Shades of Gray
Disclaimers: X-Files belongs to Fox, 1013 Productions, and Chris Carter ::mew:: I'm just borrowing them to play for a bit.
"You must be losing it, Mulder; I can beat you with one hand."
"Isn't that how you liked to beat yourself?"
How I liked to beat myself. Shit, Mulder, if you only knew how I beat myself. Imagining you - hot, sweaty and naked under me - begging. I can practically hear it, hear you whimpering in that soft voice of yours, "Please, Alex, fuck me, hard, fast. C'mon, Krycek, do me! I want your cock in me; I want you to make me scream."
Oh fuck, what I wouldn't give to hear you say that, Fox. If I still had a soul, I'd gladly sell it for one night like that. Just one where we weren't enemies, where you weren't trying to kill me or at least pound the shit out of me. One night without Cancerman, the Consortium, Scully and Skinner. One night when we were just Fox and Alex.
Yeah, Mulder, even rat bastards have dreams. It's all I have to do in the long, lonely hours between jobs. You think I like working for these people? These murderous, cold-blooded bastards who make me seem like a teddy bear in comparison. If you only knew the real truth, Mulder, what they were really capable of. You'd never sleep again. I know I don't.
"Hear this, Agent Mulder. Listen very carefully because what I'm telling you is deadly serious. There is a war raging, and unless you pull your head out of the sand, you and I and about five billion other people are going to go the way of the dinosaur. I'm talking planned invasion. The colonization of this planet by an extraterrestrial race."
"I thought you were serious."
"Kazakhstan, Skyland Mountain, the site in Pennsylvania. They were all alien lighthouses where the colonization will begin but where now a battle is being waged. A struggle for heaven and earth where there is one law: fight or die, and one rule: resist or serve."
"No, not who... what."
Truth is, Fox, that war has already begun. And I'm one of the grunts on the frontline. Chances are I'll be one of the first casualties too when those bastards I work for figure out that I'm really screwing them over too. I work for the resistance. Bet you'd never guess that in a million years, would you? I've been with them from the moment I had contact with the black oil.
Remember Hong Kong, Fox? I got infected. I felt that oily, black, sentient being crawling around inside me - inside me, Fox. Worse than any cancer or disease. It was like being raped except that not only my body was violated; my mind was too. It made me feel dirtier than I've ever felt before, which is saying a lot considering my lifestyle. I didn't feel clean until I decided to betray the betrayers.
Then there was Russia - Tunguska and my arm. God, I nearly hated you then. Hated myself more. I was deformed now, a freak outside and in. How the hell could you ever... want me now? Yeah, want is a safe, neutral word. It doesn't have any of the emotional baggage that other word has. It's sharp - clean, like a knife blade. It doesn't make your chest explode and your life ooze out painfully.
But it doesn't explain away the lurch in my heart whenever I hear you've been hurt or that the Consortium's made plans to off you yet again. It doesn't explain why I'm there, in the shadows, watching your and Scully's backs. It doesn't explain why I've been leaking you information left and right to further your cause. Why I've nearly died for you more times than I can count.
My body is riddled with tiny scars now - knife wounds and bullet holes that I've gotten in order to help my very own Don Quixote tilt his private windmill. Scars you'll never know about, Fox, because chances are I'll wind up dead protecting you, no one ever the wiser. And you wouldn't miss me at all, would you?
What the fuck is this? Why is my face wet? Crying, Jesus Christ, I'm crying! Haven't done that since... since I lost everything worth living for, feeling for. God, I need a drink - a bottle or two of vodka would dull the pain. Until I see you again. Until then, I live in a gray world of shadows, watching you - my bright shining beacon, from the mist.
"Motosh etebyen, tovarish."
Good luck to you, my friend. Your eyes widened slightly when I said that, when I kissed you, not on the lips like I so desperately wanted to, but on the cheek. Then I deliberately turned my back on you and walked away - after giving you your gun back. Leaving myself open and vulnerable to be literally shot in the back. You knew what I said, didn't you, Fox - ever since you found out I could speak Russian, that I survived, you've been brushing up like the good little brainiac agent you are. Don't want me to get the drop on you again. Good boy.
Of course that means I'll never get to say what I really wanted to say that night. Yeah, I'm admitting it, Mulder; the rat bastard is well and truly screwed this time. 'Cause what I really wanted to say that night was "Ya tebya lyublyu, Fox." I love you.
Go to companion piece, He Kissed Me, Mulder's POV