TITLE: "Here it Comes"
AUTHOR: Raietta
RATING: G for sex, but NC-17 for language
SPOILERS: I have no idea. So I'll say "yes" for
all of 'em and play it safe.
ANNOYING DISCLAIMER THING: Sigh. Some day... some
day... some day I'll have enough dope on CC to
nail him to the wall. Then they'll be *miiiine*
(maniacal laughter).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a three-second snippet I
wrote on the spot. It will be very short, and
probably bad, because the computer I'm using is
not mine, and its owner keeps on poking me in the
shoulder and asking to have it back. Dammit. This
little snippet came to life b/c earlier I
finished reading one M/K fic with a character
death, wept copiously, then read another M/K
character death fic, screamed in agony, then read
yet another M/K character death fic and finally
said, "Enough is enough! All of these character
deaths are damn depressing!" Duh. So, here comes
Raietta to the rescue, out to remedy this with a
nice, silly, non-tragic M/K character death fic.
Please, forgive me. It's over a hundred degrees
where I am and we have no air conditioning. The
heat has gone straight to my head. 
BONUS: Fifty M/K bonus points to the reader who
spots the unauthorized Araxdelan quote! (sorry,
Rax, for 1) sneaking in a quote o' yours and 2)
calling you Rax.) 

*****

Through the window they saw the first streaks of
dawn, and knew it was coming. Just a few more
minutes, and it would be here. 

"This is all your fault," Mulder sulked, sitting
on the floor of his kitchen, legs spraddled out
before him limply. 

Across the room from him, Krycek stared at the
FBI agent in astonishment. "MY fault!?" he
squawked, "*MY* fault?!?! How the hell is this
mess MY fault?!" 

Mulder pouted and folded his arms grumpily. "I
don't know yet, but I'm sure it is, all the
same." 

Alex Krycek gave him a disgusted look. "You
moron."

"Don't call me a moron!" Mulder snapped, ire
sparking in his hazel eyes. "Bastard!"

"You are a moron," Krycek snapped back, sitting
against the kitchen wall, legs drawn up, arms
limp at his sides. "Blaming me for this fiasco.
That's exactly what you are. A great, big,
annoying, infuriating, paranoid idiotic smartass
imbecilic MORON!" 

"I'm warning you, Krycek--" Mulder began irately,
stirring sluggishly to life, "--don't make me
come over there and kick your ass!" 

"Well, come on, big boy!" Krycek taunted, green
eyes gleaming. "Just scoot yourself right over
here and show me what's what!" 

This was all the incentive Mulder needed. He
launched himself at the assassin, and the two
rolled around the kitchen floor for a couple of
minutes, snarling and biting and pulling hair and
landing kidney punches and hurling insults crazed
enough to make an inmate at Bedlam blink. 

Outside the window, pink fingers of light dawned
faintly from over the horizon, soft and serene
and silent. 

The two men scrabbled on the floor, rolling over
one another until they ran into the kitchen
table. Mulder's head cracked against a table leg,
and he howled. 

"Christ fucked Mary!" he shrieked. 

"Mulder!" Krycek hissed, appalled and suddenly
showing a side to himself no-one had ever seen
before. "You watch your language, you damned
blasphemer!"

"I'll blaspheme *you*, you two-timing
double-crossing punk-nosed skinny-boned
conscious-less sonuvabitch!" Mulder swung a fist
into Krycek's gut, and Krycek reciprocated. 

Then they rolled around on the floor some more. 

Then they got bored after a while, and stopped,
and retired to neutral corners of the kitchen.
There, in silence, they sat for a while. Mulder
nursed a bloody nose, and Krycek wiped at a
bloody lip. 

"Bastard," Mulder muttered, after a while. 

"Moron," Krycek muttered back from around a
swollen lip. 

More silence. 

"I think you broke my jaw," Krycek finally said,
and Mulder snorted. 

"Krycek, the end of the world is at hand. I
could've bitten your fucking nose off, and it
wouldn't make a goddamned bit of difference. In
about three minutes, it won't matter at all
anymore." He sat for a moment, and Krycek stared
gloomily at the ceiling, which was cracked and
stained. "Plus," Mulder continued, "if your jaw
*was* broken, I don't think you'd be able to
talk." 

Krycek briefly considered a scathing retort, but
then figured he was too tired and his jaw hurt
too much to bother. He just stared at the ceiling
instead. 

"Goddammit," Mulder groused, pouting at the
floor. "I can't believe this." 

"Believe what? I thought you believed anything,
as long as it was highly implausible and
confounded logic." 

"I can't fucking believe that the end of the
world is here, and I get to witness it with
*you*. Out of all the people I get stuck dying
with, I get stuck dying with *you*." 

"Well," Krycek snapped, "I'm ever so sorry that
Scully couldn't be here to experience the
Apocalypse with you instead. I'm sure that the
moment the Cosmic Maitre D' finds out he screwed
up your reservations, he'll just rush right over
and fix it for you, seeing as the whole fucking
universe revolves around you." 

"Fuck you, asshole!" Mulder shouted. 

"Fuck you right back, prick!" Krycek shouted in
return. 

"You amoral bastard!"

"You arrogant fuck!"

"I hate you!"

"I despise you!"

"I'd kill you now with my bare hands," Mulder
roared, "if the end of the world wasn't about
five seconds into the future and it would just be
a waste of time!"

"You couldn't kill me if I was tied up,
unconscious, and rigged up to an incendiary
device and all you had to do was throw the
switch, you clueless clumsy hopeless psycho!" 

The two were by now so incensed that they started
throwing objects at one another without actually
getting up off the floor. Mulder hurled pots,
pans, a poached egg frier, and a colander at
Krycek, who retaliated with an egg beater, a
spatula, two wooden spoons, and a coffee mug.
They both, of course, had terrible aim, and their
projectiles sailed harmlessly through the air and
bounced safely off of walls and cabinets, but not
actual bodies. Steak knives whirled and thunked
safely into cabinet doors, buried to their hilts.
Really, it was quite sad. 

After a while they both ran out of ammo within
arm's reach, and were too lazy to get up and find
more. So they just sat listlessly instead. Mulder
inspected the wall across from him, and Krycek
inspected his knees. 

Silence in the kitchen. 

"Hey," Mulder said suddenly, breaking it,
"remember that one time when you gave me a
blowjob in the office right before our meeting
with the chief of police? Back when we were
partners?" 

Krycek smiled, remembering. "Yeah."

Mulder smiled, too. 

"Remember that one time when we decided to have
sex in a car while on a stakeout?" Krycek asked,
and Mulder grinned and replied, "Sure do. Scully
almost caught us, that time." 

"Remember... that one time... in the hotel...
with the vase and the cleaning maid?" Krycek
asked, and Mulder nodded. They were both quiet
for a moment, remembering the hotel incident. 

"We never did manage to clean off the walls with
that one, did we?" Mulder asked. 

Krycek shook his head, and they both smiled. 

Outside, the sky turned red. 

"Y'know, Mulder," Krycek began slowly, "since
we're gonna die anyway, in a couple of minutes,
why don't we--"

"No," Mulder cut in shortly, scowling. 

"Why the hell not? What better way is there to
go?" Krycek demanded. 

"Krycek," Mulder began, his face perfectly blank,
"I would rather have my head hacked off with a
butter knife while fully conscious and with all
my faculties intact than have sex with you." 

Krycek whistled. "A butter knife? That's damn
freaky, Mulder." 

"Old case of mine." 

"Ah." 

Silence in the kitchen. 

Outside, the sky turned green. Clouds began to
roil, a dull orange. It was a technicolor
nightmare. 

"So, did you ever bang 'er?" 

Mulder looked up, startled. "Huh?" 

"Scully," Krycek explained. "Did you ever fuck
her? Do the wild fandango? Do the horizontal
electric slide? Do the nasty? Fuck like weasels?
Do the rabbit hop? Do some special hugging? You
know, have sex?" 

Mulder's face grew an interesting shade of red.
"Krycek! You shut your goddamned mouth! It's none
of your goddamned business, anyway!"

"Oh, come on, Mulder," Krycek taunted. "We're all
gonna be dead in a second, why not just tell me?
What difference does it make? So, did you two get
down and dirty with each other? Didja do some
laps? Make like the beast with two backs?
Inquiring minds want to know." 

"Raaaaaggghhh!" Mulder replied, and launched
himself again at Krycek, who let out a little
shriek. 

They rolled around the kitchen floor some more,
jabbing and kicking, howling obscenities. They
crashed into a cabinet, shaking the whole wall,
and a stack of plates rattled and fell off a
shelf, smashing loudly. 

Mulder began throttling Krycek. "Shut up! Shut
up! Just shut the fuck up!" 

"Ack!" Krycek gagged. "Ack! Make me, G-man! Ack!"


They rolled back into the kitchen table, which
rocked, spilling a jar of flowers that Scully had
given Mulder the day before. More crashes. More
screaming and howling. More breaking flatware.
Krycek grabbed a half of a soup bowl and smashed
it over Mulder's head. Mulder kneed his groin.
More rolling around the floor like an overzealous
tumbling display. Smash. Boom. Punch. Thwap. Bam.
Crunch. Crack. Shoom. Splatter. 

The boys fetched up against the dishwasher and
began pummeling one another in earnest. 

Outside, the sky turned black with green and blue
flames. Pink streaks flowed inkily over the sky.
Then a crystalline tide of white, pure sparkling
white, spilled over the horizon, swallowed up the
blackness, and washed over them all. 


*THE END*