09 DEC

Today I came home to a single long stem rose, deep red and thorn free, white satin ribbon tied in a bow around the stem, sitting against my front door. It was a happy surprise at the end of a long, difficult day.

My feet are still killing me. Mulder insisted on searching the loading docks without back up for our suspect. Of course, he'd told me we'd be going to a series of meetings related to another case. As usual, Mulder's hunch proved correct, and we spent the better part of two hours chasing our suspect, a Darrell Haines, on foot - me in heels. Haines got away.

I was not in the best of moods by the time I got home. Seeing that rose, however, made my day better. Was it an apology from Mulder? Unlikely. Was it from the cute, shy neighbor down the hall? I hope so. Who else would be leaving me a rose - well, there's always Frohike I suppose.

10 DEC

Today Mulder insisted we eat lunch at an old diner, which had sticky menus and a large fly population, so that he could speak with a Tobias Grot. Grot claims to be descended from a reptilian race of aliens bent on the sexual exploitation of all other humanoids throughout the galaxies. Mulder had told me that Grot was high up on the chain of the alien cover up, and that he wanted to blow the whistle on the group running the cover up. I'm going to have to talk to him again about lying to me. Luckily for us, Grot finds the exploitation of all humanoids immoral and unnerving, and he is willing to become an informant to the FBI against his own people. ...I don't know how Mulder finds these people.

On my way in to my apartment building I passed the cute neighbor again. He smiled nervously. There was a squishy white teddy bear sitting at my door. I think it's from him! I was going to try to go out and talk to him, but my phone was ringing in my apartment. Mom wants a girl's night this Saturday. Should I tell her? She might do something embarrassing.

11 DEC

I am so angry with Mulder. He ditched me again to chase after a suspect. He took the car, leaving me standing there like an idiot with two cups of to-go coffee [he just had to have coffee] in freezing weather. The suspect got away - again, Mulder lost his gun - again, Mulder failed to answer his cell phone - again, he broke protocol and put himself in mortal danger - again - and he caused $2000 worth of damage to our FBI sedan. The only thing he did correctly was to not get injured.

I don't always condone A.D. Skinner's method of reigning my partner in, but I have to admit that it works. With Skinner out on personal leave this month, Mulder has run amuck. We can't keep going like this anymore. Hopefully Skinner will get my message and take Mulder in hand. I don't want to be the one to do it. We're partners.

Thankfully I came home to another gift. He left a mix tape this time. My heart began skipping beats when I saw it. I wasn't certain whether it was from him or if it was evidence from some shady informant. My heart raced when I saw it was from him. It has my name drawn in a fancy script on the cover with some drawn flowers, and a track list on the inside of the label. We like the same music! Knocked on his door to thank him, but he wasn't home. So instead, I'm playing the tape and eating ice cream in my sweats.

No present today. I was really counting on one today after all the trouble Mulder caused. It's surprising how sad I am that there's no present. This is silly, Dana. Be thankful for what you were given.

The door is unlocked.

I pull out my gun and cock it, then turn the knob quietly. Opening the door silently, I do a quick scan. Living room is clear. Dining room and kitchen are clear. ...wait. A box of chocolates sits on the table along with a bottle of red wine. He came inside? Is he still here...

I turn to check the bedroom and see the bedside table lit through the open door.

"FBI, I'm armed," I say.

No response.

"I'm coming in."

There's a sound in the bedroom.

I approach my bedroom quickly and round into the room, gun aimed.

Krycek?

"What are you doing here?"

He's standing awkwardly in the shadiest corner, watching me. His empty hands hang loosely at his sides, there could be a weapon in his over-sized leather jacket. I keep the gun on him.

"I brought you more presents."

Oh. Of course they weren't from the cute neighbor. That would be too ordinary of an event to happen to me. No, my secret admirer has to be a traitorous assassin who breaks into my apartment and hides in my bedroom.

"Wanna see?" he asks while I'm still internally grousing about my life.

"No," I grip the gun tighter, my disappointment making my heart pound away in my chest. "I already saw them." I nod towards the kitchen. "What I do want is your hands on your head. You're under arrest."

"I don't mean those," he says in a silky voice usually reserved for Mulder.

"I don't care! Hands on your head."

He smirks at me, then nods at the dresser to my right as he complies.

"There's information in there that will help you." He nods again, somehow managing an innocent grin. "Look."

A thick file with a 'classified' stamp sits on my dresser. Side stepping to the dresser, I flip it open with one hand, the other keeping the gun pointed at Krycek.

"Why did you bring this to me?"

"Mulder always hits me." He puts his arms down to his sides.

The information in the file will help seal our case against Haines. There has to be a price.

"What do you want, Krycek?"

He playfully pouts at me. "Am I still under arrest?"

"Breaking and entering," I emphasize.

"I couldn't leave that file on your doorstep, and I couldn't keep it on me out there," he nods out the window and then shrugs.

This is likely true, but it's Krycek and so I'm skeptical.

He looks at me from under his brow, "If I've done something wrong, you could always spank me for it." His mouth quirks in amusement, but his eyes look worried.

Trying not to show my surprise at the suggestion, I huff. Do all the men in my life get spanked?

"I thought you brought this to me because you didn't want to be hit."

"I don't. Especially not by Mulder, but I also don't need the mess of you trying to arrest me, so..." he holds his hands out.

I want to stall for time, so I change the subject.

"The mix tape..."

"Good, right?" he smiles.

God, I started to smile back.

"I'm glad you liked it."

I clear my throat and ask, "How did you know my favorite songs? Have you been watching me?"

His eyes widen and he swallows. "No," he says in a put out tone. Then more softly he says, "I like 70s classic rock and 80s pop. Those songs reminded me of you."

"What's really going on here, Krycek? You've never shown any interest before."

"It wasn't beneficial to me to show it." He sighs and looks down. "Look, Dana, I've done bad things. I'm going to do more bad things, I'm sure, but that doesn't have to be a problem. We both want the same thing."

"And what's that?"

His eyes darken and he tilts his head down so that they fall into shadow from his brow. "To win."

"Win what?"

"The war against the alien invasion. The war against the men who sold us all out so that they'd be safe and the invasion would go smoothly. Neither of us are gonna sit by and let it happen. We're on the same side."

"Mulder..."

"Mulder is a reckless boy scout who won't get his hands dirty. Stakes are too high to play by the rules, especially when the enemy isn't."

Krycek taking the moral high ground is not something I'm comfortable allowing.

"So what is this? Is this how a wanted double agent asks a girl out on a date?"

He looks at me sideways and smiles cautiously. "No. This is me saying I appreciate you. Spending as little time around enemies as necessary is how I survive, I'm sure as hell not going after Mulder's girl."

And yet, here you are. ...Mulder's girl?

"But if you wanna," he nods at the bed, "you know." He smiles obscenely at me.

Rolling my eyes I uncock the gun and holster it. My arms are getting tired and it's clear he's not going to attack me.

"Not interested," I tell him, just to be clear.

He humphs at me and brushes past me out of the bedroom. Good, let yourself out. I flip the file back open, and then I hear kitchen cabinets opening and closing.

I find Krycek rummaging through my cabinets.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Looking for," he starts, and then he pulls out a wine glass. "Here we go." He's already found the bottle opener.

Krycek opens the wine and pours himself a glass. He takes a long drink and refills his glass, then sits at the table and pops open the box of chocolate.

"Hey!"

"What? You're not interested, I'll enjoy it."

I stand there and blink at him a few times, confused by the sudden change.

"This is my home," I say, and I know it sounds ridiculous but I can't believe the sudden rudeness and idiocy.

"I know where I'm at," he says, biting into a piece of chocolate and taking a sip of wine. "This is really good, you're missing out." He shrugs and pops the entire piece of chocolate into his mouth.

"It's time for you to leave."

"In a bit."

"I want you out."

"Hey, I brought you the file. Let me finish."

"So you thought I'd, what, have sex with you for it?"

He crinkles his forehead at me, "Don't make me sound cheap."

Make you sound cheap?

I walk towards him and see he's already eaten a sizable amount of chocolate. I nudge his shoulder, "Get out." I reach for the chocolate, but he pulls it to him. "You'll make yourself sick."

"So? What's it to ya?"

Then it dawns on me, and I feel anger well up inside of me.

"Are you trying to eat the whole box in front of me to spite me?"

No answer. Just an angry flash of the eyes.

Shaking from nerves and anger, I walk over and pick up my biggest wooden spoon. Krycek stops chewing as soon as I pick it up, even though my back is to him. When I turn around, his expression is just like a scared, guilty little boy who knows they're in deep trouble.

He stares at me for a moment and then slowly asks, "Do you want some chocolate?" He tentatively holds the box of chocolate out towards me.

"In a bit. Stand up," I tell him, then I start testing the spoon on the palm of my hand.

He clumsily stands, nearly knocking the chair over in the process.

"I should go," he says, beelining towards the door.

"We're not done yet," I say, my words freezing him in half stride. "Come back over here."

He lowers his head and raises a fist to the bridge of his nose. I can almost hear his internal 'oh no.' After a moment he looks back at me, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He walks back to the chair he'd been sitting in.

"Take the jacket off," I say, and then, because of his raised brow, amend "I want to make sure you don't have any weapons."

With two fingers he pulls out a silenced Glok out of an inner pocket and sets it on the table. He pulls a six shooter from the back of his jeans and sets it next to the Glok, and then he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it next to the guns. He has on a fitted white vneck tshirt and the ever present tight black jeans with boots.

"I can get you more chocolate," he says dourly.

"Not the point. Bend over the back of the chair." I crane my neck up to give him an authoritative look, and I watch him deflate.

He wants to argue, I can see it, but he can't quite seem to. He shifts his weight side to side, making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, when I stand firm he drops his head and bends over the back of the chair. This pulls his jeans tight over his rounded ass, and I can't help but blush. Just because he isn't enjoying this doesn't mean that I can't. He suggested that I do this, for God's sake, and he more than deserves it!

Internal pep talk over, I tentatively lay my left hand on his warm lower back and then take aim. I take aim a few times, trying to decide where to smack him. I can see he's getting fidgety, and so I bring the spoon down on the fullest part of his bottom, right in the middle.

He cries out adorably and wraps his fingers around the seat of the chair for support. I smack him on the fullest part of his right cheek and he bounces over the chair, making a high pitched noise. When I smack the same area of his left cheek he yells out and momentarily kicks both legs up. I find a good rhythm, pausing in between each smack so that I can watch his reaction. It doesn't take many before he looks back at me with tears in his eyes. Nope, he's not enjoying this.

"Let me up," he says pitifully, and then adds an elongated 'please.'

"You told me I could do this to you. Then you were a bad boy, not five minutes later."

His face blushes when I call him a 'bad boy' and I giggle.

"I'm sorry," he says, furrowing his brow woefully.

Maybe I should do this to Mulder.

"What were the gifts really for?"

"Don't ask me that right now, please?"

"If I stop will you tell me?"

"I'll try."

I stop and he wipes at his face before standing. I look up at him, waiting as he tries to figure out a way to rub his bottom without me noticing.

He looks from me to the ground, "I. I just thought you'd like them. You did, didn't you?"

"Why is that important to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're pretty or maybe I wanted to butter you up so you wouldn't shoot me when I gave you the file, what's it matter?"

There's a 50% chance Alex Krycek has a crush on me. This isn't a good thing.

He looks so glum, and I shouldn't care with all the things I know he's done, but somehow I do.

"If you can be good I'll make you some tea."

"Peppermint?" he asks hopefully. Most of his mannerisms are still very boyish. I'm guessing these more endearing qualities have helped keep him alive.

I nod, "I have peppermint."

Happiness shines in his eyes, and I can't help smiling as I go to boil the water.

He doesn't sit, but he also doesn't come into the kitchen with me, either. He hangs in between, looking around insecurely as though he's not used to being in a safe space.

"How'd you get the file?"

He grumbles, "You don't wanna know."

I'm sure he's right about that.

"Nice place," he indicates the apartment with a turn of his arm. "Cozy."

I set out two mugs and pop a teabag in each, "Thanks, I like it."

He nods, "It suits you."

Laughing, I ask, "Are you calling me a little old lady?"

"No," he says, shaking his head vehemently. Then he chuckles, "Well, maybe the 'little' part."

The kettle whistles and I fill the mugs. He follows me to the table and sits next to me.

"How did you end up in all this?"

He looks at me from under his lashes, "Ego and misinformation."

"Wow, that's honest." I take a sip of my tea. Maybe there's hope for him.

He mirrors me and sips his own tea. Then, as though reading my thoughts he says "Don't be fooled, I'll do what I need to survive."

I look at him a long moment. "I expect that's how you've made it this far."

He looks sad at that. "You have no idea." Suddenly he looks crushed, and he downs his tea and then sets the mug down. "I should be going," he says, and he's up at the door with jacket on and guns tucked away before I can argue. "Lock up when I leave."

And then he was gone.