Kenos

by Sin

Title: Kenos
Author: Sin
Feedback to: sin@darkmage.net
Author's Website:
Status: Complete
Category: Angst
Pairing (Primary): Mulder/Krycek
Pairing(s) (Secondary):
Crossover Fandom (if any):
Crossover Info (if any):
Other Pairing Info:
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers:
Permission to Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Series or Sequel/Prequel:
Notes: K for the beta, Bertie for the read through and all the wonderful feedback that you, the readers, have sent me - it's a thing of inspiration.
Warnings: PG15 - for adult themes and UAA [Uber Alex Angst].
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but I've always been a sucker for strays, so I'm more that willing to take them in if no one wants them. ;)
Summary:


~~
There's nothing else to lose
There's nothing else to find
There's nothing in the world
That can change my mind

Lifehouse - Hanging By A Moment

I never thought it'd come to this.

I'd always expected that my world would end in fire and destruction or, at least, at the end of a bullet. No fanfare, just the steady expulsion of blood as my faltering heart pumped out that last remaining aqua vitae onto a cold concrete floor. Ain't it a bitch when things don't turn out how you expected them to?

But instead of dying how I lived, I'm sitting here not even going out with a whimper. The conspiracy is dead, the Consortium is in ruins with a number of not-so innocent bystanders catching shrapnel from the collapse, and yet here I am. You may as well call me the Incredible Teflon Man, because somehow all the shit seems to have slid right off me. I don't understand how it happened and I don't know if I want to because all it's done is turn my world upside down and left me confused and no longer knowing my place.

My life used to have a regimented kind of order to it. Survival came first, then cause, then orders. Now there are no orders, no cause to fight for or against and I don't even know if I need to fight for my own survival any more. What happens when something that's kept you alive for so long is no longer needed? Well, I can tell you that it feels like there's this big fucking void in my life and it's left me rudderless with nowhere to turn.

That would explain the tequila, I guess. Taking a page from the ancestral tree -when you don't know what's going on, get completely shitfaced and maybe life will make some sense. Drinking to forget is a fucking joke. All it ever does is bring back memories, all those memories that you are trying so hard to forget. They ambush you right when you're least able to cope with them. When your barriers are down and your soul laid bare, they sneak in under the guise of maudlin remembrance and pierce you once more.

I should know better than this, but I really can't bring myself to care. I don't really care about anything anymore. I guess it's just another consequence of the fall of this whole goddamn house of cards that so many thought was so solid. If you'd been plotting unbeknownst to the world's population for the better part of fifty years, you'd probably think you were home free, too. But they forgot to factor in the intense dedication of one Fox Mulder.

All it took was a piece here, a truth there, a taunt, a challenge and off he went, following the trail like a bloodhound, not like the vulpine he's named after. The old smoking bastard never underestimated him, nor the Englishman, but they were always a bit more cagey than the rest. But they still had that one weakness. They never considered that there might be someone out there that could play the game better than them, that was smarter than them. Fate really does have a funny way of bringing the chickens home to roost, and then bringing the Fox tracking in right on their heels.

And then all you can do is sit there and watch as it shatters into a million pieces. All the plotting, all the planning falls apart and a certain FBI agent is left sitting amongst the ruins, licking his chops with a grin on his face and a cluster of feathers at his feet.

I never expected to see all this happen. I never expected to see who'd win. I always expected I was going to be one of the fallen left to die by the wayside with not a soul to mourn or miss his passing. A guy's life expectancy is pretty limited when you've betrayed all sides and no one really trusts you anymore. Expendability is a royal pain in the ass.

And yet I'm still here when everyone else seems to have been caught in the crossfire.

I don't understand it.

I don't deserve it.

And I don't know what the fuck to do with myself now.

That's the worst fucking thing about this whole situation - I've no idea what to do with the life that I now seem to have been given. All it does is stretch out before me in a long vista of nothingness. No plans, no work, no jobs, no nothing. On and on into the future. I hate it.

I may've been on the run from the law, hunted by one side or the other and dodging attacks from enemies I'd made over the years, but there was always an order to it, a security in knowing that this was my life and this was how it was playing out. Now that's all gone, there's no rhyme nor reason to my continued existence, no explanation as to why I'm still here while the others aren't. No order. No purpose. No safety. No end in sight. This fucking sucks.

But I like it here, you know? This is the only place that makes sense to me anymore. Pitiful really, that I need to be where I can feel him, to be amongst his things to be able to find some kind of meaning to my life, but he's been so much a part of it for so long. We've opposed each other, helped each other, and just generally annoyed the fuck out of each other down through the years, but he's been my anchor. I could always rely on Mulder to give me what I needed to keep going.

It really is a sad thing to discover that it's a person, not a task or a cause, that's given your life meaning. That this one person has been the measure by which you've ranked your victories and your failures. Because that's what he's been to me, my yardstick. And now that's all come to a screeching fucking halt.

Have I mentioned that I hate my life?

Maybe once I finish the bottle it won't hurt so much. At least alcohol poisoning would give me something to look forward to.

He's not here. I think he's out celebrating the victory. It must be so nice to be able to finally prove to all the nay sayers that he was right. That everything he's been saying - about the conspiracy, the lies, the cover ups and misinformation - that it's all true, that he's been correct all along. Toast of the Town he is. The Man of the Hour. And I'm sure he's enjoying the kudos that he's receiving. But I wonder what's going to happen when all of that pales and he realises that everything that he's lived for, everything that he's fought for and against is now gone and that the years of the future are just stretching out endlessly in front of him.

Maybe he'll be able to look to the future, to take the time to watch his son grow up instead of constantly having to fight against a future that threatened the boy's very existence. Maybe he can finally have some fucking happiness in his life instead of a never-ending morass of anxiety, doubt and guilt. Maybe he can put the past behind him and live for himself for the first time.

Or maybe he'll end up sitting here on his couch like I am, three-quarter empty bottle in hand, mourning a time now gone and wishing for the bad old days.

You know, at least the past made sense. I used to know what to expect. Now, everything's in pieces and I'm pretty sure that I don't have all the shards to make it whole again. There are bits missing and some of those are the most important ones. So, what happens to the spy when the war is over? It's not like there's a retirement home out there for us and our options are pretty fucking limited.

I do know that I don't have the strength for this anymore. I don't have the drive to keep going. That's been ripped away from me and all that's left is a bleeding hole that's killing me, draining away the intensity of purpose that I used to feel once. Leaving me as nothing more than a hollow shell, a wraith left only to exist in body but not in spirit.

My gun's sitting on the coffee table, within easy reach. All it would take is to flick off the safety, position the muzzle and with a simple pull of the trigger, all this would be over. All the pain, all the uncertainty. The hollow ache in my chest that feels like it is squeezing the air out of my lungs would be gone as well. So simple. So elegant. So easy.

He's got all his answers now, all the truths that he has searched so long to find. There's nothing else I can give him anymore and he knows it. All the lies, all the half-truths and evasions I've told him over the years have evaporated like mist hit by the rising sun with the exposure of all the Consortium's plans. All my little mind games and manipulations have been laid bare for what they were. A way in which to get his attention and keep it focused on me.

He walked away from me, you know. Just looked at me with those shadowed eyes of his and turned away, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat and my stomach falling towards my feet. And all I saw in the depths of his eyes was pity - not the anger, not the hatred I was so used to seeing - just pity, as if I wasn't worth anymore of his time. That I was something merely to be noted and then dismissed, like some poor unfortunate not worthy of his attention.

How could he let go of all those emotions that bound us together? How could he just let go of me?

It feels like everything that I thought I was has leeched out of me, seeping away with the few tears that I wasn't able to blink away. There's nothing left of me anymore, and no one to show me who I am or who I have to be. When the thing that has kept you alive no longer needs you, there's nothing left but to be put out of your misery, right? To continue to live, hollow and wracked with pain is inhumane and the only charitable action is to be free of the suffering that life now causes.

It's so easy to reach out and pick it up. The weight of it is comforting in my hand, like an old friend clasping you with a warm handshake. It nestles in the hollow of my palm so well. A perfect fit. The safety comes off easily. Click. Such a little sound for such a profound action. The first step down the path to peace. I know the first round is chambered. It always is. Always be prepared, Alex. Never get caught flatfooted, Alex. That's what my instructors taught me. Plus, it's pretty fucking difficult to chamber a round when you're in a hurry and you've only got one hand.

I don't think the sound of a gunshot would even bother his neighbours. They've heard that and so much more that I'm surprised he hasn't been kicked out of the building yet. I guess it's something that I'll just have to mark down as one of life's mysteries.

The taste of gun oil is bitter, like the taste of loneliness, like the taste of despair. It reminds me of my second worst nightmare. Locked in that fucking silo with the darkness, my own screams and the oily remains of possession as my only companions. I never thought that anything could terrify me more. I should've known better. Life has a way of making you see that there are worse things out there.

My worst nightmare has finally come true.

I can't do this alone.

And I don't want to.

The war's been won, but I've lost the battle.

But at least this way I get to go out with a bang instead of a whimper.

~~

Kenos means empty.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Sin