"Dreaming of a White Christmas," by Sebastian

Dreaming of a White Christmas

by Sebastian

Pairing: M/K

Author's Notes: For Nancy, a present from Secret Santa, Christmas, 2003

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the moonlight that woke him, the room bright as an old movie in grey and silver, making each object fresh, clean sharp, knife-edged against the background. He rolled from the couch, sleepy-legged staggered to the bare window, rolling the cramp from his shoulders, yawning.

The stars burnt deep holes in the black sky.

Power's out. A glance at the moon reflected in the mirror fish-tank glass confirmed, though its warm touch put it at less than half-an-hour.

The street was bright, white, alien under the deep snow, under the moon's searchlight, under the laser-stars. When he'd returned earlier the street was yellow, churning, deep-damp and cold, confined by the blizzard, the streetlights' bile tint festering the wet snowflakes, ugly with crawling traffic and hunched figures resenting the walk home.

Now the streetlights were gone. Now unnecessary, needless, under the pure glow from the heavens reflected back by purer soft snow. The whiteness filled the gutters, covered litter and cracked pavement, billowed over the parked cars, over trash-cans and postboxes, sweeping sleekly up against walls and posts that thrust crudely through that whiteness, that white river which had poured into the city, swirling and filling every crevice, every cul-de-sac, every alley.

Complete and untouched now, silent, under the ancient, awesome stars.

Mulder heaved the sash up, leaned his elbows on the cill and peered out. Needle-pins of ice swept by the brisk wind popped against his bare skin, swirled and eddied in the moonlight, tinsel-dancing, sparkle-foaming, swirled and span. He shivered; the dry cold brought a blush to his skin, then numbness. Right beneath him an animal trotted warily into sight - not a dog or cat - its looseness suggested something wild, fitting the winter, the cold, unlit, man-threatening street. Straight, unswerving, its track crossed the street, vanished.

In a couple of minutes, the blowing snow softened the track, in five it was gone.

Returning to the window, blanket-wrapped, shivering, Mulder could see no trace.

The cold filled the room; hissing, whispering in frozen breath it dappled Mulder's desk with ice-glitter, sparked the carpet, settled, melted on his hair.

A darkness moved from a doorway opposite, trudged deeply across the snow-plain. The man looked black, bulky, his approach heavy, inescapable, his footprints in the snow marking a trajectory to Mulder's window.

He looked up.

Mulder caught a gleam of eyes, white teeth under the hood before the man ducked his head and hunching, staggering into a clumsy run disappeared from Mulder's view in the shadows beneath him.

Krycek.

No mistake. He'd watched him; studied him; puzzled over him. Mulder was unconsciously arrogant about his ability to judge people - he thought he'd had Krycek sussed after the first half-hour in his company - pinned to a board, tagged, filed. However, over the next few days, there had been questions. Inconsistencies. Mulder had been intrigued - perhaps there was more to the rookie than met the eye - even such an experienced eye as Fox Mulder's, ex-serious crimes top profiler.

He'd watched. He'd waited, patient as a snake stalking a mouse.

Of course, Krycek's betrayal explained everything. Through the rage and pain there was still a smug satisfaction that he'd been right to feel uneasy.

Now, Krycek orbited like some erratic comet, gone for months then scraping close, too close, burning as Mulder passed through his halo, leaving mayhem and destruction in his wake. But, like a force of nature, he was inevitable.

Mulder slammed the window, bolted for the bedroom and grabbed his gun and clothes.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Up close, Krycek was a mess. Flushed, sweaty - dark bruises on temple and jaw and a crusted cut under one eye underlay smudges of greasy dirt.

"If I thought you'd ever use that, d'ya think I'd still visit, Spooky?"

He coughed, spat. The saliva he wiped from his mouth was tinged pink.

"Let go, Mulder." He twitched his face away from the gun barrel digging into his jaw and glared balefully at the other man until he unclenched his hand from Krycek's shoulder. Mulder's fingers were numb; Krycek's leathers had been snow-dusted, freezing.

"Got something to show you. Little gift from me to you." His voice was raspy, he rubbed his throat absently as he watched Mulder hesitating overholstering his gun. "For Christmas."

Mulder's eyebrow lifted. "I can't picture you as Santa's little helper, Alex."

"It's a strange thing, co-incidence," Krycek sauntered over to the window where Mulder had stood minutes before and looked out through the misted glass. "Or maybe what's strange is being there to observe, because co-incidence is just how you look at things, wouldn't you say, Mulder?"

"If you want a philosophical discussion, make an appointment. I have better things to do on Christmas Eve."

"No, you don't."

Mulder bit back a retort. The very sight of Krycek set his teeth on edge. Temptation and revulsion. Like a perfect ripe berry that he wanted to touch, pick... but biting in he'd get a mouthful of bitter, poisonous juice.

"Have you wondered why the lights have gone out, Mulder?"

"Your point?" Mulder shook his head in exasperation. "Jesus. Just do whatever it is you've come to do and get out. Perhaps I am a sad excuse for a guy, being alone at Christmas, but that doesn't mean I want or need your company."

Krycek turned and gave a sweet smile. Yes, he did want Alex's company; the first Alex. Wave a magic wand Alex, turn back time. If this wasn't over soon, it was going to descend into another scuffle. Mulder's hands itched to touch him, punish him for not being the person he was supposed to be.

"My point is this is your lucky day, Mulder. I am very pissed off with certain people - no doubt you've noticed someone has been unkind, huh? So, tit-for-tat, I helped myself to a valuable piece of property." He walked up to Mulder, so close that Mulder could smell him, rank, feral; a melange of blood, leather, sweat, sex. Mulder's heart thudded heavily.

"That was the first thing. Then the lights went out. That was the second thing. The third was that you live right here, and it's Christmas." His head dipped to one side and he grinned. "Get your coat, Mulder. It's time to collect your gift."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Mulder wasn't quite sure why he was striding through the park alongside Krycek, fighting the urge to hold his hand as they walked along. Perhaps it was a childhood memory, walking with his sister Samantha down to the lake one bright winter's night, the snow weighting the black tree-limbs, his parents ahead; trying to hop the long stride into their deep prints without letting go her hand.

They didn't speak, both gasping a little from the shallow breaths needed to keep the freezing air from their lungs. Glancing at the other man, Mulder saw a smile playing over his face; he looked at Mulder and chuckled as he caught his eyes. "Race you!"

"Race me where?" asked Mulder, but was unheard. Krycek had already set off at an awkward trot. Shrugging to himself, Mulder picked up his heels and soon outpaced him, hearing Krycek shout, "Just keep on straight!" as he passed. He was at the fence of the children's play area before he stopped to look back.

There was no sign of Krycek. About fifty yards behind his own, Krycek's tracks stopped as if he'd simply disappeared.

Slowly, Mulder retraced his path. Krycek simply wasn't there.

The gun that suddenly tapped the back of his neck made him grunt with shock.

Warm breath on his ear. "Party time, Mulder," came a whisper, then Krycek's arm reached past him, the air in front shimmered and Krycek shoved him stumbling forwards.

At first he thought a mound of snow was before him but the smooth shape suddenly twisted, focussed and there, covered in frost, was a ship, a small alien ship. The ice-crystals covering it had grown into inch-long filaments in places, tracing weird curves and the patterns etched into the metal beneath.

"Oh, my God," sighed Mulder. He crept forward as if the ship were a timid wild bird, tugged off his glove and touched, rubbed away the ice. The hull felt warm; for all the snow and ice coating its surface, it was warm. He circled the vessel; there was no sign of a hatch.

"Happy Christmas, Mulder," said Krycek softly. Mulder had forgotten he was there.

"How did you know? What did you do?" Mulder turned to Krycek, his face lit with wonder.

Krycek held out a small device, an elongated egg of reddish material, but snatched it away as Mulder tried to take it. "Oh no. You've had your present." Instantly the gun was in his hand again as Mulder made to pounce. "No can do, Mulder. This has to go back before it's missed or next time I won't just get roughed up." There was a hard gleam in his eyes.

"Some information then?"

"You've had the freebies, Spooky. I want a gift in return, if you want more from me."

"Anything," replied Mulder carelessly as he turned back to gaze at the ship once more. The hull was gently glowing, he was sure. The shadowed drifts beneath its re-curving hull seemed to sparkle inside.

"Kiss me then. Kiss and tell."

For a moment Mulder didn't realise what Krycek had said.

"Uh?" He looked over at Krycek in shock, a churning coil of heat warming his guts as he recognised the desire in the other's expression. "You're mad, Alex," he replied blankly.

"You want to, Mulder." And Mulder knew he did.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, shaking his head. "No way."

"No? Well, screw you, Mulder, I'm not going to beg."

"And I don't sell myself."

Krycek grinned nastily. "No?" he drawled. He pulled out his gun and held it to Mulder's heart, closing so it was jammed between them. "You want to use this for an excuse then?" He jabbed the gun into his ribs, leaned forward and nearly touched his lips to Mulder's.

He paused. Mulder held his breath and waited, but didn't draw back.

"And I won't force you. One day, you'll stop fooling yourself." Mulder could taste his breath, sweet, seductive. He swayed forwards but Krycek stepped back, tugging Mulder with him, then punched him hard in the belly and clipped him under the jaw, sending him to the ground.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Under the moon the trees gleamed. The stars sequinning the sky seemed to whirl round him, waltzing, mocking. "Touch us," they called, and Mulder reached to try.

The End

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