Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/K
Rating: PG-13...*sorry!**g*
Feedback: Oh yes please, just do it...
Homepage :
Disclaimer: *sigh*
Author's Notes: Oh man, I got depressed over Christmas *SIGH*...but I'm trying to make him happier if you beg nicely *harrharr*
Thanks to Aries for beta (i.e. getting me down off of that bridge *lol*)

by Jadzia

I'm shattered.


Not just my arm, but my entire self. Seems like I've been working for these bastards for too long.

I've thought about killing myself.

One bullet.



I know how to do it. Have done it often enough, although I did never point the gun at myself.

I've thought about it.

Ah, but I don't think I could do it. Wouldn't be good for him.

Now, there's a laugh. I'm his self - appointed guardian - angel.

Not that he wanted me to. I'm sure he'd be more than cheerful if I died.

Serves me right. I killed his father, what else should he do?

Although he should know better, he should have known his father better.

I had to protect him, again.

I guess he'll never know. He doesn't want to know, anyway.

Well, well, well.

Somehow I managed to do what I've done, as long as I had the excuse that I had to do it...for him.

He was my anchor to reality. To a relatively real life. Normality.

But now...

It's never been this bad. Each time I think about it more closely, it's getting dangerous, because every rational train of thought tells me that he will never be able to accept me. I won't even start to think of affection or something like that, acceptance alone won't be possible.

So what keeps me here?

I'm so weak without him, but I'm even weaker with him. That doesn't seem to be logical, but every one of you who has once been in love will understand me.

There, I've said it.

The l-word.


Face it, Alex. You're turning into a love-sick fool.

At least that's something human. You can't say that about anything else I say or do, I think.

Sometimes I think about what it took to make me into the thing I am now.

And what would it take to make him become the same.

I'm not sure about that.

He seems so weak sometimes, so easy to break, so vulnerable. But then, at the last possible moment , he finds an ounce of strength, god knows where he keeps it - and he remains sane once again.

Maybe that is what impresses me about him.

I don't have that strength inside myself, I take it from him.

I have to protect him, so I have to live.

Well, maybe I don't need to protect him if he finds a way out by himself every time, but I know some time, some place he will probably search for this last bit of strength and then he won't find it.

And I hope that'll be the moment I'll be able to save him.

So I'll live.

For him.

I doubt he'll ever thank me for it, but it's enough for me, it has to be enough to have him living.


by Jadzia, 25.12.98



Fandom: XF
Pairing: M/K
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Sheesh, I'm begging and begging, but CC won't give them to me...*pout*
Feedback: PLEASE!
Author's Notes: Well, he's still sad *eg*
Thanks again to Aries for beta.

by Jadzia

Do you remember what I told you a few days ago?

About my soft spot? Keeping him safe, yadayada?

Ah well, I was in a really depressive mood. But then, I'm nearly always in a really depressive mood.

And sometimes, when it's particularly bad, my behavior becomes even more risky than usual.

Could have something to do with this little deathwish in the back of my head. Oh, delete "little".

I still mean every thing I said then, about having him safe and so on.

But sometimes, when it's really, really bad, I just have to see him. Or be near to him. Even if he isn't here, as he is now.

I'm in his apartment, once again.

Swept it for bugs, fed the fish, laid on the sofa to catch his scent.

He smells wonderful, you know.

That was when I suddenly heard noises from the door. Could have been some other burglar, this place should be called burglarcentral, anyway.

But no, it's a key, so is has to be him.

Lucky me.

Must have solved the case quicker than I gave him credit for.

I sit on the couch as he comes in, gun in hand.

"Fox, freeze." I love his name.

"Krycek, what the -"

"Shut up or you're dead." I've always been a good liar.

He doesn't say another word, but his eyes are throwing daggers.

I stand up and walk towards him. I manage to take his gun with my prosthesis. The thing is amazing, working with nerveimpulses. Much better than that Russian piece of plastic.

He looks at it, surprised.

I smile.

Laying my gun at the table, I take his cuffs out of his pocket and cuff him to the chair. I gag him with his tie.

"God, where do you get these patterns," I mutter.

More daggers.

I'd like to see those eyes sparkle with passion for me.


But I don't want to force him, I want him to realize it all on his own.

Good joke, Alex. Guess how long you'll wait for that.

Sometimes I want to tell him, and for him to tell me it's okay, that he wants me too, that he believes I can change, change into something good.

Then maybe I could.

Now, not even I believe I can.

He's my only hope.

Believe me, I want to tell him, but I'm so scared of the condemnation that'll follow, so afraid of his laughter, his mock pity, that I don't.

Every time I'm tempted to confess, I see the daggers and I know he will destroy me.

So easily.

Without even knowing how he did it.

You don't need your gun, Mulder, you just need your eyes.

I'd bet you'd give your life to know how to do that to me, and yet it's so easy. And I don't know if I'm already so sick of life to let you know.

So I just sit there on the coffeetable and look at you for a little bit longer. See your eyes questioning me. Wondering what this is all about.

You're beautiful, Fox.

It's a shame I had to gag you, to hide that unbelievable mouth, but I don't want you yelling at me right now.

Now, as it appears clearer and clearer in my mind that I probably won't be able to come back.

Now, that I'm sitting here, just looking into these eyes of yours, seeing the hate fade and being replaced by a curiosity that's so utterly you I want to start laughing.

Or crying.


I have to go.

So I tell you I'll give you the key, so you can free yourself after some fumbling. I do it, careful not to touch your hands.

Looking down at you, I try to decide whether to do it again. But I know I can't.

It haunted me for so long, and I'm in a much worse state now.

So I just look into your eyes, still not clouded with hate, and try to remind myself not to drown.

I brush your cheek with my fingers.



Crying again.

I turn and go.

And suddenly I realize you haven't tried to escape, your hand just holding the key, not moving.

I smile a little.

by Jadzia, 25.12.98



Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/K
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I keep nagging them...they'll give in sooner or later *hehe*
Feedback: yes...oh yes.
Author's Notes: Well, Mulder's POV this time. I was unsure about this, but Aries managed to change my mind...quite cheerfully *g*

by Jadzia

I can still feel his touch. His fingers burning on my cheek.

I don't get it.

I mean, what was that all about?

I swear, he was sitting there, just looking at me. Looking at me. With these eyes full of - I don't know what.

I hate Krycek.

The bastard killed my father.

He might not have been like a father should be, but he was my father, dammit.

And Scully's sister, although he always said he didn't do it.

Son of a bitch.

Hadn't seen him for quite a long time. Although sometimes I feel like he's somewhere near me. I just get this feeling - you know, that one others call paranoia, I think it's perceptiveness - well, it feels like I just have to turn or reach out a hand, sometimes I think I can *smell* his jacket right beside me.

But he's never there.

Yesterday he was.

I can see him, I think he was crying.

I hate it when he does something like that.

Something that shows me he's human.

Like his eyes.

They are - hunted. Lonely. Sad. Hurt.

Like a little lost kid that wants to go home. Desperately go home.

Must be hard, to be always on the run.

No friends, no family, no constant relationships at all.

Ha, maybe I should volunteer for the job. Ideal for Spooky Mulder. I bet paranoia's in the jobdescription, too.

I'm afraid of the similarities, sometimes.

Then I'm happy when his eyes get cold and emotionless again, so I can beat the shit out of him.

So the fear can subside.

The fear that I could be like him.

The question of what made him into what he's now. I don't think you become like this by accident.

He must have suffered.

Probably he's still suffering, his eyes show.

Oh yes, Mulder, fucking great.

Pity your nemesis.

Your greatest enemy.

I don't know what it is about him.

I mean, I wouldn't be that angry if it was anybody else.

He killed my father, right. But I knew my father, and a great part of me was indescribably happy that he wouldn't be able to hurt me again.

No, it's not that.

I could become like him.

So easily.

We're so similar, sometimes, when he looks at me, for a glimpse of an eye I know exactly what he's thinking. I wonder if he can read me as well.

If he can, I don't know why he doesn't destroy me.

And if we're so alike - the problem is, can I judge him that easily, then?

I'd have to judge me the same way.

Oh, man.

He drives me crazy.

Couldn't sleep at all last night.

Can't think of anything else.

Sometimes...he's beautiful, you know?

The thing with his arm doesn't matter, nothing can take it away. Nothing.

He doesn't know it, at least he doesn't act like he knows.

It's the beauty of a wild animal, waiting for the one who is patient enough to tame it and take it home.

Oh god, look at me. Talking like some lovesick teenager about Alex fucking Krycek.

Just great.

But...if it took so little to make him into what he is, what would it take to undo it?

Something equally small?

Maybe someone he can trust, he can come to when he needs to.

A home.

I could need one, too.

You're fucking lonely, face it, Spooky.

I manage to drive everyone away, lose every single person that cares for me.

Trust me.

Except Krycek, he keeps coming back.

That's a good one.

Now that I think about it , he could've killed me so many times - and didn't.

I don't know what to make out of all of this crap.

Or maybe I just don't *want* to know.

We could change each other.

I'm sure.

We could be better together than we're alone.

I should try to find him.

I want to see this look in his eyes again, and then I'll know what he's looking for.

Maybe hope.

Maybe a home.

Maybe me.

by Jadzia, 30.12.98



Fandom: XF
Pairing: M/K
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Please ask me first
Disclaimer: Still CC's...I'm working on it...
Feedback: *Please???*
Homepage: *Safety I - III* can be found at
Summary: Mulder decides he has to go and search for Alex...
Author's Notes: Hugs and kisses to Aries for beta. Big thanks to Laura whose encouragement made me write see what feedback can do, folks! *G*

Safety IV
by Jadzia

It took me weeks to do this. Three, to be exact.

To track him down.

He wanted me to, I think. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to find him all on my own.

I think I was right, he *can* read me.

He hid well enough not to be found by anyone else but left exactly the traces I needed to hunt him down.

If I wanted to.

Well, I did, apparently.

I'm glad I didn't find him earlier.

Not because I wouldn't have wanted to see him. I did. But, if I had found him earlier, others would have been able to, too.

It would have meant that he *wanted* others to find him first.

I'm relieved it isn't *that* bad.

I was afraid it would be, he seemed so sad this night three weeks ago. I replayed the scene in my mind so many times, and every time it becomes clearer how hurt he was.

How exhausted.

God, his eyes were so *sad*, I was scared I wouldn't find him in time. I have been working night and day for the last two weeks, not more than three or four hours sleep a night, and his eyes haunted me all the time.

So now I'm standing in front of his motel room.

For the last fifteen minutes or so.

Now, knock already, would you?



That's crazy.

I'm afraid.

I'm downright *scared*, dammit.

What if I can't do it?

What if I go in there, and all this shit comes up again?

Sometimes I just *hate* him. All the things he has done, all the people he has killed. I'm afraid I lose it when I actually see him again. So many times these last few weeks I asked myself why for heaven's sake I was doing what I was doing.

And just when I was at the verge of throwing it all away, I even thought about giving the information I got so far to Skinner so he could decide what to do with him - and then *wham* as if on clue, my mind is full of his eyes, hunted glance, deep green futility all over.

Just great.

So, what if he doesn't want to see me in the first place?

What if he doesn't want to be saved by Spooky Mulder?

Shit, I just don't know.

He fills my every waking thought since three weeks, and I know it won't get any better.

I *can't* just leave.

I have to see him.

Have to see his eyes again.

So, *knock*, dammit.


Just do it.


I raise my hand, I swear I'm just a few centimeters away.

And suddenly he's there.

Opens the door just a slit and he's there.

Not moving.

Not talking.

Just staring.

Shit, he's looking bad.

Even worse than last time. Fifteen - pounds - less - worse I see as he opens the door just a tad more.

I don't have too much time to notice anything else, though.

I'm already drowning in his eyes just as I know I would.

It's worse.

Everything's worse.

I don't know if I can ever make it right again, but I'll be damned if I don't even try.

He's still not speaking, just staring.

It takes me a few seconds more to realize that I'm doing the same.


Not speaking.

I should, though.

I mean, I'm here in the middle of the night in front of his motel room - so I guess I'm the one who has to explain first.


Say something.

Get a grip, Mulder.

He turns and goes back inside. Leaves the door open.

I'm still staring.

Wondering what to do.

What he wants me to do.

Clever, Mulder. He left the door open, didn't he? Maybe you could just walk in since you didn't even manage to knock.

Isn't difficult.

Right foot, left foot, you know the concept.

I actually move, tentatively, until I'm inside.

He's looking out of the window, his back to me.

I close the door.

I should say something, shouldn't I?

"How did you know I was there?" My voice sounds scratchy. Intelligent thing to say, anyway.

He answers so softly I can hardly hear him. "If I didn't, I'd be long dead. You have to be a light sleeper in my job."

He sounds so *wary*.

I almost wish he'd be his normal cocky self, just to know he's okay.

But he isn't.

I don't know what to do.

What to say.

So I wait.

I don't know how long we stand there, I'm afraid to move. Afraid to do something or say something that ticks him off.

So I'm just standing there.

Looking at him.

Trying to creep into his thoughts.

Talk to me.


I need you to.

Tell me you wanted me to come.

I must have at least a little talent, because he turns. He goes to the bed and sits down, because it's one of these cheap motel - rooms where you don't have anything else to sit on.

I can see his eyes now.

I focus on them just like I've done the last three weeks, and they're telling me everything.

Like I knew they would.

His desperateness, hopelessness floods through me, scares me, suffocates me, and suddenly I know with a clarity I've never felt before that I have to get through to him or we'll both be lost.


I feel that he's standing above the abyss, so close to fall, needing someone to hold him back, someone to tell him it's worth it to step back.

It's hard, I know.

I know because I know this abyss perfectly well, it's my own.

Only that I am a few steps behind him.

Lucky me.

But I'll have to get close to it again to get close to him.

It's easy to stumble.

It's even easier to fall.

And I don't know if he could catch me, I don't know if he wants to.

Because when you're at this point, you don't care about a single thing anymore.

I know.

Only too well.

But I have to.

So I take the few steps, sit down beside him, look down with him into the depth.

He turns and sees me, wonders what I'm doing here.

He asks me, faintly, "Why are you here?"

I swear, I swear I know the exact words to answer this very question, I remember having thought it over and over a million times, putting the words together in a hundred different ways, angry, hurt, exasperated, loving -and they're gone.

Now I'm looking in his eyes, and they're gone.

Everything's gone.

Nothing else matters but him.

He's hurt.


There's no power behind this dull dark green, no anger, just hopelessness.



He's so sad it breaks my heart.

And in this very moment, I want nothing more than to be enough for him.

To bring him back.

Save him.

Love him.

He's still looking at me, and I know I will. If it's the last thing I do. Because if I can't, there will be nothing else for me to do.

When he's gone, I'm gone.

I try to tell him, but I don't know how.

I don't have the words.

I take his hand.

He looks at me, startled. The veil above his eyes lift, and that alone is worth it.

That little spark.

That little shimmer that takes us both a step back, out of immediate danger.

I interlace our fingers.

I hold him, and he holds me.

He looks at our hands and his lips twitch a little, a promise of a smile.

I look at our hands, too.

They look good together.

They fit.

by Jadzia, 10./11.02.99



Pairing: M/K (ie SLASH)
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Please ask.
Feedback: YEAH!
Homepage: The Safety - Series can be found at
Disclaimer: Don't remind me - CC.
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to Deb and Aries for beta. And to Deb for the most wonderful feedback *s*

Safety V
by Jadzia


Not just where we're touching, no, all over.

I just have to look. I can't believe he's actually here. Could be a hallucination, like the other times.

Light sleeper.

Yeah, sure.

For days I've been hearing noises in front of my door. But it never was him. And then, standing behind that door for the umpteenth time today - he nearly gave me a coronary.

I keep thinking he will disappear sooner or later.


Fade away.

But - no.

Still tingles.

His hand still in mine.

Around mine.

As if it belonged there.

As if it should always have been there.

Here, with me.

I'm wondering what made him come here. He must have been following my traces.

He's fast.

I didn't expect him so soon.

But I'm glad he's here.

Though somehow I didn't have time to think it through.

Work it out.

Get it clear.

Maybe I wouldn't have been able to, anyway. No matter how much time.

Maybe I didn't want to.

Maybe it's good he's here soon. I would have continued leaving traces.

Until someone came.

Someone to end it.

They're not dumb.

Not as clever as he is, but not dumb.

They would have come.

Sooner or later.

I wanted them to.

I decided to give him six weeks to find me. Then I would have made it obvious.

But dammit Fox, you're fast.

Good, I guess.

I'm so tired.

I'm so tired, they would've found me anyway.


I didn't get much to eat.

I didn't sleep.

I wanted to be here when he came.

Or someone.

I'm so tired, I don't know how it is to be awake and alert anymore.

Don't want to know.

Want to sleep.


Want to sink into black nothingness, enveloping, drowning, soothing, hiding.

Slide down, my breath ceasing, my heartbeat fading, this dark green shimmer of his eyes filling my universe as I go, still tingling -

I look at him as he squeezes my hand, hard, pulling me back, into the light with him.

Looks at me...concerned?

No one looks at me like that.

No one ever did, as long as I can remember.

Can't stand it.

Don't deserve it.

But, Jesus, does it feel good.



I still don't know why he's here. Why he cares about me.

I expected him to come and shoot me. If he came at all. Thought he would be yelling, cursing, swearing.

Those hands.

They only brought me pain.


Now - he sits on my bed, his hand curled around mine, his thumb stroking my wrist...gently. Reminds me of a feather. A soft whisper of wind.

Nothing anyone does to *me*.

But he does.

Holds my hand.

Gives me comfort with his silence.

Radiates his warmth around me.

I suddenly realize I'm cold.

So cold.


Maybe if I sit still, he will stay a little longer and I can get some of this warmth for me.

I shiver.

He shifts.

I knew it.

I close my eyes and wait for him to leave.

Leave me alone.


As always.

I feel my tears run down my face, leaving little trails of fire. I'm just wondering that I've never cried so much over one person in my life, as I feel an electrical surge run through me.

My head snaps up, my eyes fly open, and everything's near blue again as his eyes take me in.

He's sitting right next to me now, touching from shoulder to knee, his head tilted, his eyes focused on me like I'd be one of his precious cases.

Even more, I've never seen him so intent.

Both of his hands around mine now.

I look down, and I see my hand between his beautiful fingers, hidden, sheeted, warmed.

I wish I could crawl inside there, and stay forever.

I can smell him now.

Oh God.

My eyes threaten me to close them.



Just a little.

Get a grip, Alex, you *can't*.

They'll come.

You have to be *awake*.

I don't want to be shot in my sleep.

I want to be awake when he leaves.

Don't want to wake up in the cold without the tingling.

Don't want to miss a moment of this, want to savor every second of his presence.

I can't see clear.

Everything blurs.

I watch the colors swirl beautifully for a few seconds before hastily opening my eyes again.

Hey, wait - he smiled.

He did.

At *me*.

I haven't been taking that many pills.

I hope.

He squeezes my hand - and suddenly I'm cold again, utterly cold, and I watch him walking towards the door.

He seems to feel my shocked gaze though, since he turns and looks at me -reassuringly, I think. Holds up a finger, and I wait. Watch him take out his Sig and open the door, looking around outside.

He comes back in, locks the door and puts his gun in his holster again in a fluent motion, and God, he's beautiful.

He takes out his cellphone, dials, and talks a few minutes...I'm still wondering why he's here, what I should think about all this, but I *hope* I'm allowed to postpone this, because the colors are swirling again.

He talks hangs up, and when this light yellow merges with the orange spot in the left corner, I feel him take off my shoes.

Fox Mulder.

Takes off my shoes.

Too many pills, I knew it.

Can just as well close my eyes when I'm hallucinating.

Liked that purple thingy swirling in the middle really well.

My socks and jeans disappear, my arm.

I'm pushed backwards, gently, more rustling somewhere, and I'm warm again.

Must be the arm around me...the chest behind me...the leg between mine...the lips on the top of my head.

I struggle and he lets me turn, lets me bury my face in his chest, lets me smell him.

Oh Fox, you smell so good.


We'll talk tomorrow.

Now, just hold me.

Hold me safe.

Just like this.

by Jadzia, 20.02.99



Fandom: XF
Pairing: M/K (ie SLASH)
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Please ask me first.
Feedback: I'll love you for it.
Homepage: The Safety-Series can be found at
Disclaimer: *sigh* I borrowed them from CC.
Author's Notes: I think this is just the right moment to thank Blue for her constant encouragement. *Big kiss, babe!*
Big hugs to Aries and Deb for great beta.

Safety VI
by Jadzia



Don't move.

Don't wake him up.

I wish I could have this. Something like this.

To come home to.

Not every day.

I mean, I'm a spy, not a salesman, right?

But every few weeks.

Or so.

Have something it's worth surviving for.

A man like this, who's there, waiting.

Yeah, right.

*A man like this.*

Who are you fooling here, Alex?


These eyes, this smile.


Adorable when he's sulking, beautiful when he's concentrating, irresistible when he's happy - no one else but him.

I entangle myself from him a little to be able to look at him.

His hair falls into his eyes and I have to fight the sudden urge to smooth it back.


Why fight?

He's asleep.

Next to me.

I don't mean if that means trust or stupidity, Fox - and in this case, stupidity might be the smarter choice, because trusting *me* would be really dumb, I think.

You're everything but stupid.

Nevertheless you're lying sound asleep next to the man who murdered your father.

One tentative smooth, and I feel his hair between my fingers.

Feels like a sacrilege, touching him like this without his knowledge.

Feels like silk and velvet.

And very much like heaven.

I know I will never forget this.


And that's good.

Because it means I can go on.

You know, when you end up in real bad situations - and I mean real bad, bad like starving in a silo - then you need something to hold on to.

Something hidden deep inside yourself.

A closet where you go only when you really, *really* need to in order not to go insane.

I used to have very little inside there.

Mostly the last time I'd seen him.

His eyes on me, questioning, not hating. My fingers brushing his cheek. Long before, my lips at the same spot.

Now -

now I'm full of him.

His eyes, changing from this deep dark green to almost blue when he's concentrating on me.

His hands, making me tingle.

His smell, embracing me like his arms did.

His hair, warm and soft between my fingers.

His smile.

Him, sleeping next to me, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I can live now.

Maybe I'll even be able to see him again.

Sometime, when they stop haunting me.


I'll be okay as long as I know that he's safe.

And the first condition to be safe is not to be with me.

But I won't forget him.


I cuddle close to him for one last time.

I can feel him with every fiber of my being, and I savor every second of this, surpressing a shudder as his arms tighten around me. His legs lie warm next to mine, his breath in my hair, the little tickle as his chest-hair brushes my cheek.

I turn my head and kiss him softly where my cheek lay just before.

A faint trace of his taste surges through me, and, oh God, this is almost good enough to stay.


If I was safe for him.

But I'm not, I'll probably never be.

Stand up, get your clothes.

Your arm.

Your gun.


He'll be angry.

He came chasing after me and I leave him without a word.

He'll be furious.

Good I guess.

Shit, I love your eyes looking at me like they did yesterday.

Like I'm human somewhere.

But if I have to take the daggers to keep you away from me, I'll take them.

I want to stay.

I can't tell you, but there's nothing I've ever wanted more.

Stay and make it right.

No, I'm not going to cry.

No way.

It's my job.

I can do it.

I'm a big boy.

A big boy in love, maybe, but I can do it.

I have to.

Keep him safe and *go*.

"Where do you think you're going, Krycek?"

Trust you to wake up at that very moment.

I should've known better.

And I know this tone.

Sounds like punch-time.


No rhetorical question, then.

I can't see the daggers because my shoes are really interesting at the moment.

And somehow I can't lie.

"They'll come after me. I don't want them to get you." I tell my shoes.

C'mon, a last yell and I can go.

Your toes appear in front of me.

"Don't, Alex. Please don't."

Shit, Fox.

Don't do this.

I'm suddenly glued to the ground.

I like your toes.

"You really want to leave?" Almost too soft to hear.

I nod.

You bet.

I want you alive.

My world shifts as you cup my face in your hands and lift me into your eyes.



I don't know.

"Give it a try. Please. I know we can work it out."

It blurs.

Caught by your voice, mesmerized by your eyes.

Eyes burning again.

I must look like an idiot.

"Look at yourself, you're exhausted. You're terribly thin. You're in no condition to get away from them. Say something, please..."



"I'll make it." I croak, and I see immediately that you won't have it.

"So this is about me?" Finally, you got it.

I nod again.

Your eyes close briefly as your hands slide back a little, cupping my neck, your thumbs stroking my cheeks.

I can't *think* with your hands on me like that.

Maybe you know that.

"You don't have to protect me, Alex. Not now. I know you did before, but now it's time to switch jobs, don't you think?"

I blink slowly. "It's not that easy. I left traces -" I try.

"But I won't. We have protection, highest standard. I *know* they won't get us if we work together. We can make it. I know we're too good for them combined, Alex."

I almost smile at that.

You make it sound so easy, and I want to believe you, I really want to - I shake my head.

You sigh.

Which doesn't mean you give up.

Of course not.

Fox Mulder, an answer to everything.

"We could make a deal. You come with me and you stay until you're better. You can leave then, I won't make you stay. I swear."

Do you know how you look with that pleading sulk?

"Please, Alex. You're too tired. You need some time. You know I'd follow you if you left now, and I'm not in best shape either. Don't fight me on that, *please.*"

You really care, don't you?

I don't know why you do, but it makes this...this happy bubble form down in my stomach, and I can't remember the last time I felt like this.

You try to make surrender easy.

Apparently you don't know I surrendered to you a long time ago.

How do you *do* this, dammit?

"Where?" I manage, and you look relieved.

"Canada. A cabin in the mountains. It was built for this, it's perfect."

I almost smile, again. "Who knows about this?"

It's pretty difficult to think with his hands still on my neck.

But I try.

"The Lone Gunmen. I'll have to call a few people to ensure full protection-"

"No. No one else."


You really want me in this, don't you?

This sounds actually...reasonable.

I take a step back, out of your hands. Gets me a confused glance.

"Sorry. Have to think." I mutter.

You smile.

I melt.

I start pacing and thinking.

He's right, I need some time.

Gain weight.

Catch up on sleep - deprivation.

"What's with supplies?" I ask, turning back into his intense gaze.

"Everything's there. Enough for a few months."


"We can buy some on the way."

"They'll miss you at work." I play out my last argument.

"I'm on vacation. Had ten weeks left."

"They let you take your entire vacation? Without further proof of your sanity?"

God, that smile.

I feel myself smiling back, and he nearly beams at me.

How should I ever leave you again?

I sober up a little. "We have to leave soon."

You don't stop smiling. "Give me a minute," and you dress in record time.

I try not to think too hard while I wait, but I know you were fast, I wasn't that lazy, I should have about two weeks out of immediate danger.

And I want to.

I want to spend this time with you, maybe it's the only time we'll ever have.

He's ready.

I don't look back, as we leave.


by Jadzia, 20./21. 02. 99

***I'm too old for this.***
***I was drugged!***
*A good interrogator doesn't allow his subject to die - you lose the advantage!*
"Don't you think we should have a secret password or something?" ....
"Why don't you say 'who is it?' and I'll say 'Ellison'. And then you open the door."