From: RhymePhile@hotmail.com   
      
   Title: "Beer and Birthday Cheer" (1 of 1)   
   Author: RhymePhile   
   E-mail: RhymePhile@hotmail.com   
   Distribution: Knock yourself out   
   Rating: R for language and sexual situations   
   Category: V, H   
   Keyword: M/K slash   
   Spoilers: None   
   Summary: Krycek calls Mulder and invites himself over for a birthday beer,   
   and things move in interesting directions from there.   
   Disclaimer: Fox and Alex don't belong to me. But I loves dem, my precious.   
   You no sue, filthy lawyerses.   
   Author's Note: A short piece written in honor of Ursula's birthday.   
      
      
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
   "Beer and Birthday Cheer" (1 of 1)   
   by RhymePhile   
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
      
   Mulder's footsteps echoed through the near-empty parking garage as he made   
   his way to his car. Scully had left hours ago, but he was in no hurry to get   
   home. Sometimes he would convince himself it was the traffic that made him   
   leave the office this late, but in reality his apartment was merely a   
   stopover between assignments. It was the place in which he rarely ate,   
   barely slept, and would have been devoid of life if it weren't for his fish   
   and the mold that was growing on the bread in the kitchen.   
      
   Sometimes it hit him that he was getting into his forties with no real   
   direction except for the unending desire to expose the myriad conspiracies   
   that seemed to dominate his work. But lately his enthusiasm was wavering;   
   the fact was that he had no life, no real sense of accomplishment in his   
   career, and absolutely no friends whatsoever.   
      
   So when his phone rang as he sunk into the driver's seat of his car, the   
   voice on the other end caught him completely off-guard.   
      
   "Oooh, answered on one ring. You were expecting me."   
      
   "Krycek." The word came out in an angry hiss. "How did you get this number?"   
      
   "You mean that other than my talent for opening beer bottles one-handed I   
   never mentioned I was psychic as well, Mulder? Or perhaps I got the number   
   from your business card, dumb ass. You must have been absent the day the   
   Academy covered covert phone operations."   
      
   Mulder sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, too tired   
   to realize how stupid the phone number question really was.   
      
   "What do you want?"   
      
   "Do I have to want something? Maybe I called to chat -- see how things were,   
   how life is treatin' ya, Mulder, my man."   
      
   "I doubt that."   
      
   "Ah, you know me too well. In fact, I do want something."   
      
   "Tough shit," Mulder growled, and hung up.   
      
   As soon as he moved to turn the key in the ignition, his phone rang again.   
      
   "What?" he barked.   
      
   "That was rude," Krycek said evenly. "It might make me question your   
   privileged upbringing, Fox."   
      
   "Fuck you, Krycek, and don't call me that."   
      
   "Testy this evening, aren't we? Did you have a hard day? Aliens running away   
   too fast? Drop your gun again?"   
      
   "Krycek..." Mulder sighed, losing patience for the man's constant mind   
   games. "Tell me what the hell you want or I'm hanging up again."   
      
   "So your interest isn't even piqued when your mortal enemy calls you at 10   
   o'clock at night?"   
      
   "I really wouldn't consider you my mortal enemy, Krycek."   
      
   "No?"   
      
   "You're more of a pain in my ass, not worth the trouble."   
      
   "Fox, you wound me."   
      
   Mulder gritted his teeth. "What did I tell you?"   
      
   "Okay, okay, Christ." Krycek laughed in his ear. "Fine, I'll get to the   
   point, *Mulder*. I have a proposition for you."   
      
   "You realize I don't care, right?"   
      
   "Just wait...listen. Do you know what today is? It's my birthday, and I   
   thought you might want to buy me a beer."   
      
   "Are you fucking kidding me?"   
      
   "Shot of tequila, then?"   
      
   "I'm not buying you any sort of drink, you murdering son of a bitch..."   
      
   He heard Krycek sigh loudly in his ear. "Here we go..."   
      
   "What was that?"   
      
   "Oh c'mon, Mulder!" Krycek yelled. "It's been years, now. I regret it, I'm   
   sorry, but your father was a bastard! He was involved in the project, and he   
   knew the risks. He was no saint. Maybe you should take a good look at his   
   supposed noble character. Do you know how many people *he* killed?"   
      
   "I...no..."   
      
   "Of course you don't," Krycek answered. "You're wrapped in your little world   
   of UFOs and conspiracy theories, and you never once have taken a look at the   
   big picture."   
      
   That gave Mulder pause, because dammit, Krycek was right. And he hated it.   
      
   "And what's the big picture, Krycek?"   
      
   "That we're all pawns in a big game, Mulder, and there will be no winner.   
   Life is short -- shorter for some of us -- so the chance to sit, have a   
   beer, and put aside the chess pieces for one night would be a welcome   
   change."   
      
   "For your birthday."   
      
   "Yeah," Krycek responded. "It would be nice to celebrate with someone for   
   once. I'm always alone on my birthday."   
      
   "Well, get used to it," Mulder said sharply, and hung up.   
      
   *     *     *   
      
   The darkness of his apartment beckoned Mulder once he shut the door behind   
   him. Hopefully tonight sleep would come quickly. As usual, he hadn't been   
   sleeping well again. He hung up his suit jacket and was loosening his tie   
   when his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to make out   
   someone sitting on the couch.   
      
   "So," Krycek said with a smile, squinting from the brightness of the lamp   
   Mulder had just switched on, "I decided I had better bring my own beer."   
      
   "Goddammit," Mulder cursed, fumbling for his gun. He finally trained it on   
   the man who was nonchalantly sprawled on his leather couch.   
      
   "I've just had a revelation, Mulder," Krycek said, putting his feet up on   
   the coffee table. "You would be remarkably easy to kill, despite those..."   
   Krycek nodded to Mulder's hip, "lightning-fast reflexes."   
      
   "Except I'm the one holding the gun."   
      
   "You'd shoot me on my birthday?"   
      
   "Yes, and I'd shoot you on *my* birthday, too, if given a chance," Mulder   
   retorted.   
      
   "And when's that?"   
      
   "October thir..." Mulder caught himself too late, angry that he simply   
   answered Krycek's question.   
      
   Krycek bit off a chuckle and looked up at him.   
      
   "What's so funny?" Mulder asked.   
      
   "I know when your birthday is, Mulder. I just wanted to see if you'd   
   answer."   
      
   "Stop being such an asshole," Mulder huffed, walking into the living room.   
      
   "I even sent you a card last year," Krycek quipped.   
      
   "Shut *up*."   
      
   "It had a puppy on it."   
      
   A grinning Krycek caught the other man's eye, and the corner of Mulder's   
   mouth quirked upward.   
      
   "You can't shoot someone who gave you a birthday card with *puppies*,   
   Mulder."   
      
   Mulder rolled his eyes and lowered his gun. "You never sent me a card."   
      
   Krycek held up his hand. "Okay, you're right. I was busy being evil at the   
   time, but I swear it was in my day planner."   
      
   Mulder looked down at the six-pack on his coffee table. "You actually came   
   for that beer."   
      
   "Yeah."   
      
   "Why?"   
      
   "I already told you."   
      
   Mulder began to holster his weapon until he caught Krycek's eye again.   
      
   "Are you carrying?"   
      
   "Of course, Mulder. But I'm not here to hurt you. I was..." Krycek's voice   
   trailed off, and he looked down at his hands.   
      
   "What?"   
      
   Krycek didn't look up when he answered. "I don't want to be alone tonight,   
   that's all." His voice had dropped to that low, whispery timbre Mulder   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)