Can't Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me

by Dr. Ruthless

Pairing: M/K sorta.

Rated: A, sorta

Beta: Not yet. Maybe it should have one.

Warning: There are lots of things to worry about in this story. Sorry it's so unfestive.

Author's notes: The first story I've written this year. I hope it marks the end of my writer's block. Secret Santa story for kaNd.--have a happy Christmas, kaNd, and a wonderful 2005, and long may you continue to be a presence on the Nickzone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gunshot, and then another.

Third time pays for all. The dead body of Alex Krycek slumped to the concrete, eyes at last staring into the truth, which was that there had always been a bullet with his name on it.

Watching, slightly sickened, Fox Mulder stood rooted to the spot. The A.D. had just murdered a man in cold blood, and the dead man was one who could have told them both secrets uncounted. He stared at the dead man, whose sightless eyes seemed to be staring unfocused into eternity and felt...

...A twist.

...An otherness.

...An intrusion that shook him, and then a voice in his head.

(Bohzemoi! Is that me?)

Mulder frowned. Something was happening, and he didn't have time to deal with it. His heart was pounding, and he felt sick. The super soldiers were after Scully, and there was nothing more he could do for his dead nemesis. Mumbling excuses, he flung himself towards the car, trying to put as much space between himself and the events of the past few minutes as he could.

I'm going to go to the airport. I need that location from Agent Doggett, he said, starting the engine. Skinner, are you with me?

You just go. I'll get him, growled the other man, and Mulder gunned the engine, tearing out of the garage in a fug of smoking rubber. His last view of the man hed known as Alex Krycek showed Skinner walking away from the crumpled heap on the floor of the garage.

(Turn the car around!)

He found himself wrenching at the wheel, almost totaling the car as his body began to operate independently of him, apparently attempting to run over the retreating figure of the Assistant Director.

What the fuck?

(Let me have it!)

He fought madly, finally succeeding in bringing the car to a screeching halt and sat behind the wheel, shaking. What the hells happening to me?

Skinner had vanished back into the elevator that would take him back to his office, and the body of Alex Krycek lay concealed from his view by the vehicles parked in orderly rows. Mulder sat, baffled for a moment, before starting up the engine and heading out of the garage to go find Scully and do what he could to keep her from harm.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The next few hours were filled with action. Mulder didn't have time to ponder the strange events that had occurred in the garage. He was far too busy fighting his way to Scully's side and ensuring her safety. Only afterwards, when the frenetic activity had calmed, and he was approaching his apartment at Hegal Place in the early hours of the following morning, did he have time to ponder on it.

"Something happened to me," he said aloud. "Something I don't even want to think about. I think I need a break from all this stress."

Slowly, he parked and left his car, then headed for the elevator. His greeting for Mr. Ivanowski, the caretaker, was abstracted as he pondered the past few hours. The new baby hed seen delivered appeared normal enough. Scully seemed well, and she was safe now despite the events leading up to her delivery; There were other people taking care of her now. He trusted Monica implicitly, and felt that he had no further need to hover over her or her new little son. Nobody needed him. He could relax.

Given all of that, why did he feel so nervous? Why did he have this strong feeling of impending doom? Perhaps he was just tired and needed to take some time off -- go somewhere -- do something that would clear his mind and help him refocus. He wasn't in the FBI anymore, and he had no idea who he was; now that his whole reason for living, his whole focus was outdated.

Unlocking the door to number 42, he entered the apartment and stood for a moment at the threshold of his living room. Nothing had changed; the usual, haphazard clutter lay all around.

Sighing, he moved over to the coffee table and picked up the mug he'd used earlier that day, took it to the kitchen and dropped it into the sink without bothering to wash it. He was so weary, his very bones were crying foul.

Heading into his bedroom, he began to undress preparatory to taking a shower. He tossed each item of clothing in the general direction of the laundry hamper, still lost in his contemplation of the previous twenty-four hours and turned to head for his bathroom, pausing for a moment to study his lanky form in the mirror on the door of his closet.

(Well, just look at you!)

He frowned. Something somewhere

Who said that?

(I always wanted to look at you standing there like that. I guess that there is a Santa Claus after all.)

Whats going on? He looked around himself, seeking the source of that annoyingly husky, smart-alec voice he knew so well. Youre dead. I saw you die.

(Yeah, so did I.) The voice sounded amused. (Dont ask me whats going on. I havent the faintest idea. All I know is that there was a bright light, the voice told me I wasnt ready to pass on yet, because there was still something I had to do, and then there was this.) It paused for a moment, and Mulder distinctly heard a mocking laugh. (I could get used to this, so dont worry about it.)

Horrified, Mulder watched as his hand his own hand, somehow remotely animated - stole down to cup his genitals without his volition. You youre doing that, somehow. Pack it in!

(Hell, no, Mulder. Ive waited a long time to be in a position where I could get my hands on your goodies, and you couldnt punch me out.)

The hand continued to toy with him, despite his best efforts to drag it away. Why are you here? Why wont you stay dead?

(I told you; theres still something I have to do, Mulder. You can either help me do it and Ill be able to go on, or learn to live with me.) The final sentence was a taunt, and Mulder felt the rage he always associated with Kryceks presence.

Better tell me what it is, so we can go and do it, he said, his anger vibrating through his voice. For a moment, there was no answer. His hand gripped his cock and began to squeeze it rhythmically, and despite his best intentions, he began to harden.

(I cant tell you what it is. You have to help me, but I cant tell you what needs to happen.) Krycek sounded apologetic. (Not my choice. I think Id rather anyone than you assist me. Scully or Skinner, even. Youve never been particularly pleasant to me, even when you had no reason.)

With a supreme effort, Mulder wrenched his hand away from himself and began to walk through to the bathroom. Once in the shower, applying shampoo and soap to himself, he began to feel better. The voice in his head was silent for the time being, and he began to wonder what it was that Krycek needed to accomplish. A terrible thought struck him.

If you think that Im going to assist you in killing Scully or William, then you have another think coming, Krycek. Id sooner blow my own brains out. Mulder frowned, paused in his ablutions to growl out his thought.

(Nope, its nothing like that, Mulder.) The voice sounded sincere, but Mulder remained stationary as he waited to see if there was more. There was not, and after a moment or two more, he relaxed, resuming his task.

Krycek was silent for the short interlude that followed, and Mulder completed his shower, dried himself off and found himself clean underwear before collapsing thankfully into his bed.

(What happened to the couch?)

What? What do you mean? The sudden words made Mulder jump.

(Thought you always slept on the couch. When did you get conventional? Youre getting old, Mulder.)

I guess that puts me one better than you; youll never get old, Krycek. Mulder sighed. Perhaps his arch enemy intended to keep him awake forever, and therefore drive him mad, and that was the thing he had to achieve. So shut up, will you? Ive had a long, tiring day.

When it came, the response was surprisingly non-confrontational. The voice sounded almost tender. (Sure thing, Mulder. Sleep well. See you tomorrow.)

Mulder slept.

In his dreams, he and Krycek stood facing. Krycek wore an expression of the utmost longing, and Mulder felt disoriented. What was this all about? Krycek was dead and good riddance, so why was he hearing him? Dreaming about him? Hed walked away from the shell that had been Krycek, without even a second glance. So why now, and why him?

Dream-Krycek didnt speak, but wouldnt leave, hovering before him even when he turned his face away. Finally, Mulder addressed him.

What do you want, Krycek? Why wont you leave me in peace?

The sad apparition began to fade at that. When it was almost gone, he heard the softly whispered words, I want to come home.

Waking shortly after that, Mulder sat up clutching his head in his hands. Krycek was dead, and, for the life of him, he didnt know why he was lingering, haunting him this way. His thoughts went back to the events of the previous day, and Kryceks desperate face after he had been shot for the first time. Mulder had been irritated by him, as usual, and hadnt given him any real attention before leaping to the attack. Now he began to wonder if his recent experiences were as a result of guilt pangs.

Maybe I should have listened too him, he mused. Maybe I ought to have heard what he wanted to tell me. He closed his eyes, seeing that hideous, third, blind eye appear in the center of Kryceks forehead. Oh, God, what if he wanted to tell me something crucial.

(You never listened to me, did you?)

You always tried to make me mad, didnt you, Krycek? You would lead me around by the nose until I was furious, and then youd take off, secure in the knowledge that I was too crazy mad to pay any attention to the things you were telling me. Why the hell did you do that? He was shaking his head from side to side as he spoke, sure that, if Krycek had appeared before him at that moment, hed have gone for the other mans throat.

(I always tried to keep you safe, laskovaya moya.)

What? Whats that mean, Krycek? Its no use lapsing into Russian; you did that all the time, and it just makes me crazy. You could be saying anything. How do I know what you mean when youre babbling away in foreign? Mulder rose from his bed and stumbled off to the bathroom to relieve himself.

(Nothing. It means nothing. Sorry; I wont do it again, okay?)

How do you mean, you tried to keep me safe? Mulder tried to get away from the strange words that had sounded so tender. You tried to kill me, over and over again.

He pulled down his pants to allow his dick to hang over the toilet as he spoke, watching abstractedly as his piss splashed down into the bowl, and felt a sudden wave of longing take him, shake him. He almost staggered back. Fuck! What was that?

(You dont know, do you, Mulder? You never did. God, the things I did to keep you safe, and you never gave a shit.)

Krycek, I He paused. The disembodied entity inside his head was radiating such sadness that he couldnt move, couldnt get away from it. I was in love with you, you know? Way back when we were partners, Id have given you anything. You betrayed me.

(I kept you safe.) The response was definite, totally convincing. Mulder winced.

Safe from what? he asked, reluctantly.

(Safe from them. I kept you from them for years.) Krycek sounded as if he was suddenly sure he could sway him, and he tensed, determined not to be duped yet again. (It was always meant to be you, not Scully, right from the time that they found out theyd been duped by being given Samantha. You think it was supposed to be Scully that was taken? Think again, Mulder; it was meant to be you.)

You always hated Scully! Even to his own ears he sounded petulant, but Mulder no longer cared. This conversation should have been held a long time ago when it might have made a difference, and now that it was too late, why, he would have it anyway, with the voices inside his head that proved just how mad he was going. You knew I loved her, and set her up for them to torment. Youre the reason her life is wrecked.

(Im the reason she has what she always wanted. Who drove her and you to safety the night Billy Miles came for her? Who finally convinced Spender to implant one of her own ova back into her and ensured that it would be fertile? Why do you think she is alive today?) The questions followed, one after the other. Mulder sneered.

I dont know, Krycek, he murmured. Why dont you tell me?

(Come on, Mulder, do I need to spell it out for you?) Krycek sounded harsh, as if he were holding back his temper with difficulty. Of course, it had always been that way between them. Mulder took a deep breath, striving for reason amidst mounting emotions.

Are you telling me that it was you that did all these things? Why would you? You were always my enemy, thwarting me at every turn. Why should I believe that you were out there like my benevolent fairy godmother, banishing the bad guys? He padded back to his bedroom to look for sweats, pulling them on and starting to do some stretches in preparation for his morning run. It was you that told Skinner to shoot me. Shoot Mulder, you said. How was that saving me?

(I said, Shoot, Mulder. You were supposed to kill Skinner, but you let him get away.)

Mulder found himself growling with a repressed fury he was unable to find outlet for, in the absence of a warm body to pummel until quiescent. How the fuck is killing my friend going to help me in any way? he finally grated. Youre just lucky youre dead, you son of a bitch.

(Yeah, youre right, Mulder.) Krycek sounded tired. (I am the son of a bitch, and theres nothing I can do about that; the bitch died a long time ago, and I was the one that killed her, if you want to know. However, sooner or later Skinner has to die, or all your efforts are for nothing. Hes the head of it all, dont you see? Above Blevins, above Spender, above the whole lot of them. He has to die, or that timetable to disaster is ticking, and sooner or later, youll find its all over.)

Is that what you have to have my help to achieve, Krycek? Cos Ive told you already, Im not going to do it. I wont kill my friend on the say-so of a morally challenged punk with no apparent perception of right or wrong, who hasnt even the decency to die when hes killed. Mulder turned to punch the wall of his apartment, cursing momentarily when his punch sank into the drywall, sending acute pain through fingers that he suddenly realized he might well have broken.

(I already told you that it wasnt.) There was a laugh in Kryceks voice. (Settle down, Mulder. You can do what you like about Skinner. A dead man doesnt give a shit about the end of the world. Im pretty safe from alien invasion now, and youre free to make your own choices.)

Krycek paused, and in his minds eye, Mulder could see him, cheap suit, unsuitable tie, slicked back hair and oh, so sincere expression as he used his husky voice to play sincerity the way hed always done. He was unprepared for the protest that demonstrated their developing closeness.

(No! I mean it. Dont twist everything I say?) There was a naked plea in Kryceks voice as Mulder caught both the thought and the emotion behind it. (I tried to be straight with you as straight as I could be without endangering you. I)

You what, Krycek? You almost sound like you cared. Mulder could feel tears prickling the backs of his eyes. His heart was thumping as he played back memories he didnt want to recall. He thought again of Alex the clumsy boy in the polyester suit whod won his heart, and then the altogether more dangerous, stripped-down version in denim, the killer-queer hed wanted, but never had. He remembered gaunt cheekbones raised as if inviting him to bruise them, strong thighs encased in denim, straddling him as he gazed up into the barrel of his own gun, and the elegant, designer-clad nemesis whod come to his own office to offer him tantalizing snippets of information that ought to have been his from the start. All of a sudden, he was hard, aroused as he had never been, gasping from the intensity of the need he felt.

Shaking, he pressed himself back against the wall. I dont want this. I know that you didnt care, he wailed, sounding like a thwarted baby even to himself. You betrayed me, and then you left me. If you cared, you wouldnt have left me.

(Im here, arent I, Fox?) The use of his hated first name made Mulder straighten, and he suddenly discovered that his traitor hand was creeping down inside his sweats to handle his erection, stroking, kneading as the soft thoughts insinuated themselves into his mind. (Im here, because you are the only one)

Were back to that again, are we? gasped Mulder as his own hand took hold of him in earnest, beginning to pump, drawing him towards an orgasm such as hed never known. Just tell me what it is, and Ill do it, to get you off my back.

(No can do,) was the reply. Kryceks voice had dropped to the lower, husky registers that Mulder had only heard once, back when theyd been partners, and shared their only tryst together. (God, if I were only able to have my body back for a moment, Id be on my knees now, and Id be sucking you, sucking that cock of yours, taking it all into me, until you couldnt hold it back any more. Id taste you, smell you, feel you; Id own you, Fox, just for the moment when you came into my mouth.)

Mulder was panting now; his sweat pants were down around his thighs as he pressed to the cold wall, and his fist his own fist -- slid up and down on his rigid cock. He no longer cared who was driving his hand, only that the feelings it engendered were stronger, more powerful than hed ever known. Alex, he mumbled. God, Alex, I

(You what, Fox?)

I love you. I always loved you. He came, his juices spurting up to scatter over carpet, couch and skin as he cried out the words he didnt seem to be able to hold back. I loved you, and you betrayed me. Thats why I wanted to hurt you as you hurt me.

(Thats what you had to do for me, Fox. You just had to tell me you loved me,) said the voice in his head, sounding somewhat regretful. (Im free to go on now. Thank you.)

No, Alex, please dont go. Dont go, now that I know what I want. Mulder looked around himself. He didnt have any occult paraphernalia handy, and didnt know what he would use to ensure Alexs ghostly presence with him, anyway. Stay with me. I need you.

( I wish I could, Fox.)

Already the voice was getting softer, further away. Mulder pounded the wall again, his bruised wrist sending agony shooting unnoticed through his arm. Alex.

(Im dead, Fox. Dead and gone, but I loved you while I could)

The words trailed away, smoke and illusion as they final ended.

Dead.

He was dead. Alex Krycek was dead.

Fox Mulder went to find his gun. Ejecting the chamber, he absently counted the bullets. There were plenty of bullets in there. More than enough. All he would need were two. One would be for Skinner, and then the second

Im coming, Alex, he murmured. Ill find you; I promise.

Armed with his gun, Fox Mulder ran out of his apartment and into his final future.

The End

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

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