A/N: I know, I know, I'm very, very fucked in the head to write this. No need to tell me twice.

Summary: It was nice to have someone to come home to. Loving hands, and a warm body…such a warm body. Even when everything else was cold, the warm body was nice. Very dark, Jack/Alex.

It was so nice to have someone to come back to after all your missions.

Occasionally a little demanding, yes, but nice all the same. You know this, very well, refuse to have any other thought in your head. You tell me, y'know? When you're sweating and moving and lost in our moment, you tell me things.

"Alex," I say, wrapping my arms around you in a tight squeeze, and you let yourself feel me for just a moment, like friends…like we used to be. Don't worry, sweetheart, I miss those times, too.

"Anything?" I ask you, always, just wanting to help, and I just smile knowingly when you say you're tired, so I tell you to go up to your room, and I'll make you your favorite sandwich. "I'll be up soon to give it to you." I promise.

And you've long since paid attention to word choice, now haven't you? Give it to you, not 'take care of you'. It boded well, or maybe not. Hard to tell.

I hope it does.

"Here you go, Alex," I say. You smile, and take it, and that makes me smile. A slightly predatory smile, I know, which I'm sure is making you think of someone plumping up their pigs into obesity just before the slaughter, but, c'mon, you're tired – eat the sandwich. I promise, I won't bite hard.

So you eat the sandwich, and smile back, a blank smile you've gotten since all of this started.

"I'll see you later," I say, and leave, because you know I will. I see something in your face just before I get up. But I never found out what. You never told me.

See? I promised. I came back.

And I'm here, now, pulling your shirt off, sniffling at the new scars and bruises which shouldn't be on someone so young, yet they are. I pull off everything. Oh, don't be shy – I've known you since you were seven. I used to give you baths, remember? And I give them to you now, too, but differently. Oh, yes, much differently, now.

I grab some massage oil, which has a muscle relaxant blended right into it, and start kneading into your muscles, spending more time on the tight ones, and less on the ones already healed. I hope no one else did this for you. You told me the honor was all mine.

Smiling at you lying on your tummy, I slowly travel down your back, working your muscles like slightly under-milked cookie dough, and mm, I hope you're as delicious. I know you are. I work over your buttocks, and I can see your blushing.

Yes, I know you're young. But being a spy, working with MI6, has made you so old, sweetheart. How long ago was it you were just a kid? A year? Not even? Or more? I can't remember, either, sweetheart.

And you know, that blushing is actually quite cute on you.

But I keep working down your body, toned and marred from the high life, the spy life, and reach your calves, before turning you over.

And there you are, in pride in glory. Well, maybe not that much pride, if your exponential blushing is anything to go by. But glory, oh, for sure.

I still work on your legs, though, and up, past your knees, and onto your thighs.

"Jack…" you sound pleading, but not in the good way.

I gesture. "I know you're enjoying this." And look, see, the evidence is there, hardening the more I work.

But I don't stay long, working up your pelvis, your abs – rock hard abs, abs of a fighter, abs of a warrior – and up your chest, so sensitive, such a sharp contrast…

And around your arms, and shoulders, too, and your neck, oh, especially your neck…and finally…

…finally, your face. Your beautiful, angelic, delicious face.

Really, can you blame a gal for leaning down and kissing it, loving it, worshipping it with her tongue?

Besides, if all your moaning and groaning is anything to go by, you're having a heavy reaction to it somehow.

I pull away a bit to look into your eyes, and…

Oh, baby, don't look at me like that…sweetheart, what's wrong? Why're you crying?

There's nothing to be ashamed of. I know we haven't done this for long, but it's nothing, I promise.

See? I'm pulling off my shirt, and pants, and everything else. See?

See? There's nothing wrong. We're both naked. We're both human.

See? Two lonely, lonely humans, who need each other.

See? What I can give you…oh, baby, don't cry. I'll make it all better.

See? I'm kissing it all better, my lips a sponge, and my tongue, too.

See? All better now.

C'mere, sweetheart. You're shaking. Trembling. Oh, shivering…here, I'll lay on top of you, and make you all warm.

And the laws of physics will apply, and I'll make you nice and warm, everywhere. Like always, like never before.

I'll care for you, sweetheart.

"See?" I whisper, as we're thrusting against each other, into each other, making each other warm. "Take care of each other."

"Jack…" you're moaning, and god, baby, why are you crying again? Your face is all screwed up, and you're pleading, but for what? What? What? Just tell me…okay, fine, don't tell me. I still care for you.

No one else will. You said so, yourself.

All we have left is each other.

You tense when I wrap my arms around you, a few mornings later, as you get ready for school. We laugh, but you're still a little despondent. Oh, dear – that mission must've really taken a toll on you.

Yes, yes, the mission, the mission. That was it. That was it.

Well, get to school. Tom'll be waiting to see you, I'm sure. Oh, don't forget your lunch.

But you never do.

You take your bike to school, like any other day. So eager to forget me, babe? Yes, you are, but I don't mind. You just enjoy yourself, be a kid, let your friends take care of you.

And you do just that.

How long have you been working these missions, Alex?

I know it's more than a year. But now, it's not even summer yet. And I'm standing here in the house again, hugging you goodbye again.

But…you're doing this…for me? Oh, god, sweetheart. For me…I just…for me?

Thank you. Doing all this just for little old me.

I kiss you. First like I did when you were a child, then when we were friends, and lastly, like just a few nights before, when we were holding each other.

I wish you could stay.

"I know," you say.

But do you?

Oh, my.

Sweetheart…put the gun down. Why are you pointing it at me? Me?!

"What you did," you say. "I never wanted it," you say. "I was begging. Didn't you hear me? I heard you," you say.

"But I was listening," I say back, because what else am I supposed to say?

I was listening. You just…you didn't tell me.

Why didn't you tell me? Just tell me?

…to protect me? Oh, babe, you didn't have to.

You didn't have to lie to protect my heart.



How does you holding a gun to my head…protect me, now?

"From worse?!" I can't help it. "Protect me from worse? What's worse? What's Worse than being shot by you?"

And you tell me, about the torture, the rape, the abuse, this latest mission entailed. What you've suffered, and gone through.

"How long before it happens to you?" you ask me.

And I know. We both know. I don't have an answer.

Oh, Alex.

Oh, sweetheart.

Oh, babe.

You didn't have to.

"So…to protect me…you'll kill me?"

That's…weird, I guess.

Oh, no…you're crying again.

"I don't know what else to do, Jack!"

Just c'mere, I'll make it all better-

Oh, right. That's the problem, isn't it?

Okay, so, no making it all better.


You cock the gun a bit.

"I'm sorry," I cry out desperately.

You switch off the safety.

"I was trying to take care of you. That was all I ever meant to do," I say softly.

You take aim.

"I love you," I whisper.

You pull the trigger.

Your blood is cold when the bullet hits the flesh.

My warm body hits the floor. You kill me on the first shot.

Who are you kidding? Of course you do. You were trained by the best. And I wasn't standing far from you. Quite the opposite, in fact.

So many things are running through your head as you walk up towards my body, fallen in the foyer.

There's surprisingly little blood. Well, surprising to me, at least. But you aren't surprised, are you? I knew you were a man. I know you are. You've seen a lot of people die.

"You know," you say, oh, to me? You're kneeling by me, now. "You weren't the only one I was planning to protect. This is for me, too."

And you raise the gun again-

No! Please, sweetheart, don't kill yourself-

But I don't even exist, do I? At this point, I'm a figment of your imagination. Hah – you're talking to yourself, now! Or, is it I'm talking to myself?

Well, I'm dead, now, so you and I are one and the same, anyway. So, maybe it's we? We, we, we raise the gun to our head. You raise the gun to your head. Or, if I'm a figment of your imagination, now, now that I'm dead, I raise the gun to my head.

Does it even matter anymore? No, it doesn't, does it-

"For the record, Jack," you say, looking down at me…and you kiss me. For the first time ever, I'm not kissing you – you're kissing me. And not like just friends, either. "I loved you, too."

And I smile, without lips to smile on, because, oh sweetheart, I love you, too.


We're found, a day later. We left the door open for too long. A neighbor noticed.

You were lying on top of me.

The way you landed…it's almost like my arm was wrapped around you. Almost.

See? I told you. I promised. I'll take care of you. Oh, sweetheart, dear, baby Alex…I'll take care of you.

I promise.