12/3/98
Untitled

Author- Araxdelan (krycekluvsmulder@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer- The day I get paid for this is the day you can sue me.
Rating-M/K- R for adult situations and A for angst
Warning- Character death
Spoilers- I doubt it
Sequel- Sequel to and Desperation. Not necessary to read those, but I know I
hate starting a series in the middle.




	I had to do this. I had to give you a proper burial, the bastard that
you are. Your entire funeral consists of me, standing here. They just filled 
in your grave, finished packing the dirt down. I watched the whole thing, 
heard the dirt landing on your coffin, burying your beautiful, asymmetrical 
body where I can’t reach it, touch it, where it will decay into nothingness, 
it’s beauty melting away. Dust to dust.

	I tried to find any family of yours, tried to let them know that 
you’ve left for the last time. I couldn’t find anyone, no matter how hard I 
looked. Did you just fall from the sky one day? Or did I just imagine your 
existence, the coffin beneath me lying empty?

	But no, I saw you before they closed the lid, your face pale and 
expressionless. I took great care in keeping this whole business quiet. I 
don’t want anyone digging you up, to make sure you’re really dead. I didn’t 
even tell Scully.

	I look at your headstone now. I had it made specially. A low 
pedestal, with a stone angel atop it. The angel is was carved of black 
marble, with jade stones for eyes. I considered giving the angel a leather 
jacket, but instead I had it carved with your face, your look of cool 
amusement captured in stone. I touch the marble of it’s... your face. Even 
in the sun it’s cold to the touch, like yours was before the lid slammed 
shut. Like your heart, my heart before you shattered it.

	I know you can hear me! I know it! Why did you have to do this to me!
Why? Why? Before I could touch you, make love to you, you had to leave, and 
now every part of me aches in knowing I could never touch you, never see you 
again. I don’t even have a photo of you, save for your old FBI ID picture, 
and that isn’t really a picture of you, just of who you were supposed to be.
I’m left with this angel with your face. The sculptor did a lovely job 
capturing the expression I described. It looks just like you, it makes me 
want to be with you. You make a lovely dark angel, you know.

	Your grave has no markings telling who you are. I couldn’t even have 
put your birth - death date one there if I wanted to, for I don’t know when 
you were born. Just when you died. I lie on the turned earth now, crying. I 
hate you Alex Krycek. I hate you because I love you.

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The End
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