|
Burning on Re-entry by bugs SUMMARY: Houston, we have
a problem. |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1:
"What's the last thing you remember?"
she asks. Her twitching fingers
pleat the crisp white sheet beside my inert arm.
I have to stop examining the familiar
planes of her face, noting all
the subtle little changes, to search my fragmented memory. "I
remember..."
...The warmth of her necklace coming
to rest on my suddenly chilled
skin as she stepped back. Her fingers briefly grasping, then
releasing
my index finger as the door to Skinner's office opened and the
others
poured out...
"...We didn't have a chance to kiss goodbye."
I remember our first kiss. It had been
sweet. I'm not even sure why I
did it. Testing my mettle? A new start for the new millennium?
I just
couldn't take it anymore? I don't know. All I know is; I did
it.
I kissed Dana Scully.
No big deal. I even put an arm around
her as we walked out of the
hospital. It wasn't much of a kiss, but I planned on doing a
better job
later.
I hadn't planned on 'later' being an
hour later, but she looked very
kissable in the dimness of my apartment. I liked how a scared/thrilled
chuckle got stuck on her protest. "Mulder, you're hurt--"
I didn't let my lips get any further
than grazing distance away from
hers as I replied, "But, Scully, it's midnight in Chicago."
"Whaaa?" Good. She was dazed.
Maybe she wouldn't notice I was twice as
terrified as she was.
I showed her my watch. "The millennium
has turned in Chicago,
Nashville, New Orleans--"
She pulled back just a bit to be able
to get enough breath to start
into her routine. "I told you, Mulder. The millennium will
not truly
change for another year."
I had her. "Then I'll kiss you for twelve months."
She almost knocked me unconscious with
the look she gave me. It was the
look I'd been hoping to see for a very long time. It was...offering.
Open. Soft and warm like a kitten's belly. I had to rub it.
Before she finally left, we'd celebrated
New Year's Eve back to the
International Date Line.
That wasn't what I'd expected at all.
When something finally happened,
I'd assumed Scully would just give me a look--the expression
like she'd
just found the chemical stain on the slide that proved she was
right
and I was wrong. She'd pull me into a closet and it would be
done,
fast, without enough thought for regrets.
Instead, she started slow and continued
that way. Evenings stretched on
for weeks with quiet meals, long silences on the couch before
she'd
finally tip her head in such a way I just had to kiss her. She
seemed
to have infinite patience. I felt like time was stretched tight
as a
taut fishing line.
But that first night, I had all that
time to think. Her kisses were
slow enough to compose closing arguments in the O.J. Simpson
trial. And
then she went home, giving me enough time before dawn to mentally
pack
my belongings in boxes, move them into her apartment, have our
first
fight, our next and next and next, be thrown out, and start all
over
again.
Dawn filled the forest with beams of
cold, blue light. The light wove
among dark trees, searching for my body to warm. I needed warmth.
I'd
been cold for so long.
"Mulder?"
"Mulder?"
I'm Mulder. I had to answer.
I forced open my mouth. It creaked when
I parted my lips. My tongue was
made of cement. I couldn't manipulate it. "Scu?"
"No, Mulder. It's Maggie Scully."
Terror burned the lids from my eyes. "Scully!"
A dove's white wing, this woman's fingers,
brushed my forehead. "Fox,
dear, it's all right. Dana isn't here. She's on her way."
Something was wrong. Scully was always here.
I found out the first time hurts the
most. I'd assumed I would drift
out of a forest to consciousness. Instead, I fell, like tumbling
from
the branch of a tree, and landed in the bed with an unpleasant
bump.
The mattress was a pebble-studded riverbank.
My sheet and blanket held
me down like a deep, rushing river. I was being crushed back
to earth.
I was barely able to breathe. Capable
of only very shallow respiration,
I had to concentrate on staying alive. Large terror-filled eyes
hovered
above me, floating in and out of a round pale cloud.
Other eyes, whirling and spinning over
me like swallows joined them. I
had to close my eyes. It was too much. I was a coward and welcomed
back
the cold darkness.
***
The next time I came to, Scully was
there asking me questions.
Questions I didn't want to answer. The only thing I can clearly
remember is my burning desire to kiss her goodbye. There was
that
weakness we were both worried would ruin our work relationship.
That's why her face looks so pinched
when I say that's all I can
recall. She shifts in her seat and can't meet my gaze. She spends
a lot
of time going over my records and test results.
I don't care, but I listen as she gives
me the information. I only want
to go home with her.
"We can't find any chips or implants."
She allows herself to glance at
me quickly. "But we can't take that as a sign you weren't...tagged.
They may have developed even smaller implants." Determined,
she
finishes, "We'll continue scanning and testing your body."
I hear her voice come out of my throat. "No. No. No."
She grasps my hand and I can't imagine
how she can lift its immense
weight. I don't have the strength to pull away.
"Mulder, I want to know you haven't
been hurt." She gives me a wavering
smile. "I need you to be in one piece."
"Home. I want to go home," I whisper.
She purses her lips and shifts in her
chair again. "You have to gain
strength, Mulder. You can barely move. You can't walk or feed
yourself--"
The darkness understands what I need. It takes me home.
I remember trying to get to sleep after
my return from a fool's errand
in England. Not just my body's clock had been off, but my internal
thermometer as well. Just as I'd become drowsy, I'd get hot and
wake up
again. Then my mind would whirl around like crop circles. At
night, I
usually like to watch TV until I can't possibly keep my eyes
open
another moment, but I couldn't that evening.
Scully was asleep out on my couch, snuggled
under my blanket. So I lay
in my bedroom, listening to the 'flip' of the numbers changing
on my
clock. Trying not to think, but doing it anyway. Scully and another
man. Another faceless man.
Had he been her first? An older man,
in authority of an impossibly
sweet, fresh, freckled-faced young woman, who fucked her in his
office
because he couldn't take her to his home where his *wife and
daughter*
were?
Now that she wasn't in the room, I could
allow my emotions free ranting
range.
I hoped his small heart crushed him to death.
I must have looked insane to her, as
she stood in the doorway, bleary-
eyed. I was board-rigid under a sheet--my fists tight at the
end of
straight arms-- staring at the ceiling fiercely.
I forced my voice to be casual. "Scully?"
She mumbled, "I was just going to use the bathroom and go home."
I pushed myself upright. "You can't
drive home this tired. Let me get
dressed--"
She held up a hand. "No, Mulder. You must be exhausted--"
I shook my head. "I wasn't sleeping--"
She tried logic. "If you drive
me there, my car will be here. If you
drive my car, you'll be trapped at my place. I'll be fine--"
A huge
yawn split her face and belied her assertion.
I went for logic myself. "How much
sleep have you had in the past
couple of days?" I'd gotten out of bed, and laid my hands
on her
shoulders. She tipped her head up to meet my gaze, and her eyelids
were
heavy.
I said, "Not much. Listen--Get
out of those clothes." I eased her
jacket off and tossed in on the foot of the bed. My fingers fumbled
at
the buttons of her top. "Put on a tee shirt. Get in bed.
I'll go out on
the couch--"
She stopped me there. "Don't be
silly." After a couple of futile pulls
at the zipper's tab, her skirt finally dropped. She rolled down
her
hose and grumbled from under her sheet of hair, "Get in
bed with me.
Perhaps you'll catch my exhaustion." Pulling my favorite
Yankees tee
shirt over her head, she'd managed that cool/aggravating maneuver
women
do, where they remove a bra from under a shirt through an armhole.
I went over to 'my side' of the bed
and got between the sheets. After
giving a quick, shy kiss to my lips, she'd rolled over, creating
a six-
inch space between our bodies and had fallen immediately to sleep.
I
matched my inhalations to her deep exhalations and drifted for
a couple
of minutes before slipping away to join her.
~~~~~~~~~
Day 2:
Now my sleep is in black and white.
Black as death, then, suddenly ice-
sharp alertness. But I'm trapped in a body of stone. Eventually,
that
weight pushes me down to the darkness again.
I'm awake now.
No one is here. The hospital is quiet
with just the hum of machinery.
It reminds me of--
Fear, nausea, and uncontrollable shaking
ripple through this betraying
body.
I can't remember the place I was kept.
I only know I was gone. Whenever
I try to visualize my time away, I'm overcome with terror. Now
I can
understand why Scully didn't want to remember.
Even though I know she's not here, I
force my head to turn. The chair
beside me, huge as a throne, is empty. The indentation of its
hard,
plastic seat is a bottomless lake.
A nurse bustles in, her scrubs and bushy
hair make a flapping noise
like a fluffy chicken in my hypersensitive ears.
"Awake, Mr. Mulder?"
My tongue actually moves when I tell it to. "Yes."
She checks my monitors and makes notes
on my chart. The chicken now
scratches for grubs. Something more for Scully to read. "You're
a very
lucky man."
"Thank you."
Her kaleidoscope eyes spin, then sharpen.
My sarcasm doesn't escape
her. "Is there anything you need, sir?"
"What time is it?"
Her arm grows five feet long, a white
rubber hose, bending up to show
her watch to her huge, bright-green eyes. I blink rapidly to
try to
return everything to normal perspective. "4:30 in the morning."
"Could you call Agent Scully for me?"
Her face expands like a plate as her
expression changes to worry. "Are
you sure--"
"Yes, please."
After another moment of hesitation,
she picks up the phone and begins
dialing as I tell her the number. She holds the red-hot receiver
to my
ear.
Scully answers on the second ring, sounding
completely awake. "Yes?"
The word resonates like a gong's note.
I know that's not right. I have to admit
a part of me always got an
erotic tingle from hearing her rumbled, breathy, 'hewwo?' in
response
to my early morning calls.
"Scully, it's me."
She gasps.
"Scully?"
Her voice cracks-- a breaking branch--
when she responds. "Sorry,
Mulder. You...you just don't know how many nights I wanted to
hear that
on the phone."
Tears burn at my eyes. "Yes I do."
We sit in silence for a moment.
"Mulder?"
"Scully--" Now I don't know
what to say. If she's awake, why isn't she
here?
"Scully, could you come down here?"
"Is something wrong?" She sounds frantic in a flash.
"No--" I can tell she's distracted.
After a couple thousand telephone
conversations with her, I'd developed the ability to visualize
her
actions on the other end of the line. She's looking away, thinking
about something else when she asks, "Then what do you need?"
*You* really seems like a stupid response,
especially with the hose
bending up again so the nurse can look at her watch.
I get peevish. "Nothing. I'll see
you whenever." Unfortunately, I don't
have the ability to hang up before she can respond.
I can tell she's moving out of her bedroom,
closing the door behind
her. Her voice is low. Quickly, she says, "I'll be there
in about an
hour. All right, Mulder?"
I've begun to shake again. The worried
plate face looms over me. I feel
very emotionally fragile and hate myself for it. Angry at Scully,
I
burst out, "You don't have to come! I'll just be asleep!"
There is so much despair in her voice;
my anger turns inward again.
"No, Mulder. I'll come. It's just going to be a while. I
understand. I
know how you feel--"
After the nurse leaves, I think about
that statement. If she does know
how I feel, she didn't share those feelings at the time of her
return.
She was back to work within the week on that case at Mount Avalon.
Meanwhile, I can't raise my head from the pillow.
The fucking tears start again. I've
got to get a hold of myself. I want
to be the sort of man Scully should have, not the guy she's stuck
with.
Bile rises in my throat as I remember
the night she told me how my
mother died. First I'd thrown a fit, and then I'd cried like
a child.
Finally, when she was offering me comfort, rocking me in my bed,
I
tried to fuck her.
It had been just that. I wasn't going
to make love to her. For our
first time, I was going to grind into her, beat my flesh against
her
flesh, until, exhausted, I exploded. I would sleep, finally,
really,
really sleep. I just knew she would be able to do that for me.
I'd crawled on top of her, pulling at
her clothes, chewing at her
mouth. At first, she'd lain quiet beneath me, not fighting, but
not
encouraging me. When my hand reached down for my fly, her voice
was
sharp in the dark room.
"Mulder, no."
I stopped, horribly ashamed to the point of nausea.
Her hands had immediately begun to touch
me, combing through my hair,
rubbing my back as I started to sob again.
She whispered in my ear, "Mulder, it's okay. It's okay."
It hadn't been okay. I'd shown her what a user I can be.
She continued to be a rock while I made
my final search for my sister,
but when we got back home from California and I called her to
go to
dinner, she suddenly had something to do. She'd never had anything
to
do before.
For another couple of weeks, she was
distant to the point where she
seemed to be finding things to be pissed off about. I'd been
down that
road before. I know the classic break-up behavior. But the idea
that we
would ever 'break-up' in the traditional, dumping my gym clothes
on the
stoop, kind of way, just wouldn't compute.
So I kept calling. Sometimes she'd chat
on the phone, other times; she
still had something to do. Occasionally, she'd join me for dinner
again, even falling onto my mouth with a strange intensity before
jumping out of my car and hurrying to her door.
I spent hours tormenting myself--was
she rejecting me because I was
emotional basket case, or because I'd been a selfish pig when
she was
trying to support me? Or both?
Finally, after that killer virtual game
in L.A., I had a chance to show
her I could give, not just take. She was in a very strange mood
there,
but I managed to catch the wave of that mood as we were taking
off our
armor.
She'd been inspecting what would be
the latest addition to my scar
collection. At least this one would be a conversation piece at
the gym.
'Yeah, I got that one protecting my
girlfriend from a gun-toting,
cyber-Bitch with a rack 42 inches wide.'
A fishing story from a guy who doesn't fish.
She dabbed the cut with a cloth. "I swear, Mulder. One of these days--"
"One of these days, what?" I teased her gently.
Her hair was tousled. She smelled like
good, honest sweat. My codpiece
became tighter.
She wet her already glistening lips.
That interested me. It certainly
looked like flirting. There had been a vibration of unspent adrenaline
coming off of her ever since we'd escaped the cyber-chick.
Her eyes flicked to the door. I'd seen
her lock it as we came in, and
at the time, hadn't thought about it much. Now I thought about
it a
lot.
She growled, "One of these days,
Mulder, you're going to get yourself
killed."
Our mouths were very, very close. I
breathed, as not to break the
spell, "Oh, yeah? And are you going to be the one to do
it?"
"Uh, huh," she managed right
before we started kissing each other with
a frantic energy.
I was straddling the locker room bench
and gently tugged her hips until
she swung a leg over and settled onto my thighs.
We groaned in unison into each other's
mouths. This position did
interesting things to our costumes, pulling them taut against
over-
sensitive, hot flesh.
I gripped her waist and pulled her groin
snug to mine. She'd been
biting at my neck and at that move, she sucked hard enough to
mark me.
I gave a bit of a girlie giggle, but she didn't comment.
There was no way in hell I was going
to be able to get that outfit off
of her, and as incredible as this felt, I didn't get the impression
Scully was interested in rutting in a stinking, public locker
room
either.
I did decide she wouldn't mind if I
began to guide her crotch to rub
against my codpiece. *I* couldn't feel a damn thing through it,
but
from the expression of barely controlled ecstasy flitting across
her
face, which she was trying and failing to hide, I assumed she
could.
"Just go with it," I coaxed her.
"Mulder..." She was searching
her poor brain for a reason to stop, I
could tell. I increased the speed of my upward thrusts. She made
a
grab. "Mulder. We shouldn't--"
"We aren't," I argued through
gritted teeth. We'd never gone this far--
just some intense kissing sessions-- but maybe if she kept talking
long
enough, she wouldn't notice I'd helped her come.
She weakly protested, "We are..."
Then, "Oh, Mulder," she gulped, her eyes on fire.
I wished the lights were off. I was
sure she'd let herself go if she
was in the dark. I pulled her face down to bury it against my
black
shirt. She bumped her head up against my jaw, but kept rocking
against
me.
Finally, her body jerked to a stop and
her head rolled back. Our eyes
locked as she smiled, really, really, smiled. Her eyelids drifted
shut
and that smile softened to a loose, open mouth gasping for air.
I mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."
as she draped herself over me with one
final moan.
I earned my callback that afternoon.
Suddenly she was available again.
But even in my satisfaction at returning to our careful walk
across a
tightrope, I had to notice the flashes of her previous moodiness.
In my selfishness, I assumed it was
dissatisfaction with me. I even
wondered if a fear of a commitment to 'us,' a need to see what
else was
out there, drove her to hop in the car with the old smoking bastard
and
into the hospital room of her old lover.
Holding my breath as she made stumbling
admissions about her past and
her new revelations, I could hear the leather of my couch creak
with
our every movement. Her heightened sensory perception was catching.
I
could see she'd been dissatisfied with her life, not ours. Too
bad I
didn't say something supportive--find the right words to overwhelm
her
with love and passion...instead of putting her sleep.
Seven long years and I'm still not prepared
for this relationship.
That was just the thought to be having as Scully enters the room,
looking frazzled and faintly pissed off. Her hair appears as
though
she'd combed it with her fingers in the car, and she has no makeup
on.
Shockingly, her sweater is misbuttoned and has some odd stains
on it.
But at least she isn't rippling and twisting like a funhouse
mirror.
Sure enough, she heads for my chart.
"I'm fine," I say with no irony.
She ignores my protest.
"What are you doing awake this early?" she asks.
"What were you doing awake at this
hour?" I don't know what made me
ask, but I'm surprised to see her Bad Liar face come on.
Weakly, she responds after a pause, "I was going over some things."
"Oh."
She sinks into the well of the bedside
chair and picks up my hand,
cradling it, tracing the IV with her fingernail.
I pose another explosive question. "What are you keeping from me?"
"What?" she stutters with her matching Bad Liar voice.
"Nothing is right," I mutter.
Quickly, looking relieved, she says,
"It just feels that way at
first--"
"Scully, goddammit!" I roar,
"I can't fucking move! And nobody seems to
find that strange--"
Her quiet tone cuts me off. She's begun
to glow gossamer white to my
burning eyes. "Mulder, how long do you think you've been
gone?"
I hadn't considered it. "Uh--"
I have no sense of passing time. The
past is clear, but it stops at a cold edge, when the freezing
beam of
light covered me like an avalanche. "I don't know."
She takes a deep breath. "Fourteen months."
I'm overwhelmed. "What?!"
She's trying to calm me. "Mulder, don't get upset--"
My body can barely move, but I can yell.
"Don't tell me not to get
upset! I've lost my fucking life! A year!"
Firmly, she squeezes my arm until I
have to look at her. "But you're
back now. You have your life back."
"I can't move, Scully." I suddenly realize I'm scared.
Smiling, she reassures me. "You
will. Your muscles have to gain
strength. They've atrophied during your abduction." Pulling
back my
sheet and blanket, she grasps my ankle. "Here, let's do
some work. We
were going to wait until you'd recovered more before starting
physical
therapy, but I think you've shown you're ready."
This tiny woman is able to lift and
manipulate my leaden limbs with
grace and ease. I'm drenched in cold sweat within ten minutes,
but at
least I can shift my legs across the mattress, lift my head,
and clasp
my hands after half an hour of work.
She wipes my sweat away with a warm sponge, swabbing my body clean.
"Oh, thanks, Scully. You've fulfilled
Mulder's Fantasy #45," I tease as
she towels me off.
She blushes and looks unsettled. I'm
confused. I stumble on. "'Cause,
unfortunately, I didn't get myself shot those last couple of
months and
you didn't get a chance--"
She's still not smiling and my attempt
at levity is lost when a nurse
peeks in about the door. "Ms. Scully? There's a call for
you."
"Take--Oh, yes." She drops
the sponge in the basin and pastes the I Can
Lie face on. "Thank you. I'll be right there."
Quickly straightening my gown and pulling
my blanket back up, she says,
"I'll be back in a bit, Mulder."
"I'm not going anywhere," I assure her as she hurries from the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 3:
Skinner and Scully are tossing a ball
over my still body, chained to
its hospital bad.
The ball is a red-hot glance.
Meanwhile, they're making small talk.
Skinner: "You gave us a bit of a scare, Agent Mulder."
"I'm sorry."
He laughs heartily. "I didn't mean it that way, Mulder."
The ball is tossed back to Scully. He
says, "We're just glad to have
you back."
I must stop the game. "So, what's been going on while I've been gone?"
That works. Their eyes lock and the ball is mine.
Scully gives me a small, insincere smile
and forces out a laugh. "Ready
to go back to work already, Mulder?"
Skinner cuts in before I can answer.
"Don't think about that, Mulder,"
he says fiercely.
He and Scully nod. I nod. I'm not sure what I was agreeing to.
Scully takes my hand. "Yes, you
have to concentrate on gaining
strength. Are you still suffering from hallucinations?"
I glance over to Skinner. His head swells
until it resembles a hot air
balloon, drifting up to bounce against the ceiling.
"No."
"Mulder," she probes.
"Perhaps," I concede.
With artificial cheer, she pats the
back of my hand. "The doctors
aren't concerned for now. Don't worry."
"But I do worry, Scully," I state gravely.
The game starts again. Skinner tosses the ball back to her.
She tries to reassure me. "Don't,
Mulder. We're going to have another
physical therapy session. Isn't that good news?"
She wants me to agree. "Yes," I say.
We all nod again.
Yes, it is good news. The sooner I get stronger the sooner I can leave.
***
Scully doesn't spend more than an hour
at my side before she has to go
out to 'get a call.' After a few times, the nurse doesn't even
bother
with this lame excuse. She just sticks her beak around the door,
cawing, "Ms. Scully."
I'm exercising. Slowly, painfully, I
pull my body free of the magnetic
mattress, hanging onto a suspended bar like an anchor. The motion
and
all the intense concentration in the act remind me of making
love to
Dana Scully.
I'd spent some time fantasizing about
the first time Scully and I would
make love. A fair amount of time. I had several hundred scenarios
worked out, complete with schematics, ready to go.
It was still a complete surprise in all ways.
I'd always imagined it would grow out
of one of our meetings that might
be called dates by someone who didn't know us better.
Instead, one Friday afternoon, we both
cut out of work early. We'd been
taking work lightly after my latest hospitalization in North
Carolina.
She was going with a group of women from her church on a long
weekend
retreat. I went over to her apartment to drop off my tent. I
was
carefully explaining how to set it up, demonstrating in her living
room.
"Is this bad luck?" she asked.
Trying to get that damn little stick
to go into the proper opening and
not rip the canvas, I was only half-listening. "Huh?"
"Like opening an umbrella indoors," she suggested.
I turned to see if she was serious,
and she gave me one of those big
grins she'd been wearing lately, guaranteed to inflate my heart
to the
size of a Macy's parade float. Then it disappeared from her lips.
She walked up to where I knelt by the slowly collapsing tent.
"I'm going to miss you," she said with sincere pain.
She swooped down and began kissing me
slowly, but with a powerful,
clear intent. I let my hands come around her waist and pulled
her
closer by the curved handles of her hips.
Even as our physical closeness slowly
and sweetly grew towards the
obvious conclusion, I imagined our first time would be a frantic,
darkness-cloaked rush.
Instead, her bedroom was bathed in the
bright summer afternoon light,
sunbeams lazy with heat. All the drapes were open, and the sun
was
softly filtered by the floating sheers. The windows were open
and I
expected her to close them. She didn't and the muted grumbles
of
traffic and playing children were our accompaniment.
Her bedspread was lemon yellow and her
sheets glaring, clean white.
They were cool against my naked skin.
And everything was slow. She undressed
slowly--for me, I decided. I lay
on those sheets and just kept gulping down my fears. It wasn't
her
body. That I was familiar with. It was the act of disrobing.
I'd done my duty as quickly as possible,
like pulling off a Band-Aid.
She was always braver than I, in a lot of ways.
The first time, I'd planned to make
love to her all night long and into
the next day. Instead, we had just an hour before her friends
were
coming to pick her up. But she refused to hurry and I seemed
incapable
of rapid movement. All my limbs were stuck in low gear.
My leaden fingers dragged over her skin
so slowly, I expected them to
leave deep tracks. My leg could barely rise to drape over her
hip. My
head was so heavy, I could only roll it backward to bare my neck
to her
mouth.
Somewhere in the room, there was an
old-fashioned wind-up clock. It's
ticking became as loud as our rasping breathes. It was our timer
for
this moment.
She piled a mound of pillows at the
head of the bed, and crawled up,
spreading her thighs open. There was nothing wanton about the
gesture.
It was as direct and practical as Scully always is. She'd been
doing
some planning too. I'd been sure there would be trouble finding
a
position and a few false starts. Instead, I grasped the railings
on
either side of her head, and slid into her easily.
She smiled at me. She'd been smiling
at me a lot lately, but this was a
new smile. It started in her eyes. Their blue became thick and
deep as
turquoise under heavy eyelids. It bloomed across her flushed
cheeks.
It settled on her mouth, a blush, open blossom. It flickered
with her
tongue as it lapped at her lips. It whispered to me, "You
feel
incredible, Mulder..."
I'd been under a spell, frozen. It was
my turn to smile. "You do too,
Scully," I whispered back as I began to move. She'd piled
the pillows
high enough to give me an angle of deep penetration. We could
move with
the easy, hypnotic rhythm. I was reminded of slow-motion footage
of a
galloping herd of gazelles, the way my body starts to move just
from
watching them.
The clock's ticks become more insistent.
I quickened my pace. Her hands
wiped the sweat from my chest and swept across my ribcage to
massage my
back muscles. I could watch everything from my position, soaring
above
her. The sway of her breasts and the waves of arousal washing
over
them. The rivulets of sweat waterfalling off her torso. My dark
cock,
seeming to be frothing with creamy sweat, nestling in, then sliding
out
of her red curls.
This image fascinated me. I hung onto
the rails for dear life, rattling
them like bars to a cage, neck bent, so I could watch our bodies
contract and expand, over and over. Then I noticed she was watching
too. Our eyes met and she smiled again. My eyes stung and I realized
I
was crying.
She reached down and separated her pubic
hair, exposing her swollen
clit. I could barely choke out, "Oh god, Scully." I
wasn't sure if I
was offering a prayer to her clitoris, her, or her god.
"Yeah," she breathed, as she
delicately began to rub it with slick
fingers. With each plunge of my hips, her long fingernails scraped
my
sensitive skin. It only a slight touch but more stimulating than
any
aggressive stroke. It was elusive. It was fleeting. It was Scully.
She kept quiet, probably mindful of
the open windows. Her orgasm
sounded as light as the dip of a bird's wings when it lifts off.
But
inside, it felt as powerful as volcano caving in on me, burying
my cock
in unbearable heat and weight.
I hung on those rails, arched my back,
and kept my thrusts short and
fierce, gushing and gushing into her. I didn't think it was ever
going
to end. First my testicles were emptied, then my heart, finally,
my
brain cavity.
Sadness washed over me. I wanted to
grow deep into her--cling to her--
like a tenacious root. I'd hoped making love would complete our
connection but I realized I was going to have to pull away in
a moment.
It was a fleeting illusion.
Heartbroken, I fell into darkness, leaving
only a hot, white trail of
"Love you, love you, love you..."
"Mmmm..." moaned from under me.
"Move," I groaned. "Gotta
move." I became aware of the fact my face was
crushed between the headboard and a pillow and Scully was somewhere
beneath me.
Her hands immediately grabbed my ass,
holding me in place. Her voice
was definite in my ear. "No."
"Okay," I agreed quickly.
Ridiculous hope sprang up instantly. Maybe
she wanted to remain connected forever too.
Her breathing, brushing across my armpit, was slowing to normal.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Why!?"
"I was a little primitive there.
I didn't realize I had so much bodily
fluid stored up."
Her chuckle tickled. "I've kept
a pretty good eye on you. You've had it
stored up for a couple of years now, at least."
My brow furrowed as I tried to interpret
that. "I take care of regular
disposal. I don't have any hang-ups about spilling my seed."
I
immediately cringed at the unintentional reference to fertility.
She
didn't tense under me, however.
She replied, "Some things just
aren't the same when done...by hand."
She laughed at her own joke.
I had to look at her. She was in an
odd mood. Regretfully, I pulled out
and rolled off, ignoring her grumbling protest. I peered down
at her
reddened face, obscured by a swirl of matted hair. Pushing it
from her
eyes, I stared into them. She grinned.
"Dr. Scully, are you suggesting
you possess powers I could never hope
to duplicate?"
"Yeah," was her frighteningly
casual answer.
She turned her head to look at her bedside clock. Rising suddenly,
she
cursed. "Damn! I better shower quickly. They're going to
be here in
fifteen minutes." As she scrambled towards her bathroom,
she threw over
her shoulder, "Could you pack the tent for me?"
"Uh, sure," I mumbled. She
actually expected movement. I crawled out of
bed and tried to find all my clothes.
Somehow I had the tent back in its little
bag by the time she hurried
from her bathroom, all freshly scrubbed and blown dry. She gave
me a
quick, embarrassed glance before she checked over her backpack.
I shifted from foot to foot. "I
guess I should split before they get
here."
She came close and put a hand on my
chest, rubbing my crumbled tee
shirt in a circle over my heart. "You smell great...to me."
Smiling,
she added, "But it might shock some of the church ladies."
She smelled clean. She'd washed away
the odor of us and replaced it
with all the familiar Scully odors.
I nodded. Repeating her words, "I'll
miss you," I gave her a soft peck
on the neck, not wanting to disturb her makeup or hair. I remembered
women hate that.
She looked puzzled, and then that grin came back.
There had always been a brittleness
about Scully, like a tuning fork
that never stopped vibrating. As though she had to be ready to
prove
something to me all the time. Sometimes I admired her for it;
sometimes
it irritated the hell out of me.
After making love, the grin made sense.
It was confidence. Confidence
that loving me wasn't going to make me stop respecting her. And
perhaps
the perception that she has me whipped.
"Can I carry your backpack down?" I asked.
She seemed to consider the idea for
a minute as she fetched a heavy
coat from the closet. "Okay. Sure."
She did kiss me goodbye at the curb
before her friends drove up. I'm
sure because that's what you do when you're going to go away
for the
weekend and you've just fucked a guy so hard he can barely walk.
Day 4:
The guys have come to visit. Any hope
that this strange spell everyone
seemed to be under would have missed them is lost.
All three stand in front of me, wavering
on their feet like corn in the
breeze.
So happy to see familiar faces, however
distorted, I ignore the sharp,
cutting vibes. "What's new, guys?" I bubble out.
They freeze and become the three monkeys;
See No Evil, Speak No Evil,
Hear No Evil.
"Nothing!" they bellow in unison after a dreadful pause.
I know I can break them. "Let's go for a walk," I suggest.
Swinging my legs over the side of my
bed, I show off my ability to
stand.
But they're backing towards the door.
Frohike gulps, "Uh, Mulder, we
have to go. Something to do. We'll be back soon. Real soon."
Before I can lift another foot to try
to stop them, they've hustled
through the door, leaving me alone.
I wobble over to the chair by the window.
Exhausted, I drop into it.
Dusk has fallen over the city and the buildings are burning up
in pink
flames. The darkness drowns the fire, just as it kills me every
night.
I cry for the city.
The lights glow like white hot embers
and dance in the blur of my
tears.
With the Bureau's credit card paying
the bills, we'd danced, and danced
dirty. Or at least as dirty as Scully would allow in public.
After a couple of hours spent rubbing
our sweaty, hot bodies together
on a dance floor, she finally gave up. I was proud of myself.
I held
out longer than she did. She whispered, "Let's go back to
the hotel
room. I wanna..." She gave me a sloppy smile. We'd had a
lot to drink.
"Wanna take a bath."
Oh, yeah. I can remember the excitement
as though she's saying those
words now. I'd never had desire physically hurt so much.
Back at her hotel suite I realized I'd
had way too much to drink. My
will was strong but my flesh was weak.
After she got the water started in the
huge tub, she wandered out of
the room to get undressed. She must have taken a few baths before
that
night. Half gutted candles rimmed the tub. I lit them, flipped
off the
light and slid into the water.
My dick would only shift and twitch
and that was about it. But I
figured she wouldn't mind some personal attention until the proper
blood flow returned to my extremities. And I would relish the
chance to
do an inspection without the insistent pressure of a hard-on.
She'd wandered back into the bathroom,
nude except for her heels. "Oh,
Scully," I groaned, now suddenly regretting my magnanimous
thoughts. I
wanted to fuck her so bad...
She sat on the side of the tub, crossing
her legs to slip the shoes off
with a fingertip. Did she realize the little touches are what
make me
want her all the time?
Slipping into the water, she straddled
my lap, sitting on my thighs and
encouraging me to soap up her breasts and belly. I must have
played
with her nipples for half an hour, testing her reactions.
Her breathing was crackling like wildfire
when she finally grabbed my
hand and shoved it between her thighs. The needy whine that came
out of
her throat as she bore down on my fingers was startling. I
instinctually began caressing her, taking this first opportunity
for a
leisurely exploration.
"Scully?"
She refused to look at me, in fact,
turning her head away. I watched
her mouth twist and her eyelids flutter, fascinated.
Pulling her up, I kept the one hand
between her legs, but got her high
enough to fasten my mouth on one breast. The long groan must
have come
from somewhere deep--somewhere my fingers were touching. It rose
through her body and drifted past my ear.
I gasped out when her fingernails gripped
my neck, pulling me even
closer. The nails bit into my skin. My blood felt cool on my
scalded
flesh. The more she raked at my neck and back, the harder I suckled
and
pumped at her with my fingers and grinding palm.
Taking a great gulp of air to clear
my head, I started in on the other
breast. I grabbed the red and wet breast I'd left behind, fiercely
pulling at the abused nipple. I pressed, pushed, rubbed, and
chewed at
any nerves I could get access to on her body.
I'd never expected anything like this
with Scully, but felt like I had
to follow her lead. It seemed she wanted just this. Still, when
she
gave out a seemingly endless, rasping scream, I was so startled,
I
almost stopped everything.
Instead, I rode her orgasm out. She
draped over me, apparently
boneless, her anguish turning to gulping laughter.
"Wow," she mumbled as she sank down into the dying bubbles.
I looked around. Our splashing had extinguished
most of the candles. I
used wet fingertips to kill the rest.
"Whatcha doin'?" she asked.
Reaching down between our bodies, she
grabbed my finally hardening erection. "It's your turn."
Shaking my head, I said, "I'm too
old for this. I need some room and a
flat, dry surface."
"I'm going to suck your soul out."
Her eyes glowed gold in the low
light. I was afraid. Very afraid. I was also suddenly hard as
steel.
She had me lie on the bed, suggesting
I prop my head up with pillows to
get a better view. I think that's when I started to whimper.
She made me lie there for a minute while
her eyes slowly inspected my
body. My curled-up toes earned a giggle.
Glancing at my white knuckles hanging
onto the comforter for dear life,
she drawled, "You need to relax."
"Uh huh," I mumbled. "Please?"
She'd intimidated me a bit in the tub, I
will admit. Did she want things to progress along these lines?
The look of amazement she shot me would
suggest not. "You don't have to
ask, Mulder."
"No?"
"Most certainly not," she assured me.
Lying on the bed beside me, bent like
a paperclip, with her head on my
knee, her toes rubbing through my hair by my ear for an odd,
but erotic
sensation, she finger-walked up towards my quivering dick.
"No, not at all," she repeated.
I let a breath out. "Okay."
My voice was quavering in time with my
begging erection.
Her smile was warm and sweet. "Yeah, Mulder, okay."
She started slow with broad, massaging
swipes of her
tongue...everywhere. I didn't realize I had so many sensitive
areas in
my groin area. I tend to go for the big two when jacking off.
And no
amount of lube could have ever substituted for that soft mouth.
Somehow, oddly, her ministrations calmed
me. My hips lifted slightly,
following the flow of her tongue and lips, but it seemed as though
this--me--would last forever.
And I watched. I think the only thing
that held off my orgasm was the
erotic equivalent of a brain freeze from eating ice cream.
All fantasies were being fulfilled that
night. Unable to believe it was
finally true, I didn't come. Scully suckling at my balls. Untrue.
Not
happening. Scully sliding her wet mouth along the side of my
cock. A
bizarre, unreal dream. Butterfly kisses on the head of my penis?
Wild
delusions. Minute after minute.
Finally, she asked, breathless, "You want to come, Mulder?"
My final whimper. "Please."
This time she didn't seem bothered by
my begging as she pushed my legs
apart to drape herself between them, prop herself up on her elbows
bracketing my hips and settle down to the job of causing me to
scream
just like she had.
My control and lazy state was suddenly
and completely shattered. I
couldn't possibility last. My balls felt wound up as tight as
a
pitcher's arm and then the spring was released as I roared. And
it
certainly felt like a solid baseball was ejaculated out of me.
As I lay beneath her, limp body shaking,
I remembered. That was my soul
that came out.
Managing to look down at her, I saw
she was licking up the last bits of
that soul from my now flaccid penis. She sensed my gaze and glanced
up.
"Feel better, Mulder?"
"Uh, huh," I gasped around my sore throat.
"Good," she said primly as
she wiped her lips with a tissue. "You
seemed a little down earlier."
I lifted my arms to her and she crawled into my embrace. "I'm up now."
She looked doubting, but in a self-satisfied way.
"Well, technically, in a while."
Smug, she said, "Not likely. Maybe in the morning."
Slightly stung, I answered, "Give me a minute--"
She didn't give me that ego stroke.
"Don't worry about it. My head is
pounding, my feet are sore, and I'm exhausted. See you later
to work
off your morning erection." And just as though we were on
a stakeout,
she fell instantly to sleep.
We didn't get that chance in the morning.
I had the erection, but the
blasting phone with the wake-up call awakened us both. Our plane
left
in two hours.
I tried to interest her in slipping
away to the airplane's bathroom,
but she just shot a look at the equally hung-over Skinner and
gave me a
little shake of her head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Day 5:
The darkness shimmers and shakes, breaking
the particles apart to fill
the room with light. Someone's left my bedside light on. It burns
at my
retinas. I try to lift an arm to block it, but I can barely move
it. I
curse low in my throat. My words, banging to and fro in my skull
are
pushed aside by other words, slithering in through an ear like
a
venomous snake.
Skinner--"Have you told him anything?"
Scully--"No. Nothing. I can't."
I force my eyes to open again and focus
through the partially closed
door. The two figures are silhouetted in the brighter light of
the
hallway. They stand close. I watch arms reach out. The hands
meet and
clasp.
She continues. "He's not strong
enough yet." She's right. I feel the
crushing weight settle on me again. Her voice strengthens as
I weaken.
"No, Walter. He's still too fragile."
I remember Skinner had kept shifting
his weight in his cramped airplane
seat. Despite being crushed against the bulkhead, I could handle
that
better than his idea of small talk.
He shook me out of my thoughts with
a sudden question. "What are we
doing, Agent Mulder?"
"Excuse me?" I thought I'd gone over the plan with him.
He was blunt. "What's the final objective?"
That pulled me up short. Sometimes blunt is very clarifying.
"The final objective is finding
a new road. We'll travel down an old
road to find a new road."
Skinner shot me a jaundiced look. "And that means?"
I had to chuckle. "It means I'm
going to stop chasing lights in the sky
that may or may not possibly be something that could be
extraterrestrial."
Skinner looked properly shocked. "You don't believe--"
I cut him off. "Yes, I do. But
I realized something. It's been seven
years since I've been in Bellefleur. I've changed all my body's
cells.
I should be a new person. But I'm not. I'm doing all of the same
things, running in the same circles. If anything, the circles
have
become deep ruts in the earth. I'm going to demand some answers."
And
they were going to come from Scully, but I wasn't going to share
that
bit with him.
My boss looked relieved. Although the
words were different, I was still
crazy. All was right in the world. Even my abduction must have
seemed
in character. It must have seemed the perfect ironic cap on my
vows.
My fingers manage to make a fist, balling
up the sheet. He took my
cryptic words to mean I had no interest in a relationship with
Scully.
Taking that 'knowledge,' he went to her, offered support while
I was
gone--perhaps she believed I deserted her.
Scully comes into the room.
"You're awake," she says.
"I want to go home," I announce.
She starts in, "Mulder--"
"I want to go home." I'm stubborn.
All I can see is her small hand lost
in his large fist.
I roll my head and catch her worried
gaze. "Why don't you want me to go
home?"
Anger flares in response. "You
aren't strong enough yet. Your physical
therapy is progressing, but--"
"Open a phone book and find me
a nurse then. I don't want to be here."
All the words she isn't saying are answering all my unasked questions.
"Tomorrow, Mulder--"
"Dammit, Scully!" I shout.
She does too. "It's 10:30 at night!
I can't find anyone at this hour!
Tomorrow!" She runs out of steam. "I promise, Mulder."
This is it. I have to press her and
find out what's going on, even if
the truth is the last thing I want to hear. "Scully--"
The fucking nurse sticks her head into the room. "Ms. Scully--"
She jumps up from her chair. "I'll
be right there." She starts picking
up her purse and coat. "Mulder, I'll be back in the morning--"
"Scully, please," I beg. "We need to talk--"
She's at the door. "Tomorrow, Mulder. Really."
The click of the door in the lock on my cell.
I retreat to a happier place. My couch.
Her small, warm body beside me.
A belly full of popcorn and beer.
"What would you wish for?"
I'd expected her to suggest something
selfless and on a high plane. So
I was surprised when she put down her beer bottle, smiled shyly
and
said, "A massage."
Shocked, I stuttered, "Excuse me?"
Ducking her head, she mumbled, "Forget it--"
Jumping off the couch, I stated, "No,
no, I heard you." Holding out my
hand, I said, "I just expected you to say something different."
Tipping her head back, she asked, "What did you think I would say?"
"World peace. Cure cancer," I said as I tugged her off the cushions.
Her cool fingers laced through mine
and we walked shoulder to shoulder
towards my bedroom. She pointed out, "Look where those wishes
got you.
I decided to play it safe."
I flicked on the bedside light and nodded
towards the bed. "You always
have been smarter than me." She laughed in delight. "Undress,
please."
My fingers squeeze my weak thigh muscles
as I remember sitting on the
edge of my bed watching her undress. I suppose our new relationship
should have led to days and nights of passionate lovemaking.
Perhaps
years of restraint were going to be hard to overcome. For the
time
being, I gained simple pleasure from seeing her cream skin slowly
revealed to me. My gaze shifted from the straightforward excitement
of
BREASTS! to the complex ambiguous messages in her veiled eyes
and
twitching lips.
She'd lain on the bed, giving herself
over to my writhing fingers. I'd
willed myself to go slowly and remain calm. After a few moments,
it
wasn't an act. Her smooth skin and strong muscles were like the
surface
of a worry stone. I mapped routes over the muscles and between
the
bones, from the column of her neck to the soles of her feet,
her low,
pleased grumbles and moans rumbling like an old car's engine.
Finally, I said quietly, so not to break
the spell, "Are you sure this
is your wish? Not mine?"
"It's okay if we're both happy,"
she mumbled into the pillow, her face
obscured by her hair.
"Good point," I whispered.
I'd had further plans that night, but
my ministrations, a couple of
beers, and a long day knocked her out. I was left crouched beside
her
slumbering form with a throbbing erection to show for all my
hard work.
"Scully?"
I tried one more time, guilt keeping my voice low. "Scully?"
A light snore was my answer.
At the time, I was mature about it.
We weren't a couple of teenagers
needing to fuck all the time. Her feeling comfortable enough
to fall
asleep in my bed after coming over for a movie made me happy.
Besides,
she'd be there in the morning, and so would I...
It didn't turn out that way. The ringing
phone pulled me out of a dream
involving Scully wearing a harem outfit, lolling on a pile of
pink
pillows but reading expense reports to me in her best bored-stiff
voice.
"Yeah?" I grumbled.
It was Skinner. "Agent Mulder,
I've been by your office. You weren't
there." He gave a dramatic pause. I said nothing, unable
to think of
anything to add. "And I thought I should remind you of the
Bureau audit
you have in an hour."
"Thank you, sir." I was awake
then and looking for Scully. She was
uncurling herself from a tight ball, pushing her hair out of
her eyes,
and looking around the room, confused. I placed a silent kiss
on her
bare shoulder, frantically adding up prep and travel time in
my head
and unable to find the necessary minutes to make love.
Frustration colored my tone. "I'll
be there, sir," I said, cutting
Skinner off as I heard him take a breath to start on a lecture.
"Dammit," I ranted as she
flipped the covers off herself and began
collecting her clothes.
The time was never there. We were in
Bellefleur and my yearning was
replaced by fear for her safety. I think she was more concerned
about
that emotion then the passion. She could push my lust away with
a well-
timed raised eyebrow. But my concern and hovering was her old
enemy,
now compounded tenfold. I refused to hide it.
I came to realize that things weren't
as simple as I assumed they'd be
once Scully and I became sexually involved. She never said anything
explicitly, but I knew she didn't think we should do anything
while
working. And we were always working.
So I'd been shocked when she showed
up at my room that night. Her old
response would have been to avoid me. As terrified as I was for
her
safety, hope was beginning to swell as well. It loosened my tongue,
beginning a flood of words that might have overwhelmed her.
I decide to find out tomorrow.
~~~~~~~~~~
Day 6:
She brings a small bag with my clothes.
Struggling to sit up and swing my legs
over the edge of the bed, I say,
"Thank you," while peering under the dip of her hair
to try to read her
downcast eyes.
Her arms are tightly crossed and pull
even tighter until her blazer
creaks in protest. She meets my eyes briefly, I see the fear,
then her
gaze shifts to a spot on the sheet beside my hand.
I repeat, "Thank you," as
I rummage through the bag to find my boxers
and socks.
She starts in. "Mulder, I don't think this is a good idea--"
Cutting her off, I ask, "Did you
get me a nurse?" This answer will tell
me a lot.
"Yes," she says slowly. Her eyes shift away again. She's lying.
Yanking my socks on, I tell myself I
don't care. I'll go home and lie
on my couch. But this test must be passed for both of us.
I stumble as I stand to put my underwear
on. She hurries forward to
support me.
"Thank you," I say again.
Silent, she helps me dress.
"Are they bringing a wheelchair?
Do you have the paperwork?" I keep
pushing.
She presses her lips together tightly,
then releases them with a whoosh
of air. "Mulder--"
I sit down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, Scully?"
She settles beside me and picks up my
hand, her two hands wrapping
around the palm. "I think you're pushing yourself. I don't
think you're
ready to go home." I get the impression she was going to
say something
else.
"I think I'm the best judge of
that. I'm just lying here and doing some
simple strengthening exercises a couple of times a day. I can
do that
at home." I wait for her next move.
I watch her pupils shift back and forth
as though she's scanning a
report for a scrap of evidence. Finally she suggests, "The
inverse is
true as well. Why go home when you can be here in comfort and
security?"
Stubbornly, I insist, "But I'm not comfortable or secure here."
I push myself off the bed, wavering
briefly before heading for the
door. "Call me a cab, eh, Scully?"
Her silence is like a knife, slowly slicing slivers from my heart.
I make it as far as the doorway before
the world begins to jerk like a
rollercoaster heading up the first climb. Gripping the jamb,
I will it
to stop.
It's too late. I sag on weak knees as
my stomach makes the freefall and
the hallway tilts, banks and speeds away from me.
Finally, I hear her voice yelling, "Mulder!"
Big, white geese begin flapping around
me, and I swat at them wildly.
Geese have always scared me.
Their wings cover my face, and they
press me down to the floor. Their
honking is deafening and I press my palms to my ears.
The birds lift and carry me to the bed,
flopping me down on the
mattress. My stomach settles and I can blink until the birds
shrink and
take on the forms of nurses and orderlies.
Scully, her dark clothes making her
a shadow in the glaring whiteness,
steps forward. Soberly, she says, "Mulder, I'm not going
to let you
leave. Do you understand why I need to do this?"
I stare at the ceiling. Hands are carefully
pulling my street clothes
off my limp body. I've got the answers I was looking for.
"Mulder?"
She wants me to make her feel better.
But I have to go somewhere quiet
to think. I close my eyes and the room dissolves.
I remember...what am I remembering?
My eyes snap open. The white-walled
room is dim, the machinery around
me humming efficiently to itself. I lift my left hand from the
nubby
blanket and watch it rise from my side.
They kept me strapped down. I remember that. I *am* free now. Or am I?
Are any of these memories real? Have
I merely twisted years of yearning
and a boyish crush into a fantasy relationship to push away my
torture?
Or have I just been moved to a new level
of tests? Are They watching my
inner desires like voyeuristic viewers, munching on galactic
popcorn
and snickering at my romantic fumblings?
There's only one way to find out.
I eye the clock. 9:55 PM. The hospital is quiet now.
Very slowly and carefully, I move to
the closet and retrieve my
clothing. I dress. I find my wallet in the bedside dresser drawer.
Good
Scully. There's money.
I pause when I see her necklace under
my wallet, glinting dully in the
low light. After a moment, I pick it up and fasten it around
my neck.
I'm going to need its strength.
I walk with measured steps to the door
and check the hall. Although the
walls are glowing and shimmering, I'm able to make my way to
the
elevator.
The ride down almost does me in, but
I lean against the wall for
balance. After a few deep breaths, I'm able to leave the elevator
car
and walk out the front entrance of the hospital.
The street is dark and intense, throbbing
with the turn of vehicle
tires. The lights burn at my skin, causing me to begin panting.
A cabby leans against his bright yellow
car. He shifts to stand. "Ride,
sir?"
I nod slowly. He holds the car door
open. I ease into the back seat and
gratefully settle into the oily cushions. The vinyl grasps me
and holds
me fast.
"Where to?" he asks.
"1419 Sterling, Georgetown," I say with conviction.
I close my eyes for the ride, my fingers
playing with her cross around
my neck, concentrating on those last moments.
She'd finally loosened her grip in our
embrace. We knew Skinner and the
others would be coming out of his office at any moment. Once
again,
there was no time.
I could see she was fighting tears.
I fumbled for some comforting words
and couldn't think of a single one.
Her hands came up and began working
at the clasp of her necklace. I
dropped to the bench by her side. I knew what she was doing and
it
drove away any words that might have been forming.
"I can't get it," she muttered in frustration.
I turned her and as she held her hair
up, I was able to undo the small
clasp. I stared down at the crumpled chain and cross in my palm.
The
sight brought back some unpleasant memories.
Suddenly, I could think of a thousand
things to say, and they came out
in a rush.
Babbling, I began. "You don't need
to worry, Scully. I'm going to be
home by tomorrow and we're finally going to concentrate on us."
Our eyes met. Encouraged by the question
in her gaze, I continued.
"We'll keep saving the world, but from 9 to 5. I want to
do some
catching up."
My voice dropped. "I'm going to make love to you every night--"
She immediately began shaking her head,
her gaze held firmly by my left
shoe, but I would not be deterred. "Yes, Scully. I'm going
to eat
whipped cream off your breasts--"
"Mulder--" She was trying
to protest, but there was a flicker of
yearning in her downcast eyes.
"We're going to be selfish. It'll
be about the two of us. We're going
to go sailing on the weekends--"
"Do you know how to sail a boat?"
she asked, trying to dissuade me with
humor.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.
And I'm fine if we stay on a lake," I
said stubbornly.
Pushing onwards, I added, "It's
going to be our time now. I'm going to
find out where you're ticklish. You're going to discover how
easily I
can be convinced to degrade myself."
She lifted her necklace out of my hand
and pushed my shirt collar away
from my neck.
I kept at it. "I've got a hundred
ways to make love to you stored up,
Scully. There's just been no time to take a breath and pull them
out of
the drawer. But when I get back--"
Her fingernails lightly scratched at
my neck as she fastened the clasp.
Our gazes locked and she started to lean into kiss me one last
time--
would the kiss have been an agreement? Then Skinner's door swung
open
and our motley crew of compatriots emerged. Our time ran out.
"Sir? Sir? Is this the place?" The cabby finally gets my attention.
Squinting, I make out Scully's apartment
building across the rain-
soaked street.
"Yes," I say as I fumble for payment.
He pulls his cab away and I make my
way to the doorway. My key still
works.
The hall walls pulse as the building
pants in excitement around me. It
wants to know what I'll find within her apartment.
I'm not sure what I'm expecting. Like
a hundred times before, my
instincts tell me my final answers are going to be found within
Scully's four walls.
Her front door opens silently and I'm
drawn towards her bedroom by a
beckoning finger of light.
Standing in the doorway, I peer into
the dim room, seeking truth in the
yellow pool around the bedside lamp.
There they are.
Scully's red hair is splayed across
a pile of pillows propping her up.
Her eyelids are draped at half-mast and she's humming to herself.
Skinner's round, shining head is at her breast, suckling.
My attempt to muffle an exclamation doesn't work.
"Mul?" My name comes from
her slack mouth with that painfully familiar
mumble, all passion's promise.
"It's me. Don't worry."
She goes bolt upright. "Mulder!"
Yeah, I bet. But I have to be strong.
Just because she thinks I'm not
strong enough to handle this doesn't mean I can't fake it.
I start babbling, "It's okay. Really.
I just thought I'd drop in. But I
see I'm interrupting--" Looking for a higher, existential
meaning to my
life, all I've found is that my girl is screwing around on me.
Skinner turns on his back, then mumbles, "Whaa?"
His pink mouth opens wider. WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAA!!!
He shrinks smaller and smaller, no matter how much closer I get to him.
Scully's picked him up, cradling him
on her lap. She tries to soothe
him. "It's okay. Shhhh....It's all right, Boy."
Skinner is a baby. A baby is Skinner.
There is no Skinner. There is a
baby in Scully's bed.
All the swirling chaos of the last few
days in gone. The earth
screeches to a halt and a hush settles over the room. The only
sound is
the slow tick of the clock.
I fall to the ground, landing with a painful thump.
The nubs of the carpet bite into my
tender palms. The four corners of
the room are sharp, perfect forty-five degree angles. The walls
rise
straight and true, a clean cream color. The round rails of her
bedstead
glow gold with polish. The flowers on her bedspread are blue,
crisp-
edged on a field of white.
Twin faces, both white with flushed
pink cheeks and big blue eyes, look
at me. They seem to be expecting me to say something.
"It's a baby."
"Yes, Mulder." She seems relieved.
I'm confused. "Where did you get it?"
"I gave birth to him."
The baby has started to fuss, and Scully's
immediately diverted. She
pulls up her top again and it latches onto her breast. I look
away. I
don't want to intrude.
It's not an 'it'. It's a boy. I have
to look back to them. "What's his
name?" I can't think of any other question.
"I've just been calling him Boy. I was waiting for you to get back."
"Why?"
She looks like she's going to cry. "I
thought you might want to help me
name him."
My mouth can only make one sound. "Why?"
She shakes her head at me, and her eyes are glistening. "Mulder--"
I must say something else. "How?"
She looks so happy at my change of tack,
I'm immediately proud of
myself. "The usual method."
I'm still confused. "But we only did it once."
"It only takes once," she patiently tells me.
The ringing phone stops the pup from chasing its tail inside my head.
She snags it, cradling the baby on one
arm. "Yes. Yes. He's fine. Thank
you."
After hanging up, she shakes her head at me. "You escaped."
"Yes."
The baby appears to be finished eating.
She rises from the bed and
crosses to where I'm still slumped against the wall. Sliding
down next
to me, she snuggles close, shoulder to shoulder.
I can smell her. I can smell the baby.
They smell similar yet
distinctively different.
Boy's eyes have drifted shut and his body goes limp.
"Is something wrong with him?" I ask, anxiety welling.
She looks puzzled, shifting his weight
to her other arm, bringing him
closer to me. Heat radiates off his small body. "No, what
do you think
is wrong with him?"
"The way he sleeps. It's disturbing."
I cap his melon head with my
palm. Fine hair is scattered over the skull, white as his skin.
He's
his mother's son.
But...the mouth looks wide enough to be mine, and the dimpled chin...
Smiling, she reassures me. "It's fine. That's how they work."
Shaking my head, I continue. "Everything
else works fine? I mean, he's
okay--"
I'm stumbling over my questions. I need
to ask them, but I'm terrified
of the answers.
Her smile widens and glows. I can imagine
what her face looked like
when she found out she was pregnant. I don't even try to stop
the
tears. I missed that day.
She grabs my hand with her free one,
and gives it a squeeze. "He's
fine. Perfect. Healthy as a horse. In fact--" She reaches
up to stroke
my hair.
Her face is bright with an evangelistic
sort of conviction. "Boy's made
me have faith, Mulder. I believe he's unharmed by Them. I believe
he's
our son. And I believe he protected me from being abducted. I'm
sure
They rejected me when he was detected."
"You believe all of that?" I ask, astonished. "Without proof?"
"Yes." She gives one solid
nod. "I decided to wait until you got back
to seek that proof." Smiling tentatively, she adds, "I've
been waiting
for my partner to return before going back to work."
Some connections are made in my mind. "But you didn't believe in me."
She looks confused. "What do you mean?"
I'm overwhelmed as I realize what's
been going on. "You've been keeping
me in the dark--"
She tries to defend her actions. "I had to--"
Furious, I continue, "--since,
I got back! Six days, Scully. Six more
days of my son's life I've missed."
Her pain-filled eyes meet mine. "Mulder,
you don't understand. I wanted
you to be strong enough to make decisions on your own. This--he--is
a
lot. A lot of responsibility. A lot of work--"
Crushed, I say, "You don't think I'm up to it."
She insists, "I didn't say that.
It's just--I've never chased any man,
Mulder."
Wryly, I tell her, "No, Dana Scully. You most certainly have not."
She ignores my jab and fusses with the
baby's clothes until he wakes
and begins whining in protest. "I had him with me at the
hospital. He
was down the hall the entire time." Her imploring eyes looked
to mine
for understanding. "I would go to feed him, and I'd want
to bring him
back so much. Just walk into your room with him in my arms--but
then
I'd come in and you'd be in your bed, your eyes still so
fearful...you'd be hanging onto the edge of your mattress as
though you
were in a raft heading down the rapids--I couldn't suddenly overload
you with a baby!"
She looks away. "I didn't want
you to feel like you owed me and Boy
anything--that you had an obligation to return my love and come
to us."
"I did come. Tonight," I remind her.
She concedes, nodding, "Yes. You
did." She squeezed my hand again, and
the self-recriminating expression on her face breaks my heart.
"I'm
sorry, Mulder. I forgot how strong you truly are, despite the
occasional evidence to the contrary. I have to remember you're
a
survivor."
I'd never really thought of it that
way. She continues, "If you've
managed to stay alive this long and be reasonably sane, a little
baby
shouldn't be too big of a hurdle to overcome."
I open my mouth to protest her backhanded
compliment, then it sinks in
that she'd admitted to loving me and I'd missed that opening.
But
there's something more bothering her. I ask, "What is it?"
With forced nonchalance, she queries,
"Do you remember anything,
Mulder?"
Feeling suddenly weak with fear, I ask, "Why?"
"I'm wondering if you found your answers."
I have to tiptoe into the minefield. "What else is worrying you?"
"All these years, Mulder. All these
years I've watched you. Search for
your sister. Search for answers to a lot of important questions.
I've
always admired your passion for those searches. I've enjoyed
being in
the presence of that passion. It just wasn't directed at me."
She can't possibly think that. "Scully--"
"Hush," she commands. She's
been around a child too long already. "This
had changed, yes. But then you had this opportunity to continue
your
quest to its natural conclusion," she finishes carefully,
smoothing the
small, soft flannel shirt across Boy's belly.
I'm shocked. "I'd never leave you willingly--"
"I would understand Mulder--" I can tell she means it.
"No. I didn't leave you," I insist.
"Not intentionally." She gives
me that, but then, determined, goes on.
"I searched and waited, Mulder. And months went by. I begin
to wonder
if you'd found what you were looking for." She lifted the
baby and
draped him over her near shoulder, thumping lightly on his back
until
he belched into my ear. "I wasn't sure if that would be
me and Boy."
Now I understand why she never told
me she loved me. Loving her came
easy and signified nothing. She didn't just break down her resistance
because she wanted to get laid. She wanted something solid and
real.
I'd always seen her as a defined, limited
space: Scully. Now I could
see she had expanded and become infinite. The true quest is going
to be
finding a way to make a relationship work every day. Even if
we
succeed, there will be another day. A child signifies infinity.
Too many times, I tried to talk my way
out of things with Scully. I
called her my best friend and made grand speeches, but she still
had
that guarded look in her eyes as she crawled into my bed in Bellefleur.
This time I decide to be solid and real to show her what I'm
feeling.
Carefully, I pull the baby out of her suddenly limp arms.
As I nestle him into the crook of my
arm, his bright eyes blink up at
me. His body fits along my forearm easily with his bottom, large
with
diaper, fitting in my palm.
He's heavier than I imagined a small
infant would be. It's nearly a
dead weight. He needs my support to keep from rolling right off
my arm.
At first, my breath is coming fast with anxiety, loud in the
still
room. I think Scully is holding her breath, but she doesn't reach
out
to take the baby from me. I'm grateful to her.
I find his center of balance and gain
some confidence. It's like
learning to balance a basketball on the tips of my fingers. The
shape
and weight becomes familiar. I lift him close to my face. He
immediately reaches out to grab at my nose and his fine nails
scrape at
my cheeks.
He's loud. That surprises me. It's been
a constant stream of noises
since I entered the room. Now, up close, I feel as though those
sounds
are becoming a language. In them, I hear permission. The fear
of the
large, looming face is gone from his eyes, and the grumbles sound
compliant. I lean over and kiss his smooth forehead.
When I straighten up, his gaze seems
much more aware and intelligent
than I expect a baby's to be.
"Are you sure he's normal?" I ask.
She must know what I mean. "Yes. Babies are just scary."
I laugh for no better reason than it comes easy.
We sit in silence for a few minutes,
all talked out for now. My body
becomes heavy again, but this time it's familiar exhaustion.
She reads my drooping shoulders and
half-mast eyelids correctly. "Let's
go to bed, Mulder."
"Okay." Handing her Boy, I
haul myself to my feet and begin dragging my
clothes off.
She's at the crib in a dark corner, settling him behind the bars.
Finally stripped naked, I crawl under
the comforter and sheets.
Turning, she catches sight of me, and squeezes my heart with
her big
grin before she snaps off the light and joins me under the covers.
Her arms wrap around me and a leg nestles
between my thighs. "Welcome
home, Mulder."
Feeling lightheaded and giddy, I mumble,
"Oh, I've come home for sure,"
as I push her hair aside to begin a road of kisses from her neck
to
mouth.
She gasps, "Muld--" and her
fingers twine in her necklace, pulling me
to quicken my trip to her lips.
We're both half-asleep, and our kiss
has the quality of a twilight,
bright then deep, then fading.
"Mulder, I'm sorry--" she mumbles when our mouths slip apart.
"Don't be. There's time tomorrow.
And the next day." This time I
believe it.
"Please," she says as her
eyelids drift shut. I'm not sure what her
plea was for, but her grip on my middle, even is sleep, is vise
tight.
Smoothing her hair back so I can kiss
the rim of her ear, I watch our
son in his crib. He's wiggling and grumbling to himself. Like
father,
like son.
His small fists shake as though he's
involved is some heated, internal
debate. Suddenly, he stops, alert. One hand opens, and stretches
upward.
Moonlight is streaming through the window,
a blue-white beam cutting
across the room. His tiny, white hand enters the beam and he
starts
grabbing, as though he can capture the light. Terror freezes
me.
His eyes are bright, reflecting the
shining ray. His mouth opens wide,
and I hear the oddest little sound. Sort of a laugh: 'Oh-Hah!'
Shadowy visions become to flood my memory
and panic dampens my suddenly
chilled skin. I can't even feel Scully in my arms.
The baby's chortle finds me in the darkness.
I take a clearing breath.
Boy's right. There's nothing to be frightened of.
"Scully?"
She wakes instantly. "Yes?"
"I remember--"
"Mulder, I don't want you to try too hard--"
"No, I want to tell you."
She shifts to try to look at me, but I lay a
hand on her shoulder to signal that I want her to remain the
way she
is. For some reason I don't think I can look into her eyes to
tell her
this.
Urgency rushes words from me. "I
can't remember details. I don't know
if I ever will. But I know they hurt me. The pain was constant.
The
fear."
"Yes," she says with an empty
voice and I tighten my grip around her. I
don't want to remind her of her own experience, but I can't stop
talking now.
I hurry on. "I tried to find a
distraction. For some reason, they left
your necklace around my neck."
I lift the cross from the hollow of
my throat and hold it between my
finger and thumb. "I would concentrate on its fine weight
on my skin.
Its size and shape. The drape of the chain. That worked for a
while."
I feel the sob rise in her throat as she gasps, "Mulder--"
"Then that wasn't enough. I started
to think about what that cross
meant to you."
Her body tenses. I'm crossing a line, I know that.
"I looked for a god to save me.
I realized I'd been searching for
something for a long time. I wondered if that was it. And now
I was in
the fight of my life. I wanted to come back to you so much--"
She wipes the tears from her cheeks
with an impatient swipe of the back
of her hand. Carefully, she asks, "Did you find...something?"
My mouth muffled in her hair, I say,
"Yes, I did. I stopped being
afraid. I accepted where I was--in that spaceship. I let myself
feel
the universe--its power and scope--and then went back inside."
She tips her neck back and in the dim
room, I can make out the
disappointment in her eyes. I haven't said what she may have
wanted to
hear.
I have to make her understand. "I
took stock of every molecule in my
body. And in there, I found something." My next word sounds
a little
preposterous. "Me. I believed I was good. I believed I was
strong. I
believed I would survive. And you were there too."
She lifts my hand to her lips, brushing
them over the knuckles. Perhaps
I was wrong. Satisfaction warms her voice. "Good."
"I had the strength of your beliefs. You saved me again, Scully."
"I tried to call to you, Mulder."
She seems embarrassed. "I tried to
tell you about the baby."
I look over at Boy. He's watching us
through the bars, his gaze intent
as though we are the ones in the cage.
More memories flood me, causing me to
blink with pain. I gasp, "I heard
you--I thought it was one of Them. I saw a creature with a large
head.
Its heart was beating, loud and rapid. I should have felt afraid,
but I
remember being soothed. I was afraid that meant I'd given in
and was
accepting my imprisonment. But now I understand."
She nods, bumping my chest with her forehead.
I nod too. "I think I've found some answers."
"Good."
Why do I feel like all I do is talk
and yet Scully is able to put more
conviction in one word?
I repeat it to feel its weight. "Good."
"Tomorrow--" Now she sounds less sure.
I'm filled with sudden energy, my legs
shifting on the sheets as though
I'm running in place. "Tomorrow we'll start back to work.
There's still
so much to do. We have to find out how you got pregnant, who
took me,
if that old smoking bastard is really dead. Oh, and we should
get
married--"
Her arms tighten around me, cutting
me off. I can feel her smile
against my bare skin.
"Welcome home, Mulder."
The ticking clock marks the minutes,
then begins to bong, low and
reassuring, twelve times. The seventh day has begun. As my eyes
drift
shut, I decide perhaps we can rest for one day.
~~~The End~~~
