Pairing: Sk/K
Raison d'etre: The Fifth X-Files Lyric Wheel Challenge. Lyrics courtesy of Hammerhead.
Warning: Violence depicted.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CC, Fox and 1013. Pity.
Author's notes at end of story.

From the tapes of the security cameras placed in the garage of FBI Headquarters:

Krycek's finger slowly, reluctantly, tightens on the trigger. The gun is pointing at Mulder.

Mulder stares, expressionless, at Krycek, waiting to see what he will do.

A gun shot and a pained gasp echo in the nearly empty garage of FBI Headquarters.

Krycek has dropped to the floor, is stooped over his right arm, which is bleeding. He looks up to see Skinner approaching him, weapon aimed directly at him. He tries to reach for his weapon and another shot rings out. Once more a gasp echoes and Krycek realizes his right arm is totally useless.

He looks up at Skinner, teeth gritted against the pain and shock.

"It's going to take more bullets than you can...ever fire to win this game. But one bullet...and I can give you a thousand lives."

Krycek looks up at Mulder, all the time trying to grasp his weapon with his fake hand.

"Shoot Mulder."

Skinner looks at Mulder who returns the look blankly. The decision is Skinner's.

Skinner raises his gun and fires.

Krycek falls to the ground, a bullet hole between the eyes.

Without expressing any regret or surprise at his superior's actions, Mulder walks over to the driver's side of the car.

"I'm going to go to the airport. I need that location from Agent Doggett. Skinner, are you with me?"

Skinner ignores the body sprawled on the oily cement floor. "You just go. I'll get him."

As Mulder drives away, Skinner glances at the body of his enemy, then he turns and walks away.

It was almost dawn when Skinner closed the door of his condo behind him.

He was exhausted but filled with a sense of accomplishment.

Over the last twenty-four hours, he had gotten the goods on Kersh and his ties with the Replicants. They'd gotten rid of the Replicants' mole into the DD's office, their line into the CIA. He'd even managed to rid himself of a personal enemy.

The Upper Floor would have no more excuse to deny him his proper promotion. Especially now that Kersh had been proven to be as dirty as anything that could be thrown at him. At least *he* had known who had been pulling his strings. Kersh was so out of the loop that Crane could have been running the DD's office -- probably had been -- with Kersh totally oblivious.

Not a sign of the good management skills that the Upper Floor was so insistent had been the reason for Kersh's promotion over Skinner.

He allowed himself a small smile. He'd even gotten Scully and Mulder out of his hair. Mulder was no longer with the FBI, a thorn in his side forever removed. And Scully...well, Scully was off on maternity leave. And so many women didn't return to active duty from those. And even if she wanted to, she'd be far happier safely seconded to Quantico and the classroom.

Most of his trouble with the Upper Floor had been because of those two. Well, he had supported them, done his best by them. To the determent of his career.

No more.

Getting the dirt on Kersh had balanced the scale.

And the X-Files would be in far more stable hands under the care of Agent Doggett and his new side-kick, Agent Reyes.

Skinner made his way over to the bar and poured himself a much deserved drink.

"I'll take one of those, too."

Skinner froze. No. Couldn't be.

He turned slowly to find a dead man watching him from the comfort of his favourite chair.

"Krycek."

The man smiled coldly.

"What a surprise." Skinner managed to keep his voice level, calm while he cursed mentally. After a moment, he set the glass of scotch down, reached for another glass and was pleased to see a steady hand pour the second drink.

Krycek rose from the shadows and accepted the glass from Skinner. He took a sip, saluted the quality of the liquor with the glass and a small smile.

"I thought you were dead." Skinner picked up his own glass and took a much larger sip than Krycek had done.

"Well, to quote Mark Twain, rumours of my demise were grossly exaggerated." He took another sip. Examining the contents of his glass, Krycek cocked his head to one side. He spoke softly, almost pensively. "That wasn't part of the deal, Skinner, you killing me. I thought we'd compromised. I give you the goods on Kersh, you help me with the Replicants."

Skinner's shrug was rather indifferent. "You wanted me to kill Mulder. *That* wasn't part of the deal, Krycek."

Krycek nodded. "You're right. It wasn't. Well, at least, not your killing the real Mulder."

Skinner hesitated then lowered the glass from his mouth. "The *real* Mulder?"

Krycek allowed himself a mocking grin. "Oh, did you think that was the real Mulder? Sorry to disillusion you. The *real* Mulder died months ago under the gentle care of the Greys. The Mulder in the garage was a Replicant.

"Of course, now that he's not been officially killed, he's free to come and go as he pleases, all the time safely ensconced in Scully's life...where he'll have no trouble keeping a eye on the kid. Which is what we were trying to prevent, if you care to remember?"

Skinner slammed his glass down on the bar. "How the hell was *I* supposed to know that?" he snapped. "*You* never said anything about Mulder being a Replicant."

Krycek shrugged. "I only learned about it when I smashed the car window while he was talking to Doggett. He's a refinement on Billy Myles, the next generation I guess you could say. The spinal connectors are much less noticeable, but they're there. Pity you didn't trust me enough to shoot where I asked you to."

Skinner's grin was cold, his voice sarcastic. "Like there are grounds for so much of that between us."

Another shrug. "Well, considering the discussions we had about the situation, I did think...Not that it really matters any more. Officially, I am dead and Mulder, such as he is, is alive."

"And so are you. Tell me, Krycek, was what I shot another of these Replicants?"

Krycek came up to the bar, poured them each another drink. "No. I'm me. Krycek. The one you shot. Fortunately for me, the Rebels don't trust any more than you do, Skinner. What will appear on the security tapes as a clean-up crew was actually, in fact, some of them. And like the Bounty Hunters, they have very good powers of regeneration as long as they get there in time. See."

Krycek leaned over and, with his gloved fake hand, pushed the hair off his forehead. There, where Skinner's bullet had entered, was a pock mark.

Skinner raised an eyebrow and his glass. "They did a good job on you."

Krycek smiled as he pick up his glass. "They have a sense of loyalty to those who work with them."

"So what happens now, Krycek? Now that you're officially dead."

"Oh, I'll still work with them. Even dead, I can be very useful to them, to the Cause. Probably," he added thoughtfully, "even more of use. No one will think of looking for me now that you've killed me."

"So it's worked out for the best."

"Suppose so," said Krycek. He placed his empty glass onto the bar. Skinner finally noticed that both hands were gloved.

Krycek started towards the door of the condo. "You know, Skinner, never thought you had it in you."

At Skinner's inquiring grunt, he explained, "The ability to shoot someone in cold blood. Now me, no problem. But you? That was a surprise."

Skinner placed his empty glass on the bar and turned.

"And surprisingly enough," continued Krycek, "the Rebels also have a sense of reparation for betrayal."

Whatever Skinner was about to say never got said. He dropped to the floor, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

Krycek stepped around him, took the glass he had used and slipped it into his jacket pocket. As he passed it, Krycek didn't even look at the body of the man who had killed him.

Still, as he went to open the door, he did glance back. "Oh, well. I guess the FBI is going to have to find itself a new Assistant Director."

And, with no regrets, he closed the door behind him.

Author's note.

Besides the Lyric Wheel challenge, this story satisfies three other personal ones.

One: to incorporate the news release that CC is adding a new character to the Season 9 line-up, a new AD. (So, not only Bye, Krycek, but also Bye, Skinner????)

Two, from a friend: to write Krycek as a "bad guy". (Not quite what he wanted, but the best I can do.)

Three, a subtle challenge, but one which I decided to take up. Recently, one feedback said that my stories were fine except for the endings. The writer loved my angst, but not my "happy" endings. So, this ending is for all those who don't like happy endings. <G>

LYRICS from Hammerhead with thanks.

Never thought you had it in you
Never thought you'd burn me down
never thought you'd reassemble
Somehow, I lost count
You know it's something different
It's lost in the simplicity
Tolerance and appreciation
Well, they're lost in the poetry

Can't stand up, exhausted from trying
Barely lit, with a dull compliance
Enjoy the pace of a life's embrace
Every breath you take will guide you

You never said you had it in you
I thought we'd compromised
It's getting harder to breathe here
Tolerance is in short supply
You make a fool of me
I'll keep you company
Just so you don't pick up the pieces
And then it's lost in the poetry

every sunset both good and bad
ain't necessarily behind you

Never thought you had it in you
Now I see the monster in me
And now that dog's reawakened
And he's got no self-esteem
Maybe I should go on instinct
I hate to second guess
Maybe I just won't pick up the pieces
No way back and no regrets

The End

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