TITLE: Perspectives
AUTHORS: Araxdelan & Lone Gungirl
E-MAIL: krycekluvsmulder@hotmail.com & X@aon.at Feedback always welcome!
RATING: PG-13 for language
SPOILERS: Terma, The Red And The Black
ARCHIVE: Everywhere
SUMMARY: Seeing both sides of the matter.
DISCLAIMER: .... Ad nauseam
LONE GUNGIRL'S NOTES: Araxdelan told me she didn't want to put up her first
story on her site because she thought it was bad. I didn't believe her,
because she always says that about her stories. And it really wasn't that
bad, it only needed more UST, which I added.
ARAXDELAN'S NOTES: Nothing: that's what this story would be without Lone
Gungirl. She came up with all the good stuff, and altered a boring plot to
something befitting of our lovely boys. Thank you Lone Gungirl. You always
say I'm a great author; if that's true, I'm only great because of you.

Part One - Mulder: Moments

I walk into my apartment, sighing as I drop my briefcase on
the floor. Another day, another conspiracy. At least I solved my case. But
there'll be another one waiting for me tomorrow, and every day after. I kick
off my shoes, stretching my toes out, as I walk towards the couch. It's been
a long day, and I just want to sit down and watch some mind-numbing TV. I
sit, but out of the corner of my eye I catch a movement, and I start to
reach for my gun. But someone grabs my hand. I look up, at the figure's
face. "Whaddya want, Krycek?" I ask.

"Can't I just drop by for a visit?", he says, with a smug smile.

"I'm serious!" I tell him.

"So am I." he replies, plopping down next to me on the couch. I
can feel my mouth dropping open at his brazenness. He sits close enough for
me to smell the leather of his jacket. I look at the jacket I'm so
accustomed to seeing him wear, and my eyes fall on the left side.

"Where's your prosthesis?"

"It gets uncomfortable. It's not as though I'm expecting to
need it. So, Mulder, why aren't you using me as a punching bag?"

I know the answer. But there's no way in hell I'm going to tell
him. It all came down to that one moment, not long ago, when I saw Krycek
leaning towards me, when I thought our lips would brush and I closed my
eyes, the way I was disappointed when the kiss landed on my cheek instead,
and the confused surge of joy I felt at the slight touch. I have to be
careful. He screws up my life whenever he appears. Bastard.

"So, you really don't have any information for me?" I ask
gruffly, trying to keep up my hostile facade.


"Then get the fuck out of here! I'm sick of your mindgames!
I'm sick of you!!"

He jumps up at that, his eyes flashing with anger. "You are an
asshole, Mulder, and you will always be one!"

I feel the rage well up my spine. He's always messing with me,
without a second thought, and I'm the asshole!

When I haul myself at him, he's ready to leave, with his back
turned to me. He whisks around and jumps at my throat. I realize that I
don't want to hurt him, but it's too late now, and I'm too pissed to let go
anyway. Clawing at each other, we fall to the floor and wrestle. With two
arms I have the edge on him. He could kick me, but he doesn't.

After a while he's lying under me, his burning green eyes
glaring back at me, his fangs exposed. A wolf. His shirt is ripped open, I
can see his heaving ribcage. My fury subsides. I am growing limp. My head
comes down on his chest. I expect him to at least insult me again, but then
I feel his hand stroking my hair. He smells like a cat that has slept in
hay. Why does it feel so right to be with him like this?

But then Krycek pulls suddenly away. His hand cups my face as he
says "Mulder, I have to go."

"Please stay." I have a disbelief that it's me talking, saying this
to Alex Krycek.

"I can't stay." he says. "If they found me here with you,
they'd kill both of us."

He stands up, and I suppress the impulse to ask if he'll be
back. And then this old feeling overwhelms me. That's typical Krycek! There
are this moments when I think we have found a way, these little precious
moments, and he chickens out and ruins everything.

"If you are leaving like this now, I don't want to see you ever

He doesn't listen. I hear the door being shut and I'm alone.

Part two - Krycek: Maybe

I'm standing in his apartment. In the shadows, where I know he
won't see me right away, where I'll have time to grab him before he can kill

The last time I was here, I kissed him, on the cheek. I don't
know what I was thinking then, and I don't know what I'm thinking now. Last
time I had an excuse to see him, a good excuse. But this time I'm just here.

I can see the door opening. Man, he's going to kill me. I can
hear him sigh, and his briefcase drops to the floor. He's striding towards
the couch. He has such a long, lean, body. Beautiful?

I jump out and grab him, before he can reach for his gun. I see
ultimate surprise in his eyes.

"Whaddya want Krycek?" he says, as he snatches his hand from my
grasp. Each word stings, each a small punishment for my evil, a small
stinging punishment that I've grown accustomed to.

"Can't I just drop by for a visit?" I ask, putting on the mask
of a grin. I know I can't. But I want to. And I do. The hell knows why.
Because it had been so good to kiss him?

"I'm serious." he says.

"So am I." Without thinking, I drop down next to him on the
couch. A little too near him, but I can't help myself. His mouth drops open,
and if he was surprised before, I don't think there's an emotion to describe
the look on his face now.

His eyes trail over me, making me feel self conscious, but I
can't help but feel pleased at the same time. Until his gaze lands on my
left side. "Where's your prosthesis?" he asks.

"It gets uncomfortable. It's not as though I'm expecting to
need it." The truth is that it hurts like hell sometimes. But I would never
admit that to him. "So, Mulder, why aren't you using me as a punching bag?"

He ignores my question, and I can see the familiar boiling
behind his forehead that marks the danger zone.

"So you really don't have any information for me?" he asks.


"Then get the fuck out of here! I'm sick of your mindgames!
I'm sick of you!!"

The words hit home. All those times I saved his stupid ass.
And what reward do I get? Him being sick of me!

"You are an asshole, Mulder, and you will always be one!"

I am heading for the door when he suddenly attacks me from
behind. God, he's really such an asshole! He'd deserve a good spanking, but
I'm unable to hit him. I just can't. Why am I so weak when it comes to him?
So we writhe on the floor and tear each other's shirts apart. Why do we
always have to be so childish when we are together?

He too seems to realize how stupid this is after a time. I feel
his body relax and wait for him to get up. But he looks down on me with an
expression of ... tenderness? and rests his head on my chest. His hair
feels like silk against my skin. He has the fine scent of Indian cotton. I
wave my fingers through the soft, brown strands, afraid he'll knock my hand
away, but he only sighs.

Shit! I pull away from him, realizing that if I stay, we could both
be in danger. It'd be easy for them to find me here. I'm sure they keep him
monitored. They'd kill me for seeing him, and kill him to make sure I
haven't told him anything he shouldn't know. It's a wonder he's been alive
this long. I can't risk it. Can I?

I take his face in my hand and say "Mulder, I have to go." I
hope he's not going to make this any harder. No such luck.

"Please stay." he says, low and coarse.

"I can't stay. If they find me here with you, they'll kill both
of us."

But he's stubborn, as usual. "If you are leaving like this now,
I don't want to see you ever again."

Why does it always have to be so hard with him?

I leave the building, and the night air is cool. I walk down
the street, hoping the pain will go away. I look over, and Mulder's
building is still in view. It doesn't seem as though anyone knew I was
there, or that anyone was watching us.

I turn around and walk back. Maybe he'll punch me when I knock
on his door. Maybe. Maybe I'll hit back this time. Maybe.

But when he opens the door, his face is soft. And suddenly I'm
in his arms. "You're such a pain in the ass, Krycek." he whispers, and I
can feel his warm breath against my neck. I bury my face in his hair. We
tighten the embrace, and I know he can feel every detail of my body, but
I'm not ashamed.

Maybe we can work it out. Maybe. I wish we could.

The End