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TITLE: Numb
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
EMAIL: texgoddess@yahoo.com or maidenjedi@hotmail.com
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: Marita/Krycek
ARCHIVE: Yes.
SPOILERS: small ones for Requiem, big ones for Existence (assuming that it took place in the winter)
DISCLAIMER: They just aren't mine. I leave the hard stuff to the big boys.
SUMMARY: Just a blonde on a bench in winter.
AUTHORS NOTES: at the end


She could sit there for hours and the people passing would not notice her. She had become part of the scenery, maybe, or she was simply just an icy-looking blonde that no one wanted to approach.

She didn't care.

Darkness descended on Washington and still she sat there, on a bench facing a building. The wind blew cold and she pulled her jacket tighter. She would wait, because he said he'd come. He'd promised he'd come.

People passed in pairs and she stared at the ground, not wanting to look up and be reminded of her own unconventional status. She dared one look, one look up to see if maybe he was coming her way, and a couple passed by in a slow, lazy walk. The woman's face fairly glowed with contentment and the man shyly put his hand in hers. Ah, budding romance. The linked hands wrenched tears into the eyes of the blonde, and she looked back to the ground.

Soon, no one was passing by. The night became still and quiet and cold. Still he did not come, and the blonde tried not to think about it. About him and his quest, his mission. She didn't know if she believed in it as she once had. She knew she was no longer willing to sacrifice herself or her loved ones.

It had gotten too personal. And that was costing her.

She stood up and sat back down, touched her toes and stretched to wake up and warm up. The sky was clear, and she was thankful for that. But the wind still blew and she had been here too long.

A shadow moved behind her. She heard shoes in the grass and turned around to see not her lover but a messenger.

If she closed her eyes, this could be Tunguska or even Antartica. If she closed her eyes and let the wind carry his voice away, she would. She would be anywhere, but not here. Not paying the final price.

She sat back down on the bench as he walked away. Morning would come soon and passers-by would once again ignore the icy blonde with downcast eyes and a stern countenance.

Sacrifices were necessary, he had told her. Hours before, nearly a day ago now, he had promised nothing and everything by pressing her hand on his heart and telling her to go, to not wait, to run now while there might be a chance. She'd cried then, wanting to be held and wanting comfort. And he had left, her needs unspoken and unfulfilled.

She supposed she should leave this bench where the wind blew cold and the company colder. She supposed she should get up and make a claim, find him maybe, at least see to his burial.

In the end, she did nothing.

She was, after all, part of the scenery.


notes: Darkness descending on a Friday night at home. I wasn't going for quality, just felt this and had to get it out. To bed with me.


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