Title: Black Wings V: Afterlife

Author: Ashlea Ensro

Feedback: to theconsortium6@hotmail.com

Archive: Yes, anywhere.

Rating: PG

Keywords: CSM/MulderMom, Mulder/Scully UST

Spoilers: "The End"

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Teena Mulder, the gentleman with the nicotine habit, the gentleman with the nice nails, and the gentleman with pointy ears, a tail, and much affection for cheese are all under the control of the Consortium and don't let CC tell you otherwise. Neil Gaiman wrote "Murder Mysteries", which is a very cool short story.

Thanks Anna.

Ramblings: You've reached the end! Well, good for you. I hope you've read all the others. All done now. Bye bye.

"But...he loved. He should have been forgiven. He should have been helped. He should not have been destroyed like that. That was wrong."

- Neil Gaiman _Murder Mysteries_

"Checkmate"

The boy's voice was lifeless. He was bored. He wished people wouldn't make him play chess all the time.

His opponent, an old man smoking a cigarette, paid no attention.

"Checkmate." Gibson Praise said in a louder voice. He knew that the old man's mind had wandered off somewhere - he wished he could shut out his opponent's thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

The man at last acknowledged the child's existence. "Yes, I-" His dark eyes turned towards the boy. "Gibson, if you are a mind reader you must know that I don't mean you any harm."

"I know what they're going to do to me."

The old man sighed. He couldn't blame the boy for being bitter. He doubted that he would feel any differently in the same situation.

"I know why you go along with them, too." The boy's voice was confident - it was not the voice of a frightened twelve-year-old. "You're not like them, but you listen to them anyway. You hate them, but you do their work for them."

"I can't save you."

"You could." Gibson said, "But you won't."

He took a puff of his cigarette and nodded. "Of course."

The boy's eyes met his eyes. "I'm not Fox, you know." he said softly. Then he turned back to the game board.

"Checkmate." he said.

"Do you think they're afraid for you?" the smoking man asked suddenly. He knew Gibson was aware of who he was talking about. "Do they worry in the same way, I wonder? When you're gone, will they drive themselves to madness searching for you? Will they wake up in the middle of the night, hearing a sound, thinking that it's you, come home?" He stared at the child, so small and fragile. "How human are they, Gibson?"

The boy made no response.

"I'm not a monster." the smoking man said quietly.

Gibson said nothing. The look in his eyes said enough.

His cell phone rang. It took him awhile to realize where the noise came from. It had been so long since he had spoken to anyone over the phone. It was going to take time to adjust to civilization.

"Hello?" It was one of his own men - he recognized the voice.

"I thought you might want to know, sir-" There was a pause, which he interpreted as nervousness.

"What?" he asked, his voice cold.

"It's Mrs. Mulder, sir. She's had another stroke."

"I'll be there immediately." He hung up.

Gibson gave him a half-curious stare. "Aren't you supposed to be watching me?" he asked. As if he didn't know what his captor's next response would be.

The smoking man looked around. There were only the two guards at the door, and he could deal with them. He took the boy's small hand in his.

"Come on, Gibson." he said, "We're going home."

***

The well-manicured man stepped over one of the dead bodies, wincing with disgust. Death was messy, filthy. The smoking bastard had been right in telling him that he didn't have the stomach for the profession. He had killed before, they all had, but it never failed to make him ill.

The two men had been shot execution style in the back of their heads. It had been too fast for either of them to scream, and the killer had used a silencer. He frowned at the brains and blood splattered on the white walls.

"Any guess at what happened here?" he asked.

Alex Krycek grunted, bashing the locked door open. The corpses didn't seem to bother him, though he held his nose at the fresh scent of death. The door swung open to reveal a room nearly empty except for a chessboard with scattered pieces.

"I could take a guess." he said. Seeing the look on his employer's face, he said, "You're the one who let the son-of-a-bitch live."

The elderly gentleman shook his head. "Mr. Krycek," he said, "That can always be corrected."

***

He was driving now, away from the Consortium facility, away from the buildings and the gray-faced men and the dark world into which he had only recently returned. The boy sat beside him, silent and small. The window was open and the wind ruffled his gray hair as he sped down the highway. He had a new pack of cigarettes and he knew where he was going.

Gibson Praise still didn't look very happy. He didn't like the smoking man's motivations. He wasn't free now - the old man's thoughts were a confused blur, but he could gather that much. He was still at the mercy of a professional killer.

But he was at the mercy of a professional killer who wasn't thinking very clearly, one whose mind ran with thoughts of his estranged children and the woman he loved, one who was torn every second between laughing hysterically at his own foolishness and weeping from the depths of his old, bitter heart.

At least the cigarette fumes weren't as strong with the window open. The boy had been sure he would develop cancer just by sitting in the same room as the man.

Of course he was immune to cancer. But the thought still crossed his mind.

He started making mental bets with himself on how long it would be before his captor snapped and went altogether mad.

***

The basement wasn't the same anymore.

The fire hadn't done much damage to the building itself, but the furniture, the files, the posters and photographs and paper that had turned the office into a second home, all of those were gone. The crew had cleaned up most of the damage, and now it just looked bare and sterile.

At least they had it back, Scully mused. After sharing a cubicle for two weeks she had become quite nostalgic for the disordered basement with no windows and no air-conditioning. She had never gotten her own desk. She would get one now - Skinner had specifically requested it.

But the office wasn't the same.

Mulder wasn't the same.

They hadn't shut down the X-Files yet, although they were scheduled for a hearing before the Justice Department. Scully wasn't optimistic, although a part of her thought that perhaps the fire had inadvertantly helped them - it proved that *someone* out there took them seriously.

She was just afraid of who that someone might be.

They hadn't been assigned another X-File since the fire.

Gibson Praise was still missing, Diana Fowley still in a coma.

Mulder was flipping a flattened Morley box over in his hand. She wished he would do something with it, maybe pin it up on the wall and throw darts at it, anything but stare at it like he was doing now.

She was thankful when the recently reconnected phone rang.

Mulder made no move to get it. She picked it up. It was Skinner. He wanted to speak to Mulder.

Her partner reached over to take the phone. He listened for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, sir." he said, his voice a monotone, and hung up.

"More bad news?" she asked, her own voice expressionless as well.

"Not that we needed any more." he replied, "Scully, can you come with me to the hospital? My mother just had a stroke."

***

Teena Mulder looked as though she were sleeping.

She lay on the white bed. Her hair was very white. Her skin was very white. To his eyes, blurred with tears, she seemed to shine in the dim light of the hospital room, a faery ice princess doomed to eternal sleep.

Still holding the boy's hand, the smoking man made his way towards the bed.

"Teena." he whispered. He released the boy to take her hand. The doctors had told him that she was still unconscious and it was unlikely that she would wake up again. At her age, and having already had one serious stroke, her chances weren't good. He sat on the plastic chair beside her bed and ran his fingers through her hair. She was so very still. He shivered beneath his heavy black coat.

It hurt to see her like this, much more than he had expected. Sickness, death, these things were not supposed to bother him. He had seen enough people die - young and old, wise and foolish, powerful and insignificant. He himself had faced death many times. An ordinary man in his position would have been dead years ago - but then again, an ordinary man would never have been in his position.

She looked so frail.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. It had not been so long ago that she had sat beside him, holding his hand while he quietly suffered. He would have gladly fought alien clones and assassins for her, but this was an enemy stronger than both of them. He wrapped one arm around her fragile body and lay his head on the pillow next to hers.

"Wake up, Teena." he murmured, "Please wake up."

A cough alerted him to Gibson's presence. He looked over at the boy, then sat up straight in the chair.

Perhaps there would be salvation after all.

"Go ahead kid." he said, "Do your stuff."

The boy looked at him strangely. "Do what?"

As if the kid didn't know. If he wasn't personally acquainted with Jeremiah Smith and the Bounty Hunter, he could certainly absorb the memories of them from the old man's mind. He was just playing innocent.

"I rescued you for a reason." the smoking man said, looking back at Teena.

"I can't heal her." the boy said, "I don't know how to. I'm not like the other ones."

That possibility hadn't occurred to him. He was faintly surprised that he hadn't thought to ask the boy. "But-"

"If I'd told you, you never would have let me go." The boy stared at him through thick glasses. "You can't take me back, now. They'll kill you too."

"Damn." he muttered. He could have sworn he saw the kid smile.

"Guess you're stuck with me, huh?"

"Guess so." He stroked her limp hand. "Can you contact one of the others?"

Gibson shook his head. "Everything dies." he said softly.

He sighed, the pain worse than he ever would have imagined. He had always thought that he would die first. It was funny - he had led a dangerous existence, while she had been a meek, long-suffering housewife. By all accounts he should have never lived to be as old as he was.

He had never believed that he would be the one left behind.

***

Alex Krycek sat alone in his apartment, polishing his gun. It had been out of use for too long. He hadn't undergone years of training just to drive around old men and whining brats.

He was all too happy to put the gun to use.

He had already passed up the perfect opportunity. His gun, an unarmed smoking man, and no one around for miles. Still, he'd had a job to do, and he'd done it. He'd probably never get in a situation like that again.

It would be more difficult this time.

Krycek leaned back in the chair and loaded a clip into his weapon, a task made somewhat more problematic by his missing arm. None the less, he accomplished it with practiced ease.

This bullet has a name on it, he thought to himself.

***

~~we all have our demons, mr. mulder, you should know that by now

and on this night, this cold night, i give away my only daughter. she is dressed in white and she has not yet seen her bridegroom.

death, do you take this woman

samantha mulder

to be your lawfully wedded wife

oh god don't take her don't take my baby-

to have and to hold

not my samantha not my baby girl

to honour and to cherish

you're a little spy

for better or for worse

fox, i'm scared

for richer or for poorer

the choice the choice don't make me choose

til death do you part

i could have never chosen

goddamn you bill teena you can't let them take her-

not my baby

samantha mulder, do you take death?

i do.~~

***

He jerked awake, startled by the noise of footsteps in the corridor.

<I'm getting old, falling asleep at a time like this...> Reaching for a cigarette, he remembered suddenly where he was. Not that bylaws and regulations had ever stopped him from smoking anywhere he wanted, but at the bedside of a dying woman seemed like a mildly inappropriate place, even for him. He looked over to see that Gibson was still there.

So he hadn't been asleep for that long, at least. The Consortium hadn't gotten to the kid.

Teena lay motionless, only the slight rise and fall of her chest and the beeping of the monitor beside her indicating that she was alive. He had fallen asleep holding her hand - it was small and cold and clammy in his.

"He's coming." Gibson said.

Not entirely sure who the kid was talking about, the smoking man felt for his gun. The reassuring weight of it was hidden underneath his coat, but he hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

Not here. Not with *her*.

He was relieved to see that it was only Mulder and Scully.

<Only...> he thought, and almost laughed.

There was a gun pointed at his head.

"Mr. Mulder, I don't think you really want to shoot me in here." He released Teena's hand and went over to Gibson. "She's hooked up to oxygen. This whole place would blow." He met his son's angry eyes. "Besides, I have something you want."

Mulder stared down at the boy. "Oh, you bastard..."

"I didn't harm the child." the smoking man said, "I brought him back to you." He looked to Scully. "I would suggest you get him out of here, however. *They* will be here soon."

"They?"

"I believe you know who I'm talking about." He gave the boy a gentle shove forward. "Go on, Gibson."

The child needed no more encouragement. He ran over to Scully and wrapped his arms around her. "It's all right, honey." she whispered, "You're safe now."

The smoking man went back to his chair at Teena's bedside.

"I should have expected to see you turn up here." Mulder said, "I was told you were dead."

"I was." He stroked Teena's hair.

"Get away from her."

He didn't respond.

"You heard me. Get out of here. Did you do this to her?"

"No."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Mr. Mulder."

"Get away from my mother."

"I have an offer to make you, Mr. Mulder."

"I don't care to hear it, thanks."

"I think you do." He looked up at Scully. "My former colleagues will be coming by shortly. I strongly advise that you and the boy not be there when they arrive."

"I'd like to know what it is you want." Scully replied.

"I'm sure Mulder will fill you in."

"You have a charming way of telling people to fuck off." Mulder said.

"Mr. Mulder, there are children present."

Mulder sighed. "Go on, Scully. Get Gibson someplace safe."

She touched his hand. "Will you be all right?"

He nodded.

"If you need anything-"

"I know." He watched her lead Gibson out the door. Only when they were gone did he reluctantly turn back towards the smoking man and Teena. "Why did you come here?"

"I came to see your mother."

"Almost killing her once wasn't enough for you, was it?"

His dark eyes flared. "I would never hurt her, Fox."

"I should kill you right now."

"You could, but-"

"But I'll never know the truth, is that right?" Mulder interrupted, "You keep saying that, but you have never exactly been forthcoming."

"I am prepared to tell you everything."

Mulder didn't respond right away. He stared at the smoking man in disbelief. "Why the hell should I believe you?"

"I have proof. I kidnapped Gibson Praise. I was the one who burned your office down. I know the secrets you have sought for so long." He pulled something from beneath his trenchcoat. It was a file. He handed it to Mulder.

He read the label, but there was no need. He recognized it right away.

It was the only file that survived the fire. His sister's.

"How did you get this?" Mulder whispered. "So what is it? You want me to join the Consortium again? Your last attempt didn't turn out so well."

"I don't care what you do. I only have a few days to live at most. My former colleagues want to kill me and they'll be successful this time. What I want is more...personal."

Mulder closed his eyes. He had a feeling he wouldn't like this very much.

"What?"

"Your mother is dying, Fox, and I can't save her this time. I want to be there when she dies. She would have wanted it too, believe me. And after that, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Is this some kind of joke?"

The smoking man stood up, patting Teena's hand, then releasing it. "Think it over, Mr. Mulder." he said, then slipped out the door.

***

"He wants what?" Scully was hunched over the computer, but she straightened up as soon as Mulder burst in with his news.

"You heard me. Doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"Do you believe him?"

"No...yes...I don't know." Mulder slumped down in the chair, burying his head in his hands. "I don't understand this."

She went over to him to run a hand through his hair. "No...I think you do understand it, Mulder. I think that might be the problem."

"So is that it? You think I should take him up on it?"

"I don't know what you should do." She sighed. "We're going before the Justice Department in a few days. They could shut us down - unless we have some sort of validation. He's not their leader, Mulder. Not even close. It goes even higher up, and if we could get him to testify against the others-"

"At what price? My mother's soul?"

"But he said she'd want him there."

"He said? Scully, he's a liar, we both know that." He gestured at the gutted office. "He's responsible for all this, and worse..." He shook his head. "My father, your sister, you..."

"We don't know that. You said yourself that he led you to the cure for my cancer."

"Because he *gave* you cancer, Scully. I-" He was staring at the Morley pack again. "God, I hate him. I want to see him go up in flames. But-"

"But?"

"But I believe him."

***

~~and even demons dream, mr. mulder mr. fox and i will wake up screaming every night dear god it's too late and there will be no redemption-

i am not a monster i am not

forgive me teena for i have sinned and

and i won't be there to carry you off into the sunset like you said like we dreamed

this bullet has a name on it and it is my name

that even you never knew

we carry our secrets to our graves to our dreams and do you dream teena are you dreaming now am i there with you in the place between worlds

are you there

am i?

am i a monster there too or does death grant us all absolution

wait for me teena

this bullet bears my name and i am coming for you~~

***

His gun followed the old man's movement through the street, but it was broad daylight and so he wouldn't fire. Alex Krycek was nearly invisible in the shadows, dressed in black, his only noticable feature obscured by long sleeves and black gloves. He didn't want to attract attention, not to himself and not to his prey.

There was always a chance someone would be around to save the son-of-a-bitch's life again.

He didn't want that.

Resigned to the waiting, he went back to his apartment. The phone rang the second he walked in the door.

He almost didn't get it. Probably just the English bastard again, wanting to know what was taking him so long. He was waiting for the perfect moment.

It wasn't the English bastard.

"Hello, Alex." The voice, low and smoky, was far too familiar.

And he thought he had been subtle.

"What do you want?" Krycek snarled.

"It's not a matter of what I want, Alex. It's what you want - what *they* want from you."

"You're a dead man." Krycek breathed.

"So I hear." He could almost visualize the smile, the smoke curling around the receiver. "I want a few more days."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"A few more days, and then I'll give myself up to you. You won't find me otherwise."

"I know where you are."

"I'm sure you are aware of what happened to the last assassin they sent after me." He was bluffing, of course, there was no way he could have been responsible for that particular death - but it sent a tremor through Krycek's body regardless. He couldn't believe he was sitting here listening to the old dragon plead for his life.

"What do you want?"

A click. The old man had hung up. Krycek cursed softly and kicked the leg of an already battered chair. He didn't need this.

He took the phone off the hook, rolled into bed and fell asleep.

***

Mulder arrived at the hospital to see the smoking man sitting outside of his mother's room.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you going to pull a gun on me?" the old man asked, not sounding as though he particularly cared either way.

Mulder considered this for a moment. "No." He looked in the door to see Teena lying on the bed. "If you plan on coming in, you'd better put that out."

He stubbed out his cigarette and followed his son into the room.

The doctors had told him that Teena's condition was unchanged - in other words, worse. He took his seat by the bed and clutched her white hand in both of his.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Mulder said.

"We have an arrangement."

"Why did you bring Gibson back?"

The smoking man glanced up at him out of half-closed eyes. "You'll find all of this out. It will make sense to you soon enough."

"Were you sleeping with her?"

He said nothing, staring back at Teena now.

"Answer me. You were having an affair with her, weren't you? *Weren't you*?"

"She's waking up."

"What?"

The old man smiled. "She's waking up."

***

Her eyes blinked open slowly, focusing on the craggy, wearied face staring over her.

"Teena." He was stroking her hand again - it took her a brief moment to remember who he was. "It's all right, Teena. You're in the hospital. How are you feeling?"

She couldn't speak - couldn't answer him. She didn't know how she was feeling. Another face was looking down at her now - a younger man - handsome, and almost familiar.

"Mom?"

<Mom?>

"Who are-" She couldn't finish the sentence. The young man's face went pale.

"Mom? It's me. Fox...your son. Mom?"

"Fox...yes..." She wasn't sure if she remembered having a son, but she supposed she did.

"I'm going to call the doctor." the man named Fox said. The older man nodded and squeezed her hand. Yes - she knew this one, although she couldn't remember his name. She could feel his breath on her - cigarette smoke. It was a comforting scent.

"Tired." she said.

"You've slept for long enough." the old man said with a faint smile. He slipped one arm under her head and wrapped the other around her. "Oh, Teena." he murmured. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man named Fox coming back in with another man, this one dressed in a white coat. "I'm going to tell him everything, Teena." the old man was whispering, "He has to know."

Was he asking her permission? She just nodded, not understanding. The man in the white coat pulled the old man away from her, but he continued to stare at her. She attempted a weak smile, and then everything started to slip away again.

***

They wouldn't let him back into the room. Frustrated, he paced outside the hallway, feeling Mulder's eyes on him. He could hear them talking to her, trying to assess the extent of the brain damage, but he couldn't hear her responses.

"She didn't recognize me." Mulder said quietly.

The smoking man stopped pacing and turned towards his son. "She said your name."

"She didn't know who I was."

"She's just had a stroke."

"But-"

Mulder tried again. "But she recognized you."

"At least we know she has some of her faculties intact."

He didn't see the younger man's attack until he found himself flung up against the wall with a gun shoved against the side of his head. "Who are you?" Mulder hissed, "And what do you want with my mother?"

"Let me down."

Mulder put the gun away, realizing a young orderly was staring at them, and released the older man from his grip.

"You need to work on that anger problem of yours, Mr. Mulder." the smoking man said.

"What do you want with her?"

"Call it nostalgia, if you like." He saw the doctor leaving Teena's room. "We should go see how she's doing."

***

Scully arrived at the hospital after work. Mulder was sitting at his mother's bedside, holding her hand. The smoking man was slumped in a chair with his head on the pillow beside Teena's. He was asleep.

Scully put her arm around her partner's shoulders. "How is she?"

"She...regained consciousness this morning."

Scully smiled, but there was something wrong with his tone. He should have been happy - but he was holding something back. "What is it, Mulder?" She looked over at the old woman, asleep as well now, one of her hands entwined with the smoking man's. "Oh."

"It's not that." Mulder said, "I mean it *is* that, but-" He cleared his throat. "There's brain damage." he said finally.

"It's to be expected, we both know that-" She looked at her partner's ashen face. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"How's Gibson?"

"Under 24 hour protective custody. They'd have to have someone on the inside to get at him - we know they do - but if he's not safe now, he won't ever be safe..." She trailed off, her gaze on the old man sleeping across the bed from Mulder. "How long has he - I mean-"

Mulder laughed. "You don't know how many times I've been tempted to steal his wallet and find out what his real name is."

"Has he told you anything yet?"

"No." Mulder shrugged. "I don't think he will." He stared at the smoking man, at his mother's slack face. "You wouldn't know it, by looking at him, would you?"

"Know what?"

"What an evil son-of-a-bitch he is."

"Not now." She took his hand. "Mulder, it's going to be okay."

He looked up at her and smiled.

Neither of them saw a young man, dressed in black and carrying a gun pass by the open door of the hospital room.

***

Alex Krycek stared at his distorted reflection in the mirror on the inside of the elevator. The gun was hidden underneath his leather jacket. No one had taken a second look at him as he passed through the hospital doors.

He stepped out onto the floor.

Mulder and Scully were in there, with Teena and the smoking man. Krycek didn't have a clear shot from where he stood outside of the room, but he had the sudden awareness of holding all of their lives in his hand.

Krycek laughed softly. They didn't see him. He was under orders not to harm any innocent bystanders, and so the smoking man was safe. For now. He slipped away quietly and no one noticed him.

Inside the room, the old man stirred.

***

And Teena was dreaming.

~~a little girl with dark pigtails, mommy mommy fox keeps pulling my hair make him stop

make him play with me

mommy do you know there's a bird's nest in the tree outside with five eggs in it-

and mommy do you know-

and fox is calling from out in the backyard, it is summer and the choice is still to come

these are sweet days, before the fall

before

the children are playing, their father watches them and they do not see his shadow over the grass

he steals her hand from underneath her husband's gaze

i'm going to tell him, teena

i'm going to tell him everything

he needs to know, i'm~~

"I'm going to tell him soon."

The old man was talking more to himself than to her, but she heard and she understood what he was intending to reveal. She couldn't remember why it was important, just that they had agreed - he had *promised* her, even though she had tried to break that promise more times than he.

There was a red-haired woman sitting beside the man named Fox. The memory of her was even foggier than that of the others. A girlfriend, a wife maybe? She was smiling in that same kind, tired way that everyone had been smiling at Teena, as if she knew something no one else did.

And Teena realized then that she was going to die.

There was something she had to tell the old man, something she had to tell Fox too, and it was very important, but she couldn't remember what it was anymore.

So instead she let the old man cradle her in his arms, leaning her head against his chest, feeling warm and safe in his presence. He was murmuring her name, rocking her.

She was very tired.

***

He was tired too. Something had woken him from the first sleep he'd had in days. He wasn't happy about it. He held Teena and ignored Mulder and Scully's angry glares. They didn't matter at the moment. He believed that everything happened for a purpose - he knew that he had woken when he did because both he and Teena were going to die very soon.

"Teena?" he said, "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

She nodded against him.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"I want-" She thought about this for awhile. "Is there a window?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I want to look outside."

He tried to lift her. "What do you think you're doing?" Scully asked.

"You heard her. I'm taking her to the window." It was only a few feet away - he didn't think it would be difficult to drag her over there.

"You can't move her."

He scowled at her. "Yes I can." He managed to carry Teena over to the window and placed her in another chair. Mulder moved to stop him, then reconsidered.

Teena pressed her face against the glass, looking out at the night sky. The smoking man struggled to hold her up and keep her from falling out of the chair.

"You can't see the stars from here." she said, sounding disappointed. "Too...smoggy."

He ran his fingers through her white hair. "You get better, Teena, and I'll take you out where we can see the stars. I promise."

She smiled. "Promise..." she said.

"I love you, Teena. I always did."

"I know." She smiled up at him. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh." She raised her face to his and he kissed her -

- and he felt the last breath of life leave her lips.

"Mom!" He heard Mulder's voice behind him as Scully rang for the doctors. He knew it was too late. He couldn't move. He was still sitting there stunned when they dragged her body away from him and pronounced Teena Mulder dead.

He wondered if he would ever be able to leave.

***

Mulder was sobbing, his face buried in Scully's hair. She didn't know how to comfort him. She knew that she was all he had left, and she had no idea what to say.

"Mulder, I-"

"It's okay, Scully." He wiped the tears from his face, staring in the hospital room at the smoking man sitting by the window. "I should go talk to him before he slips away again."

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

"No. But-" He reached down and grabbed her hand. "You'll be with me."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

He nodded. "Let's go."

They went back inside the room.

Their longtime enemy raised his head slowly, looked over at them. "You don't need to remind me." he said. He stood up, looking old and feeble. "I said I'd tell you, and I will."

"But..." Scully said.

"But I'm going to go out and have a cigarette first."

Scully rolled her eyes.

"How do we know you won't just disappear?" Mulder asked.

"You don't." He made his way to the door. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Am I supposed to trust a man who tried to kill me, who was behind my partner's cancer and god knows what else-"

"You can spare me the list of things I've done, Agent Mulder." the smoking man said, "Don't think that I am without regrets. I lost my children to the Project." He stepped out into the hallway. "You can trust me this time."

Neither of them made any attempt to stop him as he made his way down the corridor.

***

His hands were shaking as he lit the cigarette. It was dark, the red glow a stark contrast to the night. He heard footsteps behind him.

"Hello, Alex." he said softly.

"How'd you know it was me?"

He turned to face his killer. "I let you find me."

Krycek drew his gun. "This is going to give me great pleasure."

"I'm sure it is."

"So what is it? What was this thing you had to live for?"

The smoking man smiled. "You'll never know."

"Get on your knees."

"Let me finish my cigarette."

Krycek groaned, but stood by and waited. Neither of them said a word. When he had finished, the old man extinguished the cigarette and knelt down on the cold concrete. He felt the gun against the back of his head.

"Close your eyes." Krycek whispered.

The old man complied.

A car drove by, the bright glare of the headlights illuminating his face. For a moment he looked younger, almost handsome, and Krycek shivered in the darkness that followed.

"It won't hurt." he said gently, "Not this time." He was reassuring himself - the old man had never been afraid. It hadn't been his life he had pleaded for - it was something else, something very different...

Krycek took off the safety and cocked the weapon. Then he leaned over and kissed the old man's lips.

"I'll see you in hell." he said.

***

~~and there is pain, but not much, and i feel his lips on me, burning where they touch

for a moment i look into his eyes and his face glows in the night

the angel of death

my angel

come to deliver me

and in death are we all pure again? i will reach out my arms, reach for her and she is the one who will carry me away

her arms around me, hold me teena hold me and take me with you

and you do not know it but you have given me what i want

because she

because she is there

and this is all i want

this bullet that bears my name and offers me what all the power in the world could never give me

absolution

die ?warheit?

and it is a very intimate thing, killing a man, i've done it enough to know

your life and his life all the same

and you give the orders and watch the buried boxcar, his tomb, you watch it go up in flames and yes i believe in sacrifice

but all the time you are praying he isn't in there

i believed in sacrifice but all the same-

wait for me teena

wait for me~~

***

A single shot ripped through the night.

***

The old man looked up, into the beautiful, dark green eyes of the Angel of Death.

The Angel of Deliverance.

"Go on." Krycek said softly, "Run."

He stared at his would-be assassin, not entirely comprehending.

"Go." the young man said again, "You're dead. Get out of here before I change my mind."

He stood, slowly, rubbing the back of his head. His hand came away sticky with blood from where Krycek had struck him with the revolver.

"Why?" he asked, knowing full well he wasn't going to get a response. "Thank you." he said finally.

"Just go. If they ever find out about this they'll kill us both."

Understanding at last, the smoking man made his way into the shadows of the dark alley, his hand trailing blood over the brick wall.

Alex Krycek watched him for a moment, and then went back to the car.

***

The gunshot and the squeal of a car speeding away awakened Mulder, who had just started to drift off.

"Shit."

He and Scully were down the elevator and out the door in a second, searching the dark alleys for any sign of the smoking man, who had somehow gone from mortal enemy to informant to dead in the blink of an eye.

"Mulder, come look at this." Scully's voice was grim. He followed her down a back street. Her hand had brushed against something warm and sticky - it was too dark to see what it was, but when she raised her fingers to the street lamp, she saw red.

A cigarette butt crunched under his shoe as he went to join her.

"Damn it."

She stared at the blood on her hand. "He's dead, Mulder."

"Again?" A pitiful attempt at a joke, but he couldn't help it.

"Something makes me think we're going to have a difficult time finding the killers."

"Yeah." Mulder said, "And the body." He kicked the brick wall, hard, then winced with the pain.

"There's nothing you can do."

"Scully, he-"

"I know. Don't say it, I know."

He said it anyway. "Do you think he was my father?"

"Since when did you believe anything that man said?"

"He said he lost his children - Sam...and me."

"Maybe. You don't know that."

"There's so much we'll never know, now..."

"We'll find the answers. We just have to keep looking."

He nodded dully. "He was going to tell us, Scully. Everything. I truly believe that."

"So do I." And she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, listening to the sirens in the distance.

***

And in the end, he was alone again.

In the distance, he could hear the roar of cars along the highway. He finished another cigarette and tossed it into the grass. The air was fresh and clean and he had never felt so alive in his sixty-five years on the planet.

Why Alex Krycek had decided to spare his life was beyond his comprehension. He wasn't sure if it was meant as an act of mercy or the ultimate punishment. Maybe there was more to that boy than he had thought.

It didn't matter. He was alive. The angel of death had passed over him and left him unscathed, more or less.

He started to laugh. The world had gone mad and he had lost everything, but it was a bright summer day and he was free, free and alive and awake.

And so he was going to live.

He lit up another cigarette, and started the long walk towards the highway.