These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??) Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) First in the Tapestry Series. For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come... Weft - Endings by Amirin #114 *********************** That goddamned voice of his does it to me every time. I was looking at Kersh through a haze of blood and rage, had the bastard in my gun sights, even, and what happens? Yeah, Alex-fucking-Krycek. So soft, his traitor's voice. "Mulder, don't do it. Put the gun down. Come on, Mulder. *Think* about this, dammit! Your gun, your bullet . . . can you say 'ballistics'? Huh, can you?" "Yeah, I can 'ballistics', you son-of-a-bitch! Want me to say it in *Russian*?" I could hear his sigh, but I couldn't see him. I didn't think he had a gun trained on me, or he would have threatened me with it, already. And I knew he could hear me, too. Oh, hell, yes. He could hear every shaking word, the tears in my voice. All of it. God, I wished my peripheral vision was a bit better. Then I could have seen not only Kersh, but Scully's body on the floor. I wondered if I'd be able to tell which shade of gray was her hair and which was her blood? "Mulder, please. Put the damned gun down. Don't do this. You're not a killer. You don't want to be like them." He actually said *please*? Fuck that. "But you're such a good influence, Krycek. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to grow up to be just like *you*?" Silence met that remark and I heard him moving behind me and, fool that I was, took my eyes off Kersh for a split-second. And saw a look of bitter hurt on Krycek's face right before his eyes widened and focused on something behind me and then I was knocked to the floor before I could turn around completely and Kersh was going for a gun, only to have Krycek draw first and all I could think about was the wild west, High Noon, and didn't honestly know who I was rooting for in the contest to see who was the fastest gun in D.C. Shoulda known. Krycek was. Kersh took three in the chest which sent him backward, slamming his body into the concrete support behind him before he slowly slid down to the floor of the warehouse. I was waiting for the streak of blood on the pillar, like they always have in the movies, but this wasn't fiction, this was reality, and Krycek had just killed a man, my AD, right in front of me. And Scully was still dead. Spontaneous reanimation only happens in the movies, too. "Nice shootin', Tex," I murmured, before crawling over to where Scully lay. "Christ, this is all my fault." "No, Mulder, it isn't. This time, it's *my* fault." I snorted. I couldn't help it. "Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to let you be the one responsible for getting my partner killed, Krycek. But I did this. Not you." I wondered if I sounded as hysterical as I felt. Probably. "The message you got that sent you haring off to Philadelphia came from me, Mulder. I did it on purpose, to get you the hell out of the way. I knew what they were planning. *I* was going to meet him, alone. And finish this," a heavy sigh and he went on. "I figured you and Scully'd go to Philly together. I didn't figure you'd go off on your own and I didn't figure Scully would follow through on this and check out Kersh's set up by herself. I should've known. It's *my* fault. Don't blame yourself for this one. Unless, of course, you get off on playing the martyr." My eyes whipped up to his and I knew what he was trying to do and, god help me, I almost fell for it, anyway. My hand was going for my cell phone when Krycek's caught it. "Don't," an urgent whisper as gloved fingers clutched mine. "You were never here, Mulder. Got that? You're still in Philadelphia, doing god only knows what, okay? Let *me* call Skinner." "Knock it the hell off, Krycek. I'm not letting you . . ." His arm was across my throat before I could breathe. "Shut the fuck up, Mulder. Just shut the fuck up. Kersh killed Scully, I killed him. You don't *need* to be here. This was just another day, for me, you hear what I'm saying? Another day, another stiff, right? No big deal. You don't need the inquiry. They'll use this as an excuse to take your badge, dammit. Don't let them." I shoved him away from me, rubbing my neck with a shaking hand. "Why the hell are you so hot to protect me, huh? You want to explain this to me? If you call Skinner, he'll think you killed *both* of them." "So the hell what, Mulder? I don't give a rat's ass what he thinks. I know *you* know better. And that's all that matters, all right? You know I didn't kill Scully. You know I tried to save you both. You know I screwed up. Badly. What Bald Mountain thinks doesn't mean *shit*, as far as I'm concerned. Now, get the fuck out of here. Go be an FBI agent somewhere else." "I can't leave Scully." That came out quietly. Maybe too quietly. And then those should-be-green-but-look-grey-to- me eyes were heavy with something that almost looked like sympathy. "I'll stay with Scully, til Skinner gets here. I promise. I won't leave her until she's safely in his hands. Okay? My word on it, Mulder, if it's worth anything to you. If I break it, you can shoot me." "Tempting, Krycek. Very tempting." The words were too soft to be as obnoxious as I needed them to be. Shit, I hate it when he's right. Whoever Kersh was working for, they wanted me and Scully dead. They got half their wish. And *no* one will believe this particular truth. Hell, I'm a believing kind of guy and *I* wouldn't buy this story. If they run me out of the bureau, I'm screwed. If they press charges for murder, I'm even more screwed. But, if I let Krycek do this, I'll owe him. I hate that. I really hate that. He saw the answer on my face, but didn't say a word. Only nodded and jerked his head back toward the cars. "Get the fuck out of here. Go back to Philadelphia. Drive *carefully*. Don't touch your plastic; cash only until you get there. Lose your cell phone somewhere permanent. Leave an abject apology on Scully's answering machine for ditching her. Use a public pay phone. And your calling card. Tell her your source didn't pan out. Promise her you'll make it up to her with Ben and Jerry's and Starbucks for the next month." I nodded numbly as the litany of instructions continued to pour over me. Damn him, he'd thought of everything. I started when his hand closed over my shoulder. "Don't think, Mulder. Let me do the thinking, okay? Just go. I'll be in touch." Now, that alone should have scared the hell out of me, but it didn't. Perversely soothing, actually. I headed out to the car and turned in the doorway to see him taking off his jacket, the leather reflecting with a dull sheen in the faint light of the warehouse, and placing it gently over Scully before he dug out his own cell. Things got blurry as I stumbled to the car and started it up, backing out the way I came for a while before I hit the headlights on. Don't think, Mulder. Just go. It wasn't until I saw the signs for Philly that I finally noticed the tears on my face. **************end