Welcome To The Harem
Chasm by S Raven
Summary: Missing scene from Patient X. Krycek/Marita, NC17. Sort-of prequel to Schism but stands alone.
Author: S. Raven
Rating: NC-17, for language and implied sexual situations.
Category: Vignette, Krycek/Marita, Marita angst
Distribution: Archive anywhere, just let me know so I can
thank you. =)
Feedback: email@example.com. Please. I'll be a good mommy
SPOILERS: Definitely, for Season 5, 'Patient X';
'Red & the Black'.
Summary: Missing scene from 'Patient X'. After the K/Ma kiss
in the corridor. Assumes logical conclusion to that kiss.
Author's notes: This isn't precisely a sequel to my fic 'Schism',
but the atmosphere has carried over. Basically, Krycek and Marita
fascinate me, together and singly.
Author thanks: My wonderful beta reader Harper for her apt and
timely comments. I owe you big time.
Disclaimer: The X-Files, the characters of Mulder, Scully, Krycek,
Covarrubias, Cancerman, anyone mentioned here, do NOT belong to me.
I am merely borrowing them for a little while from Chris Carter. They
will be returned in good shape and none the worse for wear.
You called me 'love', and my heart stopped.
Then you turned over in your sleep and I could breathe again.
In sleep you look so peaceful. No anger. No pain. Just calm,
child-like innocence, with a smile to match.
I'm responsible for that smile.
Again I lose the rhythm of my fingers and begin to fumble with
my buttons. Concentrate, concentrate.
There isn't much time.
While pulling on my skirt, I encounter an abrasion, a raised line
of skin where your teeth tried to brand me.
I wonder why you bother. It's not like this is the first intrusion
I have known, even with you. Your lips are just another brand, one
more mark of ownership on flesh that has known a thousand others.
And yet in the dark you reach out your arms to me and call me love,
your darling girl, as though we are young and innocent, as though this
the beginning of our lives and not the end.
Love. You called me love, as if my body has never been taken or used
hundreds of ways, thousands of times, more times than you can
imagine, its fruits harvested and sold in a goblin market for the
highest bidder. These things I vaguely remember, even when you lean
over me and whisper hotly that I am to think of you, only of you, I
remember the men, so many of them, all gloating over my skin.
'How perfect,' they said while slicing it apart, murmuring about
recessive phenotypes and the need for cross protection like I was a
breeder cow, no like I was so much meat and they the butchers calling
to customers to come and buy.
'Look here, this is lean but tender, soft and tasty, perfect to cook
that special dish' only the dish was my family the one we can never
damn now I am crying.
Why do I bother? When somewhere inside me I can remember a time
that I was whole and that is fine and that is good and I do not
need to be torn apart again by your words and your voice and your
hands and lips and mouth on mine. I can live encased in memory
and do what I must to survive, to work for the day when I can finally
die, when I have my revenge on those who did this to me, to us except
there isn't an us and there never was.
You mumble again and I realize that you are still sleeping.
You fell asleep in my arms; you who trust no one and who would kill
at the slightest provocation, fell asleep next to me even though
you know who I am and what I have done.
Why kiss me when all I issued you was a challenge?
I asked if you really thought you could beat these men who
are twice your age and command resources that you could
never dream of and you took it as an invitation to kiss me.
Why do you confuse me like this? I could think of you as
another assignment, just one more body to notch on my gun,
but you persist on kissing me like I am something
rare and precious. Even in your hunger you waited for me,
tried to satisfy me, came undone in my arms as you
waited for my fulfilment. Why must you be vulnerable to
For a while I tried to lose myself in you, to think only
of your scent and your taste and the weight
of you and forget the chasm between us.
But even as you cried for me and crushed me close, I
could hear the boy breathing in the next room, another
reminder that I am not here by choice, perhaps would
not even have come if I was free to choose.
For a while I was carried along by your passion
and your strength and I didn't have to think of
what I am supposed to do here, even though sex was part of
the program, anticipated and allowed for by my masters. But
again you changed the rules with your lips on mine, speaking
my name like a prayer, but you don't believe in God so whom
did you cry out to?
Waves crashing over me and I heard you call me love.
What do I know of love?
What do you?
You flip the world a finger and kill without hesitation. I've
seen the pleasure in your eyes as you watch your victims beg for their
lives, their families. I have traced your lips with my fingers and
I know how exquisite they feel, but I have also seen them smirk
as you pull the trigger, cutting short confessions and prayers
in a shower of red. You lie and cheat and steal and refuse to consider
any greater goal than yourself.
Only you, my tainted Lucifer, only you could do all you do,
unrepentant and still daring to call upon love as if you
had either the right to expect it or the capacity to give it to me.
You told me the first time we fucked, that that was all
it was and it could never be anymore, that this was just another
way of getting back at the man who has kept you on a leash for so
many years. I accepted it, this personal revenge because it was
But then you started calling me 'love'. Darling dear. Little girl.
I wondered why the words bothered me. Then I put them aside as
just another invasion, another way to get to me, not the first,
not the last. If you hadn't begun falling asleep in my arms, I
would have done as I was supposed to and killed you in the end.
Instead, I bargained for your life.
Not a hopeless romantic impulse, but cold necessity. I knew
that the leaders were close to guessing the truth about us,
I also know that the best defence is a good offence. So I
pretended it was a covert operation to gain your trust, a
master stroke of genius from the thwarted lonely old man
who smokes cigarettes and calls himself my master. He tasted
of death and fear the night I tried to convince him of my
sincerity, the night I played the part of the devoted submissive
slave unable to resist temptation, but needing to escape its
consequences. The role that he expected me to take, simply because
he could understand and deal with it.
I will do what I must to survive, just as I have always done.
When you saw me, did you really think I had come to join you?
That I would give up the chance to avenge myself and gain an
honourable death for your absurd daydream that we can build
a life together? Where? Among the wreckage of spaceships and
lives that we destroyed singly or together? What right have we
of all people to desire a happy ending, with sunset kisses over
a picket fences and dogs running in the backyard? You were
taught better than that, my love, much better than that.
There's the word again. Now you've got me thinking it and using
it. Stay out of my mind, damn you, stop invading my senses and
filling my dreams. Stop trying to make me believe, because I don't
I can't and I won't. Not in you. Not in me. Not, especially not
I can do this. It's easy. I've done it before. Post coitus, men are
weak and silly. Lift the gun, point and pull the trigger and it's
done, another red stain on the sheets to overlap the one in my memory,
only this time it's not my blood and not my pain.
I should do this. It'll push me one step up the hierarchy and get rid
of any lingering doubts they might have about my loyalty.
But you called out for me in your dreams. You spoke my name and reached
for my body. You called me love.
And for the sake of one word I'll let you live.
I move fast to avoid thinking, quietly to avoid disturbing you.
We are far away from the docks by the time I anticipate you will wake.
Dmitri moans through his sewn up mouth and I have
to stop and dribble water on his lips. Even I who have shed no tears
for a decade, I am horrified at what you have done to this teenager
for no crime but that he was in the wrong place at the
wrong time. It is a harsh world we live in, but a merciful death is
a better way of guaranteeing silence than stitching up his lips.
And after willingly mutilating a boy half your age, you can turn to me
and speak of love. Show me with hands and lips and mouth that you mean
what you say. And then prove your trust by holding my body close
against yours before falling fast asleep.
Stupid, stupid Alex for trusting me.
Stupid, stupid Marita for letting him live.
And for what reason, Covarrubias? For a word spoken in the dark and a
hand outstretched to touch mine.
This time I'll be lucky to get away with my sanity intact.
You always *were* a liar, Alex Krycek.
But so am I.
So am I.
Archivist note: the version I have has screwy line-breaks, so I can't vouch for the paragraphs. Sorry!