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Entry tags:
SCAM: X-Files, Krycek!
For Kossie, since my brain actually worked. (I'm giving up on everything else and doing the dishes in a bit...)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers for... season 7? 8? I think.
Notes: written while Hoobastank's 'Out of Control' and Orgy's 'Eyes-Radio-Lies' played.... Which is where the title comes from.
Sense Made From Toys That Break
by ALC Punk!
The water is nearly scalding, but he likes it that way. It keeps him grounded in reality. This is not your father's Oldsmobile, he thinks to himself with a sardonic smirk as the soap and blood whirl down the drain.
Built for conquest, built to last, and yet one bullet takes him down.
Whispers on the edge of his memory tell him that he will live, that he will heal and grow. Though not from love.
Never from love.
He remembers seeing the look in Agent Scully's eyes, once. Quickly veiled of course.
Contempt.
For him, for what he represents.
Krycek doesn't think he can blame her, but he tries.
The bullet pops out, clatters to the bottom of the shower, clinking against the porcelain tiles.
He thinks he should be used to this, to the way his body slowly molds over the hole in it, the way his skin stretches. The things he can see at the edge of his vision that don't exist. The whispers that drove him insane at the bottom of the world surrounded by nothing.
Fist impacts wall, and he's pulled from the memory of slithering sliding pushing pulling days spent lost.
The water stops, and he moves, forgetting the bullet and the blood. There are places to go, contracts to fulfill. Krycek smiles to himself in the mirror. He is more than he was.
Perhaps it's for the best.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers for... season 7? 8? I think.
Notes: written while Hoobastank's 'Out of Control' and Orgy's 'Eyes-Radio-Lies' played.... Which is where the title comes from.
Sense Made From Toys That Break
by ALC Punk!
The water is nearly scalding, but he likes it that way. It keeps him grounded in reality. This is not your father's Oldsmobile, he thinks to himself with a sardonic smirk as the soap and blood whirl down the drain.
Built for conquest, built to last, and yet one bullet takes him down.
Whispers on the edge of his memory tell him that he will live, that he will heal and grow. Though not from love.
Never from love.
He remembers seeing the look in Agent Scully's eyes, once. Quickly veiled of course.
Contempt.
For him, for what he represents.
Krycek doesn't think he can blame her, but he tries.
The bullet pops out, clatters to the bottom of the shower, clinking against the porcelain tiles.
He thinks he should be used to this, to the way his body slowly molds over the hole in it, the way his skin stretches. The things he can see at the edge of his vision that don't exist. The whispers that drove him insane at the bottom of the world surrounded by nothing.
Fist impacts wall, and he's pulled from the memory of slithering sliding pushing pulling days spent lost.
The water stops, and he moves, forgetting the bullet and the blood. There are places to go, contracts to fulfill. Krycek smiles to himself in the mirror. He is more than he was.
Perhaps it's for the best.
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BTW, does this Krycek have 2 arms?