After a life lived on the razor's edge, this is the most dangerous thing I
have ever attempted. It's the one thing that will cut deepest if I slip.
This man is not my friend. He never has been. He has been my target,
victim, co-conspirator, attacker, savior, betrayer, sexual conquest, and
more... as I have been his. But never friend. Is it possible he could make
the leap to being a lover without being a friend first? Of course, every
person I've had sex with hasn't been a lover, but I think he could be. All
or nothing with him. He fights for truth, justice, and the American way,
never realizing there's no such thing. He would approach an intimate
relationship the same way. No fuck buddies for him. No, it would be big
and meaningful and Important.
So if it's such a huge risk to my health, safety, and well being, why am I
here? He's irresistible. I am drawn to him like iron to a magnet. I want
to work it out so that we can be superheroes and save the world, but I'm
also thinking about working out some sort of relationship. Is it selfish to
give a personal relationship the same attention as the rebellion? What good
would it do to save mankind and yet lose this one? Do I have delusions of
grandeur? It's a distinct possibility, but if it gives me the courage and
confidence to do what I need to, who am I to argue?
Am I in love with him? I have no idea, because I'm not even sure what love
is. I understand pleasure, fear, pain, survival...love is a cypher, a
secret code that I haven't cracked yet. Maybe I will some day. He might be
the key.
Maybe I should ask him what he wants? What does he expect to get from our
liaison? Sex and the possible myth called love? Forgiveness? Retribution?
Does he know and would he tell me? Do I really want to know? If I know
what he wants, I'll just be more aware of my failure to provide it.
Let's not find the weakness
Would there be any point in dredging up all the actions that require
resolution from either of us? I hurt him, he hurt me. I betrayed him, he
hit me. He thought I betrayed him, he hit me. I tried to help him, he
hit me. I gave him information, he hit me. I let him. There's a
disturbing pattern forming. Then one night I jumped him, took his gun, and
kissed him. He didn't hit me anymore after that. He might try it again
sometime, but I doubt it. I don't think I'd let him get away with it
anymore either. I'm stronger than I used to be. Ironic isn't it? I had to
lose a limb in the most horrific way possible to gain inner strength. More
proof that I'm a survivor... or a seriously screwed up individual.
I have also come to realize that I may be a killer, but I'm not a murderer.
There's a difference. Murder is the cold-blooded—or even
hot-blooded—slaughter of innocents. Murder is a guy taking potshots at
pedestrians from a bell tower, or releasing small pox infested bees on an
elementary school playground. Murder is senseless and evil. Killing is
necessary and has a certain logic to it, although I admit it may be faulty
logic. A man, like Bill Mulder, who is about to endanger the lives of
countless others just has to die sometimes. And on occasion, I have had to
pull the trigger because I was ordered to do it, and my life would be
forfeit if I didn't. Is that justifiable or am I rationalizing murder? I
think, for the sake of my extremely shaky conscience, I'm not going to dwell
on that one for too long.
Suffice it to say, I'm not the bad guy I used to be, so maybe I deserve a
little happiness now. If Mulder can provide that happiness, why shouldn't I
go for it?
It belongs to us now
I watch him carefully, wondering what's going on in his head. I'm a
profiler so it should be easy, right? It's not, though. He's not easy.
Not easy to read, or understand or... Whatever this thing is between us,
it's not easy either. Maybe it could be, if we let it. This desire—the
magnetic pull of attraction— is so strong that, if we can manage not to
complicate it, this whatever-we've-got can work out. The outside world—my
work, family, conspiracies, various alien factions— will be trying to pull
us apart. If we figure out the dynamics of this whatever-we've-got, if we
can define it, quantify it... I'm starting to sound like Scully and that is
really scary. So if we can define it and say "Look what we have here. It's
worth fighting for..." we can make it all work for whatever time we have
left on this planet.
I've been searching my entire life for something. Samantha, truth,
acceptance... love? Could what I've been looking for have been right in
front of me in slicked down hair and a cheap suit and I just didn't see it?
And, by the time it wore black leather, I couldn't see it? I wouldn't let
myself look too closely, until I got a glimpse in my darkened apartment. I
wasn't joking when I told Scully I was thinking about how to throw a curve
ball. I'd just had one whiz by me that was worthy of the major leagues.
The next time he came here, he threw a fast ball right over the plate, and I
swung as hard as I could. I connected, but I'm still not sure whether it
was a homerun or foul ball. Guess it's still up in the air.
Let's not find the weakness
A line from the Lord's Prayer drifts through my mind, "Forgive us our
trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us..." It makes a
certain kind of sense in the middle of the night. What we need to do is
forgive and, if not forget, at least start over. Now I have to try to
convince him. He won't believe me if I say I forgive him. He's too cynical
to believe that I might understand why he killed my father. I understand
that he seemed to have no choice at the time, that he was under orders.
Melissa is a little harder, but at least he didn't pull the trigger that
would have ended Dana Scully's life if she'd been the one coming through
that door instead of her sister. Rationalization is not so hard to do once
you've been at it as long as I have. It's a family trait, could be genetic.
Not so long ago, I would have been beating him up at the first thought of my
father or Melissa or any of his countless other crimes. But I'm not nearly
as angry as I used to be. A lot of it got burned out by fear and the
enormity of that elusive truth—what exactly the big conspiracy was all
about. After the incredible terror of being chased by an alien through a
space ship in Antarctica, the sins of Alex Krycek just don't amount to as
much as they used to. As the anger burned out, so has most of my grief,
although the sadness, fear, and occasional moodiness are still hanging in
there. That's normal. No one is happy all the time, even though I'm not
sure I would classify myself as happy yet. Who knows? Maybe he can be the
one that makes me happy.
"Do you mind if I turn on a light?"
"Maybe we're better suited to the dark. Sure, go ahead."
"I'm glad you came back. I didn't know if you would."
"I almost didn't. I guess I couldn't help myself. That file folder has a
lot of information that I think you'll find useful."
"We can talk about it later... if you're still here after what I have to say
to you."
"What is it? The other night was a mistake and you regret it deeply, right?
Wish you'd never laid eyes on me, much less anything else?"
"No. I wanted to tell you that I have forgiven you."
"Forgiven me? For what?"
"What do you want, a grocery list of grievances? For my father, mostly. If
you killed him, it's all right. I think I understand why."
"You...understand. You forgive me for killing your father. What's the
catch, Mulder? You forgive me so I admit to doing it so you arrest me? Is
that how you're going to get rid of me?"
"No, Alex, look at me. Look me in the eye. I sincerely forgive you, if
you did it. This doesn't come easy, so please don't make it any harder than
it has to be."
"In that case, I forgive you for leaving me locked in that missile silo with
the black oil alien and its ship."
"But I didn't know you were in there when the Smoking Man's soldiers pulled
us out. I would have gotten back in there somehow if I had known."
"It's all right, Mulder, I know all that. I suspected it then, but it
didn't stop me from hating you while I was in there."
"Oh. Do you want to talk... about... you know... your arm?"
"No. I no longer blame you for that either. I came to talk about the
future."
"Oh, yes, the file. I'll get right on it. I have all the resources of the
X Files now so—"
"Yes, yes, that's good, but I meant our future. Possibly together?"
"Do we have one? Is that what you want?"
"Is it what you want?"
"I think so. Can we make it work?"
"Maybe. We can sure as hell try, right? And if it fails, well then, we'll
survive, right? It's what we do."
"Yeah, it's what we do."
AND
by Amy B
Can we piece it together
Simply want it to work
Right where it's severed
And we can conserve
Well it holds down neatly
Everything that it serves
It belongs to us now
No longer need to be nursed
Hit the bruise
What good would it do?
We can endure
No televisions
No longer need to be cured
And when we define it
It seems to conclude
It's right where we find it
It's right beside you
Push the bruise
What good would it do
Let's not drag out the details
Salt the wound
What good would it do?
