Everything I do these days is from force of habit.
Breathing. Sleeping. Lying. Surviving. What the hell for ?
When I sent that cancer-ridden monster hurtling down that stairwell months
ago, I finally achieved complete control of my life. After twenty-four
years of misery, I was free .
I never did experience the heady rush of gleeful satisfaction I expected in
seeing Spender's broken, lifeless body. How could I be happy? Mulder was
gone.
Now he's dead.
'I lose what I love most Did you know I was lost until you found me?'
Before I met Fox Mulder, I only had two goals in life: kill Spender and
survive the Consortium's various plans for alien colonization.
After one day in Mulder's life, which included the joys of being ditched
like a bad date and almost losing my lunch over Scully's autopsy table, I
revised my goals: kill Spender, survive the Consortium's various plans for
alien colonization, and fuck that sarcastic fibbie into unconsciousness.
Then all my senses betrayed me, and I shot an unarmed man to protect
Mulder. I though my life was over; the FBI would fire me, I would be
useless to the Consortium, and a useless tool is a dead tool. All until
Mulder, in that unique monotone delivery of his, gave me back my life.
"You did the right thing, Alex."
After that, my immediate plans changed, and I took action. Didn't deliver
Mulder to the aliens atop Skyland Mountain. Didn't kill William Mulder or
Melissa Scully. Ran like hell with that DAT tape.
Over the following crazy years I was on top of the game, then kicked back
to the gutter. The highs were spectacular: manipulating Mulder so he was
inoculated against the black oil; obtaining the Russian vaccine; turning
Jeff Spender against his malevolent father; maneuvering most of the
Consortium into attending a resistance barbeque. Best of all? Meeting with
Mulder, telling him (for once) the entire truth, and sealing it with a
kiss. I no longer just wanted to fuck him into unconsciousness (well, part
of me did); I wanted a future, a life that included Mulder. I wanted it
all.
The highs were sweet; the depths an unrelenting horror. Terrified
throughout possession by the black oil; delirious during my enforced stay
within that silo; scarred forever, physically and mentally, by a searing
hot blade and the weight of a dozen Russian peasants as they took my arm...
Nothing could be worse than losing my arm, except this...losing Mulder. I
finally killed that evil Morley-smoking bastard; the Consortium is badly
broken, if not completely gone; but I'll never accomplish my final, most
important goal. Mulder's going to haunt me the rest of my life.
'Stroke of luck or a gift from God? The hand of fate or devil's claws? From
below or saints above You came to me Here comes the cold again I feel it
closing in It's falling down and All around me, falling'
All that's left to do is make sure the Consortium is truly gone, and to
continue my work with the alien rebels. Make sure colonization never takes
place, that humanity is safe.
Once that's done, I can end it all. Surrender to the chill that surrounds
me. The chime from my computer rouses me from these grim thoughts. Another
message from the rebels working within the FBI.
Mulder exhumed last night. Taken to nearest hospital. What we feared has
begun.
For the first time in seven months, Alex Krycek smiled.
I'm here, but they don't see me.
Or should I say, they see my body, battered and torn, breathing only due to
machines. I can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except think.
Right now, I don't want to think: I don't want to think about the
horrifying, painful experiments aboard the alien ship; and I certainly
don't want to think about my burial and three-month entombment.
I swear, I'll never taunt Alex about silos and claustrophobia again.
Alex Krycek is another subject I shouldn't be thinking about. But my
rebellious nature overrules my logic, as it always does regarding him. I
can't help but think...what if Alex was here?
Scully, bless her, is my rock. Patient, tender, determined to cure me with
her medicine and her science. She says very little, but her voice tells me
everything: she's suffered trying to maintain the x-files, hiding her
emotions behind stoicism and strength.
Scully has gone through so much aiding me on a quest entirely mine. It's
time she put herself, her life first. I never thought about how lonely she
was until she started those failed in vitro treatments. I need to tell her
how much I love her for her friendship, her loyalty even when she couldn't,
wouldn't believe. Thank her, and ask her to move on.
I hope I get that chance. But I don't think any conventional medical
treatment can save me from what the shapeshifters did to me.
I'm going to need a miracle. And the only chance of that comes from one
man. The only man I know who is willing to take those leaps of faith beyond
the known truth, the man that will do anything, everything to get what he
wants, and to survive. The man who waylaid me in my darkened apartment,
renewed my purpose, kissed me, and called me friend: Alex Krycek.
'You say that you'll be there to catch me Or will you only try to trap me?
These are the rules I make Our chains were meant to break You'll never
change me'
I desperately hope Krycek's still alive, smirking, stirring up trouble,
trying to get one up on everyone. And I can only wonder if he still thinks
of me as "tovarish."
After all, I nearly attacked him, more than once, during that fateful
gathering last May. Then Skinner and I went to Oregon ahead of plan,
leaving Krycek behind. It would have hurt too much to trust him again,
then...I just couldn't.
I've had a lot of time alone in my head since then. Being "dead" has forced
me to re-examine every conviction, every choice...every regret. Should I
get another chance, I will find you, Alex. One way or another, we will face
our demons.
'Here comes the cold again I feel it closing in You're falling down and All
around me, falling Stroke of luck or a gift from God? Hand of fate or
devil's claws? From below or saints above You come to me now'
Find me, Alex...
Mulder is deathly still in his darkened hospital room. Only the beeps and
blips of the surrounding machinery indicate the slightest signs of life.
I want to cradle him gently against me. I want to shake him awake. I want
to cry.
Instead, I pull myself together. I will only have a few precious moments
alone with him before rat bastard Alex Krycek has to control events again.
"Mulder, I don't know if you can hear me. If what the rebels told me is
true, you can. I'm injecting you now with a vaccine that will prevent you
from becoming the breeding ground for an alien hybrid. It should only be an
hour before you feel the effects; even faster if I can convince Skinner
to turn off this damn life-support machinery."
Once the injection was complete, Krycek stored the needle and empty vaccine
bottle in his jacket.
"I tried meeting with Skinner earlier, wanted to see if I could do this by
telling him the truth...of course, he wouldn't believe me. Didn't expect
him to; I'm sure you wouldn't have either. Lucky for you, I have other
methods. Showtime, Mulder: Skinner's coming down the hall; time to go to
work."
Soft sigh, then a tentative hand reached over to Mulder's head, gently
brushing through the soft strands of hair.
"What you hear next, I hope you'll understand. I truly wish someday you and
I could meet without any anger. I don't want us to hurt anymore, Mulder..."
Krycek stepped back into the shadows, awaiting Skinner's entrance. He
whispered, barely audible over the droning machinery, "...But I'll settle
for you being alive."
'Don't ask me why Don't even try'
I used to keep a mental list of the people I most wanted to beat to a pulp.
During the day, it was Cancer Man. At night, it was Krycek. Now, neither
man makes it into the top five. Well, Spender's off the list because he's
dead; and Krycek's off the list because I'm alive and well...almost. And
the "almost" part isn't his fault.
I have so much anger welling up within, and no convenient target at hand to
take it out on.
So. The top five? Let's start with the bottom-feeder: Kersh.
That cold-hearted, rigid government toady got promoted to Deputy Director.
The bastard won't clear me to return to the FBI. And he will never give
me back my x-files. I'm surprised the division remains open; hell, I'm
surprised he hasn't billed me for my funeral expenses.
The x-files may remain open, but he's doing his damnedest to close them.
He's chosen the perfect method to do so: John Doggett.
Doggett. What a putz. At least when Scully disagrees with me, she has some
factual, scientific theorem to base her arguments on. Doggett can't see
past his cop mentality; he lacks any sense of imagination or exploration.
I've been accused many times of being demanding and aggressive, and I am,
yet from what I've seen, Doggett is worse. Yet Scully defends him and
Skinner approves of him.
Skinner. He's been my boss for over seven years, and he's known John
Doggett for less than one, yet I suspect Skinner feels more comfortable
with him and his methods than he ever has with me. I suspect I am most
angry with Skinner because of his apathy: he knows I belong on the x-files,
but he won't fight for me. He'll argue on my behalf, then drop the issue
when told to by Kersh. Most would consider that practical; I consider it
cowardice. I know I'm being unfair: it's not right to ask someone to risk
their job, the career they've invested their life in, on my behalf. But,
dammit, it's not just my life, anymore, it's everyone's , and they all
refuse to see it!
Even Scully.
With Scully, any anger is ever entwined with my guilt. How can I be angry
with the woman who searched for me, cried for me, and kept the x-files
going through sheer force of will? Truth is, I'm not angry with her; I'm
angry with myself, and my current situation. They've taken away the
x-files, and I have to find another way to prevent the coming invasion. And
I will use any method, any ally, any advantage to stop them...my biggest
anger; my most potent fear.
Aliens.
The nightmare has already started, and here I lie, on my beloved couch,
crunching sunflower seeds, thinking, ever thinking, and waiting.
I know he's coming; it's just a matter of time.
"Resist or serve," he once said. "Go the way of the dinosaur."
Never .
I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I hear the soft clicks
of the lockpick at my apartment door. Things are looking up...
I know Mulder's an insomniac, but I still expected him to be asleep as I
enter his darkened apartment. The man's been though hell; he needs to
recover.
Instead, he lifts his head from the comfortable leather couch and...is that
a smile ?
Goddamn it, what have they done to him now ?
"I've been expecting you, Alex."
Great. Now what do I say? He always throws me off-balance. I'll never
figure him out.
"We have to stop them, Alex."
" We ? Alex ?"
Mulder rises from his couch, walks slowly towards me. Stops two feet away.
His eyes are alight with a bright fever, and his smile never fades. I'm
still waiting for the punch.
Instead, he brings his right hand to my hair, slowly stroking through the
short strands. Exactly the way I touched him at the hospital. This is more
threatening than any silo, far more dangerous than a Tunguskan forest, and
I'm frozen to the spot. Mulder makes his move...
'Stroke of luck, or a gift from God? And I'm falling, but it's not cold, oh, no, never cold in Mulder's arms. He
holds me, gently, but sure, and his warmth, our warmth cuts through the
past and our pain.
We stand there, locked together, stronger together than we've ever been
alone. I lean into the soft breath as he whispers in my ear.
"We can do this, Alex."
I know he's talking about more than an alien invasion. And he's right .
"Yes, Mulder, we can. And we will. "
Falling
by Ann H
' Hanging by threads of pale silver
I could have stayed that way forever
Bad blood and ghosts wrapped tight around me
Nothing could ever seem to touch me'
The hand of fate or devil's claws?
From below or saints above
You came to me
Here comes the cold again
I feel it closing in
It's falling down and
All around me, falling'
