Disclaimer: All intellectual properties belong to Stieg Larsson. However, anything not related to the Millennium Trilogy belong to This Rhythm. Plagiarism is a serious offense, and it shows you do not have respect or imagination.

This is a drabble (I think; drabbles are 1000 words or less, yeah?) set during The Girl Who Played with Fire when Lisbeth sends Mikael the final email before she goes to visit Zalachenko, at around page 674 or Chapter 29.

Stryka nyckel (Swedish) is roughly translated to delete key.

Reviews, in any shape or form, are always appreciated. Please forgive me for any errors.

Lisbeth's fingers sat still on the keyboard for the first time she could remember. She didn't know what to write. What should she say? Should she mention she was going to ruin the man who destroyed her once and for all? Or should she play it safe, telling Kalle fucking Blomkvist to leave her alone?

She stared at the empty screen. Telling Mikael the truth sounded appealing but frightening. Lisbeth didn't want him to know everything. He was a steadfast idiot who already dug up more than Lisbeth bargained for, but she felt slightly ashamed. She was supposed to be the one who had all the secrets. Aside from the bastards who looked through her file and covered up her father's tracks.

Had Lisbeth known her life would be completely turned upside down once she met Mikael, she would not have signed up for anything. She was fine before she met him – well, other than Bjurman. Her resolve was thick, and now, the wall was slowly turning into a puddle of bricks from the Berlin Wall.

Her tiny fingers finally landed on a letter, and she began to write.

Don't be an idiot. I can handle this myself. Go home or back to Erika Berger.

Where did this come from? As far as Mikael knew, she neither hated nor loved Erika. Anyway, this had nothing to do with keeping Mikael way. Surprisingly, Lisbeth had an itch to continue typing. She wanted him to be safe and not get hurt; but he was just as a stubborn as Lisbeth. It was not a good thing to have something in common with Lisbeth. She deleted her message and began to write again.

Why do you have to be so persistent? This has nothing to do with you. It's all about me and it always will be. Get the hell out of this mess.

Yes, Lisbeth wanted him safe. That, however, was never going to happen. Telling him to leave everything alone would only entice him to search further.

Suddenly and without warning, her hate for Mikael was being written down in words, quickly and with emotion.

You and your goddamn detective skills, always getting you into trouble every fucking time. You think you can walk away with your pretty boy looks and some bullshit story. You have it easy, yet you throw it all away just–

Lisbeth halted. She realized she was jealous of Mikael. His life wasn't ruined at the age of thirteen. He had Erika fucking Berger, a staff full of people who admired him, and he certainly did not have the entire country looking for him. Yet here he was, searching and never ceasing, looking for the truth. She shook her head.

She leaned back in her chair. Lisbeth loved him and it hurt to know it was never possible. But no matter what, Mikael was still her friend and he was an unstoppable force. Knowing he was willing to throw everything on the line just to save Lisbeth annoyed her and at the same time made her slightly warmer.

Love was a foreign concept for her. Her poor excuse of a father abused her mother. She never had any friends, and her closest blood relation didn't bother acknowledging they were sisters. Her virginity was gone at an early age, and sex was sex – nothing more. Lisbeth had learned to hate and to understand that everyone was an asshole.

But this? This was something else. Love made her do stupid things like let Miriam in her apartment, as well as let her guard down concerning Mikael. Love made her disrespect Palmgren and Armansky. Her love for any person made them a target.

Mikael once mentioned he owed Lisbeth. Now, staring at the blank screen, she vowed she would never get anyone hurt. Miriam, Armansky, Palmgren and any other fucking person she grew close to.

And she unquestionably owed one small and final thing to Mikael.

Thanks for being my friend.