Title: Win Some, Lose Some
Category: Character Death
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, Walter Skinner and all the other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.
Notes: Beta'd by Gaby.
"So what did you do?"
"I killed myself."
I look at him sharply. He only shrugs. Avoids my eyes.
"I did," he mumbles into the rug, his right foot drawing circles. "I did, and I died."
"And now you are here," I continue for him, my eyes hard on his very alive body.
"And now I am here," he agrees with a deep sigh. "Indeed, I am. Yet I am not."
I only look at him quizzically, the silence stretching far, nearly touching the horizon, like a blanket over our heads. His eyes meet mine for another short moment before they drop again, settling on the rug once more.
"And yet I am not," he repeats softly to himself. "I am flesh and bones, you understand that, Mulder? Flesh and bones and something like a brain inside this skull." He taps against his head, the motion too much like a gun scraping against his temple, too unreal. "There's a brain in here, but but that's all there is. No soul, Mulder, no soul. Behind these eyes," and he stares at me, his green depths boring into me, "there is no soul, no life to be found. Nothing. I am here, Mulder, but I am only the empty shell. What you see here is no more alive than some street light in the darkest night." He snorts dejectedly at that. "Just like me to turn poetic."
He sits down on the floor, slowly lowers himself to the rug and sits there, just sits there, his eyes on me, softly closing as he breathes in deeply, stretching for one moment before the air, the tension leaves him and he is a lost heap on my rug. Broken.
"A broken toy," I whisper quietly, more to myself and the still air than to anyone in particular.
He gives a half-chuckle. "Indeed, Mulder, that's who I am. A broken toy, defeated by a war of egos. Don't get me wrong, my ego's been well-used, too, I'm not denying that. It's about choices and reactions to those choices. And sometimes you just can't make a different decision because it is something you need to do. But I'm babbling, you're not interested in any of this."
Then it's silence again and darkness cloaking our bodies. His eyes flicker in the shadows, a tiny gleam of light still in them, but nothing else. Not much more than that.
"You really are dead, Krycek," I comment, my voice sounding almost dry. He flinches. So he can still flinch.
"Never heard a truer statement, Mulder. I'm dead and passing my last minutes among the living here on your rug, and stare at your feet. Pathetic, wouldn't you say? There are always winners and losers, every war has winners and losers. And I have won far too often already, or maybe losing really is winning?" He shrugs again. "It's all theoretical. I don't suppose you want to hear my world-weary rambles but I'm bringing them to you anyway, because I want those last minutes of mine to be in the light of the one I...well, the one who..."
He stops, his last syllables get lost, his mumbling incoherent as his gaze is once more turned away from me.
"'The one who'...what? Krycek, don't leave with a secret uncovered."
His laugh rings out loud, a dry, scary laugh in the room. "No, indeed, that would be too much of an inconvenience, wouldn't it, Mulder? Let's see...'the one who'...you won't believe me...I'm warning you."
He looks straight into my eyes once more, searching for any kind of reaction to his words of caution. I don't react. I answer his stare answer with silence.
"'The one who'...It is pathetic, I'm telling you...'The one who' I'd like to kiss at least once." And he looks away again, his voice not more than a whisper on those last words.
"You already did," I blurt out, surprised, barely able to conceal my utter surprise at his statement.
"You call that a kiss, Mulder?" he chuckles easily, the relaxed sounds of a man who's already touching the periphery of death. "I see you're worse than I am, in that department. No," he chuckles some more, "a real kiss, your lips on mine, I want to feel their warmth, the life running through them, your tongue sliding against mine, so hot, so strong. A kiss."
I stare at him, uneasiness creeping into me, and he smiles at my visible shivers.
"Don't worry Mulder, I hadn't actually thought you'd grant me this last wish. So I came here and thought that here, with you, I could wait for it to really take effect and be allowed to terminate this on my own, without a gun to my head forcing the issue. You will grant me that, won't you, Mulder?"
I nod silently at that, kneeling down in front him now, seeking out the flicker in his eyes to focus on it, to focus myself on something more real than the blackness around us. "I will grant you that. And your other wish, well-"
I lean down, capturing his lips with mine. They are so cold already, and soft and yielding to the touch. I always thought they would be hard. A moan low in his throat, a little sigh of pleasure and his mouth opens to me. My tongue darts out, traces his lips first, mapping every square inch before it slips inside. Heat envelopes it and his tongue meets mine to play, to slide, so sensually play and grind. We steal each other's breath and I feel I have more of that to give.
My lips are still glued to his as his tongue, his lips, his body goes slack. I detach myself from him with a last lick and allow the prone body to slide to the floor, stretched out on my rug.
"Winners and losers," I whisper, brushing a few strands of sweaty hair off his forehead. I close his eyes, sucking in a breath of finality. "Winners and losers, indeed. You were never the loser type, Krycek."
~ The End ~
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