****** Part 2/? -------- Part Two She checked the rearview mirror again and didn't exhale until she saw his dark head slumped against the sky blue upholstery. The man next to her frowned and casually looked at the limp body sprawled in the back seat. Marita ignored him and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. No fuck-ups with this one. It was her chance to show the old men what she could do. To show one old man in particular. "He's not going anywhere." The man next to her spread his legs out and closed his eyes. Christ, she thought. He was a terrible actor. A terrible player. No finesse, no class. Not like Alex. Nobody was like Alex. "Stranger things have happened." She shivered nervously. Oh, yes, stranger things have happened. The man shrugged and muttered, "Wake me when we get there." Right. She drove cautiously, with stops and starts, violent jerks accompanied by screeching brakes. She hated driving at night. The loneliness of it, even though tonight two men were with her. If she were honest, it wasn't the driving. It was the darkness. Mulder slept soundly in the back, his breathing soft and even like a small child's. He looked surprisingly average with his dark beard and ratty sweatpants and tattered sneakers. Like somebody's father. Somebody's son. The kind of man who would be on a local baseball team. Who would drink American beer on a hot afternoon and watch the game (*any* game that was on) with friends. Who would charm the neighborhood at block parties and work the grill. Who would make french toast for his wife on Sundays. Who would burn it more likely. The kind of man she had led him to believe he *was* this afternoon. Projecting a little, aren't we? Angry, with herself, with Mulder, she swerved onto the highway, trying to forget the way the nurses had looked at them this afternoon. The way they smiled and nodded, she had practically heard their thoughts: "Don't they make a lovely picture." Christ. She could tell them about some *lovely* scenes that would give them nightmares for life. The oil dripping from the eyes, the nose, the mouth...the stained feeling that never went away...the dreams where she felt *ITS* presence. Where she dreamed It was watching her. From *inside* of her. Sometimes Marita wondered if that feeling would ever go away. If she was doomed to go the rest of her life as a host for some silent watcher in her blood, her body. Mulder...Mulder was the lucky one. He would never fully remember. Not only because of careful planning by the group, but because Mulder was adept at forgetting things he simply didn't want to remember. A quality that was both his weakness and his strength. Feeling shaky and tired, her heart beating in her throat, she took the first exit she saw and stopped off at a Seven-Eleven. Hands shaking, she reached into her coat pocket for the small bottle of pills she kept for nights like this. The doctor had warned her that they were not the solution to her problem, only a quick fix. He had actually warned: "The pills only mask the symptoms of the panic, the underlying reasons causing the anxiety are still there." She had smiled brilliantly (contrary to popular belief she *could* be charming when she wanted to be) and promised to get help. Right. And I've got some lovely green goo to sell you. Acts as a facial mask and unstable corrosive. Mulder stirred in the back seat, turning over, and then woke up when he almost fell off the seat. Blinking and gasping, his eyes shot open. Quickly she opened her door and flung the back door open. "It's all right. You were just sleeping." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the neck. His breath was labored, his chest rising and falling at an almost supernaturally fast pace. "I dreamed I was falling." He swallowed and closed his eyes. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, down his throat, falling to the collar of his shirt. She placed her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck, the steamy warmth from his body invading the car like fog. Her hands were on his back; the thin T-shirt he wore was soaked and sticky. "It's okay," she whispered, running her fingers through his damp hair. "You're safe." He swallowed again. Then his eyes opened slowly. "What if I don't believe you?" He turned toward her and wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her body away from him. Looming over her, his eyes bright, her hands captured carefully between them, she was suddenly afraid. For what seemed like hours they stared at each other, the car humid and oppressive from half-remembered dreams and fear. "What's my favorite color," he asked softly. "What," she choked out. "Why?" He looked at her steadily. "You don't know, do you?" "Darling, of course I do. It's blue. You're scaring me. Please," she whispered, struggling to get her hands free. "Let me go." The gleam in his eyes terrified her. It was worthy of your average spree killer. No thought...no remorse...doing what felt right at that moment. Myers. If she woke him...Oh, god...this wasn't Mulder...Mulder didn't act like this. Before she could scream...he placed her hands over her throat and started to squeeze... And when she woke up, she was screaming. -------- "Marita," she heard someone shout. "It's okay. It was just a dream." Sobbing, she fought against the hand that was trying to subdue her. "Let go! God dammit, get the hell off of me!" She punched and clawed until the man placed his body over hers and forced her to stay still with his weight. "You going to stop now?" She ignored him, feeling tears of rage and frustration slip down her cheek, the man's breath hot on her face. "Christ," she heard him mutter. The light switch flipped on and she found herself soaked in sweat, in her own bed, her body tangled with Alex Krycek and the sheets. Furious, she struggled out from beneath him and brought her knees up, wiping her face quickly. She felt exposed somehow. Although she would sleep with this man, share her body, to show him any weakness made her physically ill. He sat on the edge of the bed, dressed entirely in black, and watched her, a slight smile on his face. "Please get me some water," she ordered calmly. He bowed slightly and slipped soundlessly to her bathroom, returning with a glass of water and a small pill on a dish. She nodded coldly at the pill. "What's this?" "I figured you might need it after that performance." Krycek sat down next to her, his dark presence overwhelmingly powerful in what looked and felt like a young girl's room. "I don't need it." "If you say so." Condescending asshole. For a minute they played standoff with the plate, the pill staring at them like a disembodied eye. Annoyed, he placed the pill in her palm, forcing her hand to clasp it. "Just take the damn thing, will you?" The water was lukewarm warm and suspiciously cloudy. For a second before she swallowed it, she wondered if he had put anything in it...and then decided it didn't matter. "I came to congratulate you. Finding Mulder, handing him over, and in one piece no less. I do believe that's unprecedented. I heard they went straight to work on him yesterday." She placed the water down on the dresser next to her bed and watched the water create a ring on the wood. "I wouldn't know." He nodded, his eyes charting her reactions carefully. "Of course not, as long as you get your reward for turning him in, right?" "Some reward," she muttered. "Ah, yes I heard about that. Tough break, kid. I know how long you worked to win the position you so *deserve*." "After all the work I put in, I *deserve* more than what they've given me. Had I been a man--" "Quite frankly," he interrupted, his eyes bright with amusement. "I'm glad you're not." She reached over and ran her hand along his only arm. "Really," she said, throatily. "You're terrifying enough as a woman." Scowling, she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. Quietly he said, "You think you're the only one to get a degrading demotion? Think again. They never forget. And neither should you." She smiled at him, victory in her eyes. "I heard about that. Back to errand boy. After all you've done, you had the East in the palm of your hands...and you gave it up for...for this." He raised his eyebrows. "For this," he said, viciously parroting her voice. "Beck and call of the old man. Trying to glue together the broken pieces of the old dynamic. And hot on the tail of a fibbie you don't give a damn about. Not that it's not a fine tail, mind you." He lowered his eyes and smiled slightly. "Perhaps we should all give a damn about him." Marita snorted. "The old man's lost it. They won't get anything out of Mulder. In a few days they'll realize that and get rid of him." "Just out of curiosity, how do you know they won't get anything?" Cool and casual. "Because your head guys already tried. And failed, obviously." "You're good. Very good actually." She bowed modestly. "I try." "Where is he." Although technically a question, it sounded flat and hollow like a statement. "Does it matter?" "It might." The game was in full play now. "Orders of the old man, Alex, or is this," she paused and finished with just the right amount of insinuation, "a personal mission to retrieve Mulder?" Krycek grinned darkly and quoted, " 'Personal matters have no place in the lives of the few selected elite, the extraordinary men that will carry out our plans to the finish.' " She shuddered. "Please don't." For a second the specter of another old man, the one that had cultivated them both so carefully, brought them in under his wing, sponsored them, *created* them, loomed between them. The one they never talked about. Although he was not a superstitious man, Alex Krycek had been taught by his mother that to speak of the devil was to conjure him. Marita suddenly felt cold and she brought the blanket up to her chest and wrapped her hands around her knees. Krycek watched her. "You owe them nothing, Marita. They've taken away your position, your opportunity for advancement, your insider standing." She let her hair slip over her eyes, but he knew she was listening very carefully. "I can't promise you anything, because I have nothing to promise right now. But one day I will." He said it as fact, with utter certainty. "And I will remember you well that day, Marita." Raising her head she smiled at him. "Yes. I think you will." END 2/?