Date: Tue, 09 Jun 1998

Title: "...And We Will Point The Gun"
Author: Ashlea Ensro
Feedback: to theconsortium6@hotmail.com. Constructive criticism and
happy thoughts will be responded to, flames will be used to light my
Morleys. :-q
Rating: R (language, violence)
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, Alternate Universe, Character deaths
Spoilers: Conspiracy arc up to "The Red and the Black"
Archive: Anywhere you want!
Thanks: to tyger1013, my partner in Bill-bashing and to Anna Otto for
proof-reading and helping expand Krycek’s vocabulary :->
Disclaimer: Oh heavenly Father CC
Our father, thou art in 1013
Hallowed be thy name
Lead us not into lawsuits
For we hath no money
But deliver us from lawyers
For thine are the characters
The Mulder and the Scully (and all the others)
Forever and ever
Amen.
Oh yeah - Loreena McKennitt wrote "Dante's Prayer" and
Dalton Trumbo wrote "Johnny Got His Gun".
Summary: Krycek tells the story of the first two weeks of colonization.
Warning: Character death and lots of it!

Author's Ramblings: In case anyone's interested, there actually is (or
was) a Cold War era bomb shelter in Aurora Ontario, about a five minute
drive from my house. I don't know if it's still there - a few years ago
there was some
talk about destroying it, or selling it, or something like that - but if
it exists and aliens actually do invade one day, I think it would be a
good place to hide.

Most of the nasty things Krycek says are from The Alternative Russian
Dictionary, with refinements by Anna. I don’t speak Russian. Any
mistakes are mine.

"I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars..."
- Loreena McKennitt

"You plan the wars you masters of men plan the wars and point
the way and we will point the gun..."
- Dalton Trumbo

---------------------------------------------------------------------

If you ask me, the sight of Melvin Frohike packing a machine gun that
just about equals him in height is the funniest thing in the world.

So I tell him.

He slaps me, of course. Pretty hard for a guy his size - he could give
Mulder a run for his money. Not that I blame him, exactly, but it's not
nice to hit cripples. No one tries to stop him, either.

Langly cuts in, saying that the sight of Alex Krycek cowering in an
underground bomb shelter with the Lone Gunmen is much funnier. Yeah,
okay, so Mulder was probably right about me being a rat. I'll admit it,
now. I don't
want to die. It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice about it now,
but for what it's worth, I'd like to hold onto what's left of my skin.

Byers, ever the peacekeeper, tells the three of us to shut the fuck up.
Says we're all tired, we have to try to get along for the sake of
humanity. We are all tired, it's true, but that's the worst thing he
could have said. It makes me think about being tired, about how much
pain I'm in and how I'd really just like to curl up in a warm bed and go
to sleep forever.

Yeah, so you don't want me to be here, I know. You would have preferred
me to die out there with the others. Hell, I know I should have died. A
lot of people died that were much more deserving of life than I am. But
I'm alive,
and the three of you are alive, so let's deal with it, okay?

I'm on your side.

Bastards.

"Talk, you son-of-a-bitch."

That's Frohike, trying to sound tough. Bravery is pointless, my friend.
Bravery is for fools and martyrs, and I know damn well I'm not either.
You're hiding out in a bomb shelter like the rest of us. Except that I
never had any pretenses of courage. I crossed whomever I needed to cross
to survive.

"I'm glad I found you."

This earns me another slap in the face. I smile grimly.

"There's not much left up there."

"What are you doing here?" Byers asks.

"Mulder sent me. He said if anything happened to him that I should find
you guys."

"Something's happened to Mulder?" Frohike asks. I think he knew that
anyway, but somehow hearing it from me confirms it. He shouldn't believe
me, really, he's got no reason to, but words at least are more concrete
than fear.

"Yeah, something's happened to Mulder." I say.

"Tell me again why I shouldn't shoot you on sight."

"Mulder wouldn't want you to."

I live dangerously, yes. Of course I must. If Frohike blew my brains out
now it would be a lot less painful than some of the other deaths I've
seen. But I know he won't kill me. He's not a killer, he doesn't have it
in him.

"You want to know what happened up there?" I ask finally.

"Yeah, we want to know." Langly says.

Not that he doesn't know already. But he wants to hear it again. The
three men have been hiding here for days, they missed the best part.

They've been hiding so long they missed the end of the world.

I'm all that's left to tell them the story.

I like being alive, yeah, but right now I think that death wouldn't be
so bad either. I've thought a lot about it, lately. I've been thinking -
I would have rather died starving, terrified, alone and cold in the
missile silo, vomiting black oil and blood. I would have rather Mulder
shot me when he found out I killed his father. I would have rather died
in the car bomb, or bled to death in Tunguska when they hacked off my
arm...anything but this death, the death I am to face now. The death
that creeps outside while I huddle like a rat in the bomb shelter,
testing fate.

So I'll tell you the story, because it will be your death too.

Resist or serve.

***

A horse farm in Virginia
Two weeks earlier.

Yesterday the world ended.

I didn't believe it until now. I stand over Marita's corpse, entangled
with the body of the English gentleman whose name I never learned.
Tangled like lovers. I was surprised when I found them - I knew they
were both dead but not like this, not together.

I am stunned.

For god's sake she was young enough to be his granddaughter. I'm well
aware that she had less than discriminating tastes - she fucked me,
anyway, and I don't know how many other people. Both sides - her
allegiances didn't spread to
the bedroom. For all I know she might have slept with Mulder too.

But not him. Not the man who cuffed me to the wall and beat me within an
inch of my life.

They went fast, painlessly. Cyanide. When he called me up, probably
minutes before he did it, he warned me that I had better not do the same
thing. He said he was dying at peace with what he did, that he had
evened out his debt,
and if I thought I had achieved the same thing I was not going to be a
very happy man in the afterlife. Funny, I didn't know he was a religious
son-of-a-bitch. Wouldn't have thought it of him.

Marita is beautiful, even in death. He just looks dead. She looks dead
and beautiful. I lean over and kiss her cold lips. I can't say I loved
her. She betrayed me, and even before that I never loved her. I can't
even say I cared about her. But it's painful anyway.

Damn her. Damn both of them.

They got it easy. I know what the English bastard said was true. I can't
kill myself. Not because of the reasons he said, but because I'm too
much of a coward. I haven't seen *them* yet. I only know because of the
phone call. I
believe him, sure, but the fear hasn't hit yet. Or at least it hasn't
hit hard enough to outweigh the fear of death.

And so I am driving back to Washington.

Maybe by the time I get there, aliens will have already invaded and
someone will believe my story.

***

I had this idea, awhile ago. Perhaps everything that made me the evil
rat bastard that I am, the essence of my treachery and cowardice, maybe
it was all contained in my left arm. Maybe when the Russian peasants cut
it off they severed everything that tied me to my former life. Maybe
this loss made me pure and innocent of all the misery I have caused.

Or maybe not.

I tried to make atonement. I went back, risked my life to tell Mulder
about the alien rebel. I left safety in Russia to try to stop the
inevitable. I know damn well no one's going to forgive me, but I tried.

I can feel the shadows over the car as I drive, a cold chill in the
summer air. Soon they will encompass the whole world. There will be
darkness, then light.

The light will be more unbearable than the darkness.

I know, with my death approaching, I haven't done enough.

***

When they come, the car dies on me. I'm stranded on the highway with a
million other cars. Everything just freezes. There would be reports on
the radio, but there is no radio, no TV, nothing. Everything shuts off.

Some people get out of their cars, but most people are afraid. They
huddle together. They are not prepared, no one told them about this. It
is too early for the end of the world.

I knew, of course. I knew it would happen. Just not so soon.

Ordinarily someone would stare at me, scrambling out of my car and
making a run for the woods. I must be the only person on the whole damn
road with the sense to run away. The rest are just frozen like rabbits
in the headlights
of an oncoming car. I should yell, warn them, do something. But instead
I run, like I've always done.

I look down at the tangle of the forest floor, the darkness, dead leaves
and broken branches. It's all a blur.

Dizzying. Hypnotic. I stumble and fall but even then I look down, my
face scratched by the twigs and stones. But I know I can't look up. That
was one of the first things I was told.

Never, ever, look up.

I know the ships are up there - I've seen one up close. I don't need to
look to know that they're there.

It was a dead ship I saw, the lights off and unable to catch me, but
even dead it was terrifying enough. When you're caught in the lights you
are paralyzed, unable to move, unable to resist if they want you.

So I get up, bruised and bleeding, and with my eyes to the ground I keep
on running, following the shape of the highway.

When the explosions start I'm still running.

And though I would like nothing more than to just lie down and die, I
will run all the way to Washington.

***

It's gone.

The city is gone.

There have been explosions everywhere for the past few days, and the
city is in ruins.

Not terribly subtle of them.

I'm really surprised that not everyone is dead. But then, the colonists
don't want to annihilate humanity. They just want to shock us into
submission.

The blasts have stopped for the moment at least. I think they just
wanted to get our attention. It's like a bad science fiction movie:
People of Earth, your attention please...

Except they don't speak.

The ships just hover, once again silent.

And some people start getting the crazy idea that they're going to fight
back.

Me, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to find Mulder and Scully.
Now that the J. Edgar Hoover building is a pile of dust, I don't have
any clue where they might have gone. I know they're not dead. They
wouldn't be that stupid. Someone would have warned Mulder. A specific
someone.

Someone who knew when the day would arrive.

I just need to find out where they're hiding.

In the aftermath, the Consortium assassins have come out to play. I
wonder if they would shoot me, if they saw me now, or whether they know
that I could be of use to them. There is no Consortium now, not really,
but there are men walking around out there who are still following
orders. I keep my distance, but perhaps I can follow them to Mulder.

I have seen this devastation before, in Russia. I should be desensitized
by now, but I'm not. It hits me, the scent of burnt things, dead flesh.
I keep walking, a ghost in a city of ghosts.

*Home, Alexei. Home...*

I wander for a day, trailing a man with whom I once worked. A friend of
Cardinale's, if I remember correctly. I wonder if it is really him I
see, or just another clone, a shapeshifter. I know a point had come
where it might be impossible to tell. But regardless, he will take me
where I want to go. They all have the same mission.

And then, the next morning, I hear it. The sound of a voice - two
voices. Familiar voices. I want to sink to my knees in relief, but I
force myself onward. The voices are unmistakable.

I see the two figures in the shell of a burnt-out building, crouched
around a fire. They are shadows behind the flames, but real, the only
things in the world I know are real.

I see the assassin take aim, unseen among the wreckage.

And before I know what I'm doing, I jump into the path of the bullet,
knock Scully to the ground and throw my body over hers to shield her.

***

The pain takes a few moments to register. At first I think the bullet
missed me completely, then I feel white hot agony sizzle across my ribs.
I grab my gun and squeeze off a shot towards the attacker.

To my eternal relief, he is human, and he falls dead against the broken
wall of a building.

I collapse to the ground at Mulder's feet.

"Krycek?"

I lift my head up. I can see them both standing over me, looking down,
puzzled.

It's not that hard to figure out.

"You saved my life." Scully says finally.

I manage to nod.

"Maybe he set it up. Maybe that's what he wants you to think."

Fuck off, Mulder. Would I be lying here with a bullet in me if I'd set
this up?

"He's hurt." Scully says. As if I needed to know that. She kneels down
beside me and starts to unbutton my shirt. I'm too weak to resist and I
don't think I would anyway.

"What are you doing here, Krycek?"

"Same thing you are." I reply, "Trying to stay alive."

"You know what's going on?" he asks.

"Of course I do. Ow-" She's poking around in the bloody hole in my side.

"Sorry." Scully says in barely a whisper.

"You didn't believe me before, Mulder. You believe me now?"

"What do they want?"

"Doesn't matter what they want. A new home, I guess. It's a long story."

"Then you better start talking."

I shake my head, close my eyes. "Later. Let me sleep."

He starts to protest, but Scully says something to him and he shuts up.
Their voices sound far away to me, like I'm underwater and they're
speaking from the surface. There is another dull thud of pain, and then
blessed unconsciousness.

***

I wake up sometime that night. They've wrapped me in a blanket and the
fire is burning nearby. So at least they haven't slit my throat while I
slept - or hacked off my other arm. I give them credit for that.

"He's waking up." Mulder says.

Scully leans over me. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurts." Not terribly profound, but it will do.

"You're lucky." she says, "The bullet went through clean and didn't
break anything. You'll be fine, other than the pain."

"Why did you come back, Krycek?" Mulder asks.

"I came to find you."

"You knew this was going to happen."

I nod. "I've known for a long time." I pause, not knowing whether my
next question is going to get me beaten up or not. "Did he call?" I ask
finally.

"Who?"

I glare up at him. "You *know* who." I say, miming the gesture of
smoking a cigarette to reinforce the point.

"I was told he was dead."

Yeah, so was I. "We both know he isn't."

"He called. The night before it happened." A beat, then. "Whatever *it*
is."

"The colonization. You know where he is?"

"He didn't tell me."

"He'll find us."

"What do you want from us?"

"You make it sound like I have...some kind of evil ulterior motive. You
don't have much confidence in me."

"You've never inspired a great deal of confidence, Krycek."

I look up at Scully. "I saved her life, didn't I? Oh well, never mind.
It's not important whether you like me or not. You and I are the only
ones who can stop this thing."

"What do you mean?"

"We're immune to the black cancer. It's their strongest weapon."

"The aliens?"

"Yeah." I try to sit up and fail miserably.

"How long have you known they were coming?"

"Since I joined the Consortium. It was the first thing they told me."

"Someone...once told me they had been here for a long time."

I nod. "The date has been set."

"By whom?"

***

I remember it well. Come, young man, fight for your country. Fight for
your planet. They put a gun in my hand and turned me into a killer.

But I wasn't shooting at the bug-eyed monsters of my nightmares.

When they first came, no one knew what to do.

We had dreamed about this for such a long time. They had so much to
offer us. They were like angels, coming with a bright light from the
stars. We hoped they offered us knowledge, insight, peace.

And they did.

For a price.

They came not in peace, but in conquest. Not with weapons or hostility.
It was to be a quiet takeover. We wouldn't even know the difference. We
were a people accustomed to servitude. We would substitute one master
for another.

All those years ago, before I was born, before the two of you were born,
a group of powerful men signed away our collective futures.

And then they started thinking of a Plan B.

***

"You're talking about the Consortium." Scully says.

"You make a mistake, thinking of it as one entity. There have been rifts
from the beginning. They were together because they alone knew the
secret and kept it from the people. But there were three distinct camps
almost right away. Most of them wanted to fight back. Even though the
date they chose was far in the future, they already started to prepare.
They had this idea that when the colonists came, they could blow the
ships right out of the sky." I smile, looking up at the dark clouds
above us. "It was 1947. The Americans had dropped the bomb
on Hiroshima two years before and thought they were invincible."

"The aliens must be more advanced than us." Mulder says, half to
himself.

"Much more. We don't know what sort of weapons they might have. And
because of this - and other things - one man in particular didn't want
to fight them."

"Who?"

"Your cigarette-smoking friend. He thought we should attempt some sort
of reconciliation with them." I laugh, the very idea is so amusing. "He
was an idealist, if you can believe it. He thought we could work
together, come to some sort of arrangement."

"Why?"

"Maybe he didn't watch enough alien invasion movies. He was behind much
of the initial secrecy. It was not a very popular idea, as you might
imagine. But he was persuasive, and after awhile he had won over most of
the Consortium to his side."

Mulder is silent for a long time. "You said there were three groups."

"Yes. Someone else believed that we could win over the aliens, not by
peaceful means or by violence, but through their own techniques. What
amounted, more or less, to biological warfare. There had been the crash
in Roswell, and others, that allowed us access to alien technology. He
was a scientist, of sorts, and he was the one who begun the Project."

"My father." He turns dead pale. This is something he didn’t want to
hear. Oh, come on, Mulder, like you didn’t know.

"He was responsible for...much of what happened. The experiments with
human and alien genetics. All in the attempt to find some secret weapon
that would drive the colonists away. The shapeshifters, the clones, the
black cancer - none of these are strictly alien. Most came out of
Consortium laboratories." I lower my eyes, watching him through my
eyelashes, wary of the next statement. "They were almost all
failures...the worst mistake ever made. The colonists were able to use
them against us. They were...more effective than the original techniques
of conquest."

"Is that why you killed him?" Mulder asks coldly.

I sigh - it is not the time or the place to get into this. "I killed him
because those were my orders. There is no doubt in my mind that he
deserved to die. But I am the executioner, not the judge."

He hits me, hard, driving pain through my already battered body.
"Mulder-" Scully starts.

"Sorry", he mutters.

"No." I say, "I'm sorry. For your father." I look up at Scully. "For
you, and your sister. I'm sorry."

I can't read either of their faces. And I'm thinking that they're
probably both going to kill me now. I wouldn't blame them. I'm a
monster, and I deserve to die as much as Bill Mulder or anyone else, and
certainly more than Melissa. But I'm not at all prepared for what
happens next.

Scully puts her arms around me and draws me half into her lap. She
strokes my hair softly, something she usually reserves only for Mulder.
I lie with my head on her arm. I don't recall, in all my life, anyone
ever doing this kind of thing to me. It is the closest thing to bliss I
can imagine.

I want to lie here forever, but I have to go on, tell them the end of
it. "Our only hope is the bees." I say.

"The bees?"

Yes, Mulder. The ones they told you don't exist.

"It was the only weapon they never managed to turn against us. I don't
know why."

"The bees that carry smallpox..." Scully says thoughtfully.

"Ironic, isn't it? Our ancestors came to this country as colonists and
eradicated the native population with smallpox. And now we're using it,
against the new colonists. It’s one of the only things that can kill
them."

"Does it work?" Mulder wants to know.

"I hope so." I cough painfully. "It's...our only chance."

***

Scully stops stroking my hair when she thinks I've gone to sleep. She
lowers me to the ground and pats my shoulder. I curl up closer to the
fire.

"You think he's telling the truth?" she asks Mulder. She sounds like a
little girl.

He thinks about it for a long time. "It would be a first." he says, "But
yes." He pauses. "Scully, you look terrible. Go to sleep. I'll watch
Krycek, if you're concerned about that."

"Mulder...I-" I can hear her shifting around, uncomfortable. "I kept
trying my mother. There's no answer. I think-"

"Yeah, I know. I thought of that too. But I don't think the phones are
working properly anyway. She might still be alive. We don't know yet."
He swallows hard. "We don't know how many people might have survived
this thing."

She says nothing, but I know from memory the look she gives him. And the
look he gives her back.

"Go to sleep, Scully." he says quietly, love and pain in his voice.

It never occurred to me to wonder how many people I know died in the
explosions. There aren't many people I care about, anyway. But I still
wonder.

I hear her lie down, a safe distance from me. As if I'm dangerous, even
in my sleep. Mulder stays awake. I open my eyes, watch him, watching me
through the flames. There is a cold, hard expression in his eyes.

"Mulder?"

"Shut up."

I look over at Scully's sleeping form. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Of what?"

"She forgives me."

He edges closer, ready to hit, but I hit him first, sending him
sprawling back to where he was before. "Fuck you!" I snarl, but not loud
enough to wake her up. "Fuck you, you son-of-a-bitch." I wrap the
blanket tightly around my shoulders, trembling in anger. "You have two
arms and someone who loves you so don't you ever be fucking jealous of
me."

He turns very pale and stares at me. I don't think he was expecting
this.

What is it? You don't think I'm bitter? It's your goddamn fault anyway.

My missing arm hurts, worse than the gunshot wound in my side, pain
shooting up from where my left arm used to be. Plastic and metal
shouldn't hurt, but they do.

They hurt like you wouldn't believe.

"You left me to die." he says softly.

"I was afraid. I panicked. After the silo...I couldn't be there any
longer. It was so dark and cold. I couldn't stand it. I would have
died." I shiver, thinking about it. "You did the same thing. I left you
in the gulag to save my own life. And you left me in the woods to save
yourself. Don't get the impression that you're any better than me. We
all did what we had to."

Silence. I'd give anything to know what he's thinking. I expect him to
say something, do something. But he lets it go.

Good.

We both have to let it go. It's the only way either of us will survive.

He won't forgive me. He can't. I know that. And I don't know if I'm
capable of forgiveness either. I am reminded of it all the time. Marita,
seeing me without my jacket for the first time, realizing the reason for
the leather glove
on my left hand and pulling away when I went to embrace her. The
five-year-old licking an ice cream cone on the summer street, lifting up
his hand and pointing...look Mommy...

I can't forgive him.

I can't forgive him any more than I can forgive myself.

"Krycek?"

"Huh?" I'm startled by the sound of his voice.

"You said we were immune to the black cancer."

"We are. They vaccinated you in Tunguska...and me...well, I guess you
know about that. It's their most dangerous weapon, and we're the only
ones in the country who are safe from it...us and the Consortium."

He's watching Scully now. "She isn't safe."

"No."

"But there *is* a vaccine."

"You'd be dead, otherwise."

"Can we get it?"

I shake my head. "It's not exactly available at your local drugstore."

"Can it, Krycek."

"You asked."

"I want you to stay away from her."

"What?"

"Scully. Stay away from her."

"If you're suggesting-"

"I'm not suggesting anything."

"I don't think she goes for cripples." I say. It's worth it, just to see
the look on his face. A shadow of guilt - pity, even. For me, his
father's murderer. I savor it for a moment before dealing the next blow.
"It could have been you, just as easily."

His right hand passes over his left, briefly, as if he is trying to
reassure himself that he is whole, undamaged.

"I know.", he says.

I creep closer to the fire, noticing that he keeps his distance. We all
have our fears, I suppose. Fire frightens him as much as enclosed dark
spaces scare me. I just want to be warm. I'm shivering. I wish Scully
would pick me up and stroke my hair again, but it's not going to happen.

"Krycek?"

"What?"

"Why'd you save her?"

"I wasn't really thinking about it, at the time."

"Bullshit."

I turn my head to look at him. "I waited in her apartment for her to
come home. I waited with a loaded gun. I was going to damn well kill her
that night. But someone else fired a gun, and someone else died." I move
to face the fire again. "I don't feel any guilt, not really. It was a
job like any other. I have nothing against her - I was following orders.
But I suppose I was trying to make it up to her."

"You're serious?"

"Would I lie?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Don't hold it against me that she's capable of forgiveness."

"You killed my father."

"So you’ve said."

"Was that just another job to you?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to try to make it up to me?"

"I can't." I take in a deep breath, drawing pain through the length of
my body. "Shoot me if you like, it makes no difference to me. I don't
think I'll be around for much longer anyway."

"You know I wouldn't do that."

Enough of this bravado. I could never keep it up for long. "I don't want
to die."

I feel him come up behind me, touch my shoulder - what's left of it.
"You're frightened, aren't you?"

I nod.

"I didn't think anything could frighten you."

"I know what's coming."

He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "Go to sleep." he says,
almost gently.

"Christ, the things you do to keep me away from Scully..."

"Shut up."

"'Kay." I close my eyes, wriggle towards the new source of warmth.

And I drift off to sleep.

***

I wake up to the cold, and my first thought is that last night was just
a dream, that I've always been here, alone and hurt and freezing. And
with this thought comes another - perhaps the colonists never came.

But I know better.

And I hear Mulder and Scully talking about something, and I know we're
still in the same hell. All of us together, and I wonder why they've
been so kind to me when I've destroyed their lives. No doubt they're
debating some course of action that may or may not include me. I don't
care. I don't want to make decisions anymore. I'll just be carried along
with the tide of events, like I always am. It doesn't matter.

"Krycek, are you awake?" Mulder's voice floats over to me.

"Yeah." It occurs to me that I'm hungry. Of course, there isn't much I
can do about it, unless I feel like resorting to cannibalism. And that
solution seems extreme at the moment.

"We're leaving." Scully says, "We need to find our families."

Lucky that you have families.

"Are you going to take me with?" I ask. I am surprised at how casual my
own voice sounds. I've almost convinced myself that it doesn't matter
whether they protect me or not, even though I have the life expectancy
of a suicidal fruit
fly if they don't.

"We've been talking about that." Scully says. She tries to sound equally
unconcerned, even though I know they'll give in. They're not the sort of
people to leave an injured man to fend for himself in the middle of an
alien invasion, even if he is a rat bastard.

"I've got the car started." Mulder tells me, "Think you can walk?"

I'm not even sure if I can stand. I make a few attempts to get up.
Finally he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. Little needles of pain,
glass shards, shoot through my side, but I manage to limp towards the
car, leaning heavily on him.
He throws me roughly into the back seat, and I curl up in a fetal
position, trying hard not to moan. I hear two door slams, then the car
starts.

The next time I wake up, we're in Baltimore.

***

Baltimore?

Apparently that's where Scully's mother lives.

Lived.

The entire neighborhood is torched. Burnt to the ground. I pull myself
up to the car window and look outside.

Scully stands over the ashes of her mother's house. I can't see her
face, but I can guess at the expression. She’s wondering which of the
ash piles belongs to her mother.

Mulder slips his arm around her waist and draws her into a tight
embrace. She sobs against him, and I feel colder and more alone than
ever.

So even that faint hope is gone.

I am mentally crossing off the names of people I know are dead. Marita.
The English gentleman. Scully's mother. Mulder's mother too, although he
doesn't know it. She knew what the shapes in the sky were - she would
have taken cyanide, like the others. She was prepared.

Skinner? I doubt somehow he died in the flames that consumed the J.
Edgar Hoover building. I don't know why - I just can't imagine him dead.
I have no affection for the man, but I think he'd be smart enough to
clue into what was going on.

The smoking man? He could have opted for cyanide but I doubt it. He has
waited all his life for this. I know that he once looked to the night
skies with the same wide-eyed belief as Mulder. He was the one who
called the UFOs "fallen
angels". He knows better now.

But still, he would not miss this event for all the world.

Most of the other members of the Consortium are dead - I am nearly sure
of it. I can't say I'm sorry to see them go. There are many motivations
- fear, guilt, defeat - but they will all choose a quick, painless
death.

And I hate them for it.

Somehow I was chosen to be the survivor. I don't know why. Somewhere
along the line, someone decided that I should live.

The rats and the cockroaches.

I watch them cry together over the ashes, and they don't see my tears.

***

We spend the night in the remains of another building, sheltered from
the raging wind. Scully is supposed to be watching me - as if I'll
escape or something - but she's out like a light almost immediately. I
can't blame her.

They seem unconcerned about the danger I pose. Granted I am not that
dangerous now - I wouldn't dream of hurting them, given the situation -
but I once killed an armed man while handcuffed to a balcony, so I
wonder how they can be so casual.

I crawl over to Mulder, my injured side aching and my fingers frozen
solid. Almost experimentally, I reach for his throat. I could strangle
him one-handed while he sleeps, although my balance is precarious at
this angle, I know I could
do it.

His eyes shoot open.

He springs into waking mode almost instantly, grabbing me and throwing
me down on the ground.

"Relax, Mulder, I wasn't going to kill you." I smile, enjoying the
surprised look on his face. "You ought to be more careful, though."

"What do you want?"

"Scully's asleep. I'm bored."

"Why don't you sleep?"

"I'm in too much pain." I stare at him through my eyelashes. "What if I
was a colonist, Mulder? Or an assassin?"

"You are an assassin."

I shrug. "Not anymore."

We watch each other in tense silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Why did you come to me...to us...for help?"

"I didn't think you'd kill me."

"I've got more reason to than most people."

I look away. "I always did admire you, you know. When I said I believed
in you...in your work, I wasn't lying. And I've always been afraid of
you, for the same reasons I admire you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You have ideals, Mulder. I know you think I'm the spawn of evil, but
that's not true. I just don't have any ideals. Everything I've done has
been for personal gain - money, power, sex...you're not like that. And I
respect you for that."

"But you're afraid of me."

I laugh. "You think that the smoking man was like me when he was young?
A cold-blooded killer? He wasn't. He was like you. He still is. He would
be your future...men like you grow into men like him..."

"And men like you?"

This draws out a tight smile - he must think I'm a lunatic to find this
amusing.

"Men like me don't grow up." I look towards the fire. "None of us have a
future, Mulder. My death doesn't mean anything when the rest of humanity
goes down in flames right after."

"You ever wish you were born in a different time?"

"So that I wouldn't have to see this? I don't know. I don't really think
about that kind of thing. You?"

"I wouldn't miss this for all the world."

***

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm roughly awakened by the
sound of someone shouting.

Mulder is arguing with a heavyset man of about his age - apparently
someone he knows. I don't grasp the words right away but I gather it's
about Scully. I've never seen this man before, but it's clear that
Mulder has.

Scully wakes up, rubbing her eyes. "Bill? What are you doing here?"

He wraps his arms around her. "Dana...you're alive...they killed Mom,
Dana..."

Her brother? I sit up, groggily, noticing Mulder's gun lying by the
fire. My hand creeps towards it, almost instinctively.

"Who's this shit?" he asks, pointing at me. I move my hand away from the
gun.

I wonder what sort of answer Scully intends to give. Oh, he's just the
Russian double agent who killed Mulder's father and had a hand in my
sister's death and my abduction, he's sold us all out more times than I
can count but right now he's just along for the ride. I think I'd almost
like to hear her say that.

"He's...um...a friend." she says, accompanied by scowls from both Mulder
and her brother.

Bill Scully's eyes catch mine with what - recognition? It can't be. I've
never seen him before. Then he turns back to Mulder.

"You stay away from her." he says, "I don't know what the fuck is going
on here, but you just back off, leave us alone."

"Calm down, Bill." Scully whispers. He grabs her again, kneeling down so
their faces are almost touching. Then without warning he lashes out at
Mulder, kicking him to the ground.

"You got us all into this, didn't you?" he snarls, "You brought them
here."

"You're crazy." Mulder says.

No, not crazy. Something else. He's holding Scully again, so tightly I
think he's going to break her.

Oh god it's not him who recognizes me...

"Get away from him!" I cry out, even though I know that it's already too
late. "Scully get away!"

She freezes, stunned, as her brother's eyes cloud over with swirls of
black. Mulder's jaw drops open. I dive for the gun, looking for a clear
shot. Still, if I have to shoot her it will still be a better death than
the one to which
she's already doomed...I squint, mutter a prayer in Russian under my
breath, and fire.

Blood sprays up and I see the body that once housed Bill Scully and now
is host to something entirely different go sprawling backwards into the
wall. Scully, still unaware of what is happening, has her own gun
pointed at me.

At least Mulder, for once, realizes that I'm on their side for this one.

"Scully, look." He points to the black, oily worms that creep across her
dead brother's face, from his eyes and nostrils and mouth, into the
cracks in the broken cement.

She lowers the gun.

"Oh God." She turns away, burying her face against Mulder's chest. For a
moment she just stands there, trembling, and then she looks at me. "You
saved my life...again."

I look at the body, then back at her.

"No." I say, "I don't think I did."

***

Scully insists on burying her brother's body, even though he was dead a
long time ago. I think it's pointless to bury people now - we're all
walking dead - but I don't protest. I keep looking in Scully's blue
eyes, waiting for traces of black. They both know what I'm thinking but
we don't talk about it. Bill Scully had the black cancer and he passed
it on to her.

And now it's only a matter of time.

After the body is safely in the ground, the next thing to do is decide
on a new destination. There's nothing here. Scully suggests driving up
to Martha's Vineyard to see if Mulder's mother survived, but both Mulder
and I are against it.

"What about you, Krycek?" Mulder asks, "You got any family?"

I shake my head. My parents both died when I was too young to remember.
Not like I'd go seeking anyone out anyway. It's just more pain and I
don't need that. I'm assuming that everyone is dead until proven
otherwise.

"I don't have anyone." I say to reinforce the point, "Well, I did, but
she's dead too." Not to mention that she was a lying, cheating bitch and
ten times the traitor I am. But we won't go there. She had her reasons.

I look around, ashes on top of ashes. "It wasn't supposed to be so
soon." I say, "The date got pushed up. It wasn't supposed to be like
this."

"What changed?"

"They were afraid of the rebellion, I think."

"Oh."

"Let's go." Scully says, "I don't think I can be here for much longer."

Go where?

There's one person left in the world who can help us, and I don't think
he is going to be overjoyed to see me.

***

"Have you got anything to eat?"

Mulder tosses me a bag of – what else? – sunflower seeds. I fiddle with
the knot at the top – childishly easy to open for someone with two
hands, impossible for me. Scully leans back and opens the bag for me.

"Thanks." Wonder if she knows how close I came to eating her or her
partner.

"What makes you think he's going to help us?" Mulder asks, "What makes
you even think he'll be there?"

"He'll be there." I say, "And he'll help you, because he likes you."

"And you?" Scully asks. I wonder absently why the hell she would care.

"If I'm lucky he'll probably just shoot me."

"And if you're not?"

"He'll give me over to the aliens and the planet will be overrun by
Krycek clones."

This makes her laugh. "What, you think I'm kidding?" I guess I am. He
doesn't wield that sort of power anymore. And the last thing he'd want
is to see my face everywhere he went.

Not that he'll live through this.

No, he's not stupid enough to want to survive. He knows too much.

"He'll be waiting in a smoky room in New York City. He's a nostalgic
son-of-a-bitch."

"Wouldn't have thought it of him." Mulder mutters.

"No? He kept you alive for the same reason." I lean my face against the
glass. God it hurts. I can't believe we're doing this - I must have lost
my mind somewhere along the line.

"Why do you want to go?" Mulder asks, as if he can read my thoughts.

"I don't." Of course, if it's a choice between getting shot by the
smoking man or having my blood turned to Jello by the alien colonists,
I'd choose Mr. Morley any day. It bothers me slightly that my life -
everyone's lives - are relying on a cold-blooded killer who would just
as soon have me chopped into dog food. But I don't have much of a choice
in the matter.

We stop for the night, set up a fire by the car. There are no ruins to
shelter us, only dead trees along the highway. Mulder wants to be on the
look-out, but Scully says, quite reasonably, that he's too tired from
driving so she'll stay awake. I figure it's because she feels bad about
last night. Or maybe she just wants to think. He doesn't put up much of
an argument.

Me, I can't sleep. Not while I'm thinking about what sort of sadistic
torture the smoking man might have in mind for me. I lie down by the
fire and watch tendrils of smoke drift up towards the night sky.

"Are you all right?" Scully asks. Blessed Saint Scully - I'm getting to
love the woman. And I just shot her brother too, more or less.

"No." I say, "I'll live, though. For now."

"Come here." She pats the grass beside her, and I crawl over and
collapse near her hand. She leans over me and rubs my back, gently,
almost rhythmically. I think I'm in heaven.

"I'm sorry...about your family..." I sound like a complete idiot.

"Don't talk." she tells me, "Maybe I'll forget it's you."

"It can't bother you all that much."

"I miss my dog."

I laugh, sending spasms of pain through my side. "I'm not a dog I'm a
rat."

"I have it, don't I?"

She doesn't need to say those words for me to understand what she's
talking about.

"Yes." I say.

There's silence.

"Funny." she says, "When I went into remission, I thought I'd finally
beaten cancer."

"It's not cancer, not really."

"What's it like?"

I don't know how she manages to sound so calm, so remote. For me even
the thought is pure terror.

"Like being in hell." I say, "Having it...isn't as bad as having it out
of you. When it's in you, you can't feel it. You're just not in control,
but you barely notice. When it comes out-" I look sideways at her. "Do
you really want to know this?"

"Yes."

"I suppose being locked in a missile silo with a UFO at the time made it
worse. But it's like...like having everything ripped out of you at once.
Your eyes, your mouth, your skin just crawls with the shit. And you want
it back in you."

"Why?"

"You're never whole afterwards." I shudder, trying not to remember
exactly how horrible it was. "I don't think you could understand. I
didn't understand, really, not until-" I glance down at my prosthetic
arm.

There's a long, awkward silence while she tries to swallow all of this.
I could go on. I could tell her that she'll never get to the worst
stage, she'll never be in that terrible dark place where I was for what
seemed like an eternity. I could tell her that she'll never have the
lovely experience of spitting up an alien because she's going to die
first. There's a cure but we won't be able to find it, not in a million
years and this thing inside of her is going to kill her.

But if I said that out loud it would hurt me more than her anyway, so I
keep my mouth shut.

The sound of Mulder waking up ends the silence. His eyes half-open and
he glances over at Scully.

"How come you never do that to me?" he asks. I swear she's blushing,
though I can't tell for sure in the light of the fire.

I don't know, Mulder, maybe you just didn't bump off enough of her
relatives.

She looks down at me, as if the realization has just hit her that yes,
this is Alex Krycek, Russian spy and amoral killer, not her pet dog, and
she moves her hand away. I don't blame her, really, although the absence
of her touch makes me feel even colder than before. I wonder if she's
ever sworn to kill me on sight the way I know Mulder has. Probably not -
she's a little too practical to do that. And at least I'm human, more or
less.

"Go to sleep.", she says to me. As if that were ever really an option.
I'll fake it, though. I close my eyes, try to push down the pain so I
can listen to them talk. Old habits die hard, I guess, we're all on the
same side now but I'm still spying on them.

"Don't tell me you're getting to like him." I hear Mulder say. I wonder
if he knows I'm awake. I doubt he cares much.

"He's...different, somehow." She coughs. "I don't like him, Mulder, and
I don't trust him, but I do think he's reformed. Or at least he's
trying."

"You don't think he's trying to lead us into a trap?"

A pause, then, "No. Do you?"

No response. He does trust me then, otherwise he'd say something. He
trusts me and he doesn't want to admit it.

I have to bury my face against the ground to stop myself from grinning.
Of course there's no reason for me to care if he trusts me or
not...there's a greater enemy out there and we both know it. But just
once I'd like to hear him admit that he trusts me. It would make my day.

After another pause, she says, "He said I was infected."

He swallows hard. "I don't believe that."

"Don't? Or won't?"

"There's no sign of it. Your eyes are clear - you're not showing any
unusual symptoms. You don't feel any different..." He breaks off. "*Do*
you?"

"No."

Her answer is far too abrupt.

"You're not infected." he says with the confidence of an expert. And
yeah, he'd know, he had the stuff poured in his eyes.

But I know better.

He was vaccinated first. He never felt it like I did.

Inside of me.

Possessing me.

We recognize each other, the black cancer and I.

We are old friends.

***

I am back in the silo, pounding at the door. Behind me I can see the
dull gleam, ancient metal, cold, cruel. This is the wrong place to be
alone with my slippery, oily demon. This is its terrain, not mine. I
slam my hands against the wall until my fingers bleed, ribbons of red
against blackened skin. In the darkness I imagine its voice, laughing at
me, taunting me.

<You will never be alone again, Alexei. I will always be with you.
Always.>

"Eb tvoju mat'! Mudak..."

<With you always, always and forever...>

>From the crack beneath the door, I can see smoke curling upwards.

And I wake up, screaming.

"Shut up back there." Mulder says, and at the moment it is such a relief
to hear a human voice I don't even snarl back a response. And then I
realize that I'm in the back seat of a car driving to meet the man I
fear most in all the world and we're in the middle of a full-scale alien
invasion.

At least, in my dream I had two arms.

I cringe, not from the gunshot wound this time but from the phantom
pains that shoot up my missing limb.

"I think I'm going to be sick." I say to no one in particular.

Mulder considers this, weighs the option of having the car stink of
vomit until we reach New York, and pulls over. I practically break the
car door down to get out, fall to my knees and retch into the grass. I
haven't been eating all that much so it's mostly dry heaves, more pain,
more hunger.

I look up at the sky, at the dark clouds, the hovering ships. It is
strange how accustomed we've grown to them. The sight that would have
driven Mulder to thrills of ecstasy a month ago is now just a menacing
presence in the background of our everyday lives.

I remember the UFO in the silo, a dull, dead version of the living beast
that hangs motionless above us, and just at that moment I feel *his*
presence. I know that feeling, the paralysis that comes when he does.

"Hurry up, will you?" Mulder says from behind me.

I can't move. He senses me - senses all of us. We are all marked -
Scully by the chip in her neck, Mulder and I by the traces of black
cancer that still linger in us.

"We have to get out of here." I whisper, "*Now.*" But I can't move. My
heart is racing in terror and I can't move.

"What is it?" Scully asks.

I squint, trying to make out the distant figure. It doesn't help.

He's coming. From over the hills, somewhere in the trees with their
leaves burned away, he is coming.
And at last he is visible.
I can't speak, my throat is tight with fear. I can't raise my
hand and point. Can't do anything to warn them, or save myself.

"Krycek?" Scully whispers.

It is Mulder who recognizes him first. "Shit." He grabs me roughly and
throws me back into the car. It snaps me out of my paralysis and I go
for my gun.

I hear the beautiful sound of the engine starting.

He moves faster than a human would - he's standing on the road behind
us. He just stands there, staring. As if killing the three of us isn't
all that important to him. His face slowly shifts, becomes the face of
Melissa Scully, watching me with wide open, terrified eyes.

Bastard.

He still looks like Melissa as we drive away.

***

The building is exactly like I remember it - so dilapidated that even
the partial destruction of one of its walls doesn't seem to make much
difference. My heart speeds up as we approach. I know he's in there - I
can feel his presence as clearly as I felt the alien's. I haven't seen
him since he tried to bury me alive.

I doubt he'd be very surprised to know that I didn't stay dead for very
long.

Mulder grabs my arm. "Come on." Scully gives him a questioning look, and
he understands her perfectly. We're all the same now, the murderers and
the heroes. I'm no longer a known felon and a traitor. There are no laws
and no countries, and he has no power to keep me here.

But I go willingly, feeling like I'm walking towards an execution.

It startles me that the first face I see in that dark room is not that
of the smoker's, though it glares at me with the same hate, the same
rage. I didn't expect him to be here, though I might have guessed it.

"Hello...sir." Mulder fumbles for words.

"Walter is fine." Skinner says. He tears his gaze from me long enough to
ascertain that yes, Mulder and Scully are still alive and relatively
well. I see the smoking man step out of the shadows behind him.

And then I just lose it.

Ignoring the splitting pain in my side, I lunge at the old man, knocking
him to the ground and bashing him across the face with my artificial
arm. He doesn't even try to fight back. I hit him again, not as hard,
and the satisfaction I was expecting still doesn't come.

I fake it, though. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time." I
say, standing shakily.

I feel the cold tip of Skinner's gun against the back of my neck.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time too." he growls in my ear.

"Sir...Walter...don't shoot him." Now it's Scully pleading for my life.
Good - she owes me one. Skinner lowers the gun. The smoking man stands
up, takes a drag of his cigarette, and smiles at me.

"Still going to make me famous, Alex?" he asks.

"Ëb tvoju mat'. I was hoping you'd taken a cyanide pill like the
others."

"You knew I wouldn't. And don't curse at me in Russian, Alex, I *do*
know what that means."

I slump against the wall. This is quite the confrontation we have going
- I am sure that everyone in this room has pointed a gun at everyone
else at one time or another. Stupid bastards. Now it seems that we're
all that's left of humanity - well, we're not, but we might as well be.
The tension in the room is as thick as the cigarette smoke.

"So why didn't you?"

I realize the smoking bastard is talking to me.

"Why didn't I do what?"

"Kill yourself. I just heard about Marita."

He fights dirty - or at least he would, if I cared enough about Marita
for that comment to hurt. "You don't want to know my reasons." I reply.

"I think that I do already."

Smug son-of-a-bitch. He has no idea.

"What are you doing here?" Scully asks Skinner.

"We're old friends, don't you know that?" the smoking man says.

"I came here for the same reasons you did." Skinner replies, glaring
hard at the smoking man.

Wouldn't be blatant revenge, now would it be, Walter?

No, even now we cling to the pretences of decorum. I'm the only one out
of all of us capable of outright murder. They've all killed people, I
think, but they've put it behind them. I'm not adverse to putting a
bullet through my former employer's head, but I need him. For now. Maybe
if the alien situation calms down a bit I can even up the score later.

I think there's something to be said for looking someone straight in the
face and then killing them. Not that I've done it very often - that sort
of direct technique does not lend itself well to political
assassination. But I have done it, and could do it again. Mulder and
Scully would only kill someone in self-defense, of course, unless their
water supply was pumped with LSD. I don't know about Skinner. And these
days even Mr. Smokes sends out other people to do his dirty work. I'm
the last practitioner of clean, honest homicide.

More or less.

"Do you have the cure for the black cancer?" I ask the smoking man.

I think he's a little surprised that I'm so direct, but he doesn't show
it.

"Why would you want it?" he asks.

"I don't." I gesture towards Scully. "She does."

"She looks fine to me."

"Don't fuck with me, you son-of-a-bitch. Do you have it or not?"

A pause, then, "No."

"I was told that you have it, Krycek." Skinner says.

"I did. Someone sold me out."

Someone. That's a good one. A certain blonde bitch who prefers to die
quietly rather than live to see the consequences of her decisions. A
certain bitch who convinced me, the king of liars, that she loved me –
even if just for one night.

My former employer eyes Scully. "I didn't know you cared."

"Consider it payback. We're all on the same side now."

"I wouldn't have thought it of you, Alex."

I narrow my eyes. "This is your shit we've inherited, you bastard. Your
fucking mistakes we have to clean up. You'll be dead in a few days and I
hope you burn in hell but at least you'll be better off than we are."
Okay, so I'm not exactly allowed full privileges to righteous
indignation, but I can try.

"I did what I had to do. We all did."

I don't realize it at first but everyone else is staring at us. The thug
confronts the puppet-master. What a scene this must make.

"You told me what we did was going to save the world."

"We tried, Alex. Don't put the blame on me because I'm the only
survivor. There were others with equally destructive ideas." He looks
very hard at Mulder, who backs away. "We made mistakes...I made
mistakes. We can either fight each other or fight them."

It is so unlike anything he would say that my mouth just drops open.
It's the closest I've ever heard him admit to being wrong. Soon he'll be
apologizing for trying to kill me.

Or not.

"We're going to fight them." Skinner says in a low voice, "Are you with
us?"

There need be no answer.

***

Come, young man, here's a gun, now fight for your country. But there are
no countries, not anymore. Fight for your planet but the planet is a
barren wasteland and not worth fighting for. Fight for humanity, but I
have seen enough to know that humans and colonists are the same, corrupt
and wicked, motivated only to preserve themselves. There is nothing in
all of the world that is worth fighting for, worth killing for. Worth
having your arm chopped off for, worth dying for.

You should know that, you black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch. They told you the
same lies. And you swallowed it, and it turned you into a liar too.

This is a hopeless battle.

But put a gun in the one hand I have left, and I'll use it. Even if it
isn't any use against the colonists. I've spent my life fighting and
I'll die fighting too. At least I'm on the right side now.

I never thought I'd end up this way. Alex Krycek, freedom fighter. What
a fucking joke.

I'm with you.

***

And now we are all together.

It has been nearly a week since the date came, and I am sitting in a
room with four people who swore to kill me in a former life, sitting in
a room where I once signed away my soul and inhaling the choking smell
of cigarette smoke.
We're sitting on the dusty chairs and talking like old friends about the
future.

Considering there is no future, that is.

Scully still looks perfectly healthy, which is good considering there's
absolutely no chance of getting the cure for the black cancer. If the
smoking man doesn’t have it, no one does. The colonists have probably
taken it for their own.
There's a slight chance it might be in Russia with Vassily Peskow, if
they haven't killed him too. But we've got as much chance of getting to
Siberia as we have of getting to the moon, so she'd damn well better
stay healthy.

Mulder of course won't accept this. He insists that if she's really sick
he's going to do something. Not that he believes me that she's got it -
he won't believe it. Even though he knows the ugly truth as well as I
do. He's going to find the cure if it kills him.

And I wonder what it's like to love someone that much.

I know that Mulder would sacrifice his life for just about anything -
life is a careless possession to him, tossed away in a moment's breath
for some higher ideal. He and the smoking man are similar in that way -
a different breed of men altogether. I don't know if this is a strength
or a weakness, I don't know if I respect them or pity them. Mulder would
die without hesitation for his sister, for the almighty truth. For
Scully.

I wouldn't. I wouldn't die for anyone, ever. Perhaps I am not capable of
that sort of reckless passion. That love.

I watch them together, heads bowed so close that they are nearly
touching, talking in whispers when they think the rest of us are asleep.
I don't know if they even realize the sort of bond they have. Marita and
I could have never had that.
I try to imagine us together, really together, not just kissing blindly
in some dark, secret place. I try, and fail miserably. I have a brief
image of Marita and I walking barefoot on a beach, holding hands, her
blonde hair lifted by a breeze, and I burst out laughing.

"What is it?" Mulder asks wearily. The past few days have aged him - his
eyes are shadowed, sunken in, his face thinned from lack of sleep and
hunger. We're all hungry. Now he knows what it's like to be a rat.

"Nothing." I say. I try to stop laughing. I think of that image again
and this time picture that the hand Marita clutches is stiff and
plastic, and the amusement vanishes. In my dreams, in my fantasies, I
always have two arms. "I didn't think I'd end up like this, you know."

He touches his left hand with his right again.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't want your sympathy."

"It must have hurt."

"That genius IQ of yours, Mulder."

"I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"I have some friends...in hiding now, I'm sure. They must have survived,
and if they did I think I know where they are."

"Didn't know you had any friends." I run my fingers through my hair -
I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. "Doesn't matter, really. Don't talk to
me about it, I'm just along for the ride."

"Why did she kill herself?"

"Huh?"

"Marita Covarrubias. Why did she kill herself?"

"How the hell do you know about Marita?"

"You were calling out her name in your sleep."

Oh, shit.

"I didn't know the two of you were-"

"It's not important."

"Were you there?"

"No. I...went to see her, afterwards. I was too late to stop her." I'm
quiet for awhile. "I wouldn't have stopped her anyway."

"Did you love her?"

"Fuck, no." Why the hell is he asking me this? I shouldn't answer him -
I can't give myself away. Not even now.

"I can't picture you with her."

"You don't need to. She's dead." They're all dead, all my past, dead and
buried. Except for the ones who are walking dead, breathing but doomed,
with me now.

"You really think Scully has this...thing." He can't even say it.

"I know she does." I look over at her, sleeping, and it is true that she
shows no sign of it yet. "Look, I'm sorry she's going to die, for what
it's worth. I like her. I like you too, believe it or not, and you've
both got more of a right to be alive than I do. Does that make you
happy, Mulder?"

"There has to be another way."

I close my eyes, exhaustion overtaking me. "Maybe she's better off than
both of us."

***

The car is crowded now, and about as close to hell as one can
conceivably get. Skinner's driving, having stolen the position of alpha
wolf from Mulder. The smoking man is sitting shotgun, and no, he's not
allowed to smoke in the car. In other circumstances I would have found
this too hysterical for words - as is, I feel sorry for the bastard and
wish I could have a cigarette myself.

Us kiddies are stuffed in the back - Scully separating me and Mulder,
presumably so that we don't kill each other. Not that I'm in the mood to
get into confrontations, verbal or physical, with him or anyone else.
We're headed up towards Canada, to some small town I've never heard of
with a Cold War era bomb shelter. This is where Mulder's friends are
hiding, and we're going to join them until we can think of a better
idea.

I'm tired and hungry - we ate in New York but it's been several hours
since. It's crowded in the back seat too. I'm not used to being around
people in such close quarters. I lean my head against Scully's shoulder
and close my eyes.
She doesn't move but Mulder reaches an arm around and pushes me off.

"Why did you call?" Mulder asks.

The no-longer-smoking man turns his head around. "I told you, Mr.
Mulder. I like you."

"Me?" Mulder asks, "Or my mother?"

"She's dead."

"I know."

"I promised your father I'd protect you. I am still keeping that
promise."

There's a brief pause. "Do you have a name?" Mulder asks.

Of all the questions he might have asked, now that he is finally able to
confront his arch enemy, the man who claims to know the almighty
truth...I start laughing uncontrollably. "Shut up Krycek." Skinner
rumbles.

"I have many names.", the old man replies.

So he's not going to let us know any of them. It doesn't matter -
there's been too much of a build-up and he's probably got some
ridiculous name like Ralph or Fred. Still, I do wonder sometimes how he
signs his checks.

I guess it's the last secret he can keep.

"Why didn't you *do* anything?" Scully asks. It's not accusatory - her
tone is more one of scientific curiosity.

"What did you expect me to do, Agent Scully? We were supposed to have
fifteen more years to figure out a plan of action if we kept our word
with them. The colonists insisted on utter secrecy. If the public knew,
there would have been mass revolts, countless lives lost, and all for no
ultimate purpose."

"Still the liar, aren't you?" Skinner mutters.

"The secret became too widely known - that was what made the colonists
push the date forward. Word got out in the wrong circles." He glances
sharply at me. "But you could tell them about that, couldn't you?"

"At least I tried to stop them." I hiss back.

"You can't claim innocence, Alex."

"I have *never* claimed innocence."

"You doomed us to this." Mulder whispers, "You gave our future to
*them*."

"There are things you will never understand, Mr. Mulder. Things that
would take a lifetime to explain."

"Start talking."

"It's useless now. You have seen the truth, and it will not save you."

***

I'm beginning to almost like sleeping outside, or at least I'm getting
used to it. Not that I wouldn't sell my soul - if I had a soul - to
sleep in a bed. But outside is bearable. At least there's a fire, and
open air. Out here you can see the stars, where the ships don't block
them out. I remember as a child looking up at those same stars and
dreaming of all the possibilities they held.

And it is quiet now, except for a cricket chirping somewhere. No one
sees any point in talking. It's lonely, a wild, breathtaking kind of
loneliness, even with the shadows of other people against the darker
sky. I lie back and follow the fingers of smoke from the fire and the
old man's cigarette to where they meet in a cloud below the stars.

It is peaceful here, and I try to put everything out of my mind so I can
sleep undisturbed. It would be a perfect place for a sleep without
dreams.

I drift in and out, finally awakened by Mulder and Scully talking. I
don't mind, I'm not really that tired anymore. I just lie there, my eyes
half-closed, and I listen to them.

"Are you afraid?" Mulder is asking.

Scully thinks about it. "I don't think so." she says, "Not now." She
touches the gold cross around her neck. "Are you?"

He laughs softly. "Scared shitless."

"We'll get through this, Mulder."

"Is that a promise?"

"There has to be a way."

"Maybe this is the end after all."

"The truth you've been seeking...it's all here..."

"It doesn't matter."

"But it's real. That has to mean *something* to you."

He looks over at the two sleeping bodies, a safe distance apart from
each other. "Cancerman was right. It won't save us."

"Don't let go."

He takes her hand and holds it up to his cheek. And then he nods slowly.
They stare at each other in silence.

"I love you, Dana." he murmurs. Even from where I'm lying it's barely
audible.

"Mulder?"

"Fox."

She smiles. "I love you, Fox."

I don't want to watch them anymore. It's too much, and I have my own
demons with which to contend.

***

I wake again, this time to slow, deliberate footsteps and a cold chill
running over my skin. I force my eyes open and look into the face of
Melissa Scully.

"Go away." I whisper.

The alien grabs me, his face shifting into that of the steel-jawed
killer I have seen so many times. He throws me into a tree with such
force that for a moment I think my back has snapped in half. I reach for
my gun and point it at him, even though we both know it won't do any
good. I shoot him, and we all end up dead.

All I can do is scream.

It's enough. At least it wakes the others up. He turns his head slowly,
while pinning me with one arm to the tree. Wonder if he knows that I'm
probably not a very good hostage.

"What do you want?" Mulder asks. No response. The smoking man pulls one
of the skewer things out of his pocket - Skinner follows his lead and
does the same. The alien flings me again, this time into the ashes of
the fire that has thankfully died during the night.

Mulder and Scully stare transfixed with the knowledge that their own
weapons are useless. Skinner catches Mulder's eyes.

"Go start the car.", he hisses, "Now!"

Mulder shoves Scully in the direction of the car, then drags me to my
feet. I slip into the backseat, staring out the window at the dimly lit
scene. Skinner makes a dash for the alien, landing the skewer almost
perfectly in the back of his neck. The alien whirls around and slams him
down on the ground, then pulls the weapon out of his body with great
effort. I can see it corroding in the darkness. Skinner gasps and covers
his eyes as green blood bubbles onto him.

Mulder runs out of the car to help him - not that he could be much help,
and the smoking man holds him back.

"There's nothing we can do.", the old man says as the alien turns to
face them.

Skinner pulls himself up, still trying to breathe. He manages to squeeze
out one word: "*Run.*"

The smoking man clutches Mulder's arm and hauls him towards the car. The
alien starts to follow, but slower - they both fling themselves inside
and Mulder starts up the engine again. His eyes are on Skinner.

"He's dead.", the smoking man says, "Go."

Swallowing back tears, Mulder slams his foot down on the gas and the car
takes off, leaving the colonist standing in the dust. We're safe, for
now.

"We have to try to go back." Mulder says, although we're headed far, far
away.

"There's no point.", the smoking man replies, "Their blood is toxic,
you know that already. He knew that too - that's why he died."

"But-"

"No. He believed in sacrifice. So do I. He died so that the rest of us
could live."

"You should have died." I hear myself say. Not that I liked Skinner any
better, but at least he never tried to kill me.

"You're not one to judge, Alex."

"Are you all right?" Scully asks. Her voice is choked, she sounds like
an old woman.

"Yeah." No, I'm not all right, but I'll live. This time.

"It doesn't seem real, does it?" Scully says. Mulder shakes his head.

"I'm...sorry." The smoking man looks out the window at the road behind
us. "In the time before, he was a worthy adversary. He might have been a
good friend, had the circumstances been different."

I don't say anything - not that I don't feel anything, it's just better
not to speak. I stare straight ahead, the blank-faced assassin. I would
make a good colonist.

And I see Scully's face in the side mirror of the car.

A swirl of black crosses her eye.

***

This night is even quieter, each one of us lost in our own thoughts.
Scully and Mulder are holding hands but not speaking. None of us can
sleep.

"I keep thinking we should go back and bury him." Scully says.

"What's the point? We'll be joining him shortly." I hate to sound
bitter, but that's the way it is. "You believe in God, don't you Scully?
That our souls go up to heaven?"

"Why don't you just shut up?" Mulder says.

"I can't help wondering if they're going to pick us off one by one now.
They know who we are. It would be easy enough for them to kill us all at
once."

"He's got that... ice pick thing." Mulder gestures at the smoking man.

"It didn't do Skinner a lot of good." I reply.

"I need to know something." Mulder says. He looks at me, then the
smoking man. "The thing that killed Skinner...he's not entirely alien,
is he?"

"He has human DNA.", the smoking man says, anticipating the next
question.

"Was he a result of my father's experiments?"

"Yes. An attempt to combine human and alien DNA to create a new
biological weapon. A perfect soldier. Their pull on him was stronger,
and he turned against us."

"You worked with my father."

"He was my friend."

"Until you had him killed."

"Don't start, Mulder." I mutter.

"I was always a better father to you." the smoker says.

Mulder looks up abruptly.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. I'm not your father, not in that
sense. It must be hard...they've given you so many conflicting memories,
haven't they? But you do remember me?"

"Yes."

"Bill was never there for you. Especially after your sister was taken,
but even before then. I looked after you when he was too drunk to notice
you were there."

"You were having an affair with my mother."

The old man laughs. "Let her sleep in peace, Mr. Mulder. She put that
behind her." He looks up at the sky for a moment. "She always wondered,
though. I don't think she ever knew if you were mine or Bill's. If
Samantha-"

"Do you know where she is?"

"You'll never let it go, will you? I bring her to you, and-"

"That wasn't her."

"No." He takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette. "I don't know where
she is. There are some truths even I am not told. I can tell you one
thing, though."

"What is that?"

"Wherever she went," he says quietly, "She was better off than she was
living with your father. And wherever she is now...she's better off than
you are."

***

It has always seemed odd to me that the smoking man would care as much
about Mulder as he does. Even when I was first planted as Mulder’s
partner, before I knew about their long personal history, I knew that
the old man was trying to protect Mulder. He said he didn't want to turn
the younger man into a martyr, but that wasn't his real reason. I don't
know if I'll ever understand all of his motivations.

"I had a son, you know.", the smoking man is saying, tipping ashes from
the end of his cigarette. "He's dead now. I called him before I called
you - he was my first priority, of course."

"What happened?" Mulder asks, sounding disinterested.

"He didn't believe me." A bitter laugh. "He died when they blew up the
J. Edgar Hoover building."

"He worked for the FBI?"

"Maybe you knew him. Jeffrey Spender."

Mulder goes a little pale, but he doesn't look all that surprised.

"He fought so hard against belief. Even though the proof was all around
him, he insisted on blinding himself to it. You always seemed more like
a son to me than he did."

"Thanks a lot." Mulder says sarcastically, but he knows it's true.

"When they took your sister, you ended up in the hospital. Your parents
didn't come to visit you very often. Your mother was too upset, your
father-" He smiles around the cigarette. "Well, you know your father. I
was there every day,
holding your hand. You didn't know I was there - you were in shock, you
didn't know anything. But I sat by your bedside every day. I was afraid
you were going to die, alone." I see the gold flash of his lighter as he
takes out another cigarette. "Afterwards your father thought I was
spending too much time with you. He wouldn't let me come around the
house anymore."

"Maybe he thought you were a bad influence." I say. Mulder laughs. "Who
knows, if all had gone well you too could have become an assassin for
the Consortium."

"No, my kids grow up to be FBI agents.", the smoking man says with a
hint of pride, "I don't want them losing any body parts."

I glance up at him, then grin despite myself. That almost resembled a
joke.

"I'm sorry about Spender." Scully says, "He was a little too ambitious,
but he would have been a good agent."

"I'm sorry he was such a damn fool." the smoking man replies, "He chose
death over belief." He says this with anger, but there is a hint of
sadness in his voice. "You're all I have left, Fox."

I'm waiting for Mulder to react violently, but he doesn't. He meets the
old man's eyes, then lowers his head.

We're all any of us have left.

***

We are on the last stretch of highway towards the bomb shelter in
Aurora, Ontario. Feeling oddly confident, Mulder, Scully and the smoking
man discuss a plan of action while I sit and try to ignore the pain for
long enough to sleep.
They're talking about resistance, loosing the bees on the new colonists,
hiding underground and building up enough forces to challenge the
aliens. Their strategies are sound enough. Resistance is possible,
that's what everyone kept telling me.

That's what I force myself to believe.

But then I think of the black swirls in Scully's eyes, and I have the
feeling that none of it is going to happen.

It happens again while we're driving - she's sitting next to me so I can
see it clearly. Something moves across her forehead, like a vein just
below her skin, wiggles towards her eye, and I see the horrible black
against bright blue. I yelp and jump back.

"Oh my god Scully."

"What?" Mulder snaps from the front seat.

"It...the black cancer."

She buries her face in her hands. I pry her fingers away to look at her
eyes, but the black is gone.

She takes my hand, squeezing tightly. "It's starting, isn't it?"

I nod, swallow.

"How long do I have?"

"There's no way to tell. Maybe months, maybe weeks, maybe days. I don't
know."

"It's not going to kill her." Mulder says in a low voice. As if his love
alone could stop it. He won't let it kill her. "There has to be another
way."

Well, you could lock her in a silo with a UFO and make her spit it up.

"This isn't right." Mulder says, "This isn't fair."

"I won't let it kill me." Scully replies. He reaches one arm back, runs
his fingers through her hair.

The smoking man meets my eyes in the mirror. We both understand.

Nothing they can say or do will make any difference.

***

And the alien is following us.

I feel his presence - we all do - it is the third time now and he will
not come again. The smoking man is holding the metal weapon, sunlight
glinting off the sharp tip. We can drive all day, all night and we will
not outrun the colonist. He knows who we are and so we are all marked
for death.

"Why?" Scully whispers, "Why now when we're so close?"

"Precisely.",the smoking man says, "He doesn't want us to join with the
others. He's going to crush the resistance before it even starts."

Mulder stops the car in the middle of the highway.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I squeak.

"I'm going to kill the son-of-a-bitch." he says.

"You're insane."

"He killed Skinner. He's their leader, or one of them, isn't he?"

"You think you can just shoot him?"

"No, I know what to do." He looks over at the smoking man. "Give me that
thing."

"Alex is right." the old man replies, "Start the car. He'll kill you."

"We've met before. Several times. He didn't kill me then."

"Then you're part of a higher agenda. Don't do this, Fox."

Mulder leans over and yanks the stiletto blade from the old man's hand.
Then he clutches Scully to him and kisses her.

"I love you."

"Fox...don't-"

He's out the door before anyone can stop him.

I close my eyes and slam my fist into the seat. "Idiot."

Scully hesitates a moment, then runs out after him.

I look up at the smoking man. "Aren't you going to do anything?" I ask.

"Aren't you?" he replies.

"You're the one with ideals. I don't even think I can stand up." It's
true. I can stagger around for a little bit but I'm not exactly capable
of fighting aliens right now.

He looks down at my bloodstained shirt. "Oh." Then to my surprise he
hugs me and kisses my cheek. "Take care, Alex." he says gently.

And he walks out of the car, towards his death.

***

The alien is throwing Mulder around like a rag doll by the time Scully
and the smoking man reach them. I'm fairly far away from the scene of
the fight but I hear a sickening crack as the colonist raises Mulder's
arm over his knee and snaps it like a twig. The alien has a gun -
Skinner's gun - but he isn't using it. He wants to kill Mulder slowly,
or worse.

Mulder drags himself to his feet and the alien bashes him again, sending
the stiletto spiraling out of his hand into the grass. Mulder makes a
dash for it but the alien grabs him, wrapping one arm around his throat.

"Are you ready to die now?" he hisses.

"No." Another voice, not Mulder's. The smoking man grabs the pick from
the ground and buries it in the base of the alien's skull. The colonist
gives an ear-piercing shriek, releasing Mulder with a thump on the
ground, spins around and
fires as he staggers back against a tree.

I'm out of the car, ignoring the splitting pain in my side as I run
towards them. I can't see much of anything now - I don't know if the
shots hit anyone. I fall down on the grass, cursing my weakness, and
looking up I see the colonist beginning to dissolve into a green puddle
against the dark bark of the tree.

Scully drops to her knees beside Mulder, lifting him into a sitting
position. "Are you all right?" she whispers.

"Don't worry about me." he says faintly. With his good arm he gestures
towards the smoking man, lying face down in a pool of his own blood.

Scully kneels beside the old man and rolls him over. His white shirt is
stained with two circles of red. I didn't even know the bastard could
bleed. His eyes flutter open, staring at the remains of the colonist.

"Dead?" he asks, his voice hoarser than usual.

"It's dead." Mulder says, "You killed it...and you saved my life."

Scully takes off her jacket, presses it against the old man's wounds to
stop the bleeding. He coughs painfully and shakes his head, his eyes
turned towards Mulder, who understands instantly.

"Don't." Mulder says softly, "You're hurting him."

"He's losing too much blood."

"I know. He won't live." Mulder kneels by the old man and takes his
hand. "Let him die peacefully."

At last comprehending, Scully moves away. Mulder takes her bloodstained
jacket and wraps it around the smoking man, cradling his head in his
lap. Scully puts her arms around me and leans against my shoulder.

"We should leave them alone.", she whispers.

"I don't think it matters."

The old man whispers something to Mulder, who nods. He pulls something
out from his former adversary's pocket - a pack of Morleys and the
cigarette lighter I gave him for Christmas. Trust no one. Mulder lights
a cigarette and holds it to the old man's mouth. Scully winces but says
nothing. A slow smile comes to the smoking man's face, although he's
coughing up blood. Mulder strokes his hair with something resembling
tenderness, pushing it back from the sweat-drenched
forehead. Neither of them speak.

The smoking man stubs out his cigarette, smiles up at Mulder, and closes
his eyes. He takes in a breath, then lets it out, and doesn't take
another one. Mulder doesn't move - he just sits there, running his
fingers through the old man's hair. He's crying. It's probably the only
time anyone has ever cried over the black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch. Hell,
I'm not crying. But Mulder is.

Scully slowly stands and walks over to him. "Come on.", she says
quietly.

"We can't just leave him here."

"We have to. There are other colonists out there and there's no time to
bury him."

Reluctantly, Mulder stands up, his left arm hanging limp at his side. He
tucks away the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into his jacket. Then
he puts his right arm around Scully's shoulder and buries his face in
her hair. They start to walk away.

I approach the body, still cautious, even though I know the bastard's
dead. I lift Scully's jacket up carefully.

"Get away from him, Krycek." Mulder says in a low, dangerous voice. I
shoot him an angry look and locate the stiletto, still clutched in the
dead man's hand. I pry it loose, hold it up for them to see. And I
follow them back to the car.

***

"So this is it then?" I say wearily, "All is forgiven? Your father,
Melissa Scully, you..."

"You're the one who pulled the trigger, Krycek." Mulder replies.

"He's the one who ordered it. He's the one who landed us in the
shitstorm we're in."

Mulder flips the lighter idly in his hand. Scully is driving now, having
done her best to set Mulder's broken arm.

"I can't hate him anymore, somehow."

"Because he's dead."

"Even before that."

"He was an evil bastard. We'll all die because of him."

"The three of us are still alive because of him so don't give me that
shit."

"Fine. Just don't ask me to feel sorry for him."

"I'm not asking you to *feel* anything, Krycek."

Scully changes the subject, slightly. "I keep thinking of all the
secrets that must have died with him. All the things we'll never know."

"Yeah." Mulder says, "That too."

I lie down, try to sleep. Try not to think about it. Mulder thinks I
don't have any feelings. That's okay, he can think whatever the hell he
wants. That smoking bastard was my only friend. He took me in when I was
young and hungry and
desperate. He gave me everything I ever wanted - a home, a career, a
purpose. I remember how there was nothing under his Christmas tree
except for a small box, "From your friend, Alex Krycek." We were both
lonely, both cursed with the burden of knowing too much.

Still, he tried to kill me, and not for any good reason either, so I
can't feel too sorry that he's dead. I got too close to him and he
betrayed me. But that's the pattern, isn't it?

Trust no one.

***

The UFOs hover closer to us than ever before. Are they doing something?
What more *can* they do?

We're within an hour's drive of our destination, as far as I can tell.
But the shapes in the sky are moving again, lights flashing, and I don't
know how much longer the car will go.

"They're coming." Mulder whispers, "They're coming for the rest of us."

The car stops, abruptly. Scully slams the gas but it does no good.

We step out of the car.

At the horizon where the highway meets the sky, a ship lowers itself
towards the ground.

"What are they doing?" Scully says.

"I'm going to go find out." Mulder replies. He nods to me and I hand him
the stiletto. "Stay here." he says to her.

"Why?"

"Just stay. Watch Krycek."

She scowls. He starts running towards the ship. She moves to go after
him, but I hold her back.

"Please." I whisper, "They own you now. They'll do something worse to
you. Stay."

She slumps against the car, wrapping her arm around me. "They'll kill
him."

"They could have killed him already."

"Krycek...Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"I love him."

"I know." I smile.

"I want so much to live...for him...for us."

I nod.

"But I'm not going to."

"No."

"I can feel it. I'm...slipping."

"You have to try to fight it."

"I can't. Not for much longer. I wish he hadn't gone."

"He'll come back."

She's quiet, staring off in the direction Mulder disappeared. "And if
not?"

"I'll take care of you."

Scully laughs. "Did I just hear you say that?"

"I mean it. I...I know what it feels like. I went through it alone - I
wouldn't want you to have to do the same." I draw in a deep breath. "But
he'll come back."

***

One day passes, then two, and Mulder does not come back. Scully is worse
- still fighting, but she's weakening. The black passes over her eyes
every few seconds, the worms squirm beneath her skin. I've brought her
water from a stream near by, given her the last of the food and wrapped
her in my jacket. She doesn't say much, not anymore, doesn't scream like
I did. I admire that, as much as it scares me.

"He's not dead." she says, watching the ships float. "I'd know...I'd
feel it. He's still out there."

"He'll come back."

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

I wrap my arm around her and she leans against my chest. "It's okay." I
whisper, stroking her bright hair, "I promise, it'll be okay." How the
hell did I become the only person left to comfort her?I try to ignore
the black swirls, the movement under her pale face. I know she's dying.

Mulder, damn you, come back. She needs you. Come back.

I find myself praying for the first time.

Come back and say goodbye.

It's not her death that bothers me, really. I've seen enough people die.
I've seen people suffer horribly, too, it's not that either. But I'm
saddened by the breaking of that bond she has with Mulder, that tie that
so few people have. Shit, I've
never felt that. But I know what it will do to him if he survives and
she doesn't.

"Thanks for staying with me." she whispers. She looks terrible - she
doesn't have much longer.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Keep going. Hide, somewhere."

"I wouldn't. Not now." I smooth hair out of her face. "I'm not that
evil."

"I wish...you'd been on our side...before..."

I laugh. "If I had, I'd have ended up with a bullet in my head like
everyone else who tried to help you. I'm not a good person, Scully."

She puts her hand over mine. "Yes." she says, "You are."

The confidence she puts in me brings tears to me eyes. A month ago, a
few days ago even, I would have turned and ran, left her there to die
alone. And now I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. I hold on for her,
and she holds on for Mulder.

The ships cast strange shadows on the ground.

Fuck you, Mulder. Where the hell are you?

On the third day, Scully loses consciousness. There's nothing more I can
do - there's no more food, no one to help us. I try to revive her by the
crudest methods, shaking her, pouring water on her face, but the black
cancer has taken
control of her body. Finally I lie beside her with my cheek pressed
against hers, too weak to do anything more.

She's going to die. And Mulder's still out there, doing god knows what.

I've never felt alone like this. Scully's as good as dead, so all I have
for company are the shapes of the alien ships moving above me. I am
alone with a dying woman, hurt and marked for death myself. If the
colonists come now I have no defenses, and they do want me dead, I know
secrets that can damage them. In the darkness the voices return, the
ones that taunted me in the missile silo, and I relinquish control to
them. Better insanity than pain. Only the limp grip of Scully's hand
keeps me grounded in the real world.

<Come, Alexei. Come back to us...>

<You belong to us.>

<With you always, Alexei. Always and forever.>

"Alex!"

The new voice jerks me to attention. Another voice in the darkness,
familiar somehow, another demon come to haunt me. I huddle in a fetal
position by Scully's motionless body, whimper pitifully.

"Go away." I gasp, "*E'ebitsche* go away..."

A hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Alex, you rat bastard, wake up. I've
come back. Wake up."

Yes, you've come back. You demons, you monsters, you have all come back
to me. To torment me, to drag me to hell where I belong.

So take me.

Take me, you bastards, I'll go willingly. I know I'm damned.

Better damnation than the hell that awaits me here on earth.

So I look up, force my eyes open to see what has come for me in the
night.

But it isn't a demon. Not a colonist, not a monster.

It's Fox Mulder.

***

I summon all the strength that remains in my battered body and I lunge
at him, bashing him in the side of the head with my artificial arm. He
staggers back, convinced I've gone mad.

"You son-of-a-bitch where have you been?" I spit in his face. "She's
dying you bastard."

"Calm down, Alex." Mulder whispers, "Just calm down."

He looks different. Even in the darkness I can see that he has changed.
He is pale, his face drawn and shadowed, a ghost of his former self. His
hair has turned from dark brown to gray. He kneels down beside Scully
and lifts her into his arms.

"She's still alive." he says, relieved.

"No thanks to you."

"I went looking for a cure. I thought maybe the colonists might have
it."

I laugh bitterly. "Did you find it?"

"No. If they have it, they won't give it to me."

"You *asked* them?"

He smiles, faintly. "You could say that."

"I'm surprised they didn't kill you."

He brushes hair away from his face. "They...want something from me. They
want me to join them, to fight on their side." He holds out the
cigarette lighter in his hand. "To take *his* place."

I glare at him. "You wouldn't..."

"No. I mean, I would if it would save her-" He looks down at Scully's
pallid face. "How is she?"

"She's been unconscious for..." I stop. How long has it been? Hours,
days? This is worse than being back in the silo. "It doesn't matter.
She's dying. And you weren't there."

"I tried."

I meet his eyes. "I know you did."

"There has to be something else. Something more we can do."

I stand up, slowly. "Just stay with her. She loves you, you know."

It hurts. My ghost arm, mostly, but that's not all of it. It hurts in a
way I can't even begin to describe.

"Alex?"

I turn, facing him.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for staying."

"Have I redeemed myself yet?"

He stares at me quietly. "I can't answer that. But you were there for
her, when I wasn't. Thank you."

"The absence of better alternatives could turn anyone into a good
person." I mutter cynically.

"No. Alex..." He gives me a real smile this time. "You did the right
thing."

God, how long has it been since he's said that to me?

I nod, and leave them alone together.

***

And this is the end, or close enough. In the afternoon, the sun beating
down hard on the field where we have taken refuge, Scully regains
consciousness. I can hear Mulder yelp, and I run towards them.

"Dana." Mulder murmurs.

She smiles up at him. "You came back.", she says, her voice dry and
cracked, the voice of an old woman.

"I love you.", he says, "I looked for a cure...I went to the aliens but
they-"

"It's okay.", she whispers, "I know...you tried."

"You have to hold on, Dana. We'll find a way. There has to be a way..."

She shakes her head slowly. "I knew you...wouldn't ditch me again."

He laughs, but it's painful. "Dana, don't leave me."

"It's all right. I'm...ready. I can see them all...Missy, Emily,
Ahab...they're all waiting for me. It's time to go home."

"No. No, I love you - you have to go on.":

She reaches up to touch his gray hair. "I love you too." she says. She
takes off the gold crucifix around her neck and carefully puts it around
his. Then she raises herself up and throws her arms around him. They
kiss, for the last time,
while I stand in the yellow grass, leaning against the car. "Goodbye,
Fox." And then she sags in his arms, black worms falling like tears from
the corners of her eyes.

For a moment he doesn't realize that she is dead, and he holds her,
shakes her hard, willing her to breath again.

And he stands, raising his fist to the sky and letting loose an
unearthly scream.

"Scully..."

My knees give out from under me and I collapse into the grass.

And I know that both of them are dead now.

***

When I judge it safe to approach, I stumble over to Mulder. He sits by
Scully's body, not looking at her or anything else, just staring off
into the distance with dead eyes. I put my hand on his arm.

"Mulder."

"Go away." he growls.

"Mulder, you can't let this kill you. You have to go on - for her." I
swallow. "She would have wanted you to go on."

He looks down at her still face, at peace now, though he is not. "I
can't go on."

"We're almost there." I say, "We'll have to walk, but we can make it.
We'll get through this, I promise."

"You promise?" he says. In his laugh there is an edge of madness.

"We have to keep going."

He buries his good hand in Scully's hair. "She was the only woman I ever
loved."

"I know."

"I'm a dead man, Alex."

I nod. The practical part of my mind rules out burial - I have a sudden
thought of the two of us one-handedly trying to dig a grave in the earth
with no tools for doing so. But we cover her with sticks and large
rocks, painstakingly dragged from the forest nearby. Mulder stands over
the cairn with tears in his eyes, his hand grasping the gold cross.

"Goodbye, Dana. Goodbye my love."

He leaves his humanity buried in a sunlit field.

***

We make slow, painful progress across the highway. The ships are still
there but not any closer. There are no signs of any colonists. We say
nothing as we walk, and we travel until late at night.

There is no fire tonight - Mulder and I sit shivering by a clump of
trees, unwilling to make the effort to keep warm or find something to
eat. He seems almost catatonic. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to
him.

"Alex?" he says finally.

"Yeah?"

"It's just you and me now, isn't it?"

<Why don't you shoot me so it's just you?> "Yeah." I say.

"I never thought it would end up like this."

"No." I say, "Neither did I."

"Alex, if anything happens to me-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Mulder." Not that I believe that, it
just seems like the right kind of thing to say.

"If anything happens to me, stay along this highway until you find the
Lone Gunmen. I know they'll be there in the bomb shelter. Tell
them...tell them what happened here. They'll protect you."

I bite my lip and nod.

"Don't ever stop fighting."

"Same to you."

He smiles and I put my arm around him. "We'll make the bastards pay." I
whisper.

Above the jagged line of the trees, the stars are coming up.

***

And the ship descends.

There is a flash of light. I sprawl out on the ground covering my head
with my hand. They've come oh god they've come.

Mulder stands, slowly, as if hearing instructions from the garbled
noises above us. The light becomes more focused, shining on him like a
single spotlight. He raises a hand to shield his eyes.

"Alex.", he whispers, "Run."

But I can't. The best I can do is cower in the shadows.

"Don't let them take you." I murmur, a half-heard prayer.

A door in the ship slides open, a ramp descends. And a small figure
stands, back-lit in the doorway, casting a long shadow over the shining
metal and the dead grass.

"Fox.", the figure says, a soft command, "Come on, Fox."

"No.", he says, "You killed Dana."

"Fox, there isn't any time. Come with me." And the light flashes around
so that we can both clearly see the stranger's face.

It is the last thing I expect, and the only thing that could destroy the
last vestiges of Mulder's resistance.

It is, unmistakably, the face of Samantha Mulder.

***

"No.", he says, a low growl in the back of his throat. But he takes a
step towards the ramp. "Sam?"

"It's not her!" I hear myself cry out, "Mulder, don't be a fool. It's
one of them, the ones who killed Scully!"

"Sam?" he says again.

"You know it's not her.",I say, grabbing his arm.

"It's not Sam.", he says, half to himself.

"That's right. You have to run away. We have to fight them."

"Of course.", he says, "Of course we do." He looks up at the little
girl, unchanged since the day of her abduction. "Go on, Alex, I'll be
there in a minute."

I don't trust him. I don't move, even though I'm scared shitless.

He looks to me, then up at Samantha. His eyes are blank, distant and
terribly old.

He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the box of Morleys. Taking one
out, he fumbles with the lighter, managing to light the cigarette, then
raises it to his lips and blows out a cloud of blue smoke. The look in
his eyes seems so familiar to me, the gesture itself so familiar, and I
am rooted to the spot, unable to fight anymore, unable to resist.

He smiles around the edge of the cigarette.

And then, as if in a trance, but he is not entranced, he is awake and he
knows what he is doing, then he breaks away from me and walks up the
ramp, to meet his sister.

***

Aurora, Ontario
Present day

Frohike doesn't say a word as he holds a glass of water to my lips. I'm
coughing, choking, but the water is good, clean, real. Byers and Langly
just sit there, staring.

I stop coughing. Frohike wraps a blanket around my shoulders.

"After the ship pulled away, I pretty much ran all the way here. I don't
know why it didn't take me too, or why they didn't try to kill me. I
just ran without thinking about it." I close my eyes. "And then I found
you."

"So Mulder is still alive?" Frohike asks.

"As far as I know." I say, "I don't think they wanted to harm him."

"Why should we believe you?" Byers says to me, "Mulder told us about
you, you know. What a goddamn liar you are."

"I'm not lying." Of course you never know. Maybe I am lying. Maybe I'm
making this all up just to get your sympathy, your protection.

I wish I was lying.

"You'd better get some rest." Langly says finally.

"I'll sleep for all eternity, soon enough." I reply. I'm looking around
the bomb shelter. It's dark here, cold. I have always expected to die in
a place like this. "So this is the resistance."

Frohike laughs, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "There are others
out there, somewhere. We'll find them. We'll find Mulder, too."

"No." I say, "You'll never find him. The Mulder you know is dead. That's
why he sent me here." I run my fingers through my hair, crusted with
blood and dirt. "I'm the only survivor."

An oil lamp flickers - I'm wondering how long we'll be able to live in
here. There's food, and water, but fuel is running out - this place was
never meant for permanence. Still, it seems secure for the time being. I
lie back down on the bed - the first bed I've seen in I don't know how
long - and I curl up under the blanket. I'm so tired.

The Lone Gunmen are still talking, planning. They think they've got a
chance at driving the colonists out. All of this has happened, and they
still have hope.

Maybe they're right. Maybe we'll rise from the ashes of our shattered
cities and reclaim what they have stolen from us. Maybe we'll build a
new, stronger future, one without pain, without tears, without lies.
Maybe this is our destiny, to struggle and in struggling find a way
towards peace.

Or maybe it's all pointless, and everyone who died did so for a past
that is no longer worth keeping.

I have seen too much death, too much suffering. But I'm alive now, and I
intend to keep it that way. And as long as I live I will fight, because
it's all I know how to do. There is no future for me, there never was,
but I will breathe my last breath while trying to build one.

I no longer know why I bother to resist...the world has gone mad, and
it's a worthless battle. I don't even know if I'm aiming my gun in the
right direction. In this life I have played the hero and the villain, I
am no longer aware of what I am, what I was, what I have become. I was
not the one who sold away the future, but I am all that is left to win
it back. And I will go to my death with this knowledge, because it is
all that remains to me.

There is a war between heaven and earth, and I know the choice that
awaits us.

I will not serve.