Burnt Out

Krycek drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He could see out of the corner of his eye, the light coming from the window to her bedroom. He didn't know it was her bedroom because he'd ever been there. He knew because he'd made it his business to know. And now Jeffrey was in there with her.

His hands tightened on the wheel. He didn't want to be up there--knew Marita would want him up there even less. She was vain and he was shallow. He'd much rather remember her as she'd been in Kazakhistan: so collected and icy cold that it had been a fucking triumph of epic proportions just to get her to melt a little for him. So what was he doing here?

Because he couldn't get her eyes out of his head, the way she'd turned to Jeffrey for help, both of them knowing that he'd give her the help that Krycek couldn't. Because Krycek was busy saving the world. Saving Marita would have to wait.

She understood. He stretched out his cramped fingers, ignored Jeff's car, the light blinking out in Marita's bedroom window.

She had to understand.

He didn't bother hiding, ducking down, or driving off when Jeff paused on the sidewalk and looked in his direction. He wanted to run, wanted to act like he didn't care. Maybe if he sat there and glowered Jeff would just tell him what he needed to know and he could keep up the impression of cold unfeeling bastard.

Jeff walked over and stood beside the car until Krycek was forced to roll down the window. He thought he was going to have to be the one to speak first, as well, but Jeff finally bent down and leaned his arm on the door.

"I have to go back to the office. She's sleeping, but probably not for long because she wouldn't take anything for the pain."

Krycek nodded. Typical Marita. Typical you, his mind whispered.

Jeff stared at him, obviously expecting more of a response. The impatience and incredulity on his face was quickly turning to disgust. "You know Krycek, you think you're so mysterious, but I think I've got you figured out."

He raised his eyebrow and stared out onto the street. Well, this was going to be good.

"When people jump off a bridge, you're the kind of person who meets them on the ground below." Jeff tossed something in the window and then briskly walked back to his car. He was gone ten seconds later.

On the ground below? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He looked down at his lap and saw a silver key resting between his thighs.

Well shit.

"You better not be here to apologize," she said suddenly in the darkness, voice low and hoarse.

Of course he wasn't. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her shoulders tremble under the thin cotton sheet. She wouldn't turn to face him. He was almost glad.

"With all this madness in my life . . . I've lost myself, Alex."

"This'll all be worth it in the end."

"I'm the one bleeding to make this all worthwhile," she snapped in a rare show of temper.

His lost arm ached. Part of him wanted to shake her for being so selfish. The other part wanted to reach out and--

"Will it end? Will this end?"

His hand settled on her shoulder.

"I don't know."

She didn't answer him with words, but her fingers slipped through his and squeezed gently. Maybe one day.