Gehenna

Krycek put the car in park. "Who asked you?"

The woman looked at him. Had she been alive, the blood
would have stained the interior of the car, but the blood was more than five years old. One of his first kills, actually. She paid for seeing the smoker working on a foggy Saturday evening and she had become one of Krycek's first
statistics. Washington was a dangerous at night. She should have known that.

"He's not right for you."

"Fuck you."

"Killing me wasn't enough?"

Krycek got out of the car, slamming it behind him. She
didn't follow.

Had he known who was waiting for him, he would have stayed
in the car. At least that woman was generic. He didn't know anything about her besides the fact that she was inconvenient to the smoker. That had been enough cause.

Her brown hair hadn't changed. "You don't deserve him,"
Melissa said.

"What makes you think he's any great prize? He's more
fucked up than I am."

"He's never killed anyone deliberately."

"And that makes me a bad person?"

"Yes," she said, frankly.

Krycek would have pushed past her had she had any physical
body. He made an ineffectual wave of his hand as he stepped passed her. The touch chilled him, and he did his jacket up closer around him. "Why are you still here?" he demanded. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else, floating with a harp?"

She laughed, a tinkling sound that seemed wrong for the
cold evening and the harsh wind. "This is your hell, Alex. Not mine."

Krycek doubled his steps. "Then get thee behind me."

"You bring me back, Alex," she called to him.

Alex closed his eyes, not looking at the boy he had sewn.
"I didn't kill you," he said, but he spoke in English. "They did that. I had nothing to do with your death."

The boy just stood in the alleyway. Alex stopped to look
at him. He opened his mouth, threads already cut, but no words came out. He took a shuffling step forward. "And I suppose you think Mulder's beyond my reach, too," he
said, but took a step back as the boy went to touch his
cheek. This was a delusion, and it wasn't shared. Two men skirted him widely, eyeing him even after they had passed.

Krycek realized he was slipping. Seeing them was one
thing. Responding to them another. He walked on, feeling the night going colder. The ghosts reached for him from their darkened alleys and shadows. 

Some of them had died quickly, others in shock. Some had lingered on. Krycek had never enjoyed suffering, but sometimes it was unavoidable. It was his job, and
this was the consequence. He walked in the middle of the
sidewalk, and only the bright light of the streetlight kept them at bay. This was the wrong night for it.

"Why this night?"

Krycek looked up and blanched. Anyone but him. Krycek was insane, and this was his insanity. But if there was a hell, this man would be burning in it.

"You're in no position to judge me," Krycek said.

Bill Mulder didn't get out of his way. Krycek stopped
rather than walking through him.

"I am in the perfect position. He's my son."

"I love him."

"Bullshit. You don't know the definition of love. You
never will."

Krycek looked up. Mulder's apartment's light was on. "He
could teach me."

"You shot his father."

Krycek put a hand on the security door, but made no move
to pick the lock.

"Another day at the office," Krycek said, honestly. The
shadows grew closer.

The dead shuffled towards him from their hiding spots. The
interior of the lobby looked warm and inviting. They couldn't follow him inside, it was too normal for them to cross the threshold.

"Then go in, if you think you can. Give this all up and go
inside," Bill Mulder moved next to him, to whisper in his ear. "Two easy steps, Alex. Unlock the door and step inside. But don't bring us with you. You both will suffer for it."

Krycek realized the truth to the words. He remained frozen
for a dozen heartbeats, contemplating his two futures, and then let go of the door handle. He moved back into the night with his ghosts. It was just easier that way.

The End