Hello folks! I'm little late for Valentine's Day, but I guess you won't mind a love story too much:-) So, it's Krycek's POV, spoilers till Biogenesis, some might consider it an AU, and I'd say it doesn't go above PG-13. It's kinda sad but don't let this stop you, cos I could never write Valentine's Day stories that don't have a happy ending:-) Many thanx to the very dear Alex who graciously betaread the first WAFF snip of a very green writer. Thank ye, hon! Enjoy! eider fagaras@mailcity.com ================ "On The 14th" or else called "Mine" ================ It's raining. Again. The state of wetness I am in is ridiculous compared to the length of time I spent mooning over his window. Again. The last three hours passed too quickly; me hidden in the shadows across from his building, him concealed in the fathomless depths of his apartment... I... I don't really mind. What could I possibly tell him if I were to face him? What miracle could I perform that would prove my love to him? I know these answers already. I search for them constantly, hoping they will change in regard of my actions, or maybe his... But they're always the same: nothing, none. I try to convince myself that it's because he doesn't know me -- the *real* me, not the thug. I want to believe he would let me in, if only he would care to discover this *real* me. But I never plan with the unknown. And Mulder's feelings for me are definitively unknown. Oh, sure, he hates my guts like I didn't think a being could hate another person. He brings the term loath to a new level, with me. Anger, sarcasms, insults, abuses... Our encounters follow a regular path, same old same old, that I'm afraid to break. I don't know what I would do if I was the one in charge. I don't know what I would do if he were to push me too much. I was in this type of situation once. One of the worse days of my life. I had his gun on him and he kept tempting me with bad jokes. I lost it. I kissed him. Not a real kiss, and not a... proposition, either. In fact, I can't remember exactly what happened. I had a mission to do, I knew that. But Mulder has never been easy to manipulate, that's why the big bosses get headaches trying to make him do what they want him to. So, I acted on an impulse. Too blurred to remember, too sweet to forget. But I'm starting to think it will cost me my life. He's my only weakness. The only one I will never kill. He doesn't know this. He will never know this. Nobody will. I came by his door, earlier. I couldn't help it. I lost it, again. I laid an orchid down in front of his door. An orchid laced with a leather ribbon. I'm sure he won't get the message, the *real* message... Maybe he'll think it's poisoned -- in that case, he'll call Scully --, maybe he'll decide it's an alien disguised as a flower -- it's fortunate that he doesn't see a shrink or the doctor would commit suicide -- or maybe he'll throw it in the bin because it stinks too much for him. Whatever the case, he probably won't understand it, but he'll know whom it comes from. From me. The bastard who killed his father and, in his eyes, did more atrocious things than happened in WWII. Hell, maybe he believes I'm responsible for his sister's abduction. Or for the fact that he's partially color-blind. Who knows what a paranoid alien-human hybrid may think? I think I should go. I should go *now*. But after all, I've stayed here for over three and a half hours, and I don't think another hour will change anything, right? But I should go. To keep my own sanity. Well, maybe it's too late for the sanity part, anyway. Someone is noisy, behind me. I don't care. They can kill me, the only thing I want will never come to me willingly. And I hate to think I would be able to take it by force. So what's the point in living? But they could be after Mulder. They have to die. I draw my gun silently, careful not to move too fast and press the confrontation. We'll do it my way. I hate to be surprised. In a whirl, I turn toward the enemy... ...and I almost shoot Mulder in the head. I've been trained well enough not to pull the trigger without identifying the menace first. It's the only reason Mulder wears this expression of outer disbelief instead of a blank mask of death. "I got your message," he whispers, trying to find his voice. He holds my presents and raises his hand a little for me to see them. My gun is still aimed at him. "I -- I thought you wanted to talk." He speaks hesitantly, as if afraid. Of what, I can't imagine. After all, he's the one that always claims he'll make me pay. The one who would have killed me if a certain red-head hadn't shot him first. He advances slowly, careful step after careful step. Like he doesn't want to frighten a wild creature. I wonder if he thinks of me like that. "I've been here for two hours, now," his words catch me like a blow, twisting my stomach hard. I'm cold, I'm shivering and it's only when his arms embrace me that I realize I'm shaking. Fear and Shame will be my executioners. He doesn't hit me. He just holds me. Harder, when I try to break free. I can't understand him. I'm afraid to understand him. The orchid travels along my face. He lifts my chin and makes me look into his eyes. I learned to watch for the truth, in those eyes. I learned to separate his feelings from his actions, by those eyes. What I see now terrifies me more than all the horrors I've ever witnessed. He worries. For me. He cares for me. And he's sincere about it. I... I think he cares about me too much for his own good. "I love you," his lips are on mine. I suppose I fainted because I can't remember walking to his apartment, nor undressing, and certainly not getting under the covers of his bed. I would have remembered the bed that is not supposed to exist. The orchid is here again. I smell it. I feel it. As I feel him now. As I ever will, from now on. Mine. ======= The End =======