Diereadh

by Sin

Date: Friday, July 05, 2002 11:33 PM

 Title: Diereadh
 Author: Sin
 Email: sin@darkmage.net
 Category: Mulder and Krycek with a twist ;)
 Rating: PG-15 [probably only for language]
 Spoilers: Everything and none. It doesn't really delve too
 deeply into specifics.
 Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, so I'm going to go sit
 in the corner and cry.
 Notes: This story was written for the Cube eXit challenge.
 The idea was to write what you wanted the final scene
 between Mulder and Krycek to be with the credits rolling at the 
 end of it. This is one of the iterations I came up with g
 Warning: I'm evil, so be careful what you wish for.

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.

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.


"He was quite a horomonal experience, just to look at."

Mercedes Lackey - Children of the Night


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