Title: Give My Angel Away Author: Lissa E-mail: alexeevv@cadvision.com Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. (Damn it. Where was I when they were giving them away?) Everything belongs to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox and whoever else there is. Well, they deserve them, almost. Rating: PG Category: V, Mulder's POV Keywords: Slash, Mulder/Krycek Spoilers: None Summary: Night. Mulder is thinking. Archive: DO NOT ARCHIVE Feedback: Definitely. Yes. Please. Beg you. alexeevv@cadvision.com Author's notes: It was not supposed to be a fanfic but it turned into one. The story, born in one rainy evening, was inspired by Nick Lea, his picture in the X-files magazine, my mother's comments, rathaters and ratlovers, Baby Girl Duchovny (My name fetish kicks out again. Madelaine West Duchovny sounds like Chopin's music). Again I was trying to explain to myself: Why do I love Krycek? Why is Nick Lea so beautiful? Thanks to wonderful Lone Gungirl for beta and tolerance. All good things are hers. All bad things are mine. *********** Give My Angel Away ************* Realization of beauty never comes close to us while we are walking this earth. Sparkling far away in the height of midnight skies it remains unexplained, unreachable, untouched and sacred. All concepts and explanations of beauty have fallen into dust while time passes by, laughing in our faces again and again, and telling us the eternal tale about the road to perfection. Perfection is false and a lie. Its smooth face with the neat, flawless lines is marked by flatness and hollowness. No thought hides in the shadows of features. No scar covers the pain on the softest silk of skin. No emotion curves the corners of lips. Whiteness is faceless. Character and soul slip on the icy brilliance of perfection, but falling into the abyss of non-existence, they are caught by the damages, irregularities and wounds of the human face. The face I am looking at now is the most beautiful in the world, in the life I know, amazing in its flaws and faults, irresistible in its delicate lines, exquisite in its subtle structure. He can look ridiculous, silly or repulsive bringing that smirk on his lips, narrowing his eyes. He is ugly when he kills. I know. I have seen how beauty, damaged by cruelty, was torn away from his face, crying. I have also seen how the soul of this man was bared, stripped of dirt and mud, and the real, the most natural, the only mattering truth of this magnificent face appeared and I was blinded. In the dark moonless night I can not see but only touch and thus get a feeling of this splendor, alive and breathing, in my arms, under my fingers. And, suddenly becoming sensitive as a newborn child, my hands can trace every scar on his face, hardened by the experience of pain, on the ruined body spread before me in glorious nakedness, and caress his damaged wings covered with blood. "Forgive me, Love." I am whispering. "Forgive me for the fire I made for the ritual of oblation." "People need sacrifices. But unable to make them by themselves, they choose the one who will do it for them. Once Judas was sacrificed and the glory of Christ shines over the centuries of the Great Walk. You will be sacrificed too, Love. You will take the blood poured by men on your hands and walk in shame, walk in our shame for all of us because it has to be done. The Choice fell on you, Love. And you will accept this path, because you love us, because you love and because you are loved. I will be among those who declare an anathema on you for all the sins we have committed. I will be judging you and throwing stones at you for my crimes. Your strength is guilty, Love. Only the strongest is able to bear the eternal damnation. Why should you be so strong, Love? Why should I agree with the choice because of your strength? Forgive me, Love. Forgive me hating you. Forgive me loving you. We need a victim to punish because then we will be able to live with ourselves and raise innocent children. And because of them, because of the newborn innocence you will accept our choice. But the time will come later. Now sleep, Love. I am holding you. I am with you for eternity". He is asleep. He is sleeping now, not knowing what is waiting for him. This night is covered with the light of kindness and grace. And in this light I see his face again, for a thousandth time, and I can not breath, hit by the ethereal beauty of my love, beauty born in the most ordinary ray of the streetlight streaming from the opened windows. Touching damaged wings covered with blood I catch the essence of my love's beauty: Imperfection is the most perfect thing in the world. ************The End********** Lissa Spring 1999