Stalker Cake

As soon as Mulder broke the silence hovering over his apartment by throwing his keys down on the coffee table, he knew something was terribly wrong.

His Saturday afternoon was proceeding simply enough: morning cartoons, cereal, 2-mile jog, and grocery shopping. It was the usual routine, borne of the usual weekend monotony.

But as he stood in the middle of his living room wth both arms wrapped around brown grocery bags, Mulder could feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Of course, when the hairs on the back of an FBI agent's neck rise, you can be sure the *first* thing he would do would be to draw his weapon.

In this case, however, the hot breath against his ear along with the obvious sound of a hammer being drawn back kept him quite still.

"It seems I have you at a disadvantage," came the voice.

"Especially when you have a gun to the back of my head and my arms are full," Mulder replied with a hiss.

"Now, now, Mulder," breathed Krycek, not moving his gun, "promise to be good and I'll let you put the bags down."

Krycek's flesh-colored prosthesis crinkled down the corner of the grocery bag in Mulder's left arm, and he peered inside. "I'd hate to get your brain matter all over the chocolate cake."

Mulder sunk slowly to the floor and eased each bag from beneath his arm. As he was kneeling, the gun at the back of his head prodded him.

"Shall I kill you now?"

"Not if you want a piece of that chocolate cake," Mulder answered sarcastically.

"Eating healthier, Mulder?" Krycek pushed one bag with his foot, his weapon remaining unmoved against Mulder's head. "Is that a box of Wheaties I see?"

"Breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner of FBI agent-champions. The cake was for dessert."

"You're pathetic."

"I'm a bachelor," Mulder said simply.

The gun barrel now began tracing lazy circles in Mulder's hair.

"Living alone must make you crazy, hmm Mulder? Or should I say, *crazier*?"

"Actually, being forced to kneel in the middle of my own apartment with a gun to my head makes *you* crazier, Krycek."

Krycek laughed, and suddenly Mulder felt the cold steel of an incredibly sharp, and incredibly large knife being played against his ear.

"It makes *me* crazier, Mulder? Why is that?"

"Because I'm going to kill you."

Krycek laughed louder this time, and pressed firmly on the knife. Mulder felt wetness dripping on to the back of his neck.

"Think Scully would be worried if I sent her your ear in the mail?"

"She'd probably be glad I couldn't wear the sunglasses she hates anymore."

Krycek released the pressure on the knife and slid it back into its hiding place as silently as it had come.

"What a bitch," Krycek whispered into the bleeding ear. "How about I cut off a finger, then?"

He reached for Mulder's right hand, grabbed the index finger, and twisted it behind his body. Mulder flinched, and Krycek reminded him he still held the gun to his head by pressing the barrel firmly against the base of his skull.

"I *can* still beat you with one hand, Mulder. As a matter of fact, I have enough muscle control in my shoulder to work the fingers on the prosthesis, and it enables me to pull this trigger just as easily if the finger were still made of flesh and blood. Besides, struggling won't do you any good. I have your weapon."

Krycek released Mulder's hand, allowing him to feel the empty fanny pack where he kept his gun when jogging.

"See?" Krycek asked. "I'm three steps ahead, and *you* were the one to attend Oxford. So much for the formal education."

"I'll show you who's smarter, bastard," growled Mulder, "and I *am* going to kill you."

"Really?" Krycek was inches away from Mulder's ear again. "You want to know who's smarter, Mulder? *I* am. I know you wear an ankle holster."

He forced Mulder to his feet and spun him around so the barrel of Krycek's gun met squarely between Mulder's eyes. Krycek dangled Mulder's own handcuffs in front of him. "Put these on, and get undressed."

"What?"

"I know you wear an ankle holster, but I'm not completely stupid. Put one handcuff on your wrist, get undressed, and then cuff the other wrist. I won't risk getting into a situation I have no control over, and I won't risk getting my head blown off by some punk-ass .22 you have stuffed down your pants."

Mulder stared at the gun, and then at Krycek.

"Do it," Krycek threatened, "or I start shooting off toes."

"That will definitely piss off the downstairs neighbors."

"Watch how pissed they'll be when they find your head in the elevator and the rest of you in the lobby, smart-ass. Keep your mouth shut and do it."

Mulder reached for his Bureau-issued cuffs and tightened the metal around one wrist. Slowly, he removed his sweatshirt and placed it on the floor next to him.

"I'm not even wearing the ankle holster today," Mulder admitted.

"Lucky for me I still don't trust you," Krycek shot back, motioning with his gun.

Mulder unbuckled the fanny pack, then put his hands on either side of his hips and gently slid out of the sweat pants he was wearing.

Krycek gasped, and put a hand up to his forehead. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Fox."

"What Alex?"

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Alex sighed. "Today was "Evil Stalker Gun-and-Knife Krycek Saturday". You're wearing the red lace underwear we save for *next* Saturday's "Cross-Dressing and Lace-Panties-Wearing Spectacular Saturday". Jeez, I thought you were keeping track."

"Hey," Fox said, tugging at his lace underwear, "how am I supposed to remember which Role-Playing Saturday is which? I thought this was "The Red and the Black", where you are dressed in black leather and act violently, and I'm in the red panties acting submissive."

"That's *two* weekends from now! We marked the Kinky Calendar so something like this wouldn't happen. You know how often I'm away on...um, business."

Alex tossed his gun, and it slid across the coffee table. He slumped onto Mulder's couch, then nudged the grocery bag sitting on the floor with his foot.

"Why did you buy Wheaties?" he whined. "I wanted Frosted Flakes."

"There were out of Frosted Flakes," Fox said, flopping down on the couch next to Alex. He ran his hand down the side of his head. "My ear hurts like a *bitch*, Alex. Where did you come up with that line about mailing my ear to Scully?"

"Sorry," he smiled. He ran a fingertip over Fox's ear. "I always get carried away by the high-carbon tempered steel blade of a Bowie knife...laser-sharpened, hardwood grip, silver crossguard and ferrule, 13-inches of pure..."

"Thirteen inches, huh?" interrupted a grinning Fox. "You like 'em big?"

"And wide," Alex added with a smirk. "Thick, too."

"The "Bowie". Isn't that what the mountain men used to gut bears and chop off the hands of poker cheaters?"

"Yeah, only I use mine for more...delicate work," Alex said.

"I don't want to know," said Fox with a grimace.

"Good. I like reminiscing, but not when you're always passing out on me when I get to the juicy parts."

"So where in the hell did you hide that giant, 13-inch *sword* thing?" asked Fox.

"Oh, Alex's little secret. I keep it...well-hung."

Fox laughed. "That's almost as good as the crack you made about Oxford."

"What do you mean?"

"I liked how you insulted my intelligence," admitted Fox. "Gets me horny."

"Really." Alex moved closer to Fox on the couch. "I liked the part when you threatened to kill me."

"Yeah?"

"That insulted *my* intelligence. I get horny when you try to act tough." Alex chuckled and ran his hand across Fox's thigh. "Bastard."

"*How* horny does it make you? We still have these." Mulder lifted his wrist to reveal the still-attached, dangling handcuffs. He ran a hand under the elastic waistband of the red lace. "I'm still wearing the panties," Fox said slyly.

"Hmm, we have the chocolate cake, too, right? Perhaps we should create a new day on our Kinky Calendar."

Mulder playfully twirled the handcuff around on his wrist. "Handcuffs, red panties, and chocolate cake?"

"And weapons," said Krycek, smirking.

"I don't know, would you ever really shoot off one of my toes?"

"Of course not," Alex breathed. "I would go for the kneecaps first."

"Very funny."

"Would you ever stuff a .22 down your pants?" asked Alex with a curious smile.

"Not enough room," grinned Fox.

"Well then," proclaimed Alex, getting up. "Shall we try this again?"

"Okay, but no knives."

Alex leaned close to Mulder's ear, pointed at the red lace, and whispered, "Not even to cut them off?"

Fox moaned, and traced a fingertip over Alex's chin. "All right," he agreed, "you cut them off...but *I* get to slice the chocolate cake."