Why Bleed for the Wicked?
Fandom: The X-Files/Medium
Category/Rated: T
Year/Length: 2006/~4375 words
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and make no profit from them.
Author's Notes: Since I am suddenly posting stories, I'll go for this one, which is a story from my first fandom - X-Files. It seemed to me that the ideal person to involve with my two star crossed lovers, so I crossed them over with the show "Medium" and hope that it works. I rate it T for teen. Slightly slashy, and not too offensive.
"When you go underground, you learn to live with the rats."
He'd aimed for insouciance, but he could hear the desperation that underlay his words, and mentally cringed. Mulder would hear that; Mulder always did.
He paused to look back, one leg inside and one already swung over the sill as he prepared to leave the scene that would have been his greatest triumph, all his hopes dashed by the one quixotic idiot with the power to do so. Krycek wondered whether the fool had even been aware of what he was destroying by his presence and suspected that he didn't.
Light strobed in his face as he prepared to jump from the window, now pink, now purple, lighting up the scene within as Fox Mulder raged impotently, cuffed to the woman – the dead woman – on the opposite side of the door.
His fall from the window was clumsy, and he landed awkwardly, turning his ankle as he hit the uneven cobbles. Sweat-slick and grunting in pain, he surveyed the area, aware of the bustle in the street beyond the entrance of the narrow alley where he stood. The market was in full swing. He could smell sesame and pork, garlic and hot oil, hear the loud, sing-song voices of the vendors and the cluck of chickens. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared to saunter out into the melee.
Beneath his feet he could sense the city's dark heartbeat, and need sang in his blood as he felt in his pocket for something that would set his world to rights once more.
"Please tell me there's one left," he mumbled, feeling the trembling start in his muscles. He fumbled through the contents of his pocket, desperate to find the small, glassine envelope and breathing a fervent prayer of thanks when he finally located it.
Pulling it free with shaky hands, he shook the contents out and breathed a sigh of relief as a single pill rolled into the palm of his hands.
"One," he whispered. There was only one left, but it would be enough to get him out of there and back to where he could lean on a supplier or two and get the stuff he needed. Cramming the pill into his mouth, he dry swallowed it and felt it go down. Soon he'd be able to think straight. Soon he'd be able to shake off this lethargy and get moving.
It was probably his imagination that he felt the burn of the drug kick in, but whatever the reason, he kicked away from the wall on which he was leaning and headed out of the alley into the maelstrom of humanity beyond, beginning to feel better with every step, despite the knowledge that his sale of the DAT tape had gone out of the window as surely as he had himself.
"Fuck Mulder!" he growled, striding through the teeming humanity of the Wanchai as he made his way down to the waterfront and the place he'd been staying. "Fuck him with the wrong end of a pineapple, the bastard. He's continually getting in my way, and all I want is to get out of this mess, get away from the Syndicate. Thanks to his meddling, I'm shit out of luck! Got to stand up, psych myself up! That's the way it's got to be."
He'd gradually become louder as he walked, and suddenly realized he was drawing the stares of the citizens that passed him by. Turning down his monologue to a low mumble, he headed for his bolt hole and the few belongings he needed to take with him when he made his escape.
He needed to get out of Hong Kong fast, because if he knew anything at all about Mulder, it was the fact that he'd have every resource available alerted to chase after him. Besides, he was running out of Speed and he needed it; needed it bad. He'd been too many nights without sleep, scared to close his eyes because the world was on his tail, running, wheeling and dealing, and then running again. It was starting to take its toll, and he had to have that drug, even though he was aware of the things it was doing to his body.
"Maybe," he muttered. "Maybe if they all quit chasing me, I'll be able to kick the habit." Even as he said the words, he knew that it would never happen. He was hooked, and frankly there was nothing out there for him except the rush that the drug gave him. Certainly no reason to go through the withdrawal. He might as well face it; he was fucked up.
His hand trembled as he put his key into the lock, and he ground his teeth, thinking of how sleek and well co-coordinated he'd been, not so long before. "All fucking Mulder's fault," he growled. "I'd've been okay if not for that asshole."
Kicking his door open, he stumbled inside, heading for his belongings. Fishing out the backpack which contained everything he had brought with him, he began to scrabble through it, searching for the documents he needed.
Three passports, all in different names went onto the floor. A fourth in the name of Andrei Konstantin was selected, along with a ticket that bore the same name. Cash in a variety of currencies was counted out and inserted into his wallet. Clothing and toiletries were discarded, and when he rose to his feet he had only the clothes he was wearing, and the documents he needed to re-enter the US. All the rest was strewn around the floor of the sordid little room.
Taking a can of lighter fuel and sprinkling it over the stuff he was leaving behind, he stepped to the door and took a single last look at the place he was leaving behind. It was a dump. "I'm doing the place a favor," he said, striking a match, tossing it onto the pile of discarded belongings, and watching as they caught light. Once the fire had taken hold, he pulled open the door, hearing the flames behind him roar into a frenzy as the dank, soupy air of Hong Kong fed them.
Out on the street again, Alex Krycek left no time in putting some distance between himself and the dingy tenement he had just vacated. Reaching the Miramar, he awaited the airport transport that would take him out to Chek Lap Kok and boarded it just as the dawn was breaking. He grinned to himself as a pair of fire engines, sirens hooting, sped by on their way to extinguish the blaze he'd started.
"Consider that my effort towards slum clearance," he muttered to nobody in particular. "No, no. Don't bother to thank me." The tenement he had left was burning merrily, a few streets away. He could see the flames leaping over the tops of the buildings, the thick, black smoke receding into the distance as the bus sped onwards, out towards the airport.
The flight was not for several hours yet. Departing from the bus, he headed in to check in, and then looked around himself for somewhere to have a little breakfast. There was a noodle stall situated across the concourse, and he headed for that, unmoved by the duty free stands and the vendors with their cheap electronics. If they only knew the stuff I can rig with a couple of transistors and a chip or two, they'd want to buy from *me*, he reflected with a grin.
The stall he was making for had a few rickety tables scattered in front of it. There was an elderly Chinese lady, noisily gulping down soup sitting at one of the tables, and at another were two non-Asians, a smiling, animated man and a young woman with a sweet, thoughtful expression. They were eating bowls of chop suey, and the woman was having vast amounts of difficulty with the chopsticks that were all that the stall-keeper had provided.
Watching the byplay between the two, Alex grinned as he ordered his food - congee and spring onion hotcakes - noticing that the girl was pregnant and also that the two of them were undeniably sweethearts from the way that they leaned together, the body language that they employed.
Carrying his food to a table close enough to permit him to observe them further, Alex took a seat and started to eat.
With any luck he should be landing in LA in a few hours, and then he would melt away, maybe head down to Mexico and disappear completely, leaving the Syndicate, the Feds, Cancerman and anyone else that might be looking for him far behind.
With this in mind, and the amphetamine buzz filling him, he smiled benignly at the two lovers. "Catching a plane?" he asked, having noted that they were fellow Americans. "I get to go back home later today."
"Quite the opposite," said the man, flashing Alex a smile. "We're just in off the flight. This is our last chance to have an exotic holiday before the offspring arrives."
"Good call," murmured Alex, already bored. "Enjoy. You staying in Kowloon, or going over to the Island?"
"Kowloon, I think." The blonde girl looked up. "It's called the Concourse, and it's supposed to be in the center of the action."
"Yeah, I know it. Lai Chi Kok Road, isn't it? That's near the Ladies' Market. You'll need more than just your backpacks once you take a look round there." He winked at her. She was prettier than he'd thought, and had a direct way of looking at him that he found intriguing. "I'm..." He had to try and remember what his passport said he was called, and hesitated for a second. "I'm Andrei. Andrei Konstantin."
Holding out his hand, first to the girl, and then to her companion, he didn't see her turn pale as she took it, because the man was busy introducing them to him.
"I'm Joe Dubois, and this here is my lovely new wife, Allison."
The blonde woman seemed to be close to fainting, and Joe reached for her even as Alex finished his last hotcake and set down his spoon.
"Allison? Honey? You okay?"
The woman's face was still pale, and she stared at Alex in such a fashion that he began to feel uneasy. He was about to excuse himself and go, when she began to speak.
"You killed him, didn't you? He's there on the mountain where you hid him. You hit him with your gun and then you shot him. He wants to be found. He wants justice."
"What?" Alex's brows had drawn together now. "That's stupid. I don't know what you're talking about."
"He's waiting for justice. He says that you're not going to reach where you think you want to go. The darkness is waiting for you." Her voice had turned thin and thready, and as she uttered her final words, she slumped against her husband in a dead faint.
"Uh... yeah, well. Enjoy your stay in... at... er..."
He had risen to his feet, and now he was backing away, wanting to escape, go anywhere that was away from the weird chick who was – who surely must be – talking rubbish. How could she – or anyone – know about the tram car operative he'd murdered in his bid to keep Mulder from getting to the top of Skyland Mountain in time to rescue Scully.
Turning, he fled, and in due course the darkness that was waiting for him, took him.
The house was quiet, Joe was sleeping gently beside her, and at first, Allison couldn't quite work out what had woken her. There was a breeze fluttering the drapes beside the open window, but other than that no sound could be heard other than the distant humming of the refrigerator, the gentle tick of a clock that her grandmother had given her, and the steady breathing of her husband as he slept on.
She almost turned over and went back to sleep, when she caught a movement in the shadows beside the open doorway.
"Who are you?" Sitting up, she peered into the gloom. "What are you doing here?"
When the man moved forward, she recognized him. He was older now, and his face had lines on it – lines etched into it by some pain that he hadn't yet experienced when they'd met in Hong Kong, but he was still handsome, the face that of a dark, knowing angel, the strong, sturdy body clad in tight jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket, the expression one of terrible, urgent need.
"You met me once before, and told me what was going to happen." The stranger passed his right hand over his face. "I didn't listen. Wouldn't have made any difference right then, anyway – there was nothing I could do to change things." He sighed softly, his soft voice brushing her senses like fur on skin. "I need you to help me set things right. Will you do that for me? Please?"
"Set things right? How?" She rose from the bed, made for the living room, knowing that she couldn't avoid having this conversation, and not wanting to wake Joe, who had now rolled onto his back, and who was starting to snore.
The seemingly solid figure didn't move, but as she sat down on the couch, he was there in front of her again. "I need you to tell him about me, or I won't ever be able to rest."
"You killed. I saw that years ago, when we met." Alison gazed up at the man, frowning as she tried to divine his intent. "You've killed more since then. Why are you suddenly so urgent about this, and who is it that you want me to contact? To tell about you?"
"Mulder," said the man. "I need to prove to him that he and I were on the same side at the end.
Scully:
This is an attempt to explain things to you; one that I imagine won't work particularly well, although I still have to try. You and I have been friends for a long time, and I know that I owe you this explanation.
You see, the reason that I could never give you what I realize you wanted is because I had already given it. I know that sounds histrionic - I love another – but it's the truth nonetheless. Someone else took my heart, and I never could get it back from him. He's gone now, dead and forgotten, but since he's been gone there has been no joy left in my life.
Sometimes I believe that I see him when I'm out on the street. Something in the tilt of a head, or the way a man walks, brings him back to me; reminds me of what I lost that night in the parking garage.
Third time pays for all, they say. There were three shots, and I stood watching while he...
Somehow things stop there. I don't recall what came after that. All my life up to that date ended, and the time since then has been a shadowy haze, a jumble of figures that flicker by but never quite connect. I saw him when I was in the jail, you know. He came to me to tell me what to do. I saw him again in the court. What do you know? Fox Mulder sees dead people. Surprised much? No, I didn't think so.
Time continues to flow – how could it not? I flow with it, but somehow I mean nothing any more; I have no place. My quest is done, and with it, my whole reason for living. I have no family, no life and no future, and though I still breathe, there seems little purpose to it. Somewhere along the line I became obsolete.
I was content to stay that way until yesterday, but I got a call, Scully, from someone who I believe will be able to show me my truth at last.
So, Scully dear, I am leaving. I don't know where I'll go, but it's better that I do it now and make a clean break. I always loved you – just never enough.
I'm sorry.
Fox Mulder
Dana Scully threw the note down on her dresser and sank her head in her hands. She had been so sure that this time Mulder would be there for her. Strange how she'd never seen any signs of this putative other love that Mulder had professed in his note. Had she buried her head in the sand? Had the signs been all around her and she too blind to see them? She shook her head as if to clear it. Well, she thought, I've been alone for the past nine years; I don't really see what the difference is now. He was never here for me when I needed him, so why do I even pretend I can't manage without him?
A small sound attracted her attention, and she sighed as she rose to her feet and went to check on William. The baby was stirring slightly, but as she watched, he gave a snuffle and settled down once more. She stood for a moment more, watching her baby, and then drew back her shoulders and marched off to prepare for when he would awaken. From here on in, they would need nobody.
Phoenix was enjoying the height of summer.
The temperature outside the plane took Mulder's breath away, made him search for air that wasn't superheated and gasp as he tried to inhale something that was breathable. Giving up at last, he walked down the companion way and into the terminal building, sighing in relief when the air conditioning kicked in.
All around him in the arrivals section there were people shouting and waving. He filed out into the concourse, avoiding the scurrying folks looking for their relatives, and then went to retrieve his single suitcase. He'd arrived with a plane load of holidaymakers, and that ought to be enough cover for the things he had to do. He'd get this settled, and then head for obscurity, somewhere that Scully, Skinner and the rest wouldn't find him. He hoped so anyway. As he strode out of the arrivals area towing his suitcase he began to wonder why he'd bothered to come here at all.
After the birth of Scully's baby, there'd been an appeal, and at the end of it he'd been reinstated into the FBI once more, although there was no longer any chance that he would ever be able to regain his beloved X-Files. Resigning himself to going through the motions, he'd shown up for work, no longer caring, no longer believing, and with a sense of loss that seemed to grow rather than shrink with every passing day.
He'd received the phone call from Allison Dubois as he'd sat in the bullpen, as usual on the outskirts of the camaraderie that all the others had seemed to share but which left him always on the outside, looking in. His decision to go to Phoenix had been made easily, and he had booked a flight, written a note, waited for Scully to fall asleep, and then headed off to the airport, taking with him only the minimum he would need.
"Mr. Mulder?"
The sweet faced blonde woman with the infant in the pushchair startled him. "I thought... you'd be older," he said, blurting out the words without thinking.
"I will be, some day," she said, placidly, leading him out to the parking lot and her vehicle. There was a pause as she got the baby buckled into her safety harness and loaded his suitcase into the back, but they were soon out of the airport and heading for the Dubois house.
"He came to me in the night about a week ago, and asked for my help. I remember meeting him once, before Ariel was born, and seeing that he would be swallowed up by some darkness I didn't understand." Allison shot him a swift glance, taking in the strained countenance and suddenly feeling very sorry for the man at her side. "You miss him?"
Miss him, yeah, I think you could say I miss him. He was always there for me, and now he's gone.
"I do miss him," he said, softly. "Tell me what he said?"
"He was insistent that I get you here, Mr. Mulder." Allison was indicating as she spoke, turning into the driveway of their house. "He said he had messages for you, but that you had to be here. I don't know why." She paused, drawing the vehicle to a halt. "I can't help noticing that you aren't weirded out by the things I've told you."
"Just, 'Mulder,' please?" said Mulder, nodding. "I'm used to extreme possibilities, Mrs. Dubois. For a long time I was in charge of the files dealing with possible supernatural phenomena, so I'm not new to the thought of communications from beyond the grave." Mulder's face grew solemn. "He did come to me once, when I was in jail. He saved me."
"You and he were friends?" She had opened the door of the car and was reaching now for her daughter.
"We should have been," whispered Mulder. "We weren't, but we should have been."
Conversation had ceased for the time being, because Allison's two older girls had returned home from school, and Mulder was left to settle into the spare room while Allison began preparations for dinner.
The girls were pleasant and well behaved, and for a moment, watching as they settled down to do homework and watch TV, Mulder thought with a pang of William, but that was not something that he could afford, and he dismissed the image of the little boy he'd left back in Virginia.
When Joe finally appeared, and they sat down together for dinner, the conversation was general, and it was only after the dishes were cleared and the children ready for bed, that they were able to discuss why Mulder had come.
"So, does this mean that we'll all be able to sleep through the night again?" asked Joe, raising his eyebrows at his wife, who was tucked in against him on the couch,
"I didn't know he was waking you up in the middle of the night, too," said Allison, grinning. "I could have sworn you were snoring your head off when he came."
"That was my masterly disguise," smirked Joe. "Fooled even you, didn't it?"
Smiling at the two of them, Mulder watched, noting their obvious affection for each other. "So tell me, Allison, what exactly did he say to you?"
"He asked me to get you to come here. He told me that he would talk only when you were present, and not before. Said that you were the only one that could make things right." Allison frowned. "And here you are. Now, I guess we wait for him to pop by."
"Yeah, this is the Grand Central Station for ghosts, you know?" Joe sounded grouchy, but he was gazing at Allison with absolute love in his eyes.
"We'll see how long it takes him to show up." Mulder nodded. "He was always one of those that loved an audience. Won't take him long. He'll mutter something cryptic, then leave; you'll see."
"Mulder? Wake up, Mulder."
Mulder came awake suddenly, expecting to see Allison. Instead, he found himself face to face with Alex Krycek, felt soft lips brush his, and gazed into shadowed, shining, dark eyes.
"Alex? Where's Allison?"
The smiling face was the one he'd loved, hated, thought never to see again, and he sat up, tousled and blinking, to gaze at his nemesis, his love.
"I don't need her – not for you. You're half way into my world anyway."
"So why the fuck did you drag me all the way to Phoenix?" snapped Mulder, forgetting to be glad to see Krycek as that familiar old irritation bubbled up in him again.
"Had to break you away from Scully," confessed Alex, taking a seat on the bed in what seemed a pretty corporeal fashion to the bemused Mulder. "She's not good for you, Mulder. She's killing you slowly – stifling you."
"Go on." Mulder's face still wore a mutinous expression. "What else? I don't appreciate interference in my love life. There'd better be something more."
"I wanted to tell you that I've stopped hating, Mulder. I wanted to tell you to stop hating too. Hate destroys us both, and now I'm here, and you're there, I can see how stupid we were to waste all that time." The figure put out his hand and laid it on Mulder's cheek, warm, living flesh touched the stubbled skin, and Mulder drew in a short breath, looking at Krycek in awe.
I wanted you to know that I've learned that anger is peace thwarted, love unrequited, the face of god almost touched. It's the heartbreaking awareness that you just might not get there, wherever there might be and it can used to bolster you against the coming night, but it's not you. It shouldn't be you. You're too good for it."
Sighing, Krycek shook his head. "What the hell do I know? Words are lies, and it's possible that I'm just stringing together justifications for my own rage, stringing words together, holding up another mask, more for the fun of it than from any necessity. I've found my own path now, and I want you to join me on it, when you can." He smiled again. "Quite possibly it's not the right one, but it's the one I've found, and so that fucker is holy to me."
He paused, looked anxiously into Mulder's eyes. Waited for the verdict.
Time passed. Mulder reached to take Krycek's hand, the real, warm, flesh left hand.
"Yes," he said, and a queer, rattling sound came from his chest as he and Krycek stepped away from the bed to leave the room.
In the morning, when Allison went to tap on his door, she found him, smiling and quite dead.
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