Summary: Post-Requiem. Schmoop on a angst stick and fun with oblique dialogue. Krycek/Marita, R.

Title: Slow Dance, Blue Light
Author: Shahara Zade
Summary: Post-Req. schmoop on an angst stick and fun with
oblique dialogue.
Notes: Dedicated to Satina who let me rant at her so
incoherently. Written for Pollyanna's Lyric Wheel. Thanks to
Heather for the beta.
Disclaimers: "Take It To the Limit" belongs to the Eagles. Krycek
and Marita are CC's. The full bibliography would be longer than
the fic, but the cage line belongs to T.W.

* * * * *

She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. "Nothing
yet."

It was a weirdly grand bedroom, in an otherwise unassuming
suburban Portland safe-house. Blue silk covered the walls, and
the sheets and pillows and curtains were blue silk, too.

Alex sat in a blue velvet armchair, facing the window and the
night. "I never should have let him go." He drained the contents
of a crystal glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. In the
process, the glass rolled off his knees where he had balanced it.
It bounced, soundless on the blue Turkish carpet. He did not
seem to notice.

She crossed the room, pausing to dim the lamp in its upturned
shell, and came to stand beside him at the window. She picked
up the bottle and drank, too tired to find another glass. "We're still
alive. That's something - isn't it? I find, these days, I want very
much to live." She offered him the bottle, but he shrugged and
stood and stalked away.

"He was...well...what I had left to believe in. You know me," he
chuckled without humor, "Always been a dreamer."

She stared down into the bottle. "You're drunk, Alex."

"Da. Pyani ee adeen." He sank onto the bed.

"Alone? Being alone, that's the easy part," she said. "It's the
being...being together again and more alone that makes it bad."

He stretched out over the blue satin quilt, still clad in jacket and
boots, like a plastic action figure. "Why are you looking at me like
that, Marita? Aren't my seams straight?"

"How much longer are you going to punish yourself? Wallow like
this? I don't know how much more I can take."

"Then go. The money in the Zurich account is yours anyway, take
it and disappear." He pinched the bridge of his nose between
thumb and index finger, as if anticipating a headache.

"Maybe I should, but I can't."

"You'd be fine," he said.

"We always are, in the end, aren't we, Alex?" She stood on one
foot and then the other, slipping off her pumps.

"We? *Is* there a we? Seems like we just occupy the same
cage, mostly."

She unzipped her skirt, letting it slide down over her hips,
stripping without artifice. As if she were alone in the room. She
kneeled on the bed, naked. Pale. "Maybe so, but it's too late for
me. I know...I know you never believed it, but I..." She swallowed,
not looking at him.

"Don't bother, Marita. Not for me. Don't you have any self
respect?" He seemed to withdraw into himself, ignoring her as
she crawled up beside him.

"Not much," she said.

He let her wedge herself between his back and the curved
mahogany headboard and pull him up, so his head rested
against her breast. He didn't protest when she wrapped her
arms around him.

They lay quiet in the blue light, and then she said, "That's my
problem, Alex. I *do* bother. I can't seem to stop bothering."

He sighed and brought his hand over her fingers, tracing the
contours. "We're a couple of clenched fists, you and I."

She felt her breath hitch, involuntary. Painful. The thick sweet
scent of the roses in the porcelain vase on the nightstand caught
in her throat.

"Marita...Marita, don't. I can't. Marita..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

She couldn't see the crease between his brows, but she knew it
was there. "I'm sorry that he could never...and you-"

"Marita-"

"I just know what it's like, that's all."

"I wish-" he began.

"Me too. God, I'm so burned out, Alex. So tired. It keeps turning
out the same, the lies and broken promises - never meant to be
kept. The manipulation, the games. It's cost most everything I
ever gave a damn about. And I'm just tired and sorry."

He shuddered, as if waking up. He brought her hand to his
mouth and kissed it, as she sniffed and hiccuped. He turned in
her arms and kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose. As she
started to speak, he kissed her mouth, lightly. Tentative. Almost
not at all. "Hear the rain on the roof?" He asked. "It's just like
Karaganda, remember?"

She rested her forehead against his, breathing more even.
"Yes."

"And the birds on the balcony?"

"Yes." She smiled a little and ran a hand over the fabric of his
shirt, undoing buttons, then stopped. "I know this isn't...I know it's
not the same. He-"

"Don't. Don't think of it that way. It's fine. You're fine. Better than
fine." His voice was softer and more vulnerable than she had
heard it in years. "If it all went to hell, if it all fell to pieces
tomorrow...you...you would-"

"Yes," she answered. "Yes." Her fingers closed around his
tightly, and the dance was slow and blue and sad and tired.

So tired.

THE END

Thanks to Summer for the lyrics:
Take It To The Limit

All alone at the end of the of the evening
And the bright lights have faded to blue
I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have
Loved me and I never knew
You know I've always been a dreamer
(spent my life running 'round)
And it's so hard to change
(Can't seem to settle down)
But the dreams I've seen lately
Keep on turning out and burning out
And turning out the same

So put me on a highway
And show me a sign
And take it to the limit one more time

You can spend all your time making money
You can spend all your love making time
If it all fell to pieces tomorrow
Would you still be mine?

And when you're looking for your freedom
(Nobody seems to care)
And you can't find the door
(Can't find it anywhere)
When there's nothing to believe in
Still you're coming back, you're running back
You're coming back for more

So put me on a highway
And show me a sign
And take it to the limit one more time

Take it to the limit
Take it to the limit
Take it to the limit one more time