Title: Least of All
Author: Mary Parker
Rating: PG, I suppose
Spoilers: "Requiem"
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.  Chris Carter's, Fox's,
1013's.  No profit for me.
Summary: Marita considers another life.  
Author's Notes:  Really I don't think Marita's a slut who wants
to sleep with everyone, but if your main relationship was with 
Krycek, wouldn't you want a change?

Marita lowered her eyes as Mulder rushed out 
after Scully. She studied the map from under her 
lashes and thought about what she would be doing 
if she weren't here. If she had lived another 
life. It was a common thought pattern these days. 
In another life, she and Scully might have been 
dallying earlier over a long lunch and making 
plans to meet after mass. She had always liked 
Scully, had admired the way the woman had grown 
into her job. Both of their social lives were 
handicapped by the boys' club world they moved 
in; it would have been nice to have some female 
companionship as counterpoint to all these men. 
She surveyed the group around her: hunted, 
haunted men to the last. There was no love here 
for her, not even civil conversation. She didn't 
know how to speak in unencoded terms now. Her 
polish was ground into her. She couldn't wear 
sweatpants anymore, either. It was out of 
keeping.

In another life, maybe she and Scully would have 
been lovers. Scully was lovely, after all, made 
up of enviable curves and breasts surprising in 
a woman so small. Marita daydreamed from time 
to time about slipping underneath that icy 
exterior and teasing moans from that elegant 
white throat. She thought of how Scully's bright
hair would look disheveled from tossing on a 
linen-covered pillow. Even in fantasies she 
retained some of the acquired refinement: the 
pillow cases and sheets were all 500 count.

There was of course Mulder, handsome and 
brilliant, but Scully was all that plus 
reliable, and her insanity was limited to the 
depth of her devotion to Mulder, with whom she 
was still out in the hall. Marita flushed, 
tidying her mind of piles of discarded clothing. 
No, even in another life, Mulder and Scully 
would probably manage to find each other and 
she would be here, alone.

Maybe in another life, Alex wouldn't betray 
her. She listened to him talk, clinically 
detached from her desire for him. Maybe they 
would have had sex in a bed instead of a 
series of corridors, closets, chairs, desks. 
On the other hand, maybe she would have a 
peaceful life in the suburbs, a blissfully 
boring husband, a golden retriever, a couple 
of children. A life where she wouldn't have to 
be a Hitchcock blonde; she'd wear old t-shirts 
on the weekends, cardigans to an uneventful 
job, and sometimes she'd let her hair get 
greasy and run errands wearing jeans and a 
Georgetown sweatshirt, no makeup but dull 
unflavoured chapstick.

Idle speculation would get her nowhere. Marita 
shifted on her heels and paid attention to the 
unkempt man in the leather jacket. This was her 
life. At least in the evening there would be 
Alex and the shower, the water turned on full 
to mask the slippery sounds of skin and her 
quiet whimpers. At least in the morning there 
would be cool clean suits to wear and the easy 
practiced grace of high heels. She was used to 
least by now.