TITLE: Endings and Beginnings
AUTHORS: Jennie jennieemcg@aol.com
PAIRING: Well - M/Sk - a little promise of M/K thrown into the mix I suppose
RATING: PG for language and implied m/m relationship
STATUS: New, complete
SERIES/SEQUEL: Oh no - not a freakin' chance
ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, WWOMB and Fries - others please ask first.
WEBSITES: <http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other> and my page at RatB, thanks to Ned & Leny <http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other>
DISCLAIMER: They're not my characters and I've made no money with this little story.
NOTES: Thanks to Teri for the Beta.
WARNING: Death of a major character. Tons of Angst. Really - if you hate deathfic, DO NOT read this!
SUMMARY: I've said it before... Depressed!Jennie shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a computer!

Endings and Beginnings
by Jennie

I wake, and immediately I know. He's gone. Finally - at last, he's out of his pain. The waiting is over.

I know that this is the best thing for him. So, why does it hurt so? I roll to one side and study his face.

He's smiling.

Damn him! He's smiling.

Why didn't he wake me - why the FUCK didn't I know? Dammit, my lover died during the night, and I... I SLEPT right though it. Peacefully. Dreamlessly.


And I never told him. Never admitted just how much I loved him. Somehow, the time was never right - the words always escaped me.

Now, it's too late.

Wearily, I drag myself out of bed. Turn back to look at him once more. And realize that he's not looked so at peace in months. The ever-present lines of pain are gone - the worry - the shadows in his eyes.

Dammit, I'm being selfish. Again.

So, what else is new?

We'd known that this day was coming. Both of us. And he'd tried so very hard to make it easier on me. On ME. I sigh and walk into the living room. Call Scully and simply say, "He's gone."

"I'll be right over," she answers without hesitation.

Bless her.

Maybe she can explain to me why I feel this overwhelming numbness - and why I can't cry. Why, despite the inevitability of it, I'm surprised. I know, I know - typical reaction - classic, even. hell, I AM a psychologist - I know these things. Yet, somehow, I can't seem to accept my own knowledge. Why is it all so different when it comes to MY lover?

And, I'm angry. We only had five short years. After all the time we worked together, FINALLY, we'd admitted our feelings. Moved in together - and lived happily.

Alas - not ever after.

I suppose I should be grateful for the time we had. Hell, it was more - so much more - than I'd ever had before. But, I'm fucked if any semblance of gratitude can be found within me right now. No, I can only feel anger at the unfairness of it all. Five paltry years - and this last spent waiting for ... knowing that he'd leave me.

Gods, I hate life - even more, I hate death.

Scully arrives, and thankfully takes over the task of calling the morgue, his family, and the doctor. She even makes the funeral arrangements.

I sit in silence on the couch, knees drawn up, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. I know - I just KNOW I'll fly apart into a million pieces any minute. I watch in silence as they come and collect his body. Scully goes into the room as they load him onto the gurney. I know she'll make sure that they show him the proper respect.

The respect he deserves. Has earned.


Two days later

Standing at his graveside, I can't bring myself to leave him alone. That will be it - the end. Forever and ever, amen.

Scully gives me time - she stands patiently at my side and just waits.

Finally, I sigh and turn to her. "I don't know what to do, Scully. What do I do now? How do I go on?"

"One day at a time, Mulder." She lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He'd want you to... he wouldn't want... "

Heaving a sigh, I make a move to leave. "I know that. I just... even though I - we - knew this was coming, I'm still... surprised. Shocked. Numbed."

She nods sympathetically. "I know."

No, 'It's best' platitudes from her. No 'He's at peace now'. She simply accompanies me back to our car. Without asking, she heads for my place - our place. Scully knows that I can't face the false cheer of the post-funeral gathering. That I can't take one more sympathetic look - that one more comforting pat on my shoulder will bring me to violence. She just takes me home.

"I'll call you later," she says as I climb out of the car.

With a nod of gratitude, I walk in and go up to our floor. Into our condo. And then, amazingly, I lay down on the sofa and fall asleep. Guess I didn't realize what a strain this has been - how very tired I am, now that it's over.


I'm an idiot. A fool. But, dammit, I seem to have little choice in the matter. Fucker won't leave me alone - invading my dreams every night for the past 3 nights.

Since the night of his death.

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door.


I knock again - louder.

Still nothing.

O-okay. After checking carefully to be sure no one is watching, I lean down and pick the lock with the handy-dandy tool I always carry. Stealthily, I enter the condo.

There he is - on the couch. Not sleeping - just laying there, staring blankly at the wall. He shows no reaction to my intrusion - MOST unusual for Mulder. Hell, at the very least, he should be pointing his weapon at me, call me names... hell, I'd even be happy to have him attack me physically at this point.

This stillness of his is disturbing.

"Mulder?", I finally say in a low tone, afraid to shock him too badly by my presence.

"Krycek," he responds flatly. I don't think I've ever heard such lack of affect in his voice. Where's the anger? That self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude of his?

This is SO not good.

"Come to pay your condolences?", he asks after several moments of silence.

"Um..." I shift restlessly for one foot to the other. "Not exactly."

"Then what do you want?" Still showing no emotion - hell, he seems to have been expecting me.

"I... Mulder, I need to tell you something."

He sighs. "If this is about some wild goose chase - if you have information - take it elsewhere," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't work for the FBI anymore. I don't CARE anymore." With a heavy sigh, he sits up, huddling into one corner of the sofa.

"No." Clearing my throat, I look around the room, studying the changes wrought by Mulder's habitation of this place. More books. More clutter. It looks... like a home.

Never looked like this before.

"It's not about that - though, I guess you could call it an X-File,"

He shrugs. "Not interested, Krycek. Go away and leave me alone."

"Sorry, Mulder. Can't do that - he won't let me."

"He?" Finally, I've caught his interest. He turns his head and looks at me with an inquiring frown. "He who?"

"This is kind of... hard to explain," I hedge. "Mind if I sit down? Get myself a drink, maybe?"

"Help yourself," he says carelessly.

So I do. A little liquid courage can't hurt. This is ridiculous - here I am, Alex Krycek, cold-blooded assassin, betrayer of to many to count - afraid to tell him-

Gathering my resolve, I sit at the opposite end of the couch. "I... look, Mulder, I'm not a great believer in the great beyond. But - SHIT! - there's no easy way too tell you this, and I don't think he's going to get the fuck out of my dreams until I do."

"So, tell me."

"Okay, um, I've been having these dreams. Ever since Tuesday."

He stiffens and turns his head away from me. "What kind of dreams? Just tell me, dammit. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

Uh huh. But, I realize that he's right - "He comes to me - every night -says I should give you his message: 'Tell him that I know - that I've always known. And that I understand why he never told me. Tell him that I'm happy now - and, I'll be waiting for him.'

He turns his head and his eyes are burning with the need to believe. "He?"

I shrug. "Skinner. If it's any help, he DOES look happy now - at peace."

"Why did he send you?" Mulder muses. "Why not Scully - or Frohike, Byers... even Langley."

"He says... he says I can help you - that you need me - that he knows how I-" Cutting myself off here, I take a deep swallow of my drink.

"That you what?"

"That I care - that I always did... he says I should um, watch after you. And that you should take care of me. He says... he says that he always knew that, too - that we had a sort of a connection. Says we have to help each other."

And that does it - with a heartbreaking sound, his face collapses and he starts to cry. Hesitantly I move a little closer. I want to offer comfort. I know he needs that right now - but from me?


"Should I call Scully?" I ask him, my own voice filled with regrets and concern.

"No," he chokes out. "No, I don't need her right now. I need... I need you, Alex."

Oh man.


Skinner was right after all.

I reach out and pull him into my arms. Together we cry. For what's happened. For what might have been. For what may be.

And, for tonight, that's enough.

Somehow, I know - I just KNOW that Skinner is pleased with me. I can feel his smile. And tremulously, I smile myself.

For once I've done the right thing.


Archived: September 23, 2001