Work Text:
Safety VIII
By Jadzia
I actually slept.
He made me.
I don't know how he does that.
Being here with me.
Knowing who I am.
I know he knows.
How he looked at me ... he saw the monster inside me.
Welcome to reality, Fox.
He looked at me, and I saw the change in his eyes. Saw them become deep and frightened and shocked.
Scared.
And he wasn't scared of me; no, he was scared of himself.
I know why.
I had time enough to think. Time enough to think it all out.
I was sitting in my motel room and figured out every scenario that seemed possible. I thought and thought so hard that I'll never forget.
He won't come.
I'm gone, he's glad I'm gone, so he won't come.
Done.
They'll find me, kill me, and it'll be over.
Only a short time to wait.
Then over, finished, done.
Fine.
He will come.
He finds me, is exhausted from the hunt, he hates me, cold eyes, he kills me.
Doesn't take too long, either.
He'll be the last thing I see.
Okay.
He will come.
He looks at me, and for a second I see something ... in his eyes.
I pictured these eyes staring at me in hate so many times I immediately notice there's something else deep down in them.
Pity, maybe.
Maybe regret.
A tiny twinge that makes him recognize that what he's seeing is not the real me.
Can't be, because he knows me.
Knows that there must be something other than the monster.
A little flicker of understanding that manages to stir this little gleam of hope inside me that I've tried to kill for so long.
Of course that little moment can't keep him from doing what he has to do.
I die hoping.
Bad.
He will come.
He finds me and he has thought about everything, and somehow he has reached the decision that there's something about me that's worth being saved.
Not that I have any idea what that should be.
He doesn't push me.
He cares for me when I'm weak.
He holds me when I cry.
But I'm careful.
I can't resist him, no, not ever, but I have to be careful.
Because the time will come when he will think again.
His eyes will cloud and he will see that the monster isn't gone.
He will be shocked, dispelled he felt something else than hate for me.
Well.
And he won't kill me.
He was too close, he can't anymore.
No, he'll let me go.
Worse.
So much worse.
I could go now if I wanted. I'm sure he wouldn't be nearly as convincing as he was at the motel, because he isn't sure anymore.
I could go and make it a little better.
But I won't.
I can't.
I will wait here and hope that his eyes will change again.
For a little time.
Because the further you try to get away from hope, the more addicted you become.
For a certain time I will endure his anger, just to be with him. To know that I'm not alone.
Because I know the moment will come when he won't change.
When he tells me to get out and the hell away from him.
"I won't, you know." His voice rubs over me like velvety sandpaper.
"You won't what?"
He looks at me for a second and his eyes are in turmoil. Every emotion I've ever seen him in is fighting there.
"I won't kick you out."
Why?
Why do you tell me now, why do you tell me in this soft, raspy miracle you call your voice, why do you lie so well that I don't want to see the truth?
Why do you want to make me believe?
Why?
"Why?"
"Because," still in the same tone, "I have to do it."
"But you don't want to."
"I - I don't know."
Yeah, right. I know a no when I see it.
Maybe that's good.
Maybe I can go now.
All by myself.
No more waiting.
Maybe that's the best possibility after all.
"Can you stay?"
Of course, Mulder, no problem, I suspected I was masochistic some time ago. In a silo, I think.
"You know I can't."
"But I -"
"No, you don't."
This is getting annoying.
"You just told me you don't want to."
This time I don't get a look, good, because maybe I don't want to see what's in these eyes now, maybe I don't want to see because there could be something in them that makes me stay.
Again.
He looks straight ahead and I must strain to hear him.
"Maybe I have to tell myself that. Maybe that's the only way to let myself do what I'm doing."
Well.
You know what I hate?
When I have something figured out, a decision made, and then he comes and lets me tumble back into confusion with just a few words.
Just great.
I look at him wearily and catch a quick glance.
"Can you let me do this? Please?"
I forgot the worst-case-scenario.
The one in which he begs me to stay and I do, just to get hurt the more in the end.
"I can try." I manage quietly, and he looks at me again.
It's one of those looks without hate.
Without disgust.
No "You're such scum, Krycek."
No "Run *now* or you'll be dead meat."
No, it says, "Stay a little."
And I think I will.
A little.
THE END
05./11.09.99