Weft -
Endings
by Amirin
"Mulder, don't do it. Put the gun down. Come on, Mulder. Think about
this, dammit! Your gun, your bullet... can you say 'ballistics'? Huh, can
you?"
"Yeah, I can 'ballistics', you son-of-a-bitch! Want me to say it in
Russian?"
I could hear his sigh, but I couldn't see him. I didn't think he had a gun
trained on me, or he would have threatened me with it, already. And I knew he
could hear me, too. Oh, hell, yes. He could hear every shaking word, the
tears in my voice. All of it. God, I wished my peripheral vision was a bit
better. Then I could have seen not only Kersh, but Scully's body on the floor.
I wondered if I'd be able to tell which shade of gray was her hair and which
was her blood?
"Mulder, please. Put the damned gun down. Don't do this. You're not a
killer. You don't want to be like them."
He actually said please? Fuck that.
"But you're such a good influence, Krycek. Did it ever occur to you that
maybe I want to grow up to be just like you?"
Silence met that remark and I heard him moving behind me and, fool that I
was, took my eyes off Kersh for a split-second. And saw a look of bitter hurt
on Krycek's face right before his eyes widened and focused on something behind
me and then I was knocked to the floor before I could turn around completely
and Kersh was going for a gun, only to have Krycek draw first and all I could
think about was the wild west, High Noon, and didn't honestly know who I was
rooting for in the contest to see who was the fastest gun in D.C. Shoulda
known. Krycek was.
Kersh took three in the chest which sent him backward, slamming his body
into the concrete support behind him before he slowly slid down to the floor of
the warehouse. I was waiting for the streak of blood on the pillar, like they
always have in the movies, but this wasn't fiction, this was reality, and
Krycek had just killed a man, my AD, right in front of me. And Scully was
still dead. Spontaneous reanimation only happens in the movies, too.
"Nice shootin', Tex," I murmured, before crawling over to where Scully lay.
"Christ, this is all my fault."
"No, Mulder, it isn't. This time, it's my fault."
I snorted. I couldn't help it.
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to let you be the one responsible
for getting my partner killed, Krycek. But I did this. Not you."
I wondered if I sounded as hysterical as I felt. Probably.
"The message you got that sent you haring off to Philadelphia came from me,
Mulder. I did it on purpose, to get you the hell out of the way. I knew what
they were planning. I was going to meet him, alone. And finish this," a
heavy sigh and he went on. "I figured you and Scully'd go to Philly together.
I didn't figure you'd go off on your own and I didn't figure Scully would
follow through on this and check out Kersh's set up by herself. I should've
known. It's my fault. Don't blame yourself for this one. Unless, of
course, you get off on playing the martyr."
My eyes whipped up to his and I knew what he was trying to do and, god help
me, I almost fell for it, anyway. My hand was going for my cell phone when
Krycek's caught it.
"Don't," an urgent whisper as gloved fingers clutched mine. "You were never
here, Mulder. Got that? You're still in Philadelphia, doing god only knows
what, okay? Let me call Skinner."
"Knock it the hell off, Krycek. I'm not letting you..."
His arm was across my throat before I could breathe.
"Shut the fuck up, Mulder. Just shut the fuck up. Kersh killed Scully, I
killed him. You don't need to be here. This was just another day, for me,
you hear what I'm saying? Another day, another stiff, right? No big deal.
You don't need the inquiry. They'll use this as an excuse to take your badge,
dammit. Don't let them."
I shoved him away from me, rubbing my neck with a shaking hand. "Why the
hell are you so hot to protect me, huh? You want to explain this to me? If
you call Skinner, he'll think you killed both of them."
"So the hell what, Mulder? I don't give a rat's ass what he thinks. I know
you know better. And that's all that matters, all right? You know I didn't
kill Scully. You know I tried to save you both. You know I screwed up.
Badly. What Bald Mountain thinks doesn't mean shit, as far as I'm concerned.
Now, get the fuck out of here. Go be an FBI agent somewhere else."
"I can't leave Scully." That came out quietly. Maybe too quietly. And then
those should-be-green-but-look-grey-to- me eyes were heavy with something that
almost looked like sympathy.
"I'll stay with Scully, til Skinner gets here. I promise. I won't leave
her until she's safely in his hands. Okay? My word on it, Mulder, if it's
worth anything to you. If I break it, you can shoot me."
"Tempting, Krycek. Very tempting."
The words were too soft to be as obnoxious as I needed them to be. Shit, I
hate it when he's right. Whoever Kersh was working for, they wanted me and
Scully dead. They got half their wish. And no one will believe this
particular truth. Hell, I'm a believing kind of guy and I wouldn't buy this
story. If they run me out of the bureau, I'm screwed. If they press charges
for murder, I'm even more screwed. But, if I let Krycek do this, I'll owe him.
I hate that. I really hate that.
He saw the answer on my face, but didn't say a word. Only nodded and jerked
his head back toward the cars. "Get the fuck out of here. Go back to
Philadelphia. Drive carefully. Don't touch your plastic; cash only until
you get there. Lose your cell phone somewhere permanent. Leave an abject
apology on Scully's answering machine for ditching her. Use a public pay
phone. And your calling card. Tell her your source didn't pan out. Promise
her you'll make it up to her with Ben and Jerry's and Starbucks for the next
month."
I nodded numbly as the litany of instructions continued to pour over me.
Damn him, he'd thought of everything. I started when his hand closed over my
shoulder.
"Don't think, Mulder. Let me do the thinking, okay? Just go. I'll be in
touch."
Now, that alone should have scared the hell out of me, but it didn't.
Perversely soothing, actually.
I headed out to the car and turned in the doorway to see him taking off his
jacket, the leather reflecting with a dull sheen in the faint light of the
warehouse, and placing it gently over Scully before he dug out his own cell.
Things got blurry as I stumbled to the car and started it up, backing out the
way I came for a while before I hit the headlights on.
Don't think, Mulder.
Just go.
It wasn't until I saw the signs for Philly that I finally noticed the tears
on my face.
That goddamned voice of his does it to me every time. I was looking at
Kersh through a haze of blood and rage, had the bastard in my gun sights, even,
and what happens? Yeah, Alex-fucking-Krycek. So soft, his traitor's voice.
