Disclaimer:  CC gave up all rights to our Ratboy when he killed him.  He gave 
him up - he can't have him back.
 
Requiem for Alex Krycek
                 by Broken Angel



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"Nor law, nor duty made me fight
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds.
I balanced all, brought all to mind
The years to come seem waste of breath
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death."
    -William Butler Yeats, "An Irish Airman Forsees His Death"
 
"I was ever a fighter, so - one fight more - 
The best and the last!"
    -Robert Browning, "Prospice"

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It's quiet here - quiet and dark.  That should bother me, remind me of the silo, 
but it doesn't.  How strange.
 
Instead, it reminds me of of an innocence I - until now - only vaguely 
remembered, like a dream that almost vanishes upon waking, leaving you with a 
fleeting impression of something more.  It's the darkness that you see when you 
close your eyes to be kissed; warm, soft, welcoming.  Being dead isn't really 
that bad - actually, it's kind of nice.  I have my arm back, and I don't have to 
run any more.
 
I always hated running.
 
Besides, it's not always dark here, or quiet - if I want, I can be anywhere, do 
anything.  I spend a lot of time watching people.  Especially Mulder.
 
I should have known he'd be the death of me - even if it took Skinner to pull 
the trigger.  I couldn't make myself kill Mulder - I loved him too much - and 
for that, the world will burn.  I suppose that makes the impending colonization 
my fault.  He would say it was typical.  His last words to me were a taunt, a 
reminder that I killed his father.  I'm not sorry I did that - it saved his 
life.  I just wish that he understood why I did it.
 
He's happy now, with Scully and the baby.  I hope, for his sake, that 
colonization doesn't happen until he's dead.  He's been fighting all his life - 
he deserves some peace before he joins me.
 
He still wakes up screaming sometimes, but it's not as bad as it used to be.  
Sometimes, I sit with him, lay one insubstantial hand on his.  He doesn't feel 
it, and even when he wakes up, he doesn't see me.  There's no place in his life 
for my ghost.  Surprisingly, I don't really mind.  He'll see me eventually, and 
we'll have eternity to work things out.



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"Fear no more the heat o' the sun
Nor the furious winter's rages.
Thou thy worldly task hast done
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages..."
    -William Shakespeare, "Cymbeline"
 
"Mony a one for him maks mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane.
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw forevermair."
    -Unknown, "The Twa Corbies"