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Krycek tossed and turned. Dammit, why couldn't he sleep? He sighed and rolled out of bed. Wandering into the kitchen, he put the kettle on - might as well have a cup of coffee since he found himself so wide awake. Besides, caffeine always helped him think. And he had so much to think about ... Where the hell had Mulder disappeared to? Why was he feeling responsible for the man's MIA state? Why had he finally killed Spender? Did he *really* want to take the man's place? What would that make him? He sighed and poured hot water into the prepared cup, sitting down to sip at his hot beverage. What would Old Man Spender say to him right now? Often, of late, Krycek had almost heard the old man "talking" to him. Was he losing his mind? Was it guilt? Did he *hope* that Spender had words of wisdom to impart? An explanation? An apology? The man had been his mentor, after all ... had created this person Alex had become. And created his and Mulder's unusual and oh so strange relationship. Why? Had he been wanting Alex to become him? To continue his work ... to control and protect Mulder ... Alex grimaced. Well, he'd managed to send Mulder off into the hands of the aliens. What the hell had he *done*? Surely not what Spender would have wanted - but why? And, did Krycek really care? Why had his adversarial contact made Spender so ... happy? What was the real reason behind the agent becoming so much a part of his life? Had it all been some kind of game? Had the old bastard been sitting back and laughing at them ... playing them like pieces on a chess board? Mulder was special. Different. Krycek had always wanted the agent ... Spender had made sure that *that* would never happen, hadn't he? Why? "You know why, if you just think about it." The voice came from the gloom, and Krycek stiffened as he heard it. Spender was dead. What was happening here? The shadows in the far corner of the kitchen seemed to take on substance, to coalesce and he distinctly heard the flick of a cigarette lighter. He forced his chair backwards as though to make his escape, and he heard the dry scratch of a chuckle. "Run away from me Alex. There's no place to hide, even in the brightest light." "What?" He was still taut, poised to make a break for it, leave the kitchen, and if necessary the apartment behind. "You're dead. How can this be happening?" The laugh came again, snicking over his heightened senses like a flick knife. "You never really thought you could dispose of me, did you?" The darkness swirled and thickened, and Krycek could clearly see the red pinpoint of the cigarette the old man was holding to his lips. "You need me, and so, having destroyed me, you're forced to re-create me." "Need you? Nobody *needs* you, old man. Go back to hell where I sent you!" Krycek snarled, as much at bay as he'd ever been when faced by more mundane foes. "I renounce everything you ever worked for. Get out of my head." "But if I do that, you'll be condemned to wonder why you failed, because you surely will fail, Alex." The fetch paused, drew the glowing tube to his mouth and pulled on it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs before continuing. "You see, you aren't me. You lack the one thing necessary for success. I was able to step apart from my emotions, but you, Alex, you're soft. You see the people as friends, and that is something you can't afford to do if you want to fill my shoes. "You worry about Fox Mulder. I'll grant you, he's a beauty, but your concern should be for how to rid yourself of him, not what he might think of you. Did Jeffrey's death teach you so little?" Krycek frowned. Jeffrey? "What the hell are you talking about, old man? *You* killed your own son. After all the times you made sure Mulder stayed alive, how can you compare the two?" He snorted. "You dare call me soft?! Tell me, Spender ... why all the effort to keep Mulder alive ... why him and not Jeff?" "Jeffrey was weak." Again the old man stepped forward. "The flaws in Jeffrey stripped him of his right to be called my son." He paused again to draw on the ever-present cigarette, and Alex pounded the table with clenched fists in his frustration. The old man raised his head and looked at him with cold, dead eyes from which all semblance of humanity had fled. "Consider the bee, Alex. Think how small it is, and yet the panic it can cause is so..." he paused to smile his vicious smile again. "...gratifying. One small bee was responsible for the crashing of a car and the resulting deaths of four adult humans not so long ago. That's effective power, do you see?" He paused, didactically, and shook another cigarette from the pack he had in his pocket, raising it to his lips. His eyes never left Alex's. "There are other things about the bee though, Alex. When it comes time for the hive to choose a new queen, the candidates are released to battle to the death. Only the strongest of them survives to control the hive." The lighter flicked again, and acrid smoke curled and spread in Alex's small kitchen. "I had many sons, but only one of them will take my place and rule, Alex. You've made me very proud." The old man's face as he spoke the last words seemed demonic; the look he wore distilled from evil. He reached forward to touch Alex, and Alex knew that he must not allow that to happen. He lurched back from the table, tipping his chair over backwards in his hurry to get away. "Sons?" Alex repeated, horrified at the implications. "I'm not your son!" //Please god, don't let it be so// "Get the fuck away from me you bastard. I won't become you ... I won't!" He backed out of the kitchen, keeping a wary eye on the shade. In the living room, Alex looked around frantically. He had to get away from Spender ... had to escape what he'd just been told. It just couldn't be. Grabbing his jacket. he headed for the door. His mind whirled in panic when Spender's dryly evil laughter reached his ears. "You can't escape me, Alex ... You *are* me." "No," Krycek moaned. "No - I *killed* you. You're dead. Dead!" He wrapped his arms around his middle protectively and leaned against the door, wanting to leave - needing to leave, yet unable to make his hand turn the knob. There was a moment of chilling cold at his back, and the voice came again, inside his head now. "Of course you're my son, Alex. You're my son with whom I am well pleased. I believe that you could use a little help, however. You occasionally betray such distressing lapses into humanity. Let me help you, because when the party is over and the music has died you will be dancing on the darker side. Welcome to hell, Alex." As the voice died, Alex found himself craving a cigarette. That's all, folks. Darker Side Look at the man with the smile on his face Look at the people--they learn how to lie so easy And when the party is over |
Darker Sideby Jennie & Dr. Ruthless |