Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1998

Title: Fate's Arrow
Author: Spooky
Email: ddwake1@netcom.ca
Category: V
Rating: PG
Keywords: character death
Spoilers: The Red and the Black
Summary: Alex Krycek contemplates Fate.
Disclaimer: The X-Files are owned by Chris Carter.
No copyright infringement is intended.

Fate's Arrow

It's done.

I tell myself I had no choice -- neither of us had. It was
clear, so clear, that he had to die.

I saw that realization in his eyes too, as he stood before me,
silent and still. His face for once devoid of the hatred I had
come to expect from him. Those damn hazel eyes, so calm,
so reflective. A serenity in them he had never shown before.

It seemed we both stood outside ourselves at that moment, a
nexus of understanding connecting us. This was the way the
story had to end -- we both knew that, I think. The sacrifice
of the Believer to open the gates of Truth.... Crap. That kind
of philosophizing is something *he* might have done. Not
me. I'm way too pragmatic for that shit.

Still, it was strange, surreal, the time we spent gazing at each
other. I had my gun on him; he didn't even try to draw his.
Time slowed, and it was as if all my senses were on fire, as
if every minute movement, sound and smell had to imprint
itself in my memory, as if the universe itself knew something
momentous was about to happen.

Now it plays itself over and over in my head, as if I had
suddenly become endowed with *his* eidetic memory. I can
still feel the weight of the gun in my hand, the echo of the
gunshot, the thud of his body as it hit the ground. It was a
killing shot, he felt no pain -- I could give him that at least.

I'm glad I didn't go for the head shot; I can't bear the thought
of him laying there with his brains scattered over the cracked
pavement. In the movies they always show a nice, tidy hole
in the middle of the forehead. There isn't much to stop a
bullet in bone and brains; there is no such thing as a neat
gunshot wound. A clean shot to the heart -- I should be
proud of my marksmanship. It's not as easy as it sounds to
instantly stop a heart.

He stopped mine the first time I saw him.

Oh shit. Don't go there, Alex.

This was always the way we sparred -- with taunts and
threats and fists. I pushed his buttons, he ranted. Of course,
it never got me more than a shitload of bruises.

He nearly killed me once. He was so close.... Only Scully --
poor, victimized, self-righteous Scully -- stopped him. A
better pawn than him by far. She actually shot him -- shot
him! Not to save me, of course, but to save him. Whatever.
I'm not complaining. Of course, had that incident taken place
after the fuck up with her sister, no doubt that bullet would
have ended up in my tender anatomy instead.

I murdered his father. There, I've said it. I lied to him about
it of course, but we both knew the truth.

The Truth. The truth brought both of us here, the truth was
why he died. In this place, in this way, after these events.... I
told him to get his head out of the sand, and he did, with a
vengeance. Even the idiots in the FBI who ridiculed him for
years will have to see now that Mulder was no Chicken
Little -- the sky really is falling.

The old men in their smoke-filled rooms feared Mulder,
protected him. They didn't want to create a martyr.

I did that.

Was that why he came, tonight? Because he knew that all his
evidence, his belief, would be met with scepticism and
obfuscation without some final movement, some final
galvanizing event to sway the unbelievers? Make them
confront the truth they would rather ignore.

I have to go. Even in this neighbourhood gunshots don't
always go unreported.

Do I collect my thirty pieces of silver now? Kill myself,
complete the story? Did I really betray him with a kiss? Hah,
I should just turn myself over to Scully in that case. I'll bet she
knows all sorts of secret doctor things she would be more
than willing to practice on me. All very painful, of course.

Fuck that. I know a thing or two about pain myself. Having
your arm hacked off without anaesthetic is bound to teach
you a few things. I suppose anyone would think I'm happy I
got my revenge for that. Well, here's a news bulletin: I never
wanted revenge. Well, okay, maybe it did cross my mind
once or twice. But if I had wanted revenge I could have
gotten it twenty times over by now. I would have killed him
in his apartment instead of stealing a kiss. I would have killed
him slowly, here.

Maybe even then we knew it would come to this.

Shit. Getting maudlin aren't we, Alex? I really, really should
leave now.

I hope you finally got what you wanted, tovarisch. I will
promise you one thing: no one is going to label you a
lunatic. Even if I have to toss a couple of aliens through the
front doors of the Hoover building, they *are* going to
believe.

I won't have this mean nothing.

And I'll promise you one thing more -- I'll try and look out
for her. I know, I know, you'll tell me she can take care of
herself and the likes of me had better stay far away from
her.... Still, I'll try to protect her for you.

Maybe things could have been different.... Or maybe not.
Maybe our courses were set out long ago, as predictable and
immutable as the paths of the stars above us. That we were
always meant to be the antithesis of the other; arrows
launched until destiny brought us to this place, this time, to
strike with unerring accuracy.

Shit. Now I even sound like him.

He's staring up into the unblinking stars. Maybe he'll find
some peace there.

Me? I haven't known peace in a long time. I think I can
almost taste it, here and now. But it can't last. Nothing ever
lasts and I have promises to keep.

Finis

Adoration craved, constructive criticism welcomed, flames cheerfully
ignored.