#marita

I think it's more complicated than Mulder and Scully's relationship. Which isn't a surprise, since both are shades of Dark!Mulder and Dark!Scully: hands-on in the work, but 100% self-interested and 0% sacrificial. They keep a few buttons loose, give in to their desires, and prove why the lead characters don't often indulge in frenetic passions: Krycek loses his evidence, Marita is infected with black oil. (You can't afford distraction in a world that's waiting to destroy you.)

Also, Nick Lea enjoyed that side of Krycek--

June 1998: Nevertheless, Krycek's comeback in the latest X-Files two-parter – released on video this month as 'File 12: Patient X' – is well worth waiting for. This is mainly because Lea gets to have a steamy, stormy and totally unexpected 'love scene' with Marita Covarrubias (Laurie Holden), Special Representative to the UN Secretary General.

"The fact that you got to see Krycek actually have a personal slash-sexual encounter with somebody was exciting, because you'd never seen that aspect of the character before there was never any hint of that fire," he says. "It came out of left-field, and I think it surprised a lot of people."

It isn't love. It's loathing and passion, and later shades of disgust and surprise and acceptance. In my opinion, there isn't much love or hate lost between them: they glower, they undress with unrighteous motives, they soften when the world is falling apart. In One Son and Requiem they realize there is no one else left to do what needs to be done except each other. They throw Mulder to the stars and leave Scully bereaved with as little emotion as they toss CSM down the stairs and walk away toward freedom: a mutual selfishness that will split them inevitably if they don't aim for the same goal.

US Vogue July 1950

Marita wearing an authentic black velvet bicorne trimmed with gold kidskin, perched high on the head and tilted back. A Castillo creation, as are the striking faux-sapphire earrings; available at Elizabeth Arden.

Marita coiffée d'un véritable bicorne en velours noir bordé de chevreau doré, porté haut sur la tête, incliné vers l’arrière. Création de Castillo, tout comme les imposantes boucles d’oreilles en faux saphir ; disponibles chez Elizabeth Arden.

[Tanaka violently banging a tin against a table.]

[It finally opens and everyone celebrating and shouting]

Takeda:alright.. Now capitalism!

—

In charades

Narita: [miming something drinking water]

Niya: Divorce!

Narita: NOOO

—

Suga: Hear me out

Daichi: no

Suga: come onnn

Daichi: IT'S A DUCK?!?!

Suga: THE VOICE IS HOT!

—

[Suger on the floor]

Ukai: What's that

Tanaka: COCAINE!

Daichi: NO

—

Hinata: what does it mean?

Tsukishima: It's say right there?

Hinata: I know but what do the letters mean?

Tsukishima: THE LETTERS MEAN THE SAME THING?!?

Hinata: I KNOW, THE OTHER LETTERS!

Tsukkishima: WHAT OTHER LATERS?!?

Hinata: oh wait never mind

Tsukishima: uin going to kill you

—

Ennoshita: Hypotheticallly would the scars remain if you stab someone with a burning hot knife?

Daichi: ...yes?

Ennoshita: Also can blood die white hair red?

Daichi: No- what are you planning on doing??.

—

Kinnoshita: Sooo hows second year going?

Yamaguchi: Good. Hows third year?

Kinnoshita: Good....alright...hahaha you'll be fine

Yamaguchi: You said that last year?

Kinnoshita: Byeee

—

Kageyama: what did you write for english

Hinata: i haven't written it yet-

Kageyama: neither have I

Yachi: It's due today?!?!

—

Kiyoko: What are you reading?

Ennoshita: Lolita?

Witchtober day 13 - The Gathering of 100 Evils and 14 - Witch for a magi

Here's the culprit for making me lose motivation. Choosing doppels is a mistake... Anyway... this is Marita, Sunao's witch. Too many textures to get correct in this one...

She used to be beautiful. Men told her that all the time. Women, too.

She hadn’t really valued beauty before, but after everything she’d been through, its importance had never been more clear. Beauty was acceptance. Beauty was access. 

Beauty was power.  

Marita Covarrubias knew her power lay more than skin deep, but in a world run by men, beauty had become her greatest weapon. And now, she was disarmed; weak and vulnerable. 

Like Cassandra Spender, she had lost track of how long she’d been held prisoner. Most days she’d wished for death, a silent prayer sent up to a God that, thanks to Them , she knew didn’t exist. They’d robbed her of hope.

Then one day, the men she’d come to serve had burst in, injecting Cassandra with a sedative, strapping her to a gurney and rolling her out of the room, leaving Marita behind. When Jeffrey Spender found her later, he’d looked at her with disgust and horror. But she still had some power. Now, she had information. Before they could negotiate, however, Marita came face to face with someone she never expected to see again.

Alex. 

Alex, who knew her every curve; Alex, who had always respected her power, enhanced by her beauty, not because of it. And for a few short seconds, he saw the woman beneath.

His familiar bravado was gone as he took in the sight of her. It wasn’t guilt in his eyes, or even compassion. Somehow Marita knew exactly what it was. Despite everything they’d been through, despite her betrayal, even… there was still something between them...

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, sidling up to her as if this were a fraternity mixer, not a meeting of the most diabolical minds in the country.

Marita narrows her eyes. “Same reason as you, I expect.”

“So you’re here to meet women, too?” 

They laugh together, something she hasn’t done with a man in a long time, and she feels it: a flutter deep within. Beautiful women are obviously scarce in this group, but so are beautiful men. 

“Seriously, though,” he continues. “You believe in this crap?”

“Do you?” she fires back, and in his eyes she sees the truth: it doesn’t matter what he believes. He’s here to save himself. She can respect that.

She’s spent more time in this dark, reeking, smoke-filled room than she’d ever anticipated. She isn’t here because of their cause; she doesn’t trust any of these men as far as she can throw them. But for the first time, through the murky haze, she sees one of them clearly. 

Alex Krycek isn’t just another member of the Syndicate. 

He is like her.

He gave her a steely glance, one she used to know well. One that used to mean something very different. But he did not suffer from short-term memory loss. He made no move to help her, and she could hardly blame him. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing in anger, and all Marita could feel now was the bitter sting of her own regret. 

“It’s all going to hell,” Alex said. “The rebels are going to win. They took it.” He looked between her and Jeffrey, but she knew he was communicating this to her alone.

Alex turned to go and Jeffrey followed him. “Took what?” he repeated. Marita stepped out into the hallway, exposed, like a young gazelle separated from its herd. She said nothing, but Alex looked directly at her, his eyes piercing hers. God, those eyes. 

“Save yourselves,” he said. Then he broke into a sprint down the corridor. If it was the last thing she ever heard Alex Krycek say to her, it would be heartbreakingly appropriate.

Jeffrey turned to Marita, panicked. “My mother, you’ve got to tell me where she is!”

He was her last hope of escape, but he had no reason to help her. She had nothing to offer anyone, no cards to play. No move to make. 

Except…

“Where is she?!” Jeffrey screamed.

Cassandra.

If Jeffrey Spender could get to his mother, it would ruin the cancer man’s plans. It would be the final nail in his coffin. And if she could make that happen, maybe it would be worth hammering one into her own.

“The Potomac Yards,” she said. “They’re taking her by train. If you go now, you might stop them.”

Jeffrey nodded, and gave her one last pitying look. “I’ll come back for you.” Whether he was being sincere or not, she wasn’t sure. Marita made her way back into the room, sinking slowly to the floor, tired and weak. 

Sleep overtook her.

***

“Covarrubias,” a female voice was saying. 

Marita’s eyes opened. The face was familiar. “...Agent Fowley?”

“Hurry, we have to go.”

Marita had crossed paths with Diana Fowley only a few times in the very room where she’d met Alex. She barely knew her, and preferred it that way. Alex was fucking her, too, after all.

“We have to leave,” said Agent Fowley urgently. “He’s waiting.”

Marita knew exactly who she meant. “How can you still trust him?” she asked. “After what he did to you? You almost died.”

Fowley looked pensive, but then her expression hardened. “He saved my life. Just as he’s doing with yours. We’d both do well to remember that.” 

This faulty logic either didn’t land with the agent, or she was choosing not to see it. Marita suspected the latter. Diana was a true believer; Marita was in it for the money. But they’d both found themselves in a corner they didn’t like. And her warning was clear and dire: if they didn’t follow the cancer man, they’d both end up dead.

This was her only chance to save herself, to heal, to rebuild what had been broken. Maybe she wasn’t out of the game quite yet.

Marita stood without another word, and followed Diana. After all, beauty was power.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!