You're going to be the death of me, Mulder.
Oh, not literally. The only time I think you would have pulled the trigger was
that time you jumped me outside your apartment, and you were so high on LSD that
you probably qualified as a UFO yourself. I still can't believe I owe Scully my
life. Remind me to send her a fruit basket the next time I do something really
awful to her.
But even if you don't do it yourself, it'll happen because of you. And the worst
part is that I have no idea how you'll react. I don't know if you'll shrug and
ignore the news or if you'll go to the trouble of tracking down exactly what
happened so you can find my grave (assuming I get one) and dance on it. Maybe
you'll feel a moment of honest regret, either because I was still a human being
(assuming you haven't made some weird decisions there) or because you're pissed
that you didn't get to do it yourself.
The other big question, not that it'll matter much to me at the time, is how. A
silenced bullet in an alley seems most likely at the moment, with the possible
variation of a beating and interrogation before the actual shot. Or a knife,
depending on who they give it to- I've got a couple enemies who would pay extra
for slow and painful. If I'm really lucky it'll be a nice quiet poison in my
coffee, but I doubt I'll merit anything that easy. A wire around my neck or
another car bomb is more my class. On the other hand, maybe you'll be more
directly involved, instead of it being because I passed you information or
screwed with another courier. Maybe I'll have my mind raped again, in an airport
bathroom in Auckland this time, and I'll come to in the dark feeling like I just
vomited my soul onto the floor and bled it out my eyes, but this time there
won't be a door to claw at until I black out and wake up somewhere else. Or you
can cuff me and drag me off on some crusade to the Brazilian rainforest where I
can die of gangrene when the pygmies take my leg off by holding it in the
piranha-infested river.
And you'll have no idea why.
Did you ever really stop to think about my motivations, Mulder? You were the
pride and joy of profiling, but I doubt you ever tried to figure out what makes
me tick. I'm sure the idea of thinking like me disgusts you, so you probably
just wrote everything off to an instinctive urge to betray. You've never stopped
to think about why a spy would forget cigarette butts from a meeting with a man
whose only identifying characteristic is smoking, why a professional killer
never hits you back, why a Russian agent would leave Tunguska crippled while you
left vaccinated, why a Consortium errand-boy would want you back chasing aliens.
Even I'll admit that Agent Krycek was a pain in the ass, but if I'm that good
of an actor don't you think I'd be somewhere else? If I was lying when I looked
you in the eye and told you I believed what you were doing, when I was in your
bed and you were in me, I deserve an Oscar. I sure as hell don't deserve the
pain in what's left of my shoulder that keeps my awake even when I'm too
exhausted to keep running and looking behind me. Believe me, Mulder, I would
much rather be somewhere else.
Asking you to believe me. There's an exercise in futility. Anytime I tell you
something you either hit me and call me a liar or hit me and call me a bastard.
If you weren't cuffed and gagged right now you'd probably be doing it on
principle. What will you do when I say I love you? When I say that I left the
butts because I couldn't look you in the eye and lie to you again, that I let
you hit me because it's the only way I can touch you, that I kissed you when I
gave you the tip on Wiekamp because you're the only reason I haven't killed
myself and saved the Consortium the trouble? That I put so much trust in you and
your cause I'm willing to lie and steal and kill because I know it has to be
done and I'd rather have you hate me than hate yourself?
I actually said it. I love you, Fox Mulder. I started falling for you the first
time I saw you and I haven't stopped since.
Fuck. Now I just need to get the nerve to say it before I knock you out.
The Death of Me
by Jayde
"Constancy to truth and principle may sometimes lead to what the world calls
inconstancy in conduct."
—Tryon Edwards
