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Time Series by Brynna
TITLE: One Last Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: yes, for the love of… hmm, well, whatever it is you love.
SPOILERS: Arcadia
RATING: Lemme see, I don’t rate my work… but, there’s some sex in here. Mild, but it’s still sex. And you know what? Our good little agent Scully? She swears. A lot.
CLASSIFICATION: MSR/A/?
SUMMARY: What happened after Scully kicked Mulder out of the bedroom?
Disclaimer: Yeah, right.
For Eve – enjoy babe. Happy birthday. :- )
Author’s notes: okay, I’m leading w/the timeline that sets when the Pilot actually was set as being summer ‘93, since we all know that if you follow logic, rather than time-stamping, that’s what it was. Hehe. And this was written for a friend, basically I said ‘what do you want?’ and she said ‘Scully POV, Arcadia, explain what the hell was going on, angst.’ So, here we go… shutting up now.
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One Last Time
What the hell were we thinking?
Posing as a married couple. Bad idea. I heard the warning bells, but Mulder, the ever-lovin’ fool that he is, thought this would be great – not only a change of pace, but fun to boot.
I’d like to boot the fun right out of here.
Rob and Laura Petrie? Rob and Laura Petrie? No no no nonononono.
How did I get myself talked into this one, again? Oh, yeah, I remember. It was those damned puppy-dog eyes of his. He knows how to work those things. I don’t even know if he does it intentionally anymore, but whatever the case, he does it well. One look, one little ‘This is our chance to stop the car for a while Scully,’ and… here I am, in the ultimate in what should be heaven, feeling rather like I’ve got the devil for a neighbor.
Or is that a roommate?
What the fuck…? He’s humming. Mulder is downstairs, probably on the couch watching TV, and he’s humming. No tune, just the noise. And why is it penetrating the floor? Am I destined to be annoyed by Mulder in one way or another for the remainder of our time here, while we chase after … whatever he thinks we’re looking for?
Oh shut up. I reach a hand back, and smack the back of my head lightly, at the little tiny voice who pipes up with a ‘but it’s Mulder, and you know you don’t mind it so much when it’s him.’ Yeah, right. I mind it more because it’s him.
I never used to hear voices in my head, until I started working with him. He’s driven me over the edge, into insanity.
But I’ve gone along for the ride, willingly, haven’t I? Sometimes even taken a turn at driving. God knows I couldn’t let him be alone in the depths of craziness to which he’s achieved. Someone’s got to make sure he doesn’t go any further.
It just would be nice if he’d return the favor once in a while.
My face itches. I reach a hand up and touch my cheek. Shit, I forgot about this damned mask. Too busy thinking about Mulder. Rob. Whoever the hell he is at the moment.
As I go into the bathroom to wash the overly hard mask from my face, my eyes hit the toothpaste tube again. Then flick to the toilet seat. There is no way Mulder and I could ever actually live in the same house on a long-term, regular basis. We’d have to draw lines down the middle of rooms, just so that his mess wasn’t falling into my organization.
My cheeks hurt. I can’t remember the last time I smiled this much. It’s not like my work exactly inspires it. But Laura seems to be a smiler.
Finishing washing my face, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. I used to know myself well enough that even with a serious change to my appearance, the time I decided to try the punk thing, and dyed my hair jet black; or the period in college I was so depressed, and I gained all that weight… I never had trouble seeing myself, somewhere inside my eyes. But I don’t now. I don’t know who I am anymore.
And that scares me. I’ve never been comfortable with not knowing myself. If I don’t know who I am, how can anyone else hope to know me?
I suppose, in part, that’s why I’ve been pushing Mulder away. Mulder always knows me, what’s going on inside my head… and I don’t. I often find myself wondering how the hell he can know me so damned well, when I can’t figure out the simplest little things about myself. He’s Mulder, is always the reason I come back to. He just knows things.
Not that that’s an acceptable reason, just that it’s a reason. One that’ll have to do, until a better one comes along.
I go back into the bedroom, and sit in the very center of the mattress. Picking up a pillow, I wrap my arms around it. Fleetingly, I wish, not for the first time, that I had someone. Someone to just wrap his arms around me, and tell me everything will work out in the end.
Someone who isn’t my partner.
I know there’s no rule that says we can’t be together. Believe me, I’ve checked. But we’ve been playing house for… how long now? Less than two full days? And we’ve already proved we can’t make it work.
‘But you’re not Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, you’re Rob and Laura.’ The voice in my head speaks again. Damn it. And it’s right. But no, it’s not.
‘Sure I am. You’ve been together, in almost every single sense of the word, since that whole fiasco in the Arctic with the worms. There’s just that last, emotional step you haven’t taken.’
Okay, fine, so Mulder and I have been fucking each other for years. What’s your point?
Oh great, now I’m arguing with a voice inside my own head. I really have lost it.
Staring down at the bed for a moment, I shut my eyes, and slowly stand up. I move, almost methodically, stripping the top blanket from the bed, and wrap it around my shoulders, trudging from the room. Can’t very well let him get cold, can I?
He’s curled up on the couch. His arms are wrapped around the pillow, his head resting on the arm of the sofa instead. Sighing, I walk toward him, and realize, as I move to spread the blanket over him, that he’s actually asleep.
Damn.
Stooping to pick up the remote, I flip off the TV. I guess the lack of noise, or of light, bothers him, because before I can make a quick escape, before he can know why I really came down here, I hear him whisper my name.
“Scully?”
Damn, damn, damn.
“Go back to sleep Mulder.”
“You okay Scully?”
I hate that voice. That sleep-roughened, slightly hoarse voice of his. He gets it, no matter how much or little sleep he’s had. That voice is what coaxed me into bed with him the first time. The first time. A long time ago. We hadn’t even been partners for a full year, and we had been back in DC for maybe twelve hours. It was about two AM, he called, said he’d been asleep, had had a nightmare, and he knew it was an imposition, but could I please, please come over, he really needed to not be alone. And I was the only one he trusted enough to let in right then.
So I went. Dutiful partner, caring friend, whatever. I went, and he had fallen back asleep by the time I arrived. He didn’t sleep much in the Arctic. Don’t blame him. He let me in, and I could read the stress all over his face. Looking back, I could have stopped all of this from happening, or at least, from starting then, if I had just done one thing differently.
No, not if I hadn’t gone over there.
If I hadn’t touched him.
I laid a hand on his cheek. And he started to cry. Now Mulder crying is just about the most heartbreaking sight I’ve ever seen. So I pulled him into my arms, and held him. Mistake number two. He held me back, almost crushing me in his embrace, and cried into my shoulder. However, here comes the biggest mistake. I kissed his temple. Oops. Just turned my head, and kissed the side of his, softly.
I felt his body tense, then relax a little, as he stared at me. And he whispered, in that damned voice, that he just needed me that night, so badly. And the rest, as they say…
That’s all it’s ever been with us. One of us needs the other. I have an extremely bad day, or he has a bone-chilling nightmare. Or we get hit with a miserable case. And we end up with each other. I definitely know it’s not a sympathy fuck, on either of our parts, any time. More like a comfort fuck.
We come together, we have sex, we feel better at the human contact, and we leave.
I turn around, back toward the couch. He’s looking at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t answered him. “I’m fine Mulder,” I lie quietly, half of me hoping he takes it at face value, the other half praying he pushes.
Three guesses on which half he hears.
“If you’re fine, why are you down here?” he asks, point-blanking me with the thoughts in my head, and with my intentions. I hate it when he does that.
I nod toward the blanket, which covers the lower half of his body. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get cold.”
And he stares at me. For all of about four seconds. Then his eyes shut, and he reaches a hand up, for mine. Barely touching his skin, I lay my hand, palm against his, into his hand, and walk toward the couch. I drop to my knees next to the sofa, and lay a hand on his shoulder.
Now one thing that I rarely acknowledge about Mulder is that he’s addictive. And I do mean him. His touch, his kiss, the way he makes lo… er, the way he fucks me, it’s addictive. And probably more dangerous than cocaine.
“Mulder,” I whisper, shutting my own eyes and leaning forward slightly. I seek his mouth, crave his kiss. I have to go away from the bad stuff for a while. And I know that I can do that, with him, like this.
His hand moves from mine, to the back of my head, and he pulls me closer. His fingers tangle in my hair, and he raises his head, lips finding mine in a hard, close to punishing kiss. As my fingers curl around his shoulder, he kisses me harder, pulling me that much closer. My hand sweeps down his side, wanting to get to his bare skin. As I start to tug on the hem of his shirt, he suddenly pulls back away from me; releasing my head, and letting me fall backwards, onto the floor.
“This has to stop,” he mutters, almost under his breath, eyes still shut.
What the hell? “What has to stop Mulder?” I question, thinking he means the sex, about to lay into him about how nice it is that he thinks of me as a personal fuck-toy that he can use when he wants, and put away for the rest of the time. But he doesn’t.
“You. Your attitude. I’m sick of it Scully.” His eyes slowly open, and stare deeply into mine, as though he’s looking straight past the walls, the guard dog, and the Private Property, No Trespassing sign I have up, to protect myself from his doing just that. “You’ve been…” he stops, and I can see the internal struggle not to say what’s on his mind. He looses. “You’ve been a total bitch lately. And I am tired of it. I’m not your personal whipping boy Scully, and I don’t want to only get a decent attitude from you when you need to get laid.”
Excuse me? Did I just hear him correctly? I couldn’t have, he couldn’t have just said that to me… Yes, he could have. And he did.
And I deserved it.
My hands drop to my lap, and curl around each other very demurely. Mostly, to keep from strangling him. Oh, all right, I’d never strangle Mulder. I might wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze a few times, but I’d never actually kill him.
“I’m sorry,” I answer, not really knowing what else to say. What does he want to hear? That I hate myself, and that I’m so lost that I can barely think straight more than half the time? That I don’t even recognize me anymore, and that he’s the only steady, solid thing that I can find right now? And that that fact terrifies me beyond what believing in his damned little grey men ever could? As I stare up into his eyes I find the answer. Yes, he wants to know all of that.
His lips curl into an ironic grimace. “Do you think that I want an empty apology from you? I want this to stop. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it, and if you’re not going to do something about it.” His eyes soften slightly, and he smiles for real. “What’s going on Scully?”
My head shakes, before I can even open my mouth. “A whole lot, and nothing I really want to discuss,” I hear myself telling him. That’s not what I wanted to say. No, I wanted to say ‘Nothing Mulder.’ What, I suddenly can’t lie to him anymore?
I watch him shake his head, and sit up, patting the couch cushion next to him, much like he had the bed earlier. Only this time I actually move toward him, and sit, curling my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees. I give him a questioning look, refusing to speak, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to find out what I might just blurt out to him anyway.
He reaches a hand out, toward my face, where a lock of my hair has fallen from where I tucked it behind my ear, into my eyes. His fingers brush it back behind my ear, and linger for a brief moment, so brief that had I not had Mulder’s touch imprinted into my very being, I would have missed it. “I don’t know where we go from here Scully,” he tells me, rubbing his fingers together, watching the movement of his hands instead of me. “I don’t even know what’s wrong, so I can’t suggest a way to fix it.”
The moonlight from outside catches the top of his hair, and I focus on that, just to have something to stare at. “And I don’t know what to tell you,” I mumble, clasping my hands together, and hooking them behind my neck. “I wish I could make sense out of this, in my head, so that it would make sense to you if you heard it.” Sighing, my eyes shut. “Look, this hasn’t been working for a really long time, and neither of us has wanted to admit it. Maybe you’ve been right all along, and we do need to step back.”
Even I don’t believe that one.
He remains silent for so long that I finally have to open my eyes, just to make sure he’s still there. He is, and he’s staring at me with the most pained expression. “Maybe you’re right,” he finally answers, blinking once, and schooling his features. “I was starting to think that I was wrong, that breaking up what we’ve got was a bad idea, but maybe it’s not.” He means it. I almost feel my heart breaking. “I don’t want to lose you, but perhaps we need to make a clean break, so neither of us gets more hurt.”
Logical. Rational. Sensible. All those things that I’m supposed to be, not him. I have to tell him, I have to let him in, or I really am going to lose him. I can’t just have the only ounce of hope I have left; which comes from his presence in my life, taken away.
“After everything that’s gone on recently,” I begin, slowly, my arms still tucked around my knees. “And even not so recently, I’m completely lost Mulder.” The admission hits me, hard. I lean my forehead down, on the tops of my knees, so he can’t see my face. “I don’t know myself anymore. I don’t trust myself. Not in a work-related capacity, for sure. But not in a personal one either. The Dana Scully who I have to wake up being every morning isn’t… I don’t trust her. I’m afraid of what she might do, because I have no handle on her what-so-ever, and so I can’t control her.” Tears sting my eyes, and I don’t have the strength to force them back. They fall, creating wet patches on my nightgown.
“And I can’t even blame anyone, but myself,” I hear my voice continue, the sound watery. I know that he knows I’m crying, without even looking up. “That’s not to say I haven’t tried.” Believe me, I’ve tried. If I could pin this one on Diana Fowley, I would, in a heartbeat. But it just isn’t her fault. Probably the only thing that isn’t, but this one’s all mine.
His hand reaches, and cups the back of my neck softly. I jump at the initial contact, but never once raise my head. I don’t want him to see me crying; I know what it does to him. Something along the lines of what his tears do to me.
“Scully,” he whispers, his voice sounding helpless. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” I mean it. There is nothing that anyone can do. At least, I don’t think there is. His fingers move over my neck, and I finally have to reach up and remove his hand. I can’t let him touch me right now.
Ironic, isn’t it, that I came down here so that he would touch me, and now I can’t take it? But what I was looking for doesn’t involve emotional attachments. It doesn’t involve talking. Or honesty.
I finally look back up at him, having forced my tears to at the very least slow. And I realize that I can never have that again with him. We can never be silent sex partners again. This conversation has just crossed that line.
I watch him; glance down at his hands, where his fingers curl around each other, the effort to remain in his personal space is obvious. His eyes, the way they move around my face, but never settle on it. Does he just not want to look at me anymore? Finally, I watch as he stands, slowly, the blanket clutched around his shoulders much like I had done on my way down here. He moves toward the window, and stares out, up at the moon.
He’s silent for a long time. Then – “You know I love you, don’t you Scully?”
The question causes an ache, deep in my chest, to intensify to a sharp pain. “Of course I do Mulder,” I answer automatically. I know he loves me, he considers me his best friend, and that takes love.
“No you don’t.” I watch; he tugs the blanket closer to his shoulders. “If you knew, really knew, you wouldn’t have answered like that.”
I blink. Huh? “How would I have answered?” I ask, staring at his back. The muscles in his shoulders tense, and shift under the material.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on the brightly glowing orb in the sky. “But not like that.”
And I accept that rational, because it’s Mulder.
I open my mouth to speak, but he turns, before I can say anything. “You would have said ‘I know Mulder,’ in that soft voice you use when you’re trying not to be overly emotional. You would have gotten up from your little ball on the couch, and come over here, and laid one of your hands on my back. You would have made me look at you, and you would have smiled one of those tiny, shy smiles that I’m the only one who ever gets to see. And you would have told me that it was okay, that I never had to say it out loud, because you know how hard those words are for me.” He stares at my face, into my eyes, until I finally have to look away. “You see Scully, I know you better than I know anyone. Better than I know myself. And the Scully that I know, that’s how she would have reacted, if she really knew.”
I stare at the carpet, knowing that he’s right. The person that he knew, that I knew, that’s exactly what she would have done.
Slowly, finding the movements almost painful, I do uncurl myself from the couch. And I do walk over to him. My arms wrap tightly around my middle, the gesture protective. I’m also trying to ward off an internal chill. Everything about me just feels off; wrong. . “That’s my point Mulder. That Scully went away, and I don’t know if she’s ever going to come back.”
He moves toward me, closing the few feet of space I’d left between us slowly. His hand comes up, and touches my cheek; the blanket still firmly clutched in his other hand. Gently, he grasps my chin, and tilts my face up, to his. “She didn’t go away, I still see her,” he murmurs quietly. “I think she’s just a little lost. And I’m pretty sure that it’s not all your fault as to why she is.” His hand falls from my face, and his eyes shut. “In fact, I’m pretty damn sure that it’s a good fifty percent my fault. At least.”
Big surprise. Mulder’s taking the blame away from me, because he can. I knew he would do this. This, my dear Mulder, is why I didn’t want to have this discussion.
His eyes slowly open, and he sighs. “But this isn’t why you came down here, is it?” he asks, not expecting an answer. My head shakes anyway. “I’m sorry Scully,” he whispers, finally releasing his hold on the blanket. I watch it fall to the floor at his feet. “But I can’t take what our relationship has become. I know I started it, and I’ve had my share of coming to you in the middle of the night, and letting you soothe whatever pain away with your body… but it’s too much, I can’t do it anymore.” His hand drags over his face, his attempt to calm down failing. “I want more than that.”
Even as I knew that, hearing it… it staggers me. I turn away from him, enough to take my turn at memorizing the craters in the moon. I have to be honest, for my sake, if not for his. “I know,” I whisper, when I can finally speak. I do too. I really do. “But I don’t know how to give it to you,” I tell him instead. At least I’m being honest with myself.
I hear his footsteps walking slowly away from me. I don’t turn around; don’t want to see him leaving me. My forehead rests against the glass, and I stare into the yard for a moment, before shutting my eyes. I don’t hear him returning to my side, until his hand rests on my shoulder. “Just this last time,” I hear him whisper, directly into my ear. I turn my head toward his voice, and his kisses my mouth before I can speak. “We both need it, one last time,” he murmurs against my lips, turning me, and pulling me closer.
I want to cry. I want to sob in his arms like a baby. But I don’t. I let him lead, and I follow willingly. One last time. He takes my hand, and leads me back to the couch. His fingers slowly, gently remove my nightgown, and he lays me back on the blanket, which he spread over the cushions. His shirt follows my gown to the floor. Then his boxers.
There’s no preamble, no build-up, but there never has been with us. He doesn’t take his time to taste me, to learn the contours of my body with his mouth. He never has, and tonight I finally understand why. He couldn’t. It’s as simple as that, he couldn’t.
He parts my thighs, settling between them, and returns his mouth to mine. That is the more intimate we’ve allowed ourselves. Kissing. Sex is, by definition, intimate, but kissing is more-so. At least to me. And I believe, because of the way he does it; the passion he holds behind it, it is to him.
One hand drifts, moving slowly over my side, barely touching my skin. He reaches my hip, and moves inward, finding my moist curls, and pressing his fingers inside. It just takes one kiss from Mulder, and I’m wet.
He kisses me harder, and continues to stroke me, slowly, then fast. He rapidly brings me to the peak of orgasm, then sends me over. As I arch, and move under him, my eyes open, to stare at his face. His are open as well, staring back at me. That’s when I realize exactly what’s going on.
He’s saying goodbye.
The scream that was rising in my throat dies; and turns to a single sob. His hand withdraws, and he thrusts inside.
His mouth never leaves mine, never gives me a chance to protest, to tell him to stop, that if this is it, if it’s over, I don’t want it.
Because I do want what he’s doing to me. I’m not saying that. I just don’t want goodbye.
He moves, steady and hard, in and out, holding my hips against his. He finds my clit again with his fingers, and rubs, gently; knowing it will send me into another orgasm.
It does, rapidly, and I clutch him to me, kissing him back, my eyes fighting to stay open, and locked on his. He joins me, moving in a more jerky pace, groaning loudly into my mouth.
Then he slows. His hand falls away again. And he stops. He finally lifts his mouth from mine, and I can see the tears glistening in his eyes. They mirror my own.
As he slowly pulls out of me, he turns, rolling both of us, allowing me the choice to stay with him or not.
Resting my forehead against his, I swallow back any more tears. Not in front of him, not now. And I slip from his arms, from the couch.
Because one last time is one too many.
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TITLE: Time After Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: if you want more, PLEASE
SPOILERS: Alpha
RATING: I think this one’s remarkable safe, other than the angst quotient.
CLASSIFICATION: A/quasi-MSR
SUMMARY: It’s been a few weeks since they said goodbye… now what?
Disclaimer: I don’t think so.
Author’s notes: Okay, I know, you’ve been waiting for weeks for the sequel – well, guess what? This became a series. The ‘Time’ series. So, I’m posting the remaining 6 parts. Enjoy!!
Thanks: Trixie, Brandon, Eve – you three kept me writing, thanks!!
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Time After Time
I don’t have a right to be jealous. I let him say goodbye, let him leave me, and now… I lost the right to react.
Not that it stops me or anything. I can still hear him, in that living room. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’
And I have to admit, I really, honestly did not know. Not until he had that reaction – telling me that I didn’t.
Damn him, he’s always right. Always. Even when he’s wrong, somehow, he’s right.
And that should be endearing. It even used to be. But once I knew that we were ending what we were… it stopped being so.
What were you? A voice asks, loudly, insistently.
And I just don’t have an answer to that question.
Mulder and I have become an undefinable gray area.
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The phone is ringing.
It’s 3am and the phone is ringing. At this hour, it’s only one person.
And he hasn’t called me, at all, unless it was work-related since…
“Scully,” I whisper into the phone.
“It’s me.” His voice is choked, panicked, almost. I know instantly this is a nightmare call. “I…” he sucks in a sharp, deep breath. “I’m sorry to be calling.”
Oh god. I didn’t realize it was possible to feel more guilty about hurting him. For years, I’ve been the only person who could calm his fears and soothe his pain. And now he feels that he has to apologize for seeking what I’ve always given freely?
My eyes shut, as I curl myself around a pillow. “It’s okay Mulder,” I assure him gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I can almost hear his head shake. “Not over the phone,” he answers, still sounding shaky. Before he can continue, I untangle myself from the pillow.
“I’ll be right over,” I mumble, grabbing a sweatshirt from my closet. My hand lingers, for all of half a second, on the shirt he’d left at my place ‘for emergencies’ almost four years ago.
Many more items had accumulated, but he’d taken almost all of it home right after the whole Karin debacle.
I’d been out, visiting my mother one afternoon, and he’d come over, probably knowing I wasn’t home, taking his clothes, his CD’s, almost everything that had made it’s way into my place over the years.
But he’d left that shirt. Did he know, somehow, that on those nights I couldn’t bring myself to go to him, but that I needed comforting, that I’d wrap up in it and it would make me feel safe.
Almost like he was there, holding me.
I don’t even hear him rationalizing, telling me not to come. Even if I could, this is one thing that I would not walk away from. He doesn’t have anyone else who can do this. I know he’s tried to find someone else who can get inside his head enough to help him deal with these things, but I think, honestly, he’s scared to let another person in.
Can’t say that I blame him, look what I did to him.
“Fifteen minutes Mulder,” I tell him, silencing his protests. I hang up the phone, and pull the shirt over my head, picking up my keys, and stepping into my shoes.
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The road is dark. Empty. This allows me time to think.
After Mulder’s statements in the living room of ‘our’ house, the goodbye sex that ended a chapter in our life together… I hear my sigh echoing in my ears. It’s deep, and pained.
This new chapter that we’ve started – I don’t like it one bit.
Not that it isn’t a relative hell of my own making, just that I don’t like it. In fact, to put it succinctly, it sucks. I’m miserable, Mulder’s miserable, our partnership is practically non-existent, once we leave the office for the night… god, even the Gunmen are being affected by the… whatever this is between us.
I got a call from Frohike last night.
He told me that Mulder was practically non-functional on an emotional level as of late. Not that this was exactly new, he’d been like this for years. Years before I’d entered his life.
And not to sound selfish, like he didn’t care, but did I know what that means to the state of working order for the Gunmen, ‘Agent Scully?’
That hurt. The way he said my name – gone was the endearing little troll with the hopeless crush. In his place was a cold, harsh man who could not forgive.
Because of me.
I managed to do that. By hurting Mulder.
I hear a small voice in my ear, the one that sounds remarkably like Missy. She tells me that I’m being too hard on myself. A tiny, nearly insignificant part of me agrees with her instantly. I’m only human, after all, and allowed to make mistakes.
No, another part of me argues. I stopped being ‘only human’ when I was partnered with Mulder. I became more, once we became a team. I was no longer simply Dana Scully, but I was half of a whole that held the fibers of two lives tightly tonight. And without the other half, we’re unraveling.
And becoming simply ‘only human’ once again.
My car, which seems to know it’s way to Mulder’s all on it’s own, stops in front of his building. I must sit in my car and just stare up for almost five minutes, before I’m shaken back to the reality of why I’m outside of my apartment, in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, at this hour.
Mulder needs me.
That thought jars me enough to get me up and out of the car.
Mulder.
Needs me.
Hasn’t needed me in weeks; or at least hasn’t said he did.
A slight ache in my chest returns at the thought.
I had trained myself to be an extra-light sleeper, just in case Mulder called, or came over.
I had done it even before the night. The night. The night that changed things.
The night that his pain, and my reactions to it, led me willingly into his arms, and his bed.
Standing in his hallway, I simply stare at Mulder’s door. I slowly raise my hand to knock, only to trace the numbers instead.
My hand lifts to knock, and the door simply opens, as if waiting for the pressure of my fingers to lift. Mulder stands on the other side of the threshold, hair disheveled, eyes haunted, cheeks tear-stained.
Instictivly, I start to reach for him, before I remember that’s not allowed anymore. His eyes shut as my arms fall back to my sides, which just makes the desire to pull him into an embrace that much stronger.
Watching him, I know that he needs something, as a reassurance. Years of being as close as we’ve been, you learn to read someone. So I very gently lay my hand on the center of his chest. “Do you want to talk?” I whisper, stepping inside once he moves enough to let me.
His mouth moves a few times, as if trying to remember how. Very slowly, his eyes flutter open, and he nods once, silently, shutting the door behind me.
“What happened?” I ask, still whispering, not wanting to raise my voice to even a normal tone until he’s calm.
“Very bad dream,” he mumbles, staring down at my hand, as I let it slowly slide from his chest to my side once again. His eyes cloud for a moment, before he walks, stoically, almost like a man being lead to his execution, to the couch, perching on the edge of a cushion. His posture is dejected, defeated, and quite simply, painful to look at.
I move toward him, and sit next to him. “Tell me about it.”
“Samantha. As usual,” he begins, shutting his eyes again for a moment, before they fly open. “I watched her float out of the room, paralyzed. I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t even scream. Nothing, I just watched. And then I was wherever they had taken her, watching again.” His body stiffens, and I gently touch his shoulder, reminding him that I’m there. “She… god, Scully, she was crying, and screaming, and begging them to stop. She was screaming my name, pleading for me to save her.” Tears fall down his cheeks; he doesn’t notice them. I swallow at the sight, but don’t say anything, knowing he needs to talk it out. “She always trusted me, that I would protect her. I was her big brother, it was my job to take care of her. She couldn’t have been more wrong, in who she chose to put her faith in.” I watch him lean forward, placing his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from sobs. “It was my fault Scully,” he whispers, broken-hearted, yet accepting.
“No,” I hear myself telling him, fiercely. I don’t even think, just lean over, and wrap my arms around his shoulders, gently tugging him to me, holding him. He doesn’t even fight me, simply follows and curls himself around me, sobbing harder now. “Shh,” I murmur against his hair, holding him just a little tighter. “It’s okay Mulder. And it’s not your fault, I promise. You were a wonderful big brother, and what happened to Samantha wasn’t something you could control.”
We remain in that position until his sobs quiet. His head lifts slightly, and he stares at me, his expression almost fearful. “I don’t seem to have any reason to take the blame for anything that goes wrong with any of the women in my life, do I Scully?” he asks softly, pulling back from me, returning to his position almost a foot away from me. “Not Sam, or Mom, or you.” He turns a little, looking at me again. “‘Specially not you, huh?” he mumbles.
Nope. I manage to fuck up all on my own Mulder. Myself, and my life, and I don’t want your guilt complex growing because I’m stupid. Or scared.
“Nothing’s been your fault, completely,” I answer him, not allowing the thoughts in my head to come out. I can’t handle that right now.
He gives me a look, one that clearly says I don’t believe you, and reaches over with his hand to cup my cheek in an attempt to make me meet his steady, sharp gaze. I slowly allow my eyes to shut instead, and I stand, not allowing for any emotional reaction, knowing that I will stay otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, unable to remain by his side. I hate myself for this, and I don’t allow myself what every dying woman deserves – one last look at her lifeline, and executioner. I have to go now Mulder. I wish I could do something to make all of this better, but I can’t. I am only one woman Mulder, and as much as I wish I had the power to banish all of your demons, I’m not the right person for the job.
My eyes don’t even open as I turn and walk toward his door. My hand barely turns the knob before I hear his choked whisper. “You’re the only one who can.”
And without so much as a backward glance, I leave, as tears fall steadily down my face.
God, how I wish that were true.
But Mulder, I’m no good for either one of us anymore.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
TITLE: Time And Again
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: I will beg… you don’t want to see me do that, do you?
SPOILERS: Trevor
RATING:
CLASSIFICATION: A/something that once was, and will be again, MSR
SUMMARY: Scully continues to beat herself up…
Disclaimer: Umm… if they were mine, why would I be writing fanfic? I’d be writing EPISODES…
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
Time And Again
It’s been weeks.
Almost two months since California. And two weeks since I walked out on him. Two weeks since I went from swearing to myself, and him, that I wouldn’t leave him while he was dealing with a nightmare to doing just that.
I took the next day off work. I couldn’t face him, not after that.
Turns out he did the same thing. I got a call from Skinner at noon. He wanted to know if something had happened to agent Mulder. Because, after all, Mulder has to be forced to take the day off, he doesn’t do it voluntarily.
Like I’m supposed to know what Mulder does when I’m not around?
Then again, I am. I’m the only one who’s supposed to.
The last couple of weeks have been tense. Yeah, tense is a good word.
Mulder hasn’t so much as brought me back a cop of coffee when he’s gone out for lunch.
He hasn’t called me in the middle of the night. He hasn’t sent me funny email, or taken the time to mess up my hair. He doesn’t even rest his hand at the small of my back when escorting me through a door anymore.
He gets the look on his face, like it’s painful to touch me.
God knows, it hurts like hell when he touches me. I can feel his hand burning into my skin. I wonder at times if this is what it feels like to be branded.
Can everyone look at me, see that I’ve been marked by Fox Mulder? Can they see the places that his fingers, or his lips have touched me; where they’ve burned my skin, forever leaving their mark? Where I can still feel them, even if I can barely remember the last time he actually touched some of those places?
I can still remember, like it happened five minutes ago, exactly how it felt when he first touched me.
The first time he truly touched me, we were in a motel room in Oregon. I was so afraid of those damned mosquito bites. I threw myself into his arms, the action somewhere between the terrified child and a desperate, longing woman.
I have to admit, I was torn between flattered and disappointed that all he did was hold me back.
I can still feel his hand as it clasped onto my shoulder, in the storage locker in the Arctic. Looking back now, I can see clearly every moment that lead either to the first time, or the last.
I can also see, in slow, progressive stages, where he was falling in love with me. I must be one of the most blind women on the planet. It was so obvious.
And I don’t just mean in bed. Although that was… obvious as well. My God, he told me that he really liked oral sex, but that he couldn’t let himself go down on me. I look back at that now, and I can’t believe that I was that stupid. He couldn’t let himself get that close; it was too much.
But putting that all aside for a moment, there were all the things he did out in the open, in front of everyone. Like after Pfaster, the way he held me in the entryway of the house. I mean, sure, I was terrified, but that’s not the important thing. Or it is, but it’s secondary. It was just another one of those times that if I had been paying attention, instead of running scared, from him and myself, we probably wouldn’t be in this situation now. I don’t know where we would be, but it wouldn’t be here.
We wouldn’t be in opposite rooms in a motel in the middle of nowhere Mississippi, probably both staring at the door connecting our rooms, and refusing to speak to one another.
I saw his face tonight, after we were all okay, and Pinker was dead. There was about half a second of obvious MulderPanic, before he put it away again, and became the cool, calm G-man that he’s supposed to be.
Mostly, I think the look was because of the way I was clutching Trevor’s hand. I didn’t want to let that little boy go, for a moment there. It was almost…
God, it was almost like he was Emily for a moment. I was trying to protect him so fiercely. Like I couldn’t do for her.
And I think Mulder saw that.
There was only one time I truly let myself fantasize about Mulder.
And it wasn’t even a good sexual fantasy, damn it.
It was after Emily – after I’d lost her, after the truths he’d withheld had come to light, after I’d slipped into the bed he was sleeping in at Bill’s, and after he’d kicked me out the next morning.
I had curled myself up around a pillow, and fallen asleep. So I guess that makes this a dream, not a fantasy. Anyway, no matter. It was dark, wherever I was, then a match was struck, lighting a single candle.
I felt a hand gently wrap around my waist, and a voice; his voice, whisper in my ear. “It’s okay, just a power outage.”
And the hand, I knew then to be his hand, guided me down a long, dark hallway. It felt long, anyway, but considering the darkness, and that it was a dream, it probably wasn’t.
But I’m analyzing too much. I need to stop that. Now, where was I? Oh, right, long, dark hallway.
He stopped, next to a door, and in the candlelight, I could see him nod at me. “You open it, you’re the only one who never wakes her when you enter the room.”
Mulder doesn’t talk like that, I know, but… dream, remember?
So I did what he told me to, I opened the door. And inside was a nursery, with a beautiful baby girl sleeping in a crib. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up, and he walked past me, setting the candle on the dresser next to me. And then he picked up this perfect, angelic little baby, and cradled her in his arms, just like he had done with Emily. But, perhaps, even more tenderly. And he carried her to my side, and… transferred her to my arms. “I think she’d rather see mom than dad when she wakes up,” he whispered into my ear, picking the candle back up and gently escorting me from the room.
That’s when I woke up.
My eyes opened, and I just stared at the wall for… hours. I think an entire day went by before I moved. I now wonder if everyone just figured I needed to be alone, or if they were scared to bother me, because everyone left me alone. And then, like I do with everything else, I studiously buried it. I was determined to ignore that dream, it didn’t mean anything, it was just a dream.
Right?
Wrong.
Well, no, right it was just a dream. But wrong because… well, if meant more.
But I only see that in retrospect.
I only see a lot of things now that I’m sitting here, on this bed, thinking hard about them.
I read somewhere, a long time ago, that hindsight is always 20/20. I just want to know how long it takes to get that way.
More than anything that I really, looking back, want to know about – that night, after Ed Jerse, after everything… what was he going to say to me? I really want to know. But at the same time, I’m almost afraid to find out. I was hurting, so much then. And I was so afraid. Leonard Betts did that to me, he made me afraid.
And instead of showing the fear, because that would have made me the weaker partner, I lashed out. I lashed out so much, and so hard, that I would imagine Mulder didn’t know which way was up for a while.
But neither did I. And so I just reacted. And I picked insignificant crap to react over.
I also tried, completely unsuccessfully (I didn’t know it was possible to do something that wrong) to find someone else who could possibly … be there. And provide for me what Mulder did, but maybe a little more.
And look folks, the perfect candidate – almost burns me alive.
Because of a talking tattoo.
What, do these psychos just follow me, or do I simply bring it out in them?
That was one of the times that Mulder really let me down. It probably was what led to the… events of that trip. I allowed Mulder to mean more than he should to me, and when that was put to the test, we both failed.
Not that there aren’t plenty of times that he didn’t let me down.
Model springs to mind. Mulder was under his control, but he actually fought his own self-loathing and despair (yes, I know he’s the shrink, but indulge me) to manage to save me. I knew he was strong enough to fight, but there had to be a reason.
Why didn’t I see that then?
And I just don’t think the ‘I didn’t want to’ excuse will fly anymore. There’s been too much.
And time and again, I’ve chosen to just… ignore it. If it was staring me in the face, I didn’t see it. Because to see it was to believe it, and belief was acceptance. And that led to want, and …whatever.
Things I deprived myself of.
Looking over at that connecting door again, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing on the other side. Probably surfing the pay-per-view porn channels. This fine establishment has plenty of those. And nothing else. MulderHeaven.
And yet even as I try to find a reason to be unhappy with him, to blame him, to… something, I can’t help but remember the night when I was in the hospital. I was so sick, and I had finally fallen asleep. He came into my room, curled up on the floor next to me, laid his head on my mattress and sobbed like a small child. I was sleeping when he came in, but his sobs had woken me, finally. I didn’t say anything to him, because – what could I say? I just touched his hair. Didn’t even open my eyes. And he stayed there, and cried, until he’d cried himself to sleep. I finally went back to sleep myself, and when I woke up, he was gone.
Having that memory in my head, I’m unable to truly be upset with him for long. That one and the one of him in the living room. He gave me what he thought I wanted, even though he didn’t. Sure, he came, but… that doesn’t mean that he enjoyed it. I had two orgasms, and it was horrible the entire time. Because it was over.
And god that makes me sound like a sex addict. I’m really not; I’m just addicted to him.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to accept another man’s touch, because I will forever feel Mulder’s.
No one else will ever be able to reach into my soul, with they’re lips.
And no one else will ever be able to make me come, just by talking to me.
‘You love him,’ that annoying voice that I hate in the corner of my head pipes up.
“No I don’t,’ I argue back, out loud. “I just care about him, and I’m feeling selfish right now, so I’m thinking about the good stuff.”
‘Liar.’
“Bitch,” I mutter to myself, glancing up at the mirror that’s across the room from me. I thought it’d lost myself while we were in California. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this person who’s staring back at me.
Am I really that… connected to Mulder, that this separation is causing me to lose myself even more completely than before?
Standing up, I walk to the full-length mirror and slowly untie the robe I’m wearing, letting it drop to the floor. I’m naked underneath, and I slowly run my eyes over my body, trying to remember me again.
I can almost see where he’s touched; the prints he left on my body. But I know that’s just me; they aren’t really there.
I just want someone to explain to me how things can feel so much like they’re there, but they really aren’t. I can actually feel Mulder touching me. Yet he’s about 25 feet away, on the other side of a closed door.
I part my legs slightly, letting the cold air brush over me, as if trying to erase his touch with something else. I run my hands over my skin, and know I’m trying just that.
It doesn’t work.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I scramble to grab the robe, pulling it tightly around my body. “What?” I call softly.
“I’m just going to bed Scully,” he tells me, his voice neutral. “You should to, we have to leave at 7am.”
“Sure, Mulder,” I answer, reaching for the light switch and casting the room into darkness. “G’nite.”
‘Nite,” I hear him mumble, and see the sliver of light from under the door extinguish.
Sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow, I know it’ll be a long time, certainly longer than it’ll take to get us home, before I sleep again.
Sleep is for those who deserve to rest.
And I don’t deserve anything.
Not anymore.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
TITLE: Remember The Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: What do I have to do?
SPOILERS: Through Trevor
RATING: Don’t rate. But I’d say… if you don’t know what ‘the ‘F’ word’ is, and have never used it, well… you might learn something.
CLASSIFICATION: A/M (check) S (check) R (was here, will be sometime soon, Check)
SUMMARY: Mulder gets a turn to pour his heart out… to himself.
Disclaimer: Okay, I gotta know – Of course they’re mine.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
Remember The Time
Do you know how hard it is to lose the only person you’ve ever truly loved? The only person who’s ever made you honest about the emotion of love?
I didn’t either. Not until recently.
And boy, I lost her big time.
What makes it worse, of course, is the fact that I gave her up, I gave her the out to leave me. Not that I hadn’t done it a thousand times before, but those were to leave me professionally. This time, it was personal, all around. From the moment I talked her into posing as a married couple. That was the first step. I had hoped that it would bring us closer together.
No such luck.
If anything, it drove the wedge that had been forming for months deeper, and forced us further apart; further into our own little corners of reality.
And I laid the final blow, the one that ensured that she was forever gone from my arms and my bed. I said goodbye. And I said it in the most intense and wrong way possible. I fucked her goodbye.
I think I’m the most insensitive bastard alive.
Think. Know. Whatever.
I was good, after that. For weeks. I didn’t touch her, I didn’t call her at night, I barely went near her, if it was going to be for longer than to drop a case file on her desk and leave. Only when I absolutely had to.
Then I had the nightmare. I lied to her, when I finally did call her. I told her it was about Samantha. It was about her. That she was the one who was taken, and was begging me to save her.
I’ve had the same dream about Sam, so it wasn’t hard to transfer the names.
But what came after, before I finally woke up, was Scully telling me that it was my fault she was hurt. That I had hurt her.
And I did. In reality, anyway.
The first times, it was so unintentional. I mean, after I stopped trying to chase her away. Once I realized that she was staying.
But she’s been punished because of me. Taken, hurt, subjected to more hell than any living being should be forced to endure. Because of me.
Months of her life were taken from her. That’s the first time I really, truly hurt her. She was taken. From her home. A place she was supposed to be safe. And some psycho whom I had been given the task earlier of talking down from a hostage crisis took her. Amazing job I did, wasn’t it? I managed to make him take her. And he, in turn, allowed Them to get their hands on her.
She almost died, after that. It was then that I realized how much I do love her. I mean sure, that was something I knew – that I loved Scully. But while she was gone, and the only part of her I could hang onto was that damned cross of hers… I knew that I loved Dana Katherine Scully.
It’s a totally different feeling, loving Scully, and loving Dana. They really are two different people sometimes. Yet they’re always wrapped up in the same beautiful package.
Scully, my partner, my friend, is always very logical, and usually a bit standoffish. She’s strong, to a fault, and independent as all get-out. She’s intense, and passionate about her work, and very… driven.
And Dana – when she actually comes out to play – She’s vibrant. She almost glows, sometimes. She too, is passionate, but on a whole other level. It’s personal, unlike the Scully facet of her personality, that makes it about something else. And when she smiles – my god, she makes me feel like I’m the only man alive.
After They gave her back to me, I saw her internal struggle to reconcile these two parts of who she is. Once she was back on her feet, she tried for a while. And I think she just gave up, after a while. Because it wasn’t working. Not in her eyes, anyway.
Mostly, I think it was that she couldn’t be the softer side that Dana brings out, and continue to… well, function.
They hurt her, badly. Because of me. And whatever they did to her; things neither of us knows about, they shot her confidence in herself straight to hell.
I made a vow, once she walked out of that hospital, that I wouldn’t let it happen again. I wouldn’t let her be hurt, because of me, or anyone else, again.
And it lasted so long.
I don’t even let myself think of those times, for the most part. Even now… there have just been too many times. I’ve left her, or I’ve shut her out, and damn it, I’ve just – well, hurt her.
When she developed Cancer, I knew that was my fault too. Another punishment she was meant to bear, because of me. Because she was involved with me, and wouldn’t leave. They hurt her, simply because They knew that it was the best, or rather the only way that I can be hurt.
She knew it, too — and when she finally acknowledged it, and told me to my face that she knew, it very nearly destroyed me.
They tried to hurt me. It didn’t work. Then it became clear that Scully was the way to get to me. And presto! Every time she turned around, something was being done to her, or someone she cared about.
It’s absolutely painful to look at her sometimes. The depth of anguish that I see deep in her eyes, in places that only I know to look… my god, it all but kills me.
I found that journal she was writing me, while she was in the hospital – pouring her heart out to me. I didn’t deserve it. I’ve never deserved to have someone care like that. But I have to admit, it felt good, to know that she did.
I could feel that same emotional turmoil coming off her in waves, in that hotel room last week. An internal struggle, that I’m familiar with – that of do I give in to my heart, or listen to my head.
Head usually wins. Because heart – well, it’s just not rational enough to control everyday lives. We as humans haven’t figured out how to combine the two yet.
I’ve watched her struggle through so much, my Scully. Her Cancer took too much from her though. It almost killed her, in more ways than one. Sure, the obvious, but it took something from her, something infinitely precious, and something that she’s never fully gotten back. I don’t know what exactly, but I’ve seen, and felt the energy shift in her body, over time.
You can only make love to someone so many times, before you get a handle on who they are, inside and out. And with Scully and I… we made love many more times than we actually had sex.
Whatever it was that she lost during that time in the hospital, when she almost died, again… she never fully recovered from it, before she got hit with Emily.
Was Emily my fault? Probably not. But I still blame myself.
How can I not? If I hadn’t drug her into my life, into my insane quest it never would have happened.
And I certainly can, and do, blame myself for not telling her that she can’t have children. She really didn’t need that one-two punch that I delivered to her. I dashed hopes, I crushed dreams, and I killed her spirit, in one little conversation.
I really expected to lose her after that. I had expected her to leave, and never look back. But instead, she came to me that night.
Just like she had after she kicked me out of ‘our’ room while we were playing house.
She came to me, she crawled under the covers of my bed with me, and she lost herself inside me. I’m familiar with the sensation; I’ve done it with her enough times.
But she usually then would leave, would pull away. She didn’t. Instead she stayed. She curled herself up next to me on the bed, and she slept.
Have I mentioned that I’m an insensitive bastard?
I kicked her out of my bed the next morning. Well, basically. I woke up, and rather pointedly told her that she might not want to still be there when anyone else got up. She had, after all, insisted that I stayed at her brother’s, and… well, it seemed like it was a bad idea for her to still be in my bed.
She cried, and then she agreed. And before I could pull her back down with me, she left. She didn’t even take the time to put her clothes back on, just wrapped her robe around herself, clothes under one arm, and left.
I hate it when I make her cry. I hate it more than anything else. Her tears just rip my heart out of my chest, and hold it up in front of me so that I can watch as it slowly, painfully, slows and stops.
I’ve made her cry a lot lately. Made her cry, and made her jealous.
She’s been so insanely jealous over Diana. I never thought I’d actually see that emotion from the steely persona that is Scully. But hey, Dana’s a tiger, and she’s very reactive.
I’ve done some stupid things in this lifetime, and in my time with Scully, but siding with Diana over her… well, I’ve mentioned what I think of myself.
I don’t even have a justification for that. I wish I did. Something I could just throw at the voice that taunts me, that tells me how she’ll never forgive me for that, even as she continues to work with me.
And why should she? God knows I don’t forgive myself.
But I can’t bring myself to just explain it away, either. Which means that somewhere, deep down, I must have had reason. I just don’t really want to know what it is. I want it to go away, instead. I want Diana to go away.
There were enough problems with her to begin with.
I just don’t even want to take the time to think about her anymore. She’s… not Scully, and therefore she’s not who I want on my mind.
But I’ve seen how much Diana hurts Scully, and therefore, I’m forced to think about her. Diana, a past connection to me, hurting the woman I love. Me, again.
There has to be a point to chronicling all this pain I’ve inflicted. I guess, I’m hoping to make some sense out of everything.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m just looking for a second chance. Maybe Pinker had the right idea, even if it was bad execution.
My couch is looking really inviting right about now. I haven’t slept in days. The only problem with that idea is that it’s the first place we ever had sex. And maybe it’s just in my own head, but I swear it still smells like her.
I finally stop pacing in front of the window. Moving slowly, I lay down on the couch. Automatically, I pick up the pillow that she’s used many times to sleep on, and I wedge is under my head, where I can smell it. It has to be me. There’s no way her scent is still lingering.
As my eyes finally drift shut, I realize that even after all of this, I still don’t have any answers.
Because all the answers are in her corner.
And she’s locked me out.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
TITLE: Always A First Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: imitating Roger Rabbit Pppppppleeeeeeeaaas Eddie? (and the rest of you while we’re at it)
SPOILERS: Milagro
RATING: I don’t, so – whatever. It’s safe.
CLASSIFICATION: A/we’re getting’ closer to MSR
SUMMARY: It’s just more of the same… geez. 😉
Disclaimer: Okay, I can see where you might think so, if you take into account all the heavy angst & no resolution, but trust me, CC would NEVER allow this to end the way it does.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
Always a First Time
Mulder’s holding me. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, as I cling to him.
I can’t help it, I can’t remember ever being this terrified.
That could not have happened, my rational side argues, even as I cling tighter, sobbing against his shoulder. His arms tighten in turn, keeping me close, allowing me to lose control.
I can feel the tension in his body, as he tries to keep himself from crying as well, trying to not make this about him.
Because it’s not. To him.
And whether I’d argue that with him or not isn’t an issue, because I can’t, no matter if I would.
We stay like that, on his floor, for almost an hour. And then he finally, slowly and gently, lifts me up, into a sitting position. His hands slowly run over me, obviously checking for less-apparent wounds. He probably should have done this an hour ago, but… he wasn’t thinking clearly an hour ago. Satisfied that I’m at least physically all right, and now that my tears have stopped, he tips my chin and makes me look at him.
“Are you going to be okay?” he murmurs softly. I know what he’s asking. Am I going to react to this more strongly than ever, later, once I’m alone? Am I going to break down, once he’s not there to catch me?
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, forcing myself away from his embrace slightly. I want to lose myself in it, but I can’t. He follows me as I slide onto his couch, his arms no longer around me, but his hands resting lightly on my shoulders.
At his slight nod, my eyes shut. “Mulder,” I whisper, leaning deeper into the cushions, allowing them to replace his touch. “Thank you.”
I feel his fingers flex a couple of times against my shoulders, before both hands fall away. Opening my eyes, I see them, resting in his lap, curled into tight fists. “Don’t,” he mumbles, standing and walking toward the window. “God Scully, don’t thank me.”
I have to give him a confused look. “Why not?”
“Because the last thing I want is to feel like you think that in order for me to love you, you have to show gratitude,” he answers simply, even as his voice catches over the words.
My eyebrows furl further. “What?” I question softly, moving to stand next to him. He turns away from me, before I even get to his side. We dance around each other, quite literally, for a few moments, as I move toward his face, and he turns away. Finally I take his cheeks between my hands, and make him look at me. “Mulder, please… don’t think that. I don’t think that. I know better.” He tries to pull away from me, but I stop him. Not this time, neither of us are walking away until we’ve straightened something out.
I don’t care what, just something.
“I was thanking you, because I was raised to say thank you when someone does something for you that matters to you. Ahab told me that if you say thank you, most people will tell you not to, but if you don’t, most of those same people will wonder why you didn’t.” Blinking a couple times, I close my teeth over my trembling lower lip, willing myself, begging myself not to cry.
“And I don’t believe that you have to thank someone for doing what they would do anyway,” he counters. I know we’re not arguing about the words, but about so much more. “I’d rather you didn’t thank me, and made it easier on both of us, instead of making me feel downright responsible for every breath you take.”
Wow, that hurt. I know he didn’t mean it to, but it did. “I sincerely hope that you don’t feel that responsible for me Mulder, because I’d hate to put you into that position.”
He blinks, once, and suddenly, the cryptic conversation is over. “But I do, Scully,” he tells me, gently taking my hands and removing them from his face. He doesn’t let go, however. “I do feel that responsible for you. And I want to feel like this.” His fingers tighten around mine, as if to stress his point. “Scully, this is going to sound rather… cave-man like, and I don’t mean it to, but… I want to take care of you. And I don’t just mean out in the field, or if you’ve been hurt, but all the time. And I want you to do the same for me. But more than that, I want you to want to.”
Whoa. I knew that, but… whoa. Taking a breath, something other than me taking over for a moment, I lean up, and kiss him, once, hard on the mouth. Before he can kiss back, however, I pull away, and gently extricate my hands from him.
“I know you do Mulder. But I just don’t think that I do.” Liar. “Not now, anyway. Or maybe I don’t know how to want to. I’m not sure.”
And I turn, slowly, walking toward the door.
So much for resolution.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
I thought that maybe a walk would clear my head.
Nope.
I thought that a drink might make me calmer.
Uh-uh
So, I’m sitting on the floor of my apartment now, drunk, and no closer to a resolution than I was when I left his place.
I wonder what Mulder’s doing. Knowing him, he could simply be standing in the exact spot he was when I walked out almost five hours ago.
It’s not really like him to remain in one spot, however, so… I just don’t know.
I realize something, as I take another drink from the bottle in my hand. I’m sure that sober, I knew this, but alcohol makes me very… uninhibited. It certainly makes me stop censoring my thoughts from myself.
God, my feet hurt. I walked all the way from his place to mine, and I haven’t done that much walking since the night I thought he was dead and I walked to my mother’s place. I curl up more, almost around the bottle in my hands, and I let my eyes drift shut. I’m so tired. At this precise moment in time, I want to just sleep, and sleep, and sleep forever
But before I can think about moving enough to even lie down on my floor, there’s a knock on the door. “Scully?”
Great.
“Scully I know you’re in there. I’ll use my key, if I have to…”
Why did I ever give him that damned thing?
“Go away Mulder.” Please go away. Leave me to my misery, and for gods sake, don’t come in here, I don’t want you to see me like this.
My door swings open slowly. Of course. “Scully.” He looks down at me as if he hasn’t heard me at all, and then kneels at my side, gently prying the bottle I’d been clutching like a security blanket from my hands. “Scully,” he repeats again, and I realize he’s trying to make me look at him.
“What?” I snap, turning my head in his general direction, still staring out the window.
“We need to talk.”
No shit.
“Things can’t go on like this, Scully.” Leaning over, he grasps my chin and makes me look at him. “If I have to lose you from my personal life, I will have to learn to live with that. But damn it Scully, I can’t lose my partner. And you haven’t been there, really been there, in weeks. Longer.” With some effort, my eyes flick from the window, where they’d remained focused, to his face. “Please,” he begs quietly. “Help me… fix this.”
“Did you know that it’s a hell of a lot harder to get orange juice into a bottle of vodka than you let on?” Reaching over, I snatch the bottle back, and take another long drink. “Do you want to know why I’ve been acting like such a psycho lately Mulder?” He doesn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to. “I lost myself. I, as an individual, was sacrificed to the greater good of ‘us.’ Of ‘we.’” Standing, stumbling slightly, I stare down at him, swaying a bit. “I was always afraid of getting into a relationship because of that exact thing happening. I know too many people who once they were in love, and had a partner in their life, they were no longer an indivdual. And I swore to myself I’d never do that.” I barely even hear my words slurring, as I take another swig from the bottle, steeling myself, telling him things that I’d never said out loud.
“I look into my mirror every morning, and I’m always a little further gone. Now, I don’t even see me anymore.” Taking a single step toward the window, I trip slightly over my own feet, and fall down to the floor, the bottle hitting next to me. I scramble to grab it, still losing most of the alcohol before I get it back in an upright position. “Damn.” Turning, I glare at him. “Do you know who I see every morning now Mulder?”
Again, he doesn’t answer me, and his silence just pisses me off. “I see you!” I hear myself scream, as my hand lifts, the bottle being thrown in his direction. Good thing I’ve got lousy aim at the moment because he doesn’t even try to duck out of the way. The glass shatters against the wall. “I see you,” I repeat, much more quietly, the word becoming a sob.
“And this is bad?” I look at him; he’s serious.
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I lean my cheek against my arms. “I swore to mesel… myself that I would never let me get lo… lossst.” That’s a hard word when I’m this drunk. “In another,” oh man, not even gonna try that one. “Someone.”
He’s still got that stupid, cute little dumbfounded look on his face.
“Growing up in my family,” I begin, rather quickly sobering up, as these thoughts fight to the surface. “I had to do everything I could to stand out, to be me, instead of ‘one of the Scully’s.’ I was too many different people at once. Daddy’s little girl, Mom’s sweet little church-going angel. The wild child, when I was away from them, so that I stood out, yet fit in, with my brothers. But I wasn’t just Dana.” I don’t feel the tears forming in my eyes, but the look on his face tells me that I’m crying. “You never call me Dana,” I mumble, switching directions, leaving it up to him to follow me. “Only when you have to. Usually when you’re talking to someone else. I didn’t get asked if I wanted to be ‘Scully’ forever. I knew it was how it worked at the Bureau, but I’m just Scully now. The only people who call me Dana are my family. And my mother’s priest. Why?”
He remains where he is, not moving, just watching me. “Do you want me to call you Dana?” he asks softly.
“Jesus Mulder,” I answer sharply. “This isn’t about what you call me. It’s about who I am. I’m not Dana anymore. Don’t you get it? That’s what scares me.” Oh Christ, I didn’t want to admit that to him.
His eyes clear, quickly, at the revelation, as I knew they would. He does just what I’d expect a good Mulder to do – read between the lines, to what I’m not saying. “I scare you,” he deduces softly, almost to himself.
“What you want us to be, scares me,” I clarify, completely sober now. Who needs coffee? “What you do to me, scares me. When you’re just being Fox Mulder, FBI agent, you don’t scare me. I rather like him. But when you’re…” I don’t even know how to explain it. Read my mind, like usual, Mulder. Figure this one out for me. “When you’re trying to be my lover, and the man who loves me, you absolutely terrify me.
“Why?”
“Shit Mulder, don’t play shrink.”
He sighs, and shakes his head. “I wasn’t. I don’t understand, and I’m trying to.”
I feel a sob rising, and I try to stop it. “I don’t either,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “There’s a reason that everyone thinks I’m made of ice Mulder. I tried to project that image. I wanted to be cold, and hard, because to make it, to do what I wanted to do, in a ‘man’s world’ I had to be. And that was fine, until you were thrust into my life. And you were so damned passionate about what you believed, you started bringing that out in me. And I fought it. Hard. Sometimes, I even won. But not as often as I would have liked.
“And now, I’m afraid that I don’t know how to be… detached anymore. That was my lifeline Mulder.” I have to laugh at that, even as the sound is strangled. “Being able to not let things affect me kept me alive, it kept me sane. And I feel like I’m losing it. All of it.”
He doesn’t say anything. I think that makes it easier.
I force myself up again, and I look down at him. His eyes are focused at about my knees. “I…” Okay, this one’s harder. “I love you Mulder. But I don’t even know how to do that right.”
He doesn’t blink. Barely breathes. Still doesn’t speak. So I walk out of my apartment, outside. It’s raining, but I don’t notice it.
I don’t feel much of anything right now.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
TITLE: Till The End Of Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’ FEEDBACK: you know you wanna.
SPOILERS: Milagro
RATING: ?
CLASSIFICATION: A/almost back to MSR (are you enjoying these yet? lol)
SUMMARY: Mulder again… and it’s ALMOST over.
Disclaimer: looking down at self Sure, okay, I see the resemblance to the cool surfer-dude genius who lives in the Palisades (CC) and the cool computer-goddess who lives in the greater Seattle area (me) sure, I do.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
Till The End Of Time
“I…” I hear her voice falter, but I still don’t look up at her.
“I love you Mulder.” My heart clenches slightly, just hearing those words. I’m about to look at her, when I hear her continue. “But I don’t even know how to do that right.”
Shit.
I barely hear her footsteps, but the sound of the door closing is as loud as a gunshot. However, I remain on the floor.
I should go after her, I really should. But something tells me she doesn’t want me to.
And I don’t know if it’s better to listen to myself, or her.
I usually listen to me, and then she gets hurt. Maybe I should try it the other way.
Slowly, I force myself up, and walk to her window. Looking out, I see her standing in the middle of the sidewalk, rain pouring heavily down around her. She’s shivering in her t-shirt, but she doesn’t appear to care.
As I watch, she walks away, toward the park that’s a couple of blocks from here.
What she wants be damned.
Reaching blindly, I grab her jacket from the hook by her door, and head out of the apartment.
Practically running, feeling my feet slip out from under me once or twice, I catch up with her quickly, and without saying anything, drape the jacket over her shoulders. She jumps at the touch, and I think that had she had her gun, she would’ve pulled it.
“We have to talk. And I mean really talk. None of this running away because it gets too hard bullshit.” She stares up at me for a moment, but doesn’t speak. Finally, she nods, and turns again, still heading for the park.
No one’s there. The rain is coming down in buckets, we probably shouldn’t be out here, but if this is where she wants to be…
There’s a small playground in the center of the park, and I follow her towards it. She sits in one of the swings, and for a brief moment, wrapped in her coat, her wet hair stinging around her face, I get a glimpse of what she must’ve been like as a child. But she blinks, and turns to me, and it’s gone. There’s a rather expectant look on her face; I realize she’s waiting for me to start this one.
Fair enough.
If I knew how.
I slowly sit in the swing next to her, turning to look at her. I feel like we’re a pair of teenagers on our first date, with the awkwardness that surrounds us.
Reaching over, I brush a strand of hair from her eyes. “I don’t even know what to tell you Scully,” I whisper, barely audible above the falling rain around us. “I probably should have seen this, but I didn’t. I honestly didn’t realize that you were feeling so lost.”
“What did I tell you about playing shrink?” she asks sharply, refusing to look at me.
“Don’t?”
She nods once. “And what are you doing?”
I have to smile sheepishly at that. “Playing shrink. I’m sorry, I just don’t know any other way to do this.”
Her head slowly pivots on her neck, to look me in the eye. “Then why do it?”
The smile instantly leaves my face. “Because I want us to work this out. I’m sick of constantly having to walk on eggshells around you, sure, but damnit Scully,” I reach over and take her hands, squeezing hard. “Do you even realize that I would gladly do that the rest of my life, if I have to? If that is the only way that I can be around you, I’ll do it.” I stare down into her eyes, until she finally looks away. “Do you honestly want that?”
Slowly, she looks back at me, and her head shakes. Once. “No,” she whispers. “But Mulder, I don’t know how to do this, I’m afraid to learn, and we can’t make us work otherwise.”
I only hear one part of that sentence. “Why are you afraid?” I ask softly, finally loosening my hold on her hands, but not letting them go. “Are you afraid of me?”
“I already answered that question Mulder,” she mumbles, her eyes averting once again.
Letting her hands drop, causing the swings to move away slightly, my eyes shut. Slowly, I move, and kneel on the cold, wet sand in front of the swing she’s on. “Not quite. Are you afraid to get close to me? That’s what I’m asking.”
As I blink my eyes open to look at her, I see tears slipping down her cheeks, mingling with the raindrops. “I’m afraid of myself, with you. I’m afraid of who I am, and more-so, who I’m not, when I’m with you Mulder.” She lays her hand on my cheek for a moment. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, when I really think about it,” she tells me, her voice so soft that I can barely hear her. “It’s me.”
Oh god do I understand that.
Leaning up slightly, I kiss her forehead. “Scully, I want you to be happy. That, above everything else, is what’s important.” Swallowing, finding it difficult, I feel tears pricking my eyes. “I think you should go away for a while. Just a couple weeks, assess things. Then, if you find that you’re better off without me, I want you to leave.”
She doesn’t argue with me, and I don’t expect her to.
“I love you, probably too much to be good for you,” I whisper, as I stand, my fingers touching her hair softly. “And if you need to be away from me, then that’s what I want for you.” Slowly, I turn, walking toward my car.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
She’s been gone almost two weeks. I arranged for three. Skinner didn’t even look up from his desk as I requested it for her. He didn’t ask why I was, either. I think he knew. He’s a smart guy.
I’ve gone through my apartment five or six times, and totally cleaned. I’ve re-arranged, and then put it all back.
I’m so afraid she won’t come back.
And part of me is afraid she will. Mostly, because she’s Scully and she’s likely to come back, simply for me. She’s stayed, I know, many times simply because she knows how much I need her. But I don’t want that. I won’t allow it, not this time. Something’s gotten too far off-track for her, she has to live for herself, not for me.
Living for me is slowly killing her, from the inside out.
I went to work twice since she’s been gone. I don’t care anymore. Not now, anyway. Things being in limbo don’t exactly inspire me to go look for the paranormal.
And if she leaves, I don’t know if I’ll continue. I’m not sure I can, without her. For so long, this was my quest, my search for the answers. But Scully worked her way into it, and now I’m not sure I can keep it up without her.
I don’t like needing to have people around, my father always told me that needing people was a sign of weakness, and as a child… it scarred me slightly.
Scully watches my back, she saves my life, and she sustains my soul. She’s my life, and I need her.
I should stop this, I’m just making her being gone worse.
I called her mother yesterday. Mrs. Scully all but yelled at me for hurting her baby, and then apologized rather profusely, saying she knew how much I loved her daughter, and that I didn’t deserve that. Sure I did. But have you ever tried to convince a mother they’re wrong about anything?
I had just called her to see if she’d heard from Scully; I just wanted to know if she was okay.
I never did find out.
Mrs. Scully and I had a nice, long talk, actually. About what makes us love one another, and why we seem to always hurt those that matter most. She told me about her relationship with Scully’s father. How they used to fight like there was no tomorrow (her words, thank you) and they’d always end up saying something to one another that they knew, as the words were leaving their mouths, would hurt.
She explained that the reason was simply that they didn’t know how to do anything else. They had both been raised seeing that – fighting – as how you dealt with what was wrong. And that yes, they’d hurt each other, but they knew that they loved one another, and they could work through things, because of that.
Scully, she told me, used to always come to her after Mrs. Scully and her husband had had a fight, and she tried to hide her emotions from her daughter. That’s where she picked it up. She watched her mother.
When I finally hung up the phone, I had quite an interesting insight into Scully’s psyche.
But I still didn’t know how she was.
Sighing, I get up, and walk to the window, staring out. There’s a little bit of sun poking through the clouds, but the rain’s still falling, rather hard.
Maybe I should call the Gunmen, see what they’re up to.
Something to get my mind off Scully.
Okay, that’s laughable. And not going to happen.
I miss her.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
TITLE: Once Upon A Time
AUTHOR: Brynna
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere you deem it worthy. If you’ve got a second, I wouldn’t mind a note tho; I like to visit my ‘kids.’
FEEDBACK: Of course! 🙂
SPOILERS: Unnatural
RATING: There be sex in here. hehe
CLASSIFICATION: mild A/MSR (FINALLY!!)
SUMMARY: And it’s the ‘happy ending’ folks.
HUGE THANKS: To my dear friends, Trixie, Brandon & Eve, who have put up with more… insanity from me over the past few weeks. Thanks for staying on my case to finish this!! Love you all.
Quick Note: Okay, I know this is post-Unnatural, but the ice cream scene isn’t in here. Sorry, but I couldn’t find anywhere to work it in. (if you close your eyes really tight, you can just pretend it’s there. :-))
Disclaimer: I’ll understand the question the day CC lets us see this on-air…
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
Once Upon A Time
I’m standing in Mulder’s hallway, staring up at the numbers on his door.
Again.
I seem to be in this position a lot lately, especially if it’s after an extended period of no contact.
It seems it’s my job to extend the olive branch.
But this time I do have to be the one to do it.
He told me to go, that he loved me too much for my own good, and that if what I needed was to get away from him, then he would not only respect that, but encourage it.
He got me the three weeks off, no questions asked, and basically made me leave.
I have to admit, I pretty much went willingly.
It did feel good, to clear my head. I’ve been walking around in this fog for a long time now. But three weeks away, I know exactly what’s going on, and what I want.
Which brings me to Mulder’s door.
His car wasn’t out front, and so I pull out my key, letting myself in.
He’s cleaned. Mulder cleaned.
Okay, I’m afraid.
Smiling as I run my fingertips over a perfect stack of magazines, I sit on the edge of a couch cushion. He must’ve been very bored, to actually make this place this nice.
Standing again, I walk over to his video shelf. About half of the movies are missing. I know which ones are gone; he moved the porn. Narrowing my eyes slightly, at the box of empty tape cases next to the shelf, I have to blink at them a couple times, in surprise. He didn’t move them; it looks like he got rid of them.
Moving slowly, I walk through his apartment, taking the time to re-memorize everything. Tapping some food into his fish tank, and tracing the keyboard of his computer, memories assault me from all angles. I almost get trapped in a reverie, when I hear his key in the lock.
Turning to face the door, suddenly feeling like a nervous teenager, I wait for it to open.
He swings the door wide open, a couple of boxes in his hands.
“Movin’ out?”
The sound of my voice causes the boxes to fall to the ground. Good thing they were empty. “Was thinkin’ about it,” he answers, standing in the doorway, just staring at me.
“Going far?” I still don’t move toward him, just stand in one spot, staring at his face. He shrugs once. “You were planning on sneaking out without your partner?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
I take a step toward him, then stop. “Mulder,” I murmur, licking my lips. “I owe you an apology. I’ve been acting really weird lately, and you haven’t deserved any of it.”
He nods, the movement almost mechanical. “Accepted. So now what?”
Taking a deep breath, moving quickly, I walk to his side. Reaching up, I gently cup his face in my hands, and tug him down to my level, even as I stand on tip-toe. When he’s closer, my lips press against his in the softest kiss I can manage. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react, just stands there while I kiss him.
Pulling back slightly, I stare into his eyes. “Hi,” I whisper, praying he’ll understand, not knowing how to explain right now.
His eyes search mine, and I know that I tore down my walls before I walked into the apartment, so he’s seeing me this time. The most beautiful smile crosses his face. “Hi,” he whispers back, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, his head bent and pressed against my shoulder.
Exhaling slowly, I hug him back, my eyes shutting. “I got to do some serious thinking,” I begin, still holding him. “And I realized that I was being stupid. I’m still not sure I understand everything that’s been going on, but I think that the combination of everything just got to be too much, and I stopped letting myself be happy. I know that I thought that I didn’t deserve to have you, to be happy.” His head lifts slightly, and he’s about to say something when I shake my head. “Not yet,” I tell him softly. “Let me talk first. I realized that I was punishing myself for something that I had no control over – the pain of those I love, that was caused by… whoever it was. By Them. I was blaming myself. And I was sinking further and deeper into this self-loathing that I was feeling.” Smiling at him, my fingers trace over his cheek.
“And you weren’t letting me stay there. So I lashed out at you. And it was stupid, it was pointless, and I only succeeded in hurting both of us more.”
“Can I say something?” Mulder asks me softly, his fingers rubbing small circles on my scalp, flat-out refusing to let me go. I nod once, smiling slightly. He bends, and kisses me, gently. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear, his way of telling me that I can take as much time as I need to explain, as long as I’m not going anywhere. I see this reflected in his eyes when I look at him.
I accept it, for now. I may have thought the entire drive back here about what to say, but I still don’t know. “I know you do.” Nodding down at the boxes, I raise an eyebrow. “What’s the deal with those Mulder?”
He gives me a sheepish smile. “I was thinking about just packing up the important stuff and moving in with the Gunmen. I thought you weren’t coming back, and I can’t continue on the X-Files without you. Nor did I have a desire to stay here, if you were gone.”
“So that’s where the tapes went.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, brushing his fingers over the side of my neck. “Frohike’s watching them for me. Quite literally, I’m sure”
I feel my eyebrow raise again. “I’m sure he’s happy,” I answer, smiling a little. Taking a breath, I slowly remove myself from his arms. “I’m going to go up to my moms for a couple hours, okay? You and I need to talk some more, but I need to go tell her thank you for something. How about we have dinner tonight?”
Slowly, he nods, staring at me. “I love you too Mulder,” I tell him softly, turning and slipping out the door.
⯌ ⯎ ⯌
A ballpark. Mulder, not my idea of a place to talk. Especially, when it involves you, and presents. Of any sort.
Walking over to the fence, I have to smile at him, standing there with the baseball bat in his hands. “So,” I say quietly, waiting for him to look toward me. “I get this message marked ‘urgent’ on my answering service from one Fox Mantle telling me to come down to the park for a very special, very early, or very late birthday present. But Mulder, I don’t see any nicely wrapped presents lying around. So what gives?” I’m asking so much more, and I know he knows it, but he wants to let this go for a while, so I suppose I can indulge him.
“You’ve never hit a baseball, have you Scully?” I answer in the negative, and he stops, giving me a Look to match some of my own. “Get over here Scully,” he murmurs, this ‘fuck-me’ look on his face that I used to have to force myself to ignore.
Walking to his side, I stand there, as he maneuvers me to where he wants me, his arms wrapping around my body. I half-listen to him going on about hips before hands and shaking hands with the bat, responding at the appropriate moments.
He’s turning my body into the swing, connecting with the ball. His lips are brushing against my hair as he talks, about forgetting all my problems. I’m still not quite paying full attention, but I hear something about my biological clock, and a jacket. He steers away from what we both are thinking about, and keeps talking, stepping us into swing after swing.
We must do this for almost an hour, before the kid on the pitchers mound announces that he has to go home. He and Mulder get into a small debate on how much he’s supposed to get paid, and when he finally leaves us alone, he’s got more money than even he asked for.
I drop the bat, and walk to Mulder’s side, where he’s pocketing his wallet. “That was nice.”
“Yeah, but he just robbed me blind.” Smiling down at me, Mulder touches my shoulder. “But if you enjoyed it, it was worth it.”
“I did, but it wasn’t my plan for this evening.”
Nodding, his hand strays up to my cheek. “I know.” Pointing behind me, he grins. I turn, and see a blanket spread out in the outfield, food set out. That must’ve been the extra cash to the kid. “Took care of that part too.” Taking my hand, he leads me over to the blanket. “I just thought you might want to relax before we dove into anything else.”
Smiling as I look into his eyes, seeing a happiness in them that I can’t remember ever seeing, I sit, tugging him next to me. “Thank you.” He just nods, and silently hands me food. He’s waiting for me to say anything, if we’re going to talk. “I suppose there isn’t too much that I can actually say, is there?”
“I’m not looking for, and I don’t want, a fairy tale explanation Scully.” He takes a bite of his food, and slowly chews. “I don’t even need you to say anything else, unless you want to. You came back, you want to be back, that’s all that matters.”
Chuckling, the sound close to bitter, I take a bite myself, allowing it to give me a moment to think. “I dunno Mulder, perhaps we’re writing a reality-based fairy tale here. And yes, I’m back, I’m not leaving again. And I want us, however we end up. I can’t promise you that I won’t lose it again, but… I trust you’ll pick me up if I do.”
“Always.”
We lapse into silence to eat, neither of us needing to say more. Halfway into a bottle of wine, the food long since gone, I lean over, and kiss him, softly. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper, the first words I’ve spoken in close to an hour.
“Missed you too,” he answers, sliding closer, arms going around my waist. “We’re going to be okay, right Scully?”
Resting my head on his shoulder, I nod. “I think we are Mulder.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Whose home?”
He shrugs, and pulls me a little closer. “I was thinking yours, because the bed’s a little more comfortable than my couch, but it’s up to you.”
I can’t help but smile, and kiss the skin of his neck softly. “That sounds fine.”
We reluctantly disentangle ourselves, and pick up the leftovers and blanket. “I’m assuming you drove?” he asks, wrapping his arm around my waist. I nod, and he smiles. “Good, because I didn’t.”
The walk, then drive, seems to take an extra long time, but finally we arrive at my apartment. Leaving everything in the car, we silently make our way inside. Once the door to my place shuts, I grab him, pulling his head down, kissing him hard.
He kisses me back for a moment, then stops me. “I want to make love to you tonight Scully,” he whispers, his mouth so close to mine that I inhale his breath as he speaks. “All those things I’ve never done…” He slowly peels my jacket off, then his own. His hands move quickly, but caressingly, stripping my clothes from my body. He makes no move to undress himself. Stopping, leaving my clad only in my bra and panties, he lifts me into his arms, kissing me slowly, deeply, his tongue moving over the inside of my mouth. Carrying me to the bed, he sits me on the edge, and kneels in front of me.
Reaching, I unbutton his shirt, while his mouth runs over my throat. Pushing the material from his shoulders, I let my fingers run over his bare skin as his lips make their way over my breast, closing over my nipple. I hear myself gasp as he begins to suck, through the thin lace covering my breasts. His hands settle on my hips, and slowly work my panties down, as I move slightly to help him.
Now I’ve felt Mulder’s touch, many times before. But this time it’s like – the first time. He’s touching me so slowly, almost teasingly, his fingers brushing up my thighs, once the small scrap of lace is on the floor. He gently pushes me back, and releases my breast.
Finding it harder to catch my breath, knowing what his intent is, I lay back, my eyes shut, tracking his movements inside my head. My hands move to touch his hair, just stroking it slowly while he traces over, it feels like, every inch of my bare skin. My legs still hang over the edge of the mattress, and he parts them, settling closer to my body. I feel his breath puffing gently over me. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to taste you?” he whispers, the words causing me to moan.
I feel him chuckle slightly, more than I hear the sound, half a second before his lips touch me, and his tongue darts out, flicking once over my clit. Finding it impossible to contain a small whimper, I bite gently on my lower lip as his mouth moves over me, darting inside my cunt, licking at my wetness.
“Do I do that to you?” he asks huskily, raising his head for a moment. I can only nod, not even opening my eyes, as I feel him lips close over my clit, sucking at it like he had my nipple. It doesn’t take much of this, before my hands clutch at his hair tightly, my body jerking against his mouth. I whisper his name as I come, unable to say anything else.
I barely notice that he’s moved, and moved me in the process, until his full weight is lying on top of me. One of his hands slips under my back, unclasping my bra and tossing it aside. “I love the way you taste,” he whispers into my ear, teeth gently tugging at it.
“That was worth waiting for,” I mumble, barely able to breathe, feeling the roughness of his jeans against my highly sensitized skin. “However, you’re a little over-dressed.”
Chuckling huskily, the sound quickly becoming one of my favorites, Mulder rolls halfway off me, removing his jeans and boxers in one quick motion. “Have I told you how much I love you?” he asks me, grabbing my hips and gently pulling me closer.
“Once or twice.” Kissing him, one of my legs draping over his hip as we lie on our sides, holding onto each other.
Feeling his fingers close over my hip, pulling mine even more snugly against his own, I move where he guides me, moaning softly into his mouth as his hard cock slips inside me.
Almost instantly picking up a perfect rhythm of moving together, our mouths never separating, I stay wrapped as tightly around him as I can. This is definitely a different experience than any other time we’ve been together. Everything’s changed between us, and I didn’t, honestly realize it was possible for this to get this much better.
His fingers move from my hip to between us, resting on my clit. He doesn’t move them, just creates pressure as he thrusts inside me. I can feel his body tensing, and his hips moving against mine faster, harder, his orgasm starting. His deep groan, combined with the feel of him coming inside me sets off my own orgasm, and I clutch at him harder, almost clinging to him.
Slowing his movements, he rolls us slowly, laying on his back, settling me onto his chest. “This is…” Mulder takes a deep breath, and I settle my head where I can hear his heart. “This is good Scully.”
One eyebrow automatically raises, even as I know what he’s talking about. “The sex was never the problem,” I tease softly, bringing a hand up to rest on his cheek.
His head turns, and his lips press against the center of my palm. “No, it wasn’t,” he answers softly. “But I meant us.”
Nuzzling my nose against his chin, I nod. “I know.” Letting my eyes shut, I feel myself slowly drifting to sleep.
So if this is a fairy tale, we may have missed the good ‘once upon a time,’ but the ‘happily ever after’ seems within reach.
The End
EX-LIBRIS: X-LIBRIS
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