Footnotes

by Frankie

Pairing: M/K

Summary: Mulder finds out a few things about Krycek.

Rated: T for language, sexual suggestion (het!)

Disclaimer: Property of FOX and 1013 and whoever else is allowed to make a buck off them.

Author's Notes: Written for the 13th X Files Lyric Wheel. Thanks to Sue for giving me the info to join in the fun. Thanks to Val for the lyrics.

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

The two men made their way into the dank apartment, closing the door behind them and surveying their surroundings. It was messy but not dirty. Whoever had lived here had been a busy man, not a pig. Stacks of papers and boxes of documents littered the floor, and three computers took up space on the coffee table, the desk and the kitchen counter, respectively. There were no personal items in the place. It looked as if it had been used more for storage and work than actual living.

"Kitchen's clean," Mulder remarked. "Guess he didn't have time to cook, huh?" He forced a bitter smile and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Somehow I pictured him living better than this."

Mulder nodded at Skinner. "Yeah, me too. This probably isn't really where he lived, though."

"Probably not," Skinner growled, "but it's all we've got. Let's see if we can find anything that will help us."

Mulder had been more surprised than anyone that the address on Alex Krycek's driver's license even existed, let alone had any real connection to the man. Going through the now deceased assassin's things had felt, at first, like trespassing, but Mulder knew there was no way Krycek deserved any kind of regard. Why it felt different from the hundreds of other times he'd had to search a suspect's home, he didn't know - but it did.

He'd seen Skinner kill Krycek, seen the man hit the ground and struggle to get to his gun and to his feet again when the last, fatal bullet hit him between the eyes. It was the way Krycek was still trying to fight to survive that got to Mulder. He'd seen that before, too, but it had never seemed as pathetic as it had then. A one-armed man reaching for a gun after he'd been hobbled by a bullet, only to end up getting it right between the eyes.

He shuddered and began to root through the desk, finding mostly useless notes and lists. Pausing when he felt the bottom of one of the drawers give, Mulder carefully removed it and reached in to pick up the contents; a journal, tattered and well-worn. As Mulder turned it over in his hands, he wondered if it would fall apart and save him the hassle of having to read its contents.

"Mulder, did you find something?" It was Skinner, his own search taking place on the other side of the small apartment.

"Nothing important." Mulder wasn't sure why he lied, but he didn't want to share his discovery with anyone just yet. He slipped it inside his jacket and continued to dig around; guess that meant he wanted to read it, after all.

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

Back in the relative safety and sanity of his own apartment, Mulder sat down on his couch and opened the journal. He recognized the neat letters of his former partner's handwriting, and felt a sudden pang of regret that he'd brought the damn thing home with him. What would reading Krycek's thoughts do but serve to anger and frustrate him?

Still, it was the opportunity he'd never had while Krycek was alive. Now was the chance to see how the man worked and functioned. With any luck, Mulder could find some kind of closure for the tortured journey he and Krycek had taken together. Strangely enough, Krycek's death hadn't done it.

Mulder opened to the first entry, amazed to see it was dated a few days before Krycek had graduated from the academy. How could Krycek have fit so many years of memories and thoughts into such a small book, he wondered. A brief skimming through the pages quickly answered that. The entries had been sparse, to say the least, but whatever he wrote obviously meant enough for him to keep it for all this time.

Settling back on his sofa, he started to read.

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

Tuesday --/--/19--

I haven't even gotten my badge yet and I'm already being approached for special assignments. Can you believe my luck?? I think someone up there really likes me. Soon I'm going to be Special Agent Alex Krycek, FBI. No one can know how excited I am about it because I want to play it off like I'm too cool for that stuff, but man! This is the start of great things for me, I know it.

Okay, about this assignment... I'm kind of sketchy on the details, but I will have the opportunity to go deep undercover and help to investigate corrupt agents. Can you believe they're going to trust me with something like that? Unlike my classmates, I don't see anything wrong with internal affairs keeping tabs on us to keep us honest. We are here to do a very important job. It's a sacred trust and we have to put our country's welfare above our own. Period.

This is a fresh start for me, isn't it? I am putting my past behind me and being set free to do bigger and better things. I am finally going to make it.

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

Mulder put the journal aside, thinking about the sincerity in the words he'd just read. Who knew that Krycek had wanted to do what was right from the very beginning? He felt a little stunned to know that before Krycek had turned into a cold blooded killer, he'd been an earnest, dedicated soon-to-be-agent looking forward to starting a brand new career. It didn't mesh with what he knew of the Alex Krycek that had been killed; selfish, out for his own gain, completely amoral.

Or maybe that had been the result of years of working for double-crossing sons of bitches who'd rather see the kid dead than do anything to really take advantage of his skills and what he could have done to help them.

The thought surprised Mulder and he sat up a little. The last thing he wanted to do was begin to sympathize with a ruthless killer, but he knew that Alex hadn't started out that way. The thing that was going to get to him, he knew, was finding out that the man he'd stood by and let Skinner kill hadn't always been so cold and calculating.

An hour passed before he picked up the journal again and began leafing through it.

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

Friday --/--/19--

My new partner is an asshole. He's the one I thought was going to brilliant and witty and ready to share his knowledge with me, but he's a complete dick. He hates me. Fine, I've been assigned to him because he's been making some trouble for the Bureau, but I really wanted to work with him. If I'd had the chance to team up with an experienced agent, he would have been at the top of my list. But he really, really hates me. He doesn't even know me yet. How can he hate me before he knows me?

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

Mulder smirked at the memory of the junior agent getting his feathers ruffled, and felt another pang in his gut. Krycek could have been a good agent if those bastards hadn't gotten to him first. The kid who only wanted a fresh start had instead been led down a path that would cause him nothing but grief.

Sighing, Mulder got up and went into the kitchen to get a beer. He knew he was supposed to be finding out anything Krycek might have known about the baby, but all of that seemed so far away to him, now; as if he were somehow disconnected. As he popped the cap off the bottle and took a long drink, he began to feel the first nagging doubt that Skinner had done the wrong thing.

"Too late, now," he whispered to himself and wandered back into the living room to continue reading his find.

He came across an entry dated during the time Krycek had seemed to disappear from the face of the planet. It was short and was before what looked like the remnants of torn out pages, making Mulder wonder what Krycek had wanted to keep secret.

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

Wednesday ????

I have been hanging out with these losers for way too long. I'm not a petty thug the way they are. Yes, I'm getting by and I'm able to manipulate them to do pretty much anything I want, but it's getting old. I want to get out of this shit. When the hell did I agree to end up being some petty criminal? I don't think I ever did. Things have got to change. I'm sick of feeling like a victim of... laughing chance. What a poetic way to say sometimes it feels like fate's got me by the balls, huh? Time for me to take control of things and make my own way.

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

The next entry was dated months later. Mulder wondered if that was the time Krycek had spent in prison. He couldn't help himself; and he smiled when he read the first line.

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

Marita still fucks like a prisoner on a conjugal. You'd think she was the one who'd been locked up in some damp, crowded pit for all this time. She was watching me shower, and I knew she wanted me. but when she actually got her hands on me, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep up - so to speak.

Do you have any idea how surprised I was that she had my damn journal? She'd only seen it once, but I guess she knew how much it meant to me and nabbed it when I ran into my trouble. There are some pages missing, though, so she either ripped them out in case those bastards figured out what I know, or she's going to blackmail me later. Fucking syndicate. A bunch of shriveled dicks with nothing better to do than fuck over the kid. Screw 'em all. I'm going to use what I know to figure out a way to turn things around.

But back to Marita... Damn. I've fucked my share of women, but she's the only one I've kept coming back to. Trust me, it's not love. She's just the best lay I've ever had. The woman's mouth can do things that are probably illegal in several states and make me happy to be a man.

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

Mulder made a face at the thought of Krycek having anything close to sex with anyone, let alone Marita. He wished he could have seen what Krycek had written on those missing pages. Apparently, the kid knew a lot more than he let on, and it was going to be his ticket out. Maybe Krycek had known about the baby before Scully even had. Was that going to be the way he set himself free? Or was it bigger than that? Had he and Skinner really made a mistake by killing him?

Taking a deep breath, he opened to the last entry.

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

It's all going to be over soon. I can't say when or how, but I just know that my luck is going to run out and I'm going to be looking down the barrel of a gun. If I'm lucky, that is. A gunshot to the head will be swift, painless and is a dignified way to die. I won't beg. I won't plead. I won't cry. I'll just take it like a man.

Sometimes when I think back on how it used to be, I wonder at that wide-eyed rookie. Whatever happened to him? I was so green, so clueless about what I was really being asked to do. I would watch the men I worked with and marvel at their utter lack of humanity. I was a kid with his nose pressed to the glass, not understanding what exactly it was they did, but wanting to do it, nonetheless. If I knew then what I know now, I would have kept my curiosity and desire to myself.

It's too late to have too many regrets. I made my choice, and now I'm trying to crawl my way back to some kind of retribution. There isn't all that much separating the sinner from the saint, no matter what people say, and I'm ready to cross that fine line. I know they don't trust me, and the thought that I could consider myself a savior is laughable to many. Lying bastard, cheat and killer; I've heard them all. I did my best and it provided the worst for everyone around me. When I go out, it'll be doing the thing that no one expected of me. Even if I have to die to find my new salvation, I'll know that I was trying to do what's right in the end.

Even if nobody else does.

I've never considered myself a victim of fate. Man makes his own destiny, as far as I'm concerned. Everything that happened to me, good and bad, was either due to skill or the misfortune of bad timing. Sometimes shit happens and you deal. Other times, if you're fortunate enough to make it out with your ass intact, you mumble a few words of thanks and move on. But nothing is ever pre-destined. If I believed that, I'd have to believe that someone up there really hates me. Actually, I should amend that to say that I *used* to believe in that shit. Too much has happened to make me think that way. I've seen too much. This is my role to play but that still has nothing to do with fate. It's the path I've chosen. Just me. No one else.

Who the hell would choose to be a traitorous, lying scumbag? My answer to that is someone has to be the bad guy. This world would be so fucking boring if everyone wore a white hat. Hell, even Mulder isn't one hundred percent on the good side, but he's still the hero and I'm the villain. I don't mind it - sort of lets me know all is right with the world. I only wish he and Scully knew that Skinner is worse than me. At least I don't try to make myself out to be their friend. Hopefully, Mulder won't hate me too much when all is said and done.

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

Mulder put the book aside and looked outside his window, staring at nothing. Krycek's words had made him feel sadder than he thought they would. The bastard had done so much to hurt him, but he really had been trying to redeem himself at the end. Even more shocking, he hadn't tried to make himself out to be a victim of circumstance. He took responsibility for everything that happened to him, and was even resigned to the day he would die.

"Fuck you, Krycek," Mulder whispered to the room. He resented the fact that the man he thought was nothing but a two bit scumbag actually had some sort of code he lived by. Worse than, the bastard was making him regret the fact that he was dead. "If you'd only..." He closed his eyes and shook his head, forcing back emotions he didn't know how to deal with just yet.

Silently, Mulder rose to his feet and went to his desk. Giving the worn cover of the journal one more look, he sighed and put it in a drawer. If nothing else, Alex was free now.

The End

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

Deacon Blues
by Steely Dan

This is the day of the expanding man
That shape is my shade
There where I used to stand
It seems like only yesterday
I gazed through the glass
At ramblers, wild gamblers
That's all in the past

You call me a fool
You say it's a crazy scheme
This one's for real
I already bought the dream
So useless to ask me why
Throw a kiss and say goodbye
I'll make it this time
I'm ready to cross that fine line

(chorus) I'll learn to work the saxaphone
I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
And I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

My back to the wall
A victim of laughing chance
This is for me
The essence of true romance
Sharing the things we know and love
With those of my kind
Libations
Sensations
That stagger the mind

I crawl like a viper
Through these suburban streets
Make love to these women
Languid and bittersweet
I'll rise when the sun goes down
Cover every game in town
A world of my own
I'll make it my home sweet home

This is the age of the expanding man
I take one last drag
As I approach the stand
I cried when I wrote this song
Sue me if I play too long
This brother is free
I'll be what I want to be

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