Title: When Worlds Collide
1/of however many I feel like
Legal Stuff: Ok I don't own Krycek or Marita. They Belong to that nice man we all love known as Chris Carter. I do not own Clark Palmer…(weeeeeeee) he belongs to The nice people who created him. Yadda yadda yadda…don't sue me.
Writer's Notes: This was inspired by a conversation I had with some one over a poem I wrote. I think I said something that Krycek and Palmer would get along. And poof it happened so you get this nice piece-o-trash. The Title is taken from a Power man 5000 song called "When Worlds Collide". I kicked the idea around and here what you're getting Yippee Skippy. So you know that this is the part of the show where I say my thank you SO!! **Warning** Contains a lot of dialogue. Special Thanks: Any one else who happens to be important: You know who you are.
PLEASE GIVE ME FEED BACK
"One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me"
~One Night in Bangkok
It was another cold winter day in our nations capital. The wind blew and the snow fell but disappeared once it hit the crowds of people moving across the streets bundled up in their winter clothes. The wind settled for a moment before blowing harsh again making the District look much like a snow globe. This struck Alex Krycek as bad foreplay on the part of Mother Nature. He had always like snow storms, it made him reminiscing of his childhood. It those mid-western storms his father would disappear for days leaving him alone in the house. He would often hope that he'd get lost in a snowdrift. It was this memory that got him exited about the weather and then let down by this mere smattering.
Oh, well. It could be worse. It could be another winter in some shit hole prison camp.
He smiled; so far it was a good year so far. Mulder was gone (not that he didn't like Mulder. He had been amusing. It was that everything wrong in his life boiled down to the fact the man just wouldn't die.), that black lung son of a bitch was dead (or he hoped although he did like how sexy his caves looked in the ruby slippers.), business was booming, and to top it all off he had a date with Marita. Ok, it wasn't a date. I mean it would probably start out as a date. He knew at some point one of them, probably him since it's always his fault, would, say something to upset and insult, most likely her, the other. That would trigger the fighting about various elements of their relationship ("You left me to die", "You sent me to prison" "But I brought you back") and then the name calling ("Terrorist" "Bitch" "Murderer" "Concubine"). After what will feel like hours of them arguing it would lead to what the driving point of their relationship several good hours of sex. It wasn't that he was complaining about that. It seemed that the only passion in their relationship was this undying hatred that they had for each other.
Neither one of them would end it or find someone else to date. They didn't trust anyone else enough to move on. Besides it gave them a chance to escape from what their world, both knowing where they stand with each other. Each knowing what the other knows about the world.
It's why he wanted to retire to the private sector. He had been working on this dream for several years now. He wanted to move back to Branson and sell used cars. He figured he could buy a mail order bride and live the so- called American Dream, a simple kind of life. Until then, he was going to do what he had always done, live for today and take care of the one person who is important in his life; himself. He rounded the corner to Marita's D.C. Apartment. It always bothered him that she kept the place in the District. No, it bothered him that she had the place period. He knew how much Marita made a year. While as she was wealthy it just bothered him that she flaunted that wealth like that.
It wasn't like it mattered; it didn't make the sex any better or worse for that matter. He climbed up the fire escape since the doorman and him just didn't get along (he was often accused of being Patrick Bateman). He climbed through the window into Martia's well-designed apartment (he had requested, when he had voice in this relationship you know incase Interpol or whomever showed up). She stood there looking like Marita (you know, semi-attractive but always pissed off). She stared at him blankly with her arms folded across her chest. He flashed that charming Krycek smile.
"Do you ever use the door?"
"Doors are overrated. I have this fear of being sucked into another dimension when I walk through them."
"You're late, we've been waiting for you for about three hours."
"We? Who is 'we'?"
She rolled her eyes and walked towards the front room. Yea, that was something he wanted to hear as he followed into the main room. A man stood calmly in the shadows, checked his watch. Krycek could tell by his outline that this man had freakishly large year.
"Oh this is Alex Krycek. How she spoke about I expected some great man of steel. Or at least the use of the door."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Alex, how rude."
"Marita, shut up, who are you?"
"Who I am is irrelevant."
"No it isn't, who are you"
"Will you both act like adults and not play this game"
"Marita Shut up."
"I never." She said as she stomped off.
"Sure you do." Krycek muttered under his breath.
"All the time." The man continued.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Clark Palmer. Marita has told me a lot about you."
"Anything good?"
"Of course not you should know Marita better than that."
"So what are you doing here?"
"I don't know Marita just invited me over for drinks." Palmer Paused. "How do you know Marita?"
"We worked together for a while. We are very close. You?"
"I don't know, she just found me one day."
"Yea, she has a tendency to do that. I use to think she was a witch."
"She's probably is a student of the Dark Arts."
"I heard that" She interjected from the kitchen.
"See?" said Palmer. "Maybe she's in league with Lord Voldermort."
"You read Harry Potter?"
"Have you ever seen the prison libraries in America? I'm lucky to get to read Harry Potter."
"At least you had a library."
"Where were you?"
"Tunisia."
"War Crimes."
"In a way…yes? You?"
"My genius couldn't recognize by a jack ass Navy Lawyer. Oh, yea, attempted Murder."
"Attempted. I think one of us is a poor assassin."
He narrowed his eyes at Krycek. Clearly our hero had his a nerve, a pet peeve of our other hero. He breathed even calm breaths.
"I'm not an assassin."
"Then what are you?"
"An artist."
"Oh shit, your one of them."
"What any idiot can walk up to a guy and pop him. Assassination is a true art. I mean think about it."
"Now I see why you've been charged with attempted Murder."
"No, the bastard got lucky."
Marita walked back into the room looking at gentlemen. With a semi-role of her eyes, she walked back in. What was up with that after all the whole family happened to be here? Krycek looked at her while Palmer watched the exchange of non-verbal communication. The silence was awkward to say the least (really it is. We all know that the author is a stickler for dialogue).
"Well its nice to see that I don't have to do formal introductions."
"Marita can we talk." Krycek said.
It wasn't a question it was more of a demand as he dragged Marita into a secluded room. It wasn't until he had closed the door that it was the infamous bedroom. He remembered the legendary four-poster bed. Where did the four-poster bed come from? Oh yea, the showing of her wealth. He knew that any creditability that this was an innocent conversation about her other guest. She turned to him with a smirk. A smirk, he thought, I thought she lost those muscles years ago.
"Alex," she said pulling him closer to her and planted a kiss softly on his lips. "Why didn't you just say so?"
He sighed in a continent matter, kissing back. It was more out of habit than in passion. A flurry of kisses soon fallowed as he moved towards the bed. He played with her hair. It felt greasy to the touch, had she put extra gel in because of the wind outside. He felt himself falling to the bed and her on top of him. She forced her tongue into his mouth removing his jacket and starting on to his shirt.
"Don't you think that it's a bit rude for us to having fun in here with my quest outside?" She said between the deep and hard kisses.
"Who is he?"
"Didn't he tell you?
"He told me who he was but I want to her it from you. Who is he?"
She rolled off him unhappy with turn of events that were not going to lead. He sat as she then paced around the room displeased at him.
"He's just a guy."
"No, how the hell do you know him?"
"Alex…it's not important"
"Marita, when a man knows more about me that I know about him it's important."
"He's former D.S.D., Clark has been very helpful for the cause."
"And what does he want now."
"If you're so interested then why don't you ask him."
1/of however many I feel like
Legal Stuff: Ok I don't own Krycek or Marita. They Belong to that nice man we all love known as Chris Carter. I do not own Clark Palmer…(weeeeeeee) he belongs to The nice people who created him. Yadda yadda yadda…don't sue me.
Writer's Notes: This was inspired by a conversation I had with some one over a poem I wrote. I think I said something that Krycek and Palmer would get along. And poof it happened so you get this nice piece-o-trash. The Title is taken from a Power man 5000 song called "When Worlds Collide". I kicked the idea around and here what you're getting Yippee Skippy. So you know that this is the part of the show where I say my thank you SO!! **Warning** Contains a lot of dialogue. Special Thanks: Any one else who happens to be important: You know who you are.
PLEASE GIVE ME FEED BACK
"One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me"
~One Night in Bangkok
It was another cold winter day in our nations capital. The wind blew and the snow fell but disappeared once it hit the crowds of people moving across the streets bundled up in their winter clothes. The wind settled for a moment before blowing harsh again making the District look much like a snow globe. This struck Alex Krycek as bad foreplay on the part of Mother Nature. He had always like snow storms, it made him reminiscing of his childhood. It those mid-western storms his father would disappear for days leaving him alone in the house. He would often hope that he'd get lost in a snowdrift. It was this memory that got him exited about the weather and then let down by this mere smattering.
Oh, well. It could be worse. It could be another winter in some shit hole prison camp.
He smiled; so far it was a good year so far. Mulder was gone (not that he didn't like Mulder. He had been amusing. It was that everything wrong in his life boiled down to the fact the man just wouldn't die.), that black lung son of a bitch was dead (or he hoped although he did like how sexy his caves looked in the ruby slippers.), business was booming, and to top it all off he had a date with Marita. Ok, it wasn't a date. I mean it would probably start out as a date. He knew at some point one of them, probably him since it's always his fault, would, say something to upset and insult, most likely her, the other. That would trigger the fighting about various elements of their relationship ("You left me to die", "You sent me to prison" "But I brought you back") and then the name calling ("Terrorist" "Bitch" "Murderer" "Concubine"). After what will feel like hours of them arguing it would lead to what the driving point of their relationship several good hours of sex. It wasn't that he was complaining about that. It seemed that the only passion in their relationship was this undying hatred that they had for each other.
Neither one of them would end it or find someone else to date. They didn't trust anyone else enough to move on. Besides it gave them a chance to escape from what their world, both knowing where they stand with each other. Each knowing what the other knows about the world.
It's why he wanted to retire to the private sector. He had been working on this dream for several years now. He wanted to move back to Branson and sell used cars. He figured he could buy a mail order bride and live the so- called American Dream, a simple kind of life. Until then, he was going to do what he had always done, live for today and take care of the one person who is important in his life; himself. He rounded the corner to Marita's D.C. Apartment. It always bothered him that she kept the place in the District. No, it bothered him that she had the place period. He knew how much Marita made a year. While as she was wealthy it just bothered him that she flaunted that wealth like that.
It wasn't like it mattered; it didn't make the sex any better or worse for that matter. He climbed up the fire escape since the doorman and him just didn't get along (he was often accused of being Patrick Bateman). He climbed through the window into Martia's well-designed apartment (he had requested, when he had voice in this relationship you know incase Interpol or whomever showed up). She stood there looking like Marita (you know, semi-attractive but always pissed off). She stared at him blankly with her arms folded across her chest. He flashed that charming Krycek smile.
"Do you ever use the door?"
"Doors are overrated. I have this fear of being sucked into another dimension when I walk through them."
"You're late, we've been waiting for you for about three hours."
"We? Who is 'we'?"
She rolled her eyes and walked towards the front room. Yea, that was something he wanted to hear as he followed into the main room. A man stood calmly in the shadows, checked his watch. Krycek could tell by his outline that this man had freakishly large year.
"Oh this is Alex Krycek. How she spoke about I expected some great man of steel. Or at least the use of the door."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Alex, how rude."
"Marita, shut up, who are you?"
"Who I am is irrelevant."
"No it isn't, who are you"
"Will you both act like adults and not play this game"
"Marita Shut up."
"I never." She said as she stomped off.
"Sure you do." Krycek muttered under his breath.
"All the time." The man continued.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Clark Palmer. Marita has told me a lot about you."
"Anything good?"
"Of course not you should know Marita better than that."
"So what are you doing here?"
"I don't know Marita just invited me over for drinks." Palmer Paused. "How do you know Marita?"
"We worked together for a while. We are very close. You?"
"I don't know, she just found me one day."
"Yea, she has a tendency to do that. I use to think she was a witch."
"She's probably is a student of the Dark Arts."
"I heard that" She interjected from the kitchen.
"See?" said Palmer. "Maybe she's in league with Lord Voldermort."
"You read Harry Potter?"
"Have you ever seen the prison libraries in America? I'm lucky to get to read Harry Potter."
"At least you had a library."
"Where were you?"
"Tunisia."
"War Crimes."
"In a way…yes? You?"
"My genius couldn't recognize by a jack ass Navy Lawyer. Oh, yea, attempted Murder."
"Attempted. I think one of us is a poor assassin."
He narrowed his eyes at Krycek. Clearly our hero had his a nerve, a pet peeve of our other hero. He breathed even calm breaths.
"I'm not an assassin."
"Then what are you?"
"An artist."
"Oh shit, your one of them."
"What any idiot can walk up to a guy and pop him. Assassination is a true art. I mean think about it."
"Now I see why you've been charged with attempted Murder."
"No, the bastard got lucky."
Marita walked back into the room looking at gentlemen. With a semi-role of her eyes, she walked back in. What was up with that after all the whole family happened to be here? Krycek looked at her while Palmer watched the exchange of non-verbal communication. The silence was awkward to say the least (really it is. We all know that the author is a stickler for dialogue).
"Well its nice to see that I don't have to do formal introductions."
"Marita can we talk." Krycek said.
It wasn't a question it was more of a demand as he dragged Marita into a secluded room. It wasn't until he had closed the door that it was the infamous bedroom. He remembered the legendary four-poster bed. Where did the four-poster bed come from? Oh yea, the showing of her wealth. He knew that any creditability that this was an innocent conversation about her other guest. She turned to him with a smirk. A smirk, he thought, I thought she lost those muscles years ago.
"Alex," she said pulling him closer to her and planted a kiss softly on his lips. "Why didn't you just say so?"
He sighed in a continent matter, kissing back. It was more out of habit than in passion. A flurry of kisses soon fallowed as he moved towards the bed. He played with her hair. It felt greasy to the touch, had she put extra gel in because of the wind outside. He felt himself falling to the bed and her on top of him. She forced her tongue into his mouth removing his jacket and starting on to his shirt.
"Don't you think that it's a bit rude for us to having fun in here with my quest outside?" She said between the deep and hard kisses.
"Who is he?"
"Didn't he tell you?
"He told me who he was but I want to her it from you. Who is he?"
She rolled off him unhappy with turn of events that were not going to lead. He sat as she then paced around the room displeased at him.
"He's just a guy."
"No, how the hell do you know him?"
"Alex…it's not important"
"Marita, when a man knows more about me that I know about him it's important."
"He's former D.S.D., Clark has been very helpful for the cause."
"And what does he want now."
"If you're so interested then why don't you ask him."