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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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Safety XII

Summary:

Feedback: YES. Gimme my fix *G*
Disclaimer: CC's. But they're sitting on *my* couch.
Series: Parts I to VI can be found at http://members.theglobe.RatboyX
The rest or all of the above are cheerfully sent on request. Just give me a call.
Notes: So. *deep breath* This is the last part. Although I don't think I'll manage to leave them alone for very long *G*, so there'll probably be a follow-up series called "Visits".
Big Hugs and Kisses for Chris and Nia who managed to put up with me and beta'd brilliantly. Again. *GGG*

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Safety XII
By Jadzia

 


Walking on the edge of rage and understanding
Between the black and the white
This child is so angry
Alone here tonight
Alarming desperation
Leads me to believe
With all my shields and protection
It's only me I deceive

(Melissa Etheridge: Dance Without Sleeping)

 

We didn't talk after all. It was better that way.

Sometimes, he even seems willing to accept, but he wouldn't be Fox Mulder if he hadn't these minutes when I can see defiance flickering in his eyes.

When the bedroom is my only refuge.

Five steps from wall to wall, thirty wood-panels to the ceiling, chillingly cold.

I got used to it.

He doesn't understand that I have to prepare.

Prepare for the dark times without fire and soft words.

Not that there are soft words spoken these days.

There's silence.

Not a good one.

Forced, cold, trying not to hurt.

But silence hurts, too.

Maybe more than words ever could.

And it hurts him as much as it hurts me - and didn't we stop talking so we wouldn't hurt each other? Didn't work, I guess.

Maybe that's preparation, too.

Though I didn't know... it hurts so much. So deep down inside - I didn't know there *was* something in these depths, something that would burn at his touch and freeze at his silence.

I can't afford a soft spot like this.

Like him.

During all those years before, I always thought that my biggest advantage.

No weakness, no friends, no boundaries.

And he was there all along, but I didn't notice.

Didn't want to notice.

I thought I knew myself.

This is ridiculous.

I hate being at a loss.

Hate it with a vengeance.

Is it best to walk out and forget?

Will I be able to?

Will I be able to sleep without him?

I can't, even here, where it's safe.

Will I be able to kill with him on my mind?

Will I be able to get him off my mind?

Ignorance is bliss.

Sometimes.

I don't know what I need.

I don't know if I'm allowed to need.

I just hurt, but I've always hurt, hurt others, so I guess that's fair.

Can I change this?

Change and stay the same?

Change and not destroy myself and him?

The longer I think about it - this isn't about me and him. The Consortium won't set me free because I can't live happily without Fox Mulder. I've never lived happily before, why should I now.

Why should I ever.

It's no use thinking about it.

He'll never be mine.

And I can't go for less.

Not with him.

All or nothing.

Now, if he would just let me.

Let me go without tearing me apart.

 

I don't know what to tell him.

I will never be the one he wants me to be.

I'm not just misunderstood. I did make a wrong choice, yes, and I'd undo it.

But now - having done all these things I can't deny it's somehow - me.

Killing can be comfortable.

It's something I'm good at.

I'm not good at many things.

I don't know how I could allow him to get so close to me.

So very close to the person I thought was long gone.

Vanished a little more with each man shot or strangled or stabbed.

Maybe I just wished it away.

Wished away the man who regretted and felt and understood.

There isn't much left of him, but a certain Fox Mulder manages to bring him to the surface every time.

Every time he looks at me with soft eyes.

Eyes filled to the brim with concern and forgiveness, forgiveness he can't give because he doesn't know what I've done.

He doesn't know who I am.

He's seeing the few things he knows about me, the seldom flicker of the human being I've never been, and he jumps to the conclusion that I'm just a poor misled guy who needs a little love and understanding to make everything all right again.

That's too easy.

Or too hard.

I don't know.

I don't want him to try and then I'm angry when he doesn't. He dragged me here, so he has to care.

I'm afraid of him caring for me.

Caring.

He does at night.

When his world is asleep and he can drop into mine for a few hours.

I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to sleep without him...

I get calm the minute I feel him next to me, warmth and softness - sometimes I tousle his hair when I manage to stay awake until he's asleep.

I feel like a fool.

This can't be.

I don't know if he'd let it be, anyway.

I don't have a job that I can quit just like that, and I don't want to.

If I have to be alive, I have to be what I am.

And I want to be alive, somewhere deep down, as much as I hate it.

He won't accept that.

He won't be able to.

And I don't want him to.

He wouldn't be Fox Mulder if he could.

And I want him to be nothing else.

Fox Mulder.

I want to be close to him. Want him to be soft and warm on my skin not just because he wants me to sleep. I want to go into the living room and sit down next to him, not stand in front of the window. I want to feel the glow of the fire on my face while I'm holding him close. Closer. Want him to lean into my touch and smile at me, filling the void inside.

If I dwell on this any longer, I'll be out in the snow again before I can think a straight thought.

They always say life isn't fair.

But it is.

 

It's time to go.

Maybe not today or tomorrow... but it's time.

I don't know if I'm glad or devastated.

I'll have to talk to him.

Maybe I should just go out and do it.

See if he listens.

See if he smiles.

How does he *do* that anyway? I should be thinking about slightly different things...

"You hungry?"

Damn.

Damndamndamn.

"I'll think about it as soon as my heart's beating again, Mulder."

"Dinner's in the kitchen."

Doesn't sound good.

I follow him after a minute. He's sitting on the couch, eating his soup. Smells good. The pot on the stove is still steaming, and I *am* hungry.

I go back into the living room, and he's sitting there like frozen.

Just looking at his back makes me ache. Because I'm the cause of all this.

So if he's so sure about wanting to be with me, he'll better get used to a little pain. We're torturing ourselves here.

That's not how it's meant to be, is it? Isn't this sort of feeling supposed to make you happy? Just a rumor, then.

Well, I can live with that.

I have a job I can bury myself in.

I'm worrying about him.

Worrying, that now, as I've become the subject of his famous focus, he won't be able to let it go.

That he won't be able to let me go.

That he won't be able to make himself let go.

I want him happy, at least a little. Too much inside of me is crying out for him, I can't destroy him. As much as I want to deny it, I can't when I look at him. Impossible.

I'll have to go so I don't destroy both of us.

If I go without a word, I'll destroy him.

If he says too much, he'll destroy me.

I don't know if he has a clue about this...

I guess I just have to trust him.

And I do.

He has kept me safe for so long, it's time to switch jobs again. This should be the other way around, as it was when everything started.

I'm okay as long as I keep him safe.

The only problem is that nothing is as it was before.

Everything's upside down.

I'm upside down.

I don't know what's good or bad for me anymore. Mulder - he's so good for me that it makes everything worse.

I bet that won't make sense to him.

There has to be something really mesmerizing in this soup, judging from the way he's staring into his bowl. I don't even get a glance. Fine.

Maybe I'm not as hungry as I thought.

"Mulder, don't you think it'd be better for both of us if I just went away?"

Great.

Don't I just love it when I talk before the thought is even in my head. Wonder how my brain does that.

It takes him a moment to look at me.

Eyes not quite cold and not quite warm.

Not soft and not hard.

"Why?" he asks, and it feels as though it actually matters what I think.

"Because we're just hurting each other."

"So-" his stare is getting uncomfortable. "So fleeing will make it all go away?"

"I don't know, but we can't stay here forever."

Softer eyes now. "I know. But maybe we could work it out if you stayed a little longer."

A few weeks ago... I would've done close to anything just to get a look like this from him. Just to get a few words, spoken warmly, not spat out.

How is it you always need more?

It's never enough with him.

Never.

"I don't think so, Mulder. I've been here for so long already, and nothing's worked out."

"So, everything's just as it was when we came here?" An angry glitter creeps into the softness.

"No. No, of course not." I feel a little warmer again when the softness returns. "But it's not enough to make me stay."

"Does that mean you'd stay if things were different?"

I can see the wheels turning. I can almost *hear* them.

"I couldn't. You know that. I have work to do."

He cocks his head in a way that I've seen often enough now - I'll just have to wait and see what piece of brilliance he'll come up with.

I can hear the wood cracking, giving in to the fire.

I'll miss this.

I haven't had time to think this much for ages... and maybe it was better that way.

Easier.

Here in this cocoon of warmth it's easy to think about feelings, relationships and other dangerous things, but out there in the cold - maybe I would be better off not knowing.

Not knowing what I could have had, what I could have been.

But there's no use for that now, anyway.

The harm is done.

"You know," he starts slowly, "maybe it's better this way. It's easier. If you really have to go, all this shouldn't be too tempting, you know. Clean cut and everything."

He hurts.

He really does, and I don't want him to.

Don't want to be the cause.

"It's still tempting as hell, Mulder, compared to my life outside."

You make it tempting. No matter where you are, I'd rather be there than anywhere else.

"Really?" he manages a weak smile. "Most of the time I make you flee to the bedroom."

"Yeah, well," I shrug, "seems that neither of us is good at talking about emotional stuff." Slightly off the point, and of course he notices.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we have to hurt each other half of the time."

His eyes don't leave mine, and I don't know how the hell he manages to glue me to him every time.

"We do, don't we?" he asks very softly.

"Seems so." I mutter.

"Why is that? Because I don't want to. Really."

I don't know if that makes it better or worse. And I don't think that it's the truth, anyway.

"You sure about that?" That gets me a hard glance, and there he's thinking again.

It's weird - no "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Krycek" anymore - he's so different. So agreeable.

So very easy to hurt.

I can't stand it.

Be careful what you wish for, they say.

"Maybe you're right." He says. "Sometimes I was just wondering - I mean, I asked myself what I was *doing* here."

"And sometimes you still do." Because I know he does.

"Sometimes." He smiles a little. "But not very often. Not anymore. When I saw you lying in the snow -"

"Don't."

It's still too cold.

Too cold to even think about it.

Not now.

Not for a long time to come.

I can still feel it creeping up my legs, slowly, settling in my stomach.

The bowl is not in my hand anymore, but he's there. Holding my hand, his heat seeping through me, battling the cold inside.

Not so cold anymore... don't know how he does this, every time.

"It's okay, Alex, it's over. I'm sorry."

"'s okay." I sound weak. Not good.

"See, that's exactly what I'm worried about. You're not stable yet."

"I will be."

Because you are my instability.

"How?"

"I just will, Mulder, okay?" And your hand is still holding mine, giving me warm shivers.

"No, not okay. You're shutting me out, again."

Shutting you out?

Just how deep inside of me do you want to crawl?

Maybe I'm shutting myself out.

"I try not to." I admit.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Oh, a sparkle. Unmistakable sign of an impending Mulderism. "*What*, Mulder?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering if it's an X-File that you're still here. And not in the bedroom."

He's giving me a small smile, and I can't help to return it. "Yeah, maybe you should check my blood."

"And then stab you and clean up the mess? No, thanks."

It feels so good, talking like this... could almost make me believe that it's real.

"You're doing it again, Alex."

"Sorry."

I wish I could rub my eyes, but that would mean taking my hand away from his. Makes eye-rubbing seem pretty unimportant.

"You're already in too deep, Mulder."

"But you're still hiding."

Am I?

Probably.

Maybe it has become so frequent that I don't even notice it anymore.

"I have to." I whisper.

I do.

And I don't even know why.

"From me?"

Oh, especially from you.

His hand tightens around mine when I nod.

"But why from me?"

There's this sharp sting that spreads through me, biting and chilling, reaching every part of me until I can hardly breathe and have to go, have to leave the hurt behind and I would be off in a second, weren't it for his hand that is holding me in place.

He doesn't let me go, even when I try to struggle free.

"Alex, you're scaring me here. Talk to me, please?"

Maybe it's better if I don't say anything - but the silence hurt more than words, if I remember correctly. So what the hell am I going to do?

"Alex?"

"Damn, Mulder, what do you want me to say?" I snap.

How can I talk to him when I haven't even figured out anything for myself?

"I want to understand what's going on with you. Nothing more."

Nothing less.

I guess I'd better go for the truth this time. "I don't know. I really don't." His hand soothes mine, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my wrist. "You know, you make me weak."

His hand grows still all of a sudden.

If you want the truth, you gonna get hurt.

That's the way it works.

"How?" he whispers soundlessly, but his hand is still there. Masochistic streak, hm, Mulder?

I can't look him in the eye when he's like this.

Frozen.

Suffering.

Why can't I be a normal guy with a normal job that doesn't involve killing on a regular basis? That doesn't make him sick? Why have I done it for so long that I'm not even disgusted anymore? That I'm proud of doing a good job?

"You showed me how it could have been."

"It is as it is, Alex. It can be like this, if you let us."

Oh no, not this time. There'll be no solution now, no brilliant trail of Mulder-thoughts ripping out the root of the problem.

Because the root is me.

"I will not change. I don't want to."

I can't.

I beg him to understand.

Not with words, but I'm begging him.

"I don't ask you to destroy yourself. I just want you to do what you can."

Why does it always sound so damn easy when he says something like that?

His thumb is moving again, tingling.

"It won't be much." I've already endangered us too many times. Both of us.

"Alex," his hand tightens painfully around mine, "just tell me that you're willing to do *something*. Tell me I haven't dragged you here and sat staring at the bedroom-door for hours for nothing."

"You could've come in."

He *could* have.

"You could've come out."

I - I could have.

I couldn't.

Okay, so maybe he couldn't come in. That's really cool, so we'll be staring at different sides of a door each time we meet. Sounds wonderful. "I just don't see how we could ever manage all this." I'm not used to speaking softly.

"But we do manage. Right now."

"Do we?" Not that I don't want it to be true.

Even if the idea of going away from here becomes harder and harder to bear.

"Yes. We're talking, we're not running away."

True, now that he mentions it. So... maybe a little test.

"What about my job?"

His thumb stills for a second before he continues his slow circles.

"Your... job. I don't know. I hate it. I hate the part of you that likes doing it."

So he knows. Or maybe he doesn't.

"And what if it's not just a part of me? What if it's *me*?"

"It isn't."

I don't believe it. How can he be so bloody sure if *I* don't know the answer to this?

"How can you be so sure?"

He shrugs and there's a small smile playing around his lips. "I just know. Trust me."

And even as I sink back into the cushions, laughing helplessly, I know that I do trust him. And I know that he knows I do. Funny, isn't it.

More dangerous than funny, probably.

Which brings me back to the basics.

Danger, right.

"It may be too dangerous for both of us to see each other again."

He frowns. "It was never too dangerous before."

"Yeah, but -"

...but?

"But?" he asks quietly.

But I knew then that I wouldn't be welcome.

"It's easier to leave when you just got beaten up." I dare to look up at him and can't understand why he smiles quite so cheerfully.

"That's good."

So?!

"It's good because it means you know that I won't do it again."

Oh.

I think I know why he's so good at his job.

"Yeah, well... maybe - but, anyway, it's dangerous."

"True. But I won't make you stay. When you say it's too dangerous, I'll trust your judgement. I'll let you go."

"I won't be able to trust my *own* judgement, Mulder. Not - not if I want to stay so much."

"But Alex -" he leans forward and I sink back into the cushions a little further; he's so intent, so focussed, on *me*, "- you can. You want to stay now, I know you do. And still you know when it's best for you to go, and you even fight me to let you. Can't you see? You won't risk either of us. And I trust you in this. You just have to trust yourself."

"That's too easy."

"I don't think it's all that easy."

I close my eyes when I feel his finger trail down my cheek; soft, easy touch.

I'm exhausted. Tired. So tired that I think that maybe he's right. Maybe. I'll have to think about it. Later.

Later.

I don't know how, but my head is suddenly on his shoulder, one of his arms around my waist. He drags me down until I lie almost on top of him.

"You can't sleep like this..." I murmur, and I feel his low chuckle as he picks up the blanket from the floor and spreads it over us.

"I can." He whispers in my ear. "And you can, too."

I know that *I* can, stupid. I snuggle a little closer, sink into his arms, feeling warm deep down inside.

The fire crackles and I see a golden cascade of sparks before I close my eyes.

I'm safe.

For one last night.

**********

It's dark.

Only a few glimmers deep down under the burnt wood, but I'm still warm. He is still close to me, and I will leave this warmth behind with him when I walk out the door.

But there's no choice.

I must leave or I'll lose every chance I have to be together with him again.

That's simply not an option.

So I try to entangle myself as carefully as possible. He doesn't need to wake up now.

Bathroom.

A last shower.

Fluffy towel.

Clean clothes.

Black.

Jacket.

Leather.

Bag with the rest of my stuff.

Mulder, still sleeping, gorgeous.

I don't want to wake him.

Not ever.

He looks so calm. I want to remember him like this.

His eyelids flutter and open, just to close again for a few seconds. So I don't see the pain. Good.

"You want a coffee before you go?" His eyes gleam blue in the darkness.

"No, thanks." I'm nervous enough as it is.

He stands up slowly, still as stiff as I was just minutes ago.

I hate good-bye's like this. Not that I ever had one before, but I just have the feeling it could be... painful.

"Mulder... thanks. I mean -"

"Shh. It's okay."

He reaches out his hand and all I can do is drop my bag and take it. I don't know how he does it, but it feels as though there were strings glued to my collar, drawing me to him.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Until I'm standing right in front of him, our fingers intertwined , his pulse quickening as he leans forward and rests his forehead against mine.

Touch.

How bad will I miss these touches, his touches, the only ones that don't mean pain and hurt.

I can smell him, smell his hair, and don't they say that smell is the sense that's remembered best?

I will remember.

Remember exactly how it feels to have him so close, so completely unguarded.

So close.

Closer even, his other hand reaching up to cup my cheek, and I need to close my eyes when his thumb strokes over my lips, lightly, hesitantly, making me weak in the knees.

His scent surrounds me, his taste is on my lips, and I don't care what's going on around me.

He's here.

Nothing else matters.

He's here, and he makes me ache.

Ache for his touch, his smell, his taste that still lingers on me when he takes his hand away from my face.

Too short, I think, don't let it be over now, not already, and when I open my eyes I feel his hand around my waist, pulling me closer until I see his beautiful eyes in close-up, closer so I can see his lips moving, his head moving until I feel, closer, I feel his lips, his *lips* on mine - time's gone.

Time's non-existent with Fox Mulder kissing you.

All that's there is him - his lips, unbelievably soft and yielding; his tongue, sneaking out and meeting mine, igniting impossible white-hot fires deep inside; his hands, clenching mine and drawing me closer still.

Still closer.

And even when our lips part because we have to breathe, even then he holds me as close to him as possible.

He doesn't let go of me.

He holds me safe.

My head on his shoulder, his arms around me, his voice in my ear, "Tell me you'll be as careful as possible. Please."

"Yes," I whisper, anything, anything to have the possibility to have this again.

To sneak into his apartment months later, to be welcomed and to feel like this.

Oh, it'll be even harder to go now, to leave him, knowing how it feels and what I will never have - but at the same time it makes everything worthwhile, knowing I will come to visit him and he will let me feel like this again.

I squeeze him as hard as I can and he slackens his arms around me, letting me go.

"Take care of yourself. No suicide-stunts, you hear me?" My voice sounds rough.

"I'll try." He smiles crookedly and rummages in his pocket. He finds what he's searching for and hands me the car-keys. "Here, take the car. I... I can't stand the thought of you being alone out there."

"Thanks... but what about you?" I don't like the idea of you hiking through the snow for hours, either. Not at all.

"I'll call the Gunmen. They'll figure something out."

I look at him.

That's it.

Time to go.

I take my bag in my hand and try to burn all the details into my memory.

How he's standing there, his hair unruly from sleep, his eyes looking at me, sadly, shining.

"I'll see you around, Mulder."

"I'll be waiting."

A small smile, one of those I've seen a few times by now, but I'll remember this one.

This one.

And I turn and leave him standing there, I turn and walk towards the door, and each step hurts.

Hurts like hell.

I open the door and the cold numbs me all over, making it a little easier to walk out to the garage.

I sit in the car, I start it, and it's weird - the numbness fades a little, and inside me, I feel a small glimmer of warmth that is there, that doesn't go away, no, it spreads.

It spreads all through me.

 

THE END

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Jadzia.
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