It's all over—all the years of running, the years of heartache and loneliness,
the years of knowing the answers but never being able to tell them.
All done.
All finished.
All over bar the shouting.
All told, except for one truth that had never been revealed, never been found,
no matter what he'd thought to the contrary.
Oh God. How the hell do you explain something like this? How do you give the
answer, tell the truth, that you know is going to cause the one you love to
break, to shatter? How do you completely rock their world on its axis after so
many times of it happening before? How can you expect to survive the wreckage
that such a truth would wreak?
You ...
"Why did you come back, Krycek?"
It's a simple question. Nothing more than a few words strung together to form a
sentence, but the impact of it pierces me deep inside. I have to tell him, I
have to reveal the truth. He has a right to know after all this time, after all
this searching. I just don't know how he's going to be able to deal with it, how
he's going to be able to leap the wall of guilt that's bound to come from this.
I guess that's something we are just going to have to deal with when we come to
it. I forgive his actions—fuck, I even understand them—I'd probably do the
same thing in his place. I just hope I can convince him of that.
"I came back to help you, Mulder."
Start small and build, I always say. It's not like I can just hit him with this,
it needs to be worked up to.
"Why?"
"Because I needed to ... and you needed me to do it, as well."
I know that will only provoke him, but it's a habit that's been patterned
between us from the very first. Provocation and goading—a beard, a blind—to
hide what lies between the surface.
"Fuck you, Krycek. I don't need anything from you. You've got nothing to give me
anymore."
How very wrong he is. There is still one thing for me left to give him, one
thing that I have been wanting to share with him, to tell him since the first
moment I saw him sitting in that chair, so sullen and moody.
Everyone has gone now. Gone back to their little lives and worries. The war is
over, so now's the time to set everything to rights. To forgot the weird and
wonderful shit that has been a part of all of our lives for so long. They're all
welcoming the resolution, because now they can forget that the truth is out
there, that there are things that defy logical explanations. They can cocoon
themselves in the 'real world' and live out the rest of their lives in sensible
monotony.
But what happens to the believer in all this? What happens to Mulder now?
Will he stop? I don't think so. There's too much of him that demands answers,
that demands explanation—no matter how outrageous—to the questions that
plague us all. He's a prophet in his own way. He's looked into the abyss, and
while the abyss has definitely looked into him, he's somehow managed to survive
the journey. Too bad that none of the others want to hear of his experiences.
But I do.
I've always wanted to know, wanted him to explain them to me. I have my
memories, but I want his as well. I want his perception of events to add clarity
to my own.
Now that everyone else has gone, I have the chance I was waiting for, the reason
I stayed in the shadows while they were all celebrating their victories. Waiting
for him, waiting for this time alone so I could finally tell him what I need to,
what I finally can.
"I know the answer, Mulder. The truth that started all of this, the answer that
you thought you'd found, but it was only another misdirection of theirs. I know
what happened to your sister."
Damn, he's fast.
Exhausted and bruised, he's still more than capable of getting what he wants,
what he's always been so determined to find. He's livid, the rage sparking
through him in a way that has never failed to amaze me. He's so very passionate,
so obsessive in his emotions. It's something that we both share. It's why I have
always found myself coming back to him even when every survival instinct I have
screams at me not to.
Two of a kind.
Mirrors.
That's us.
"You rotten fucking bastard!"
He's right on the edge, knife-balanced, trying to decide whether beating me will
get the truth that he so wants. His hands will raise bruises once he's done. I
can feel the warmth of them already forming.
"Don't, Fox."
He looks shocked by that. Shocked by the tone of concern that carries the words.
I can't help it. I don't fear him, I never did. I care about him. I love him.
And I don't want to have to hurt him anymore than I have to, that I know I'm
going to when the truth comes out.
"No more lies. No more hiding behind partial truths. I'm going to tell you, just
let me go."
That shock is enough to get myself free of him, not that he really tries to stop
me. The hope that lights his eyes is painful to see. It hurts me to see it,
scares me because I could very easily break him with the truth, but I can't back
away from this. For so many years I have been forced—by circumstance, by
threat—to lie to him and I don't want to do that any more. I can't do that any
more.
It's time for the truth to finally be told.
"With the things you've seen, the research and experiments you've found over the
years, you know that the Consortium has been conducting genetic research with
the help of advanced technology for decades. The clone Samantha's you found were
simply that—clones. Taken from a few cells of your sister they were engineered
into being. Parts of her—but not Sam, not your sister—no matter how alike
their genetic make up was."
"The story they spun about her life and death was just another one of their
fabrications, albeit one of their most complex and comprehensive ones. They
never wanted you to find out, never wanted you to know what happened to her,
because as long as you were left in the dark, you were manageable. They could
use it to twist you into whatever shape they wanted. You and Sam were their
first line experiments, their initial successes, but what they never counted on
was that there is an argument for nature over nurture."
"There's something about the Mulder genes, that no matter what the manipulation
you do on them, certain traits stay true and breed down. Intelligence,
stubbornness and complete fucking contrariness—you'll be happy to know that
you're both pretty much tied for who's caused the Consortium the most problems."
"I just hope that you can learn to deal with the changes that life, and the
Consortium, has made in her, Mulder. She's not your little sister any more, she
never will be again, no matter what you might wish for or want -"
"I don't care! She's my sister, you fucking bastard! She's what I've been
searching for all these years. I love her!"
Oh Fox, I know that. I just hope that you feel the same way after you hear the
truth.
Pulling the chain from around my neck, I hold it out, waiting for him to raise
his cupped palm so I can drop it into his secure grasp. "She wants you to have
this, Foxy. She wants you to remember the past before you decide upon the
future."
He's looking at the chain and the worn and tarnished mood ring threaded through
it as if it's the Holy Grail. And I guess for him it is.
He gave it to me on my 7th birthday.
Diereadh
by Sin
The sigh that sloughs through the air seems to hold all the resignation and
relief for the both of us, yet it was only expressed by one. The words are
there, waiting to be said, but somehow the thought of breaking the silence, of
tempting fate and Mulder's fists, of shattering the accord that they seemed to
have found stay me, stop me from breaching the quietude.
