From: "Chris Keil" Date: Sun, 9 Jan 2000 08:51:38 -0500 Subject: xfc: NEW: The Last Stand (1 of 1) by Kelly Keil Source: xfc From: "Chris Keil" TITLE: The Last Stand AUTHOR: Kelly Keil E-MAIL: cjkeil@primenet.com FEEDBACK: Please do. DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere. SPOILER WARNING: Nothing in particular. Some vague references through season seven. RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: V,A DISCLAIMER: Krycek doesn't belong to me. He is owned lock,stock, and barrel by Fox, 1013, and Chris Carter. I am simply borrowing him for a bit. I promise to return him when I'm done. SUMMARY: Post-colonization. Character death. Krycek's last hurrah. AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks to Sarah Parsons for her very timely beta and Exley_61 for her useful suggestions. Much appreciation also goes out to Sabine and Punk Maneuverability for their assistance and the sheep jokes. ________________________________________________________________ I walk down the long hallway, the original one-armed bandit, holding tight to my precious cargo. Stealing it wasn't easy-- nothing is easy these days. Still, I'm more resourceful than they've given me credit for. They aren't expecting this--how could they? I find my wife among the countless others and cut her down. I place her gently on the floor while I do my work. You don't forget things like this--it's like riding a bike. Blue to red. Yellow to green. White to black. Some part of me always knew it would come to this, Terri. You used to wonder about my nightmares--well, they often ended like this. I never told you, but in my dreams I've killed you thousands of times. Now look at what's become of us. I was a prophet, all those long years spent with you. I was a doomsayer, and I was foolish and arrogant to ignore my own dreams. When did I become so blind and thoughtless? How, in my quest for a soul, did I lose myself? Regardless of how it happened, I became a new man, reborn into the Volvos and neighborhood committees of suburbia. I told myself this was good. I told myself it was what I had wanted all those haunted years. Damned if I can remember if one word of it was true. All I know is that over time I became restless and dissatisfied. The thrill, as they say, was gone. Ironic. All those years all I'd wanted was to make enough money to just get out, to be on my own and safe for once--to be free of them. Then, once I was my own man and free for the first time in my life, I started to miss the person that I had been before. I would sit at breakfast, smiling at you, Terri, and long for the feel of a gun in my remaining hand. I don't know who I wanted to kill more--you, or me. So I kept on smiling and part of me, the part that still, even now, wants to live, was thankful I had sold the guns long ago. That was before the shitstorm occurred. All those years as a hired gun had left me numb to the possibility of this happening. I once was part of the conspiracy--a man in the know. Aliens were something that happened to other people. When I was a wolf, I lived my life outside the horrors that belonged to human sheep. I had forgotten, in my stupidity and pride, that my immunity would end once I joined their fleecy herd. Once the aliens came, I had no more forewarning than any of the other poor slobs. I was like a man caught in a tornado while on the crapper--hell, I didn't even own a gun. I remember the day they came for you. I stood there, unable to move. You cried and fought and I just stood there, anchored by fear and denial. I couldn't accept it--not even then. It wasn't long before they came for me as well. Numbly,I went along with them to do their work. Oh, I probably shouldn't complain, Terri. At least I was never made into an alien incubator. I was forced to work in one of the fucking nurseries, though. I monitored the temperature of the warehouse and pushed my broom like the good sheep I am--have been. I've tended the women hanging from the ceiling like sides of beef in a meat locker. One of them was you, sweetheart. You were just one of hundreds, but I would touch your cheek gently each time I passed you. I wished each time that I had not sold my guns all those years ago. I noticed yesterday that your time is almost up. The hideous life within you wants to be born and I won't let that happen. It's my turn to stand, Terri. How things do circle around. There is a resistance. I've heard Mulder is their leader--my, my what a small world this is. I hear things, Terri. I've always been good at listening when I should. I've heard that the old man who runs things is galled by what his son does. I've heard that the resistance is growing, and that the price on Mulder's head is high--a month's worth of meat rations. For that price I would turn in my own mother. I've thought of donning my old persona and hunting him down. I've also thought of joining him in his useless fight, but I don't think that I was meant for that. Sydney Carton was not meant to be the hero; neither am I. I'm just tired of the whole fucking mess and I want it all to end. I loved you, Terri, as much as I could, in my own fashion. If a wolf can be said to love, then I loved you. And I suppose I love you still, so let's just say that I do this out of love. Christ, even hell has got to be better than here. Death is often a mercy. I've never been known as a merciful man, but this once I think I can manage it. It's time; it's nearly time. Hold my hand, will you? You're cold, so cold. I know how you always hated that. We'll be warm again. Soon. I swear I regret this, Terri. It shouldn't have to end this way. How could I have been so stupid to waste the only heaven I'll ever know? How could I have ever resented being tied to you? I guess that's just one more fuck up to add to the list. In my dreams there was always fire. How fitting. How prophetic. I'm sorry, Terri. Oh, God, I'm so sorry. It's time now. It's time. End Drop me a line and tell me what you think at cjkeil@primenet.com.