Just kill me. Please. Убейте меня…
Krycek is sitting at the bar, sucking on his third glass of whiskey. There are people around him, and there's music, but Krycek doesn't hear any of that. What he's hearing is a voice. A small, whimpering voice. He's been hearing it all day.
That's how it would happen, sometimes. Krycek would go about his day, keeping busy, and out of nowhere - boom! - his memory would serve him a shit sandwich on a silver platter.
He didn't know what had set it off this time. Or why it was this particular episode. Maybe things had been going too well for him lately, and this was his subconscious' way of humbling him? Reminding him that men like Krycek didn't have the right to be happy?
As far as Krycek was concerned, nobody was truly innocent. None of the men and women Krycek had hurt had been innocent.
Except for the boy. Dmitry was his name. Krycek had remembered that too.
Two alien factions clashing in the Kazakh desert. And two boys whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was a job. The boy was collateral damage. What Krycek was doing, it was more important than Dmitry; more important than Krycek. Humankind's future was at stake, for crying out loud!
All that Krycek was repeating to himself like some monstrous mantra, while the boy first begged for his life, and then for his death. Krycek had to block it out so he could carry on with the job.
But that hadn't been the worst of it. Bruises heal (that was Krycek's last line of defense against his actions). It was what he had done after he'd beaten the boy that was unforgivable.
Krycek knew what the Black Oil did to you. How it wrung out your mind like a dirty dish rag. How it sucked the sanity out of you. You were a prisoner in your own mind, and your body belonged to this cold, unfeeling intellect that didn't even acknowledge your existence.
He knew all that when he had the boy get injected with it. All for a greater cause. Krycek's only - only - defense was that he didn't enjoy doing it. That was one of the dirtiest jobs he'd ever had to do, and he knew it even then.
His neighbor Alina was about the same age as Dmitry had been at the time. And when Krycek tried to imagine someone doing that to her, his mind would fill with white hot rage.
Krycek drinks.
The light in the kitchen window is still on. Krycek didn't tell Mulder where he went. He had enough decency to answer his boyfriend's worried texts, but insisted he was good enough to come home on his own.
He almostdidn't come inside. He considered crashing on the bench on the ground floor. Didn't want Mulder to see him like this. Not again.
But he would only be making matters worse if he'd let Mulder spend the night stewing in his own worry and frustration. That, and there was a small matter of the Russian mafia being after him.
Krycek turns the key, and pushes the door open. He's squinting in the bright light as his brain registers the smell of Red Rooibos tea, and the sounds of TV in the living room.
Mulder comes out of the room. Krycek was expecting him to look… what, angry? Anxious? Instead, he just looks relieved.
"Are you okay?" He says as his eyes are scanning Krycek's frame. Gotta make sure your idiot boyfriend didn't collect a new set of injuries while he was out drinking.
Krycek can't help feeling small and naked under Mulder's scrutinizing gaze. The funny thing is that he doesn't hate it.
"I need a shower." is not what Krycek wanted to say.
Mulder smiles warmly, and pats Krycek on the shoulder, "Go shower. I'll make some more tea. I didn't know when you'd be back." He adds apologetically.
Before Mulder turns, Krycek catches him in an awkward, drunken hug. He isn't sure wha it is that he's trying to say, he just can't stand not being close to Mulder. If Mulder is surprised or repulsed by a drunk Krycek, he doesn't show it. He puts his arms around Krycek, and holds him for as long he needs to be held.
Why are you here, Mulder? Krycek has been keeping him here, in another country, away from his family. Away from Scully. Mulder may have chosen to come here, and he may have chosen to stay, but he can't leave until Krycek's wounds have healed; until it's safe for them to leave. Krycek should be feeling bad. But Krycek is selfish, and he's lonely, and he loves Mulder more than he's loved anyone. He hugs Mulder tighter, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
Mulder is warm, his breath is tickling Krycek's neck, and his stubble is scratching against Krycek's skin. Mulder has been doing the no-shave November, finally having caved to Krycek's selfish requests. There's gray in his stubble now. Has it really been thirty years? Where is that aloof, genius rebel who wouldn't give Krycek a time of day when they had first met? Now, when Mulder looks at him, it's with warmth in his eyes.
Mulder cups Krycek's face, and tilts it under the light, still looking for new bruises. Krycek, in turn, takes in Mulder's features. He's still the same old Mulder. And yet, he isn't. Does this mean we get to grow old together after all?
"Go shower, Alex," Mulder orders softly, "And make sure the water's not too hot. I swear to God, If you scald yourself again, I'll have to monitor your showers." and he seasons his threat with a teasing little smile. Dork.
Krycek does as he's told.
He hasn't drunk so much that he needs to throw up now. Still, Mulder puts a waste basket next to the bed. Krycek drops face down on the mattress, eyes closed, body giving up for the day.
After a moment, he feels Mulder's hand on his back, rubbing slow gentle circles through the cotton. The last time Krycek got shit-face drunk, he hurt Mulder so badly, the man had almost walked out on him (well, not really). This time, Krycek had enough forethought to not say anything he would regret the next day. So that Mulder wouldn't wander the city alone all night. Again.
This time, he came home on his own, instead of having Mulder drag his sorry ass back. This time, Mulder gets in bed with him.
"I'm sorry." Krycek mumbles, unsure of what it is he's apologizing for; or to whom.
Mulder doesn't say anything, but the soft kiss he plants on Krycek's throbbing temple is enough to quiet the voices in his head. Even if it's just for one night.
Krycek sleeps.