Welcome To The Harem

Numb by Maidenjedi
Summary: Just a blonde on a bench. Krycek/Marita, Marita POV, PG13, Existence.

AUTHOR: Maidenjedi
EMAIL: texgoddess@yahoo.com or
SPOILERS: small ones for Requiem, big ones for
Existence (assuming that it took place in the
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.