearly.

But perhaps that was a good thing.

Wasn't it?

God, she was never getting back to sleep tonight. She couldn't even take
advantage of it, because Alex wasn't back yet. How long did it take to
get ice, anyway?

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to settle her
thoughts. Slowly, she let it out, and tried controlling her breathing to
relax. She really needed to talk to Alex about his intentions. Deep
breath in, hold, then out. Was she doing the right thing? In, out. These
sheets felt wonderful. In, out. He felt so good lying next to her in
bed. On the fifth breath in, she thought she smelled something.

Something...out of place in the luxurious hotel suite full of roses and
scented bath beads.

Concentrating on the smell now, she breathed in again, and caught a
strange odor.

It was a strong, heavy scent, like the oil she once used to rub on her
Doc Martens to protect them from rain damage. She was years from her
high school punk days, but the smell was instantly recognizable. She
sniffed again, and this time she was sure it was mink oil, mixed with
what she knew to be leather. It brought back many memories of her
youth...she must not have noticed it on Alex's leather jacket before.

Eyes open now, she recalled specifically the time she told Mulder he
should treat his leather jacket with the stuff. Mulder, being as anal
and obsessive as he was sometimes, replied that he never even wore the
jacket when the sky looked slightly cloudy.

Glancing out at the pouring rain, she knew it couldn't be her partner.
Besides, there was no way he could have traced her cell phone to the
hotel. He was smart and an excellent FBI agent, but Scully knew him too
well. Fox Mulder wasn't *that* good.
Then she heard leather creak, and caught the damp, wafting scent of it
mixed with the musky oil.

Scully turned from the window and stared into the open doorway of the
bedroom, expecting a leather-clad Alex to walk in. Smiling again, she
slid her lace nightgown up her thigh in anticipation. They would talk

She sighed, noticing the shadows cast by the rain pouring down the
window pane still swirled about the room. She watched them dance as they
played across the furniture, spilled over the sofa and its cushions, and
travelled down the loveseat where Alex's leather jacket sat.

She adjusted her eyes to the sight.

Alex's jacket.

Draped over the back of the loveseat.

If it had been in the room the entire time, why was she suddenly
smelling the mink oil now?

With rising fear, she instinctively reached out for her Sig, sitting
holstered on the nightstand.

Her fingers had unlatched the snap on the holster when a black-gloved
hand slammed down against her wrist.

In a blur of movement, the man's leather jacket creaked again when he
straddled her legs, preventing Scully from kicking him. His gun was in
her face immediately, and he drew the hammer back with a soft click.
Leaning down close to her cheek, she felt the man's hot breath against
her skin when he whispered a warning. "Don't."

The wet leather and oil from his jacket assaulted her nostrils as he
hovered over her. The shadows she found comforting only moments ago now
ominously highlighted the wild green eyes that glared from beneath a
black ski mask.

He seemed unnaturally calm, and the only reason she could tell he was
breathing at all was because rivulets of water rolled down his arms
every time he exhaled.

Scully knew struggling was useless; his well-muscled arm was almost
crushing her hand.

In a similar situation, most people she knew would probably be scared

Scully, however, wasn't most people. And most people also weren't having
sex with a suspected murderer who slept with a gun under his pillow.

Her left hand was free, and she began inching it carefully across the
bed, hoping to grab Alex's little .22 quickly enough to send a round
bouncing through this bastard's skull.

The man suddenly moved his weapon from between her eyes and started
tracing the cold barrel over her lips, down her throat, and around her
breasts, until it came to a stop near her stomach.

"With all your medical training, I'm sure you're aware of how
excruciatingly painful a gunshot wound to the gut can be. Reach for the
other gun under that pillow," he threatened, now prodding her abdomen,
"and you'll *beg* me to die."

This wasn't a random occurrence, then. He knew who she was.

"Fuck you," she hissed.

The man shifted slightly on top of her legs, and then she felt the wet
denim of his jeans slide closer to her thighs. Slowly, he pulled the
mask from his face and replied with a sly half-grin, "Suggestion noted."

He let up on her right wrist, and placed her gun, holster and all, into
the waistband of his jeans. Then he flipped his gun to his left hand,
and reached into a pocket of his coat, retrieving a large, black object.
With the flick of a small button, the switchblade sprung to life, its
13-inch pointed blade glinting despite the darkness of the room.

She glared at him, watching as his green eyes danced with amusement.

*Now* she was scared.

Her eyes went to the blade, and then back to his face. She couldn't make
out any of his features except those eerie green eyes. Alex's eyes got
like that, she thought, right before he shot that cop on the highway.

Oh God. Yes, she *was* scared shitless.

"What do you want with me?" she asked, trying to sound unafraid.

"I'm going to ask the same question," came the sudden sound of Alex's
dark, threatening vioce from the bedroom doorway, "before I spread your
brains across our expensive silk sheets."

"Zdrastvooytye, Alyosha," said the man, not bothering to turn around.

It took a moment, but when Alex replied his voice wavered and caught in
his throat. "Bohdan."

"Alexei Nicolavich," Bohdan admonished, turning around now. "What would
Mama say? Why so formal towards your baby brother?"

Bohdan spun back to face Scully again, twirling the knife in his
fingertips. "Please, call me Danya."



Comments taken with a hearty black bread and Vodka.

Alex Krycek stole my sig.
If you spot him, please call

Scully: "Look, dog-lady...Mulder's *my* bitch."
-- "The Slightly Mundane Dog Inside"
by Amanda Finch