TITLE: Suns and Lovers
AUTHOR: winter baby
FANDOM: The X-Files
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: Krycek/Marita
SPOILERS: Existence
SUMMARY: Exhausted and cold / She's not ready to go / But the ghost on the phone / Helps her safely into her dream

WEBSITE: http://www.livejournal.com/users/winter_baby
FEEDBACK: winter_baby@popullus.net
AUTHOR'S NOTE: An attempt to redeem Krycek's death. All titles are Farscape episodes. The summary comes from "Stealing Babies" by Our Lady Peace.




+  Suns and Lovers  +


Exhausted and cold
She's not ready to go
But the ghost on the phone
Helps her safely into her dream

-Our Lady Peace [ Stealing Babies ]


[ chapter one: different destinations ]

He sends her a postcard from another world. It's of a beach at sunset, of palm trees waving in the wind and of fire red waters. Alex has found this paradise and he knows that she can't follow.

He knows this, and he's rubbing it in her face.

He wrote nothing on the back, only her address and even that was typed. The only reason she knows it's from him is because who else would take the time to send her a postcard, to taunt her with warm places she would never be able to see?

Tunisia was warm, she remembers, unbearably warm. But there was no water there, or palm trees. Sunsets didn't exist either; day became night without anyone ever really knowing when it happened.

Alex was there too, condemned to that rotting hellhole by dark men playing shadow games. Did he know? Did they tell him that she was the one who had done this to him?

Months later, when they sent her to retrieve him, she feared for her life. But he was extremely calm; he didn't lift a hand or a gun to her, which was deeply unnerving. She thought that he was planning something horrible, something even more gruesome than death. Or was it maybe that he didn't care anymore whether or not she was alive?

If that were the case, she would just have to make him care again.

Sleeping with Alex in that heat made her head spin. Everything she had loved about him from years ago came rushing back.

It was all an illusion, she told herself later. She didn't really love him; she only loved the things he could do to her. In bed, in the shower, on the desk, and once just once in a Macy's dressing room down in Atlanta.

She smiles, lost in the haze of that memory, but quickly snaps out of it as she crumples the postcard and throws it into the garbage can.

She vows not to think of him anymore, of his cruelty or of his touch.




[ chapter two: a human reaction ]

Alex bathed in sunlight. Alex smiling. Alex swimming in warm waters.

She dreams all these things that night, alone in her cold bed.

The next morning, she calls the post office to ask where the postcard was sent from. They tell her New York City, and she almost drops the phone.

Of course he's in town. She should know by now that Alex would never make contact unless he could follow it up.

She grabs her keys and races down to the parking garage. Once in her car, she realizes how futile it would be to go to his apartment. Would Alex really be stupid enough to return there? But she doesn't know where else to start. She has to find him, because she's so tired of just remembering him and his warm hand on her body. She needs it to be real.

She slides her key into the door of his apartment and of course, when she opens it, he's not there. It's exactly as she left it, all the furniture draped in white sheets to keep the dust off. She did this for him, because she didn't know when he would be back, and because it gave her a sense of control, what little it mattered.

She steps in, her eyes adjusting to the dark because the heavy curtains are drawn against the midmorning light. The sun pours in when she draws them open, and she squints her eyes against the glare. She ignores the warmth.

Suddenly, she hears the door creak open wider behind her, and she's frozen. Without even turning around she can tell it's Alex, because no one else knows that she would be here.

She slowly turns to face him, and there he is, leaning against the doorframe, his long legs crossed and a smile on his face. The only smile in the world that could make her forget her own name.

So, you figured it out, Alex says almost proudly, as if she were a dog who has finally mastered a trick.

She doesn't answer, and he walks up to her.

No hello for an old lover? he says.

He's so cocky, and she almost resents him, but how can she hate him when he's smiling at her like that?

He moves in maybe to kiss her, but she suddenly backs away.

This is wrong. This is all wrong.

How did Alex end up with all the power? No man should be able to make her feel this way so lightheaded and weak in the knees.

I thought you'd be glad to see me, he says tersely, reeling from her momentary repulsion from him. He thinks she doesn't want to be near him.

If he only knew.

She regains her composure and puts on her most charming smile.

Of course I'm glad. Welcome home, she answers coyly and wraps her arms around his hard body. She pulls back from the embrace, and Alex's expression grows softer.

Is it safe to come back here, Alex? How can you be so sure that someone isn't watching? she asks him. Did she mean for those questions to sound like threats? Even she can't tell anymore.

Alex just shrugs, apparently sensing no danger in her words.

They're all dead, he says. No one left but us, Marita.

It's been so long since she's heard him say her name, and even after all this time he still makes it sound like something sacred, something to be revered, and in that way so unlike the actual person. She's missed his voice.

I guess I'll never get used to that, she replies, and looks down at the hardwood floor.

To what? he asks, drawing her eyes back up to his.

Being safe. Not having to look over my shoulder anymore.

He smiles and says, I'm still here, you know.

It's only a joke, she knows, but the truth of his words keeps her from laughing.

Would you, really? she almost begs. Would you really kill me?

He is caught off guard by her question.

Such earnestness, Marita. Is the safe life turning you into an honest person?

Maybe, she answers him silently. Out loud, she says nothing.

Alex shifts his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, looking confused. Well, so is she. Usually they'd tear each other's clothes off without speaking one word, but this time everything is so awkward. She needs him to be honest, but she doesn't know why.

He takes a moment to consider her question, and breathes in deep.

No. I don't think I would kill you, he says quietly and she nods a little, in acceptance.

Why not? she asks as an afterthought. She's pushing it, she knows, but she's come this far.

Because, he says with a smile, you're just too much fun.

She glares at him in anger.

I'm more than that, she hisses. I'm more than fun.

What the hell is going on with you? he almost yells at her. He pushes his face close to hers, and she feels his hot breath on her skin.

Alex, she whispers. He doesn't hear her, or at least pretends not to. She backs up and bumps into the couch behind her, but now he's cornered her. She has no room to maneuver, to escape.

I come here to see you, to have a little fun, and you want to be profound? He grabs her wrist roughly. Answer me, Marita. What the hell is going on?

She doesn't say anything because she doesn't know either.

She has no idea why it's suddenly so important that he tells her the truth. It never mattered to her before. She never used to care whether or not he had it in him to kill her, or love her.

Love her?

She freezes.

She can't breathe. She needs get away from him, away from these thoughts.

Loving Alex Krycek is out of the question, and him loving her back is just impossible.

He isn't capable, and she's not willing.

Alex loosens his grip when he sees her panicked face, and she frees herself. She flees the apartment and races down the stairs.

He calls after her, her name echoing throughout the stairwell.

Even now it's something sacred.




[ chapter three: what was lost ]

She doesn't see him again for a long time, and all the while her memory fails her. He blurs at the edges, fades away. The only thing she remembers clearly is the color of his eyes.

Green like envy.

And then one day, months later, he calls her. This time she actually drops the phone.

Alex never calls. He bursts into her apartment or sends cryptic postcards, but he never calls like a normal person.

Marita, he says quietly. I need you here.

She nods, even though she knows he can't see her.

I'm in DC, he continues, and then hangs up abruptly.

She packs blindly, not knowing what she needs or how long she's going to be away. She stuffs as many shirts in her small suitcase as she can, because blood stains so easily and she wants to make sure she'll have enough clean clothes.

She doesn't think she's capable of driving all the way down to Washington, so she books a flight. The plane ride is brief in one blink she's in the air, then landing, then standing in the middle of the terminal, not waiting for Alex to pick her up but hoping that he might be there.

Of course he's not.

She finds a cab and heads towards the FBI headquarters because why else would Alex be in DC if it didn't have something to do with Mulder?

The lights of the city shine brighter than the sun as they blur past the cab window, and she leans her head against the cool glass.

She's exhausted and she blames it on Alex.

The Hoover building is dark, and everything is locked. What did she expect? It's the middle of the night, but still she circles the building, hoping that something might be open.

She reaches the parking garage entrance and stares at the dark gaping void that would swallow her whole.

Voices float out from the garage, and she recognizes Alex's. She runs in, down to the bottom level, taking the stairs two at a time. She almost trips on the last step when she hears the shot ring out, but she catches herself.

Mulder and Skinner are standing there with Alex on his knees, and it's some kind of showdown. She would laugh at how macho the men are trying to act if it weren't for that gun Skinner has in Alex's face.

She should scream, run at him, anything to stop Skinner. But she's afraid that he'll just turn the gun on her too.

She stays in the shadows, far away from the yelling men and watches as another bullet lands in Alex's right arm. He screams in pain and it's all she can do from screaming with him. She bites her lip, and leans up against the wall. She doesn't think she can stand otherwise.

She doesn't try to help him. She knows now that she's not meant to save Alex, if fate really does exist. She's only meant to be there when he dies, even if it is in the background and he isn't aware of her presence.

He won't die alone. He won't.

She winces and turns away when the bullet from Skinner's gun lodges itself between Alex's eyes. He crumples to the floor, and she covers her mouth to keep from gasping, or sobbing.

This isn't the way he would have wanted to die, if he had any choice. He would have wanted to die by her hand, to have been slowly betrayed by her, like he knew her in life. That's the way she would have wanted it.

When she turns back, she sees everything as if she's standing in a dense fog. Mulder and Skinner appear and disappear out of her field of vision, until finally she is alone save for Alex's body.

Her heels click loudly against the concrete floor as she walks up to him. His envy-green eyes stare up at her even now and he looks shocked, not peaceful the way dead people are supposed to look. His mangled arm is twisted in an odd position.

She gently closes his eyes with her left hand, and steps back as the pool of blood that circles his head like a halo edges its way towards her shoes.

She turns around, and leaves his body behind.

She leaves everything behind, the life that she built around him, a life shrouded in secrets and lies and stolen kisses. She forgets Tunisia, Russia, the Macy's dressing room, him.

She's coming undone, falling apart at the seams. She feels pieces of herself trail behind her each time she takes a step farther and farther away from him.

Alex was the only reason she lived this kind of life, and now he's gone forever, lost to her.




[ chapter four: fractures ]

She builds another life out of nothing, out of empty hands and empty hearts. She moves to a random city, where people are stacked on top of each other and still no one knows anyone else's name. It's like New York but emptier, if that's even possible, because he isn't there.

She finds a useless job, not for the money but really just to fill her days. She floats throughout this life, passing through people and leaving only the barest trace that she was there at all.

Mist.

Sometimes she finds herself standing under the streetlamp in front of her apartment, in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a nightgown. The damp concrete is cold under her bare feet, bits of gravel digging into her skin. She doesn't remember getting up or walking outside, but she doesn't think she's sleepwalking. She suspects that she's doing this because she likes the way the streetlamp makes her feel bathed in light but with no real warmth.

She imagines that's what it's like to be in love.

She whispers his name before returning inside.

Later, she tells herself that he loved her, although he never admitted it himself and it might not even have been true. But she deludes herself anyway, because otherwise he would have just been another man screwing her for fun, and she needs Alex to be more than that.

She was more than that, once, a long time ago in another life when he was still with her, but not anymore.

Sometimes, after coming in from the cold streetlamp, she hears him whisper her name back to her in her dreams.

Still it's something sacred.


[ end ]





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