"Man That You Fear" by Marilyn Manson, from Antichrist Superstar

Hart understands hatred in a way that would be foreign to all who never studied anatomy or physiology. He can pinpoint the exact moment in time when the adrenaline is released into his blood, the moment when the heartbeat picks up speed, sending out fireballs of rage and pain. For him, hatred is as detrimental to health as smoking or intense sex.

But hatred is healthier than fear, an emotion he loathes and one that invades him now in equal measure. This is his home. This is his lover. And he is afraid of the man who intruded them both. The old habits die hard, and in the days before abandonment of Fort Marlene, Krycek had been a superior. One of the 'in' crowd. One of the men who betrayed him.

A long time ago, Krycek's survival would have seemed an injustice. In the world that Hart knows today, it's natural. The dark glass still bleeds around the edges of new reality, but he's learned to accept this abnormality.

"What happened to you... Jason?" Krycek answers a question with a question. He doesn't bother feigning concern. Hart knows that to him, it's only a matter of curiosity. He is a man who came to watch the show of circus freaks, and he didn't even pay his way in.

The horrific image makes him want to weep in shame, but it also melts the fear. "I woke up, Alex. Have you ever heard of the Sleeping Beauty?"

Krycek smirks. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Not since the first time Marita had seen her reflection. The day when he gave into the demands of her vanity, he expected tears, screams, perhaps a healthy amount of kicking and breaking. She did neither. She fainted, and once recovered, she'd asked for a hair dye. "Black is a lovely color," Marita said. He bought the dye and watched as she followed the instructions on the package. Then he carried the mirror outside and drove a car over it.

"Mirrors lie," Jason replies, taking a step toward the woman still cowering on the floor, her eyes tracking the two men in front of her. He longs to reassure her, and he needs her to take away some of the hatred that threatens to choke him. "Each morning, you see a face above your sink, still young and handsome enough to be unmarred by corruption and evil. But it is a cheap piece of glass, Alex. Your picture is distorted."

"Enough!" the intruder snaps loudly. "I didn't come here to talk about your appearance."

"Have you come to ask about the murders, perhaps?" Hart's casual manner unnerves Krycek, and for the first time he sees fear in his cruel green eyes. "I give you credit for piecing the puzzle together. You found the guilty man." Hands raised, as if in acceptance of an honor, Hart gives an admission easily, proudly.

"Do you really believe that you can stop them?" Krycek asks. "Or is this revenge?"

"Neither, Alex. Simply an honest try to stop the colonization." Hart replies sincerely.

"Noble, Jason. How very noble of you. You're not participating in a little drama called 'One Hundred Ways to Mutilate and Poison,' and you're not fucking the woman you once operated on, but..."

Krycek's body jerks, and his spine curves in a movement that would have been called beautiful, had he been a dancer. The expression of pained surprise and the blood gushing out of his right shoulder ruin the impression. He grapples for his gun in a series of grotesque twitches, wounded live hand of less use now than the plastic one.

As Hart watches the man perform this hideous ballet, he knows that he couldn't have chosen a better place to put in a bullet. He would have felt remorse, before, but now he is above it. After all, this victim is far from an innocent fly caught in a spider's web. First bullet released in due time, Hart takes aim at the convulsing body, but thin fingers of his lover, surprisingly strong, lunge for his gun.

"Stop!" Marita's eyes are wide open, and the enlarged vessels of their whites may bleed the same color as the wound in Krycek's shoulder. It is this realization, and not her words, that makes him drop the weapon.

Hart follows suit, settling down heavily on the cold ground of their cell. Is this the room where he experimented on Marita? Is this reminder the reason why his fingers are numb or has the hatred finally taken his life? Silently, he begs her to take the anger away, to soothe the rumble of his emotions.

She shuffles into the bathroom, and he prays it's for the medicine that he keeps in the case beneath the sink. Instead, she brings back the bandages and a basin with clear water.

The younger man is the first one she attends to.

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