Title: The Death of Me
Author: Jayde
Feedback: It would make my week... arcenciel9@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/arcenciel9/
Rating: Maybe PG-13 for language, suggested slash, morbid thoughts
Archive: Please. Just let me know.
Spoilers: Krycek eps through The Red and the Black
Disclaimer: They still belong to CC
Summary: Krycek has a little talk with Mulder
Notes: NOT a death story, despite the name. Another snippet from Krycek's POV. No real action, but suggested past M/K. Beta by Rev.


"Constancy to truth and principle may sometimes lead to what the world calls inconstancy in conduct."
    -- Tryon Edwards

***

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.

Archived: November 02, 2001