TITLE: The Link
AUTHOR: bugs
E-MAIL: bugs1231@my-dejanews.com
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: V, R, Scully POV, Post-ep. for Biogenesis
SPOILERS: Biogenesis
SUMMARY: Deeply affected by what she's seen in Africa, Scully
rushes to be with Mulder in the hospital, and they find a new way
to communicate.
DISCLAIMER: You mean CC won't be contacting me to use this story
as the season 7 premiere? Bummer.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is some mindless smut created out of CC's
very thought provoking season 6 cliffhanger, which is terrible of
me. So I'll blame whoever put up a challenge on the Heathers'
SmutList. Much thanks to the quick beta reads from Alicia and
Finn.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

It is not good that the man should be alone;
I will make him a help meet for him…Genesis 2:18

 

 

It's late, but there's no way I'm waiting until morning. I have
to see him now. I have to tell him everything. He has to know
what I've seen, what I can now hear in my thoughts.

As I stride down the hospital corridor, I sweep a guard
aside. He gives way easily, probably frightened by what he sees
in my eyes, what must appear to be an almost religious fervor.

But I'm only drunk. Drunk on lack of sleep, with only a few
catnaps in forty-eight hours. Drunk on the few watered down
cocktails I slammed back on the flight, keeping myself from
shattering into a million molecules. Drunk on these visions of
truth.

And I know there is only one person on this earth who will
understand what I've seen. I must see him now.

I try to walk a straight line, but it's no longer possible. My
body no longer knows where it is, what time it is. It has whirled
around this planet so fast, it's still dizzy. I left this place
on Tuesday, arrived in Africa Monday, returned on Tuesday, is it
Monday again? Do I get to start life over? The clock in the hall
says 3 am. I'll take its word for it.

I demand they open the door, and a half-asleep attendant relents
under my waving badge. The heavy door is unlocked. I stride into
the shadowed and cold room.

Mulder is in the farthest corner, apparently catatonic, but I know
he isn't. I hear his jumbled, rambling thoughts, and I try to
soothe him with my own tranquil, peaceful images, but he'll have
none of it.

I sink down in the opposite corner, my suddenly weak legs glad for
the relief. I wait. I know he will come to me, like a wounded,
curious animal.

Slowly, in the shadows, he slides along the walls towards me. I
pretend not to notice and project more calm thoughts to him.
There is no furniture at all in this hole, and the dusty gray
surfaces have drained my soul in the few moments I've been here.

Now he is beside me, his body giving off no warmth. His cool
flesh touches my side, sealing us together.

"You left me here."

I respond, "I went to get your answers."

"Did you find them?"

I turn and see his eyes have come alive. He knows me. He knows I
would never fail him. "Let me show you," I say as I touch his
face lightly.

His eyes close, but the flame remains lit. I can feel him warming
under my fingertips. "We can't speak, they'll hear," I murmur.
"Come see what I found."

Finally, he opens himself to me. I take his hand, and lead him
across the warm, tropical sand towards the ocean. Our feet
surrounded by the whirling tide, we crouch together and our hands
stretch out to touch the edge of the answer, the answer to all his
questions. It tells us everything we want to know.

"See?" I prod out loud.

His eyes open for me again, deep as the sea. "Yes.
Thank you."

Such a small thing, gratitude, but it brings tears to my eyes.

He breathes in deeply. I know he is taking in my scent. It's
been a long two days in this crumpled outfit. I smell of Africa,
the musky, primal odor of life created, lived and lost in a
single, humid, equatorial day.

He smells antiseptic and stale. I must change that. I lean into
his body, covering as much of his gray surface with my vibrant,
hot colors as I can.

He greedily seeks more of my heat, his icy lips sliding over my
skin, sucking energy. I gladly give it, shedding my wrinkled
blazer to give him more to touch.

He seems grateful. He draws in ragged breaths like a worn-out
runner.

His thoughts say, 'I've been alone for so long. I can't stand it
another moment.'

My answer is to push his limp body into the dark corner, propping
him up on the cold wall. I have to rise to yank off my top and
shed my bra. Pulling my long skirt up around my waist, I settle
back down on his thighs.

He resumes his exploration of my skin, mapping the surfaces with
his tongue and lips, calling me all the names he can recall from
the history of mankind, all the women who have come before me.

I pull at his gown, tearing it from his body. Gold should not be
hidden under sackcloth. He's tired, but his muscles still have
the form of strength. I do my own exploring, finding the answers
to questions I've been afraid to ask.

I freeze suddenly. The camera. Anyone could be watching. Diana
Fowley is probably seeing all of this.

I reach down to pull his mouth off of my aching breast, causing a
moan to escape us both. I grin before I begin to feast on his
rich lips. Let her watch. Maybe Skinner is there too. And if
we're really lucky, that smoking bastard and Krycek are skulking
in the shadows too.

There is nothing they can do. I know how long it takes to get
down to this room. We have enough time. We have all the time we
need.

His big hands have made their journey across my straining thighs,
lifted my buttocks to slip between the crook of my legs. My
underwear is twisted aside impatiently, he is seeking a warm pool
to dive into.

I lift myself up onto my knees and prop my hands on the wall. He
must find what he's looking for. He deserves it. My inner most
thoughts are exposed to his inquiring mind.

His lips return to my breast, and his tongue finds the nub of my
nipple to worry on as his fingers gently explore this new
territory in the darkness of my thighs.

"Hurry," I warn him.

He guides his straining penis up to me, and I sink down to find
him again. This time, I discover all of him, pulsing and engorged
with hot blood.

He must be exhausted. I send him these words, 'I'll be strong for
both of us.'

He smiles and answers wordlessly, with a sharp, upward thrust.
Perhaps we can search for our answers together.

I support myself on the wall, to keep my weight from his shaking
thighs, and allow myself to begin a primitive, undulating rhythm,
a dance under the moonlight of the harsh single bulb hanging in
the middle of the room.

We are not in this place. We are back in Africa, in a primordial
forest. We are the only man, the only woman. We are in a warm
pond, our bodies straining under the pounding water of a
thundering waterfall.

He answers this vision. "Woman."

"Man." I counter.

His thrusts lift me again and again. "My woman."

I push down to meet him, again and again. "My man."

I'm sure the video monitor shows a desperate and worn couple,
rutting in the corner of a filthy room on a mental ward, but the
viewer would be wrong.

We are the axis of the universe. We are a man and a woman, joined
as one. We are life.

I know Fowley is approaching. I can sense her fury.

But she's too late. Together, we have found our own moment of
truth. They weren't able to stop us.

The door bursts open and the room is flooded with light from the
hall. We can't move; we are still trying to return from our
journey.

Voices bounce off the hard walls, hands reach down to tear us
apart. I let them. It doesn't matter.

I fall back onto the floor, sweat cooling on my nearly nude
form and look up into the viperous dark eyes of Agent Fowley.

All I can do is laugh, and the peels of demented joy dance around
the room. I am in the right place. I am a madwoman.

Mulder's thoughts calm me. Thoughts of love, promises.

Fowley drops my top onto my prone form. I let it lie there on my
chest. They have dragged Mulder from the corner and pulled his
gown back on. They begin to hustle him towards the door and yank
me to my feet.

He is frightened. I convey to him, 'It doesn't matter. They can
do whatever they want with these bodies.'

He knows I speak the truth. No matter what happens now, we will
be forever linked, hand to hand, alone on our beach, somewhere on
the light side of this world.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The End

All feedback to bugs1231@my-dejanews.com, please.