AUTHOR: Eve ([email protected])
TITLE: The Interrogation
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Krycek/Scully, allusions to Krycek/Mulder. My inner Skipper is having a field day, people!
SPOILERS: Gah. There's nothing past Paper Clip, but I mixed and matched to suit my own nefarious purposes. If I don't mention it, assume that it didn't happen.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. I picked up Krycek on the side of the road one night, and you know what they say. Finders keepers.
SUMMARY: Scully's fed up with being ditched and takes Krycek along for the ride. Literally.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to apologize in advance to all Americans for my gross distortion of geography and motel room pricing.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated, and always replied to!
9:20 AM
Basement, FBI Headquarters
"But Mulder--wait! Where--"
The other end of the line is already dead. I snap the phone shut and without looking toss it on his desk. A great feat of rebellion for me. Then I straighten the pile of papers the phone has scattered.
He's done it again. Mulder has gone off on some wild goose chase based on information I doubt is more tangible that a shoelace. If there's any connection at all. A wrong number. A paper at his door. The off hand remark of a complete stranger. These are all clues to Fox Mulder. Clues of his conspiracy that he has no problem expounding to me in the relative safety of our basement office. But when it comes down to actually going out and doing something, he ditches me time and time again. I've tried to rationalize it away. He's so used to working alone that he doesn't always think to call; he thinks I'll be mad at being dragged off to parts unknown in the middle of the night for some case that sounds absolutely ludicrous; or, because I'm a woman, he doesn't think I can handle myself and chooses to pursue his task alone rather than risk my life. There's likely a grain of truth to all my theories, but it comes down to just one thing: he can be such an ass sometimes. He didn't even say where he was going.
There will probably be a dead body somewhere along the line that he'll want me to autopsy. Other than that, I won't hear from him until he returns, finding nothing, but convinced that another part of the puzzle has been set in place. He'll either show up at work one day, or I'll get a call saying that he's in the hospital. Again. Such is my life.
I sit down at his desk, adjusting the chair so that my feet touch the ground. Normally I put a phone book down so he won't have to fix it the next time he sits, but I'm too irritated to care. There'd a pile of paperwork on the corner of the desk, away from all the clutter. No doubt so I can spot it easily. Well screw it. Mulder can start writing his own damn reports. What did he do when I was gone?
I sift through the mess in front of me, quickly growing bored with cow mutilations, UFO sightings in Texas, and vampires. Apparently Ogopogo has made another appearance. The reports quickly form three piles on the surface of the desk: somewhat bogus, bogus, and completely bogus. I sigh in defeat and reach for the paperwork. My defiance has lasted an entire twenty minutes this time.
TITLE: The Interrogation
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Krycek/Scully, allusions to Krycek/Mulder. My inner Skipper is having a field day, people!
SPOILERS: Gah. There's nothing past Paper Clip, but I mixed and matched to suit my own nefarious purposes. If I don't mention it, assume that it didn't happen.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. I picked up Krycek on the side of the road one night, and you know what they say. Finders keepers.
SUMMARY: Scully's fed up with being ditched and takes Krycek along for the ride. Literally.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to apologize in advance to all Americans for my gross distortion of geography and motel room pricing.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated, and always replied to!
9:20 AM
Basement, FBI Headquarters
"But Mulder--wait! Where--"
The other end of the line is already dead. I snap the phone shut and without looking toss it on his desk. A great feat of rebellion for me. Then I straighten the pile of papers the phone has scattered.
He's done it again. Mulder has gone off on some wild goose chase based on information I doubt is more tangible that a shoelace. If there's any connection at all. A wrong number. A paper at his door. The off hand remark of a complete stranger. These are all clues to Fox Mulder. Clues of his conspiracy that he has no problem expounding to me in the relative safety of our basement office. But when it comes down to actually going out and doing something, he ditches me time and time again. I've tried to rationalize it away. He's so used to working alone that he doesn't always think to call; he thinks I'll be mad at being dragged off to parts unknown in the middle of the night for some case that sounds absolutely ludicrous; or, because I'm a woman, he doesn't think I can handle myself and chooses to pursue his task alone rather than risk my life. There's likely a grain of truth to all my theories, but it comes down to just one thing: he can be such an ass sometimes. He didn't even say where he was going.
There will probably be a dead body somewhere along the line that he'll want me to autopsy. Other than that, I won't hear from him until he returns, finding nothing, but convinced that another part of the puzzle has been set in place. He'll either show up at work one day, or I'll get a call saying that he's in the hospital. Again. Such is my life.
I sit down at his desk, adjusting the chair so that my feet touch the ground. Normally I put a phone book down so he won't have to fix it the next time he sits, but I'm too irritated to care. There'd a pile of paperwork on the corner of the desk, away from all the clutter. No doubt so I can spot it easily. Well screw it. Mulder can start writing his own damn reports. What did he do when I was gone?
I sift through the mess in front of me, quickly growing bored with cow mutilations, UFO sightings in Texas, and vampires. Apparently Ogopogo has made another appearance. The reports quickly form three piles on the surface of the desk: somewhat bogus, bogus, and completely bogus. I sigh in defeat and reach for the paperwork. My defiance has lasted an entire twenty minutes this time.