Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

by Ratwoman

Title: Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves
Author: Ratwoman
Feedback to: ratwoman@unicum.de
Author's Website: http://www.geocities.com/ratwoman2001
Date Archived: 04/19/02
Category: Unclassified  
Pairing: Mulder/Skinner/Krycek      
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sleepless, Tunguska, Duane Barry, S.R.819, and especially Existence
Permission to Archive:
Series or Sequel/Prequel:
Warnings: Character dies. Guess who?
Disclaimer: I did not invent the x-files. Mulder, Krycek and Skinner belong to Chris Carter. If they belonged to me, it would be a show about weird Triangle relationships.
Summary: Five Minutes of Existence

Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves
by Ratwoman

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword.

Some kill their love when they are young, And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of lust
Some with the hands of gold;
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves.
Yet each man does not die."
Oscar Wilde, From "The Ballad of Reading Gaol"

During the last couple of days Alex Krycek had come to a hard decision: Mulder had to die. There was no way out; Mulder would do things that would seal mankind's fate; and there was no way to convince him to do otherwise.

If it was the only way, Alex would have to kill Mulder. The tragedy was, he had never loved anyone as much as Mulder. Even then, when he had seen Mulder the first time, years ago, Alex had been swept away by a sudden emotion that he hadn't quite understood. He realized much later that it was love on first sight. Alex had hoped it would go away by the time - it never did.

Having spotted the agent in the other car, Alex left his and carefully crossed the car park, creeping from shadow to shadow. "Yet each man kills the thing he loves." Alex repeated the words of the dead Irish poet in his mind like a mantra, as something to hold onto.

Mulder had quite often "killed" him with a bitter look.

It was rather easy to surprise Mulder, who was speaking on the cell phone. Alex wondered how long he would have survived if he was that neglective.

Krycek simply smashed the window and told Mulder to get out. Mulder did what he was told, looking at him in that hurting way, a look full of contempt and hatred. Alex swallowed and tried to explain.

Something told Mulder that Krycek would never shoot him. Not because he was a coward, even though he said so. It was the look in Krycek's eyes that told him he wouldn't do it.

Mulder walked around the car while Krycek tried to explain to him why he had to kill him, talking something about the tragedy that he had always wanted the same thing. Mulder tried hard not to laugh out loudly. He had realized long ago that they wanted the "same thing", just not the thing Krycek was talking about now. And knowing that his desire to rip off Krycek's clothes and fuck him into the ground was met with an equal desire on Krycek's side, didn't make it easier for Mulder to resist this urge.

And Mulder was quite aware of the fact that his habit of insulting and beating Krycek just derived from frustrated passion. It had started even in the old days when Krycek was still in the FBI. The ill-sitting suits had not stopped Mulder from noticing Krycek's pretty face. A closer look had made him wonder how the body beneath the clothes would look like. How he would feel.

The jeans and t-shirts he was wearing nowadays left no doubt that his body was just as perfect as his face.

But worst was, that he had really been fond of young agent Krycek, of his enthusiasm, his sense of humour. Alex's betrayal wouldn't have hurt as much if he hadn't felt something slightly more than friendship for him.

"I tried to stop them, " Krycek still tried to explain. "Tried to kill ... Scully's baby to stop them. It's too late. The tragedy's that you -- you wouldn't let it go. That's why I have to do this. 'Cause you know how deep it goes. Right into the FBI."

"You want to kill me, Alex, kill me. Like you killed my father." Mulder answered. "But don't insult me by trying to make me understand."

The words hit, he could see it. He was right in front of Alex now, and Alex's finger slowly and reluctantly tightened on the trigger. Mulder looked him in the eyes, not making it any easier for Krycek. It was his best chance to survive.

Skinner reached the garage in time to find Krycek about to shoot Mulder. Hesitating just for a moment, Skinner remembered the first time he had met Krycek. It was as if the young agent of six years ago had been a completely different person. Young, pretty, naiv, radiating an innocence that made Skinner mourn his own lost innocence, that boy had somehow caught Skinner's attention. Not that Skninner had shown his interest in any way. An Assistant Director and a greenhorn - too dangerous for both men's positions. But he could dream.

His dreams changed when Krycek's betrayal became clear. He hadn't realized yet how rotten Krycek really was; knowing how easily one could slide onto the wrong path, he had dreamed of somehow leading him back into the light, and earning Krycek's gratitude, even his love in return.

He still wanted to reform Krycek when he shot Mulder's father, when he beat Skinner up in some dark stairway. But his dreams became more violent; he imagined to punish Krycek, to show him his limits, like one might teach a petulant child. That was the reason why he had handcuffed him to the balcony when Mulder had asked for a safe place. He had wanted to let him feel the cold and the rain before taking him in to talk.

But Krycek refused to come in. It was cold and raining, Krycek was soaked in with wetness, but instead of being glad to get into the warmth he looked distrustfully up at Skinner, snarling: "What d you want? Get me into your bed?"

Seeing that Skinner was bewildered he added: "Don't you think I've seen the way you keep looking at me? You want my body, right? And you think that you'll get it if you just let me freeze long enough that I don't care anymore."

It would have sounded pathetically stupid to say that he really wanted to save his soul.

With a feeling of rejection Skinner closed the door and left Krycek outside. The next time he saw Krycek was painful in a more physical way. Krycek had infected him with the nanomachines, virtually killed him and brought him back to life just to blackmail him. Now Krycek had even more power over him than ever before. It was true: no one could hurt you as much as the one you loved.

Skinner shot.

Pain. Where did this pain come from?

Krycek dropped to his knees, more from surprise than from pain. Someone had shot him in the arm. Looking up, he recognized Skinner. Instinctively Krycek tried to reach for his gun, but there was another shot; again the right arm. Krycek heard himself scream in pain. He realised then that he was completely helpless now; he only had one arm, and that was useless now. He had failed.

He almost was glad to have failed. Life would have been bereft of content without Mulder. That means, if he would at all have been able to kill him.

He knew it was futile but he begged Skinner to do his job.

"It's going to take more bullets than you can ever fire to win this game. But one bullet... and I can give you a thousand lives."

Krycek swallowed and said: "Shoot Mulder."

Mulder heard a shot but it wasn't he who fell. Krycek had been hit in the arm by A.D. Skinner. A second shot hit him. Looking at Skinner's angry face, Mulder became aware that the triple agent might not survive the next ten minutes.

Seeing Krycek on the floor, hearing him scream triggered the most contradictory emotions in him. Part of him wanted to save Krycek's life, to heal and protect him and care for him, to stop Skinner from killing him.

Some small part of him cheered that the traitor might finally get what he deserved.

Part of him wanted to be free, saw this as his chance to get rid of his obsessive thoughts and feelings for Krycek. If Krycek died now, maybe he would stop fantasizing about him every day. Maybe he would forget these eyes, that body.

Krycek's slim body twisted in pain, but he still tried to reach his goal by asking Skinner to shoot Mulder. Or was it his own death he desired?

Skinner watched Krycek's painful expression, the huge green eyes staring at him. He probably felt about the same fear Skinner had felt when he had been about to die by Krycek's arrangement.

Maybe, just maybe, if Krycek asked for forgiveness, he'd call an ambulance and save him. But could he also save his soul?

Even with two bullets in his arm, Krycek tried to reach his goal, asking Skinner to finish his job, to shoot Mulder.

Skinner realized how stupid he had been. There was no way to reform Alex Krycek, because the young agent he had loved had died years ago.

Skinner shot for the third time.

Alex could see in Skinner's eyes that he would shoot, and that he would shoot him. He wondered what Mulder was thinking. Was he glad to see him in pain and probably about to die, was he indifferent, or was he somehow sorry?

Alex more heard than felt the third bullet. Everything turned dark and hazy. He dimly noticed that the floor came nearer and -

Mulder stared at Krycek's corpse. He hadn't stopped Skinner. He was free.

But why did his freedom feel so empty?



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