"That says a lot." I know I'm babbling but I'm too tickled to
care. "It's says a *lot* a lot a lot. Probably more than we
should be getting into at this late hour." I turn my head
toward her and find the love of my life asleep, her head
fallen back against the couch. I touch her cheek, thinking she
might be pretending, but she doesn't stir so I brush the hair
from her forehead and tuck a strand back behind her ear. It
isn't often that I get the chance to stare openly and I'm
taking full advantage of the moment.|
Scully has been surprising the hell out of me, first with that wildly uncharacteristic hostility last Friday, then tonight with her rapturous recap of the weekend we spent apart. While I was in England feeling sorry for myself, she was apparently hip-deep in a journey of self-discovery that included everything from confronting a long-lost married lover to experiencing visions in a Buddhist temple. I'm actually not that surprised that she *had* the visions, but *admitting* it to me... well, that's off the charts.
She said that we were meant to be together, not in so many words but the message was there. She all but told me she loves me. Okay, I might be reaching on that one, but I'm scrambling to catch up here. Nothing that has happened in the past few hours fits with what I thought I knew about her and it's got me wondering whether I've ever really known her at all.
She's sound asleep now and it's gonna take more willpower than I've got to stop myself from waking her to continue our conversation if I keep sitting here. I pull the afghan from the end of the couch and cover her gently, tucking her in like the innocent child she resembles at this moment. I allow myself one more touch along her cheek, then push myself up slowly so I don't tip her with the sudden loss of my balancing weight from the seat next to her. She stirs slightly and mumbles something that sounds like my name, then nestles deeper into the seat and settles again.
There's only one light on in the room and I flip it off on my way to the bedroom, leaving only the soft glow from the fish tank. I pause in the doorway and look back at her, then force myself to move forward and close the door behind me.
I roll toward the sound of her voice and squint into the glare that silhouettes her in the open doorway. "Scully? What's wrong?" I don't know what time it is, but I've been asleep for long enough to feel pretty foggy. "Are you okay?" I sit up and swing my legs over the side, trying to shake out the cobwebs.
"I... can I come in here?"
She's probably developed a nice kink in her neck from the position I left her in. "Sure, Scully. I'll trade with you. You know I prefer the couch." I stand up, stretching out some kinks of my own when I notice she's not moving. "Scully?"
"Um, Mulder. I didn't mean... you don't have to leave." That last part is spoken so softly that I'm not sure I heard her correctly. Something in her voice has knocked every one of my standard smart-ass responses right out of my head.
"Scully, are you okay?"
"I had a dream, Mulder. I'm... I'm a little shaky. That's all."
She looks so fragile standing there that I want to pick her up and hold her but I'm afraid. Mutants and mothmen don't make me break a sweat, but a 100 pound redhead has me scared shitless. Suddenly she makes a soft sound that might be a hiccup or a smothered sob and it breaks my paralysis. I cross the room in two strides and pull her into my arms.
She buries her face in my chest and wraps her arms around my waist. "I'm sorry, Mulder. It's stupid, I know, but I had to see if you were alright." It was definitely not a hiccup. She's crying and I feel my own eyes fill in response.
"Scully, what is it? Tell me, please." There's a definite quaver in my voice and I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed in the past few seconds.
She steps back slightly and looks up at me. "You were taken, Mulder. You were taken away from me and I couldn't find you." A single tear slips from the corner of her eye. "I knew I'd never see you again."
I pull her close and kiss the top of her head. "Come here." We walk to my bed and sit. She leans into me and puts her head on my chest, her left arm going back around my waist. "It's okay, Scully, it was just a dream."
"No, Mulder. It was more than that. It was so real, so vivid, that when I woke up, it was as if I was still living it. I dreamed that I came here after they took you and cried myself to sleep on your couch." She pulls me close and rubs her cheek against me. "Mulder, I've never felt anything like that before and I never want to again."
The memory of those days after Scully was taken are still painfully fresh, as I suspect they always will be. "I know, Scully. I know. It's okay." I make comforting, nonsense sounds, stroking her back and brushing my lips over her soft hair. She smells so damn good, she *feels* so damn good, that my desire to comfort her is rapidly being supplanted by something much less noble and a lot more dangerous. I pull away from her gently.
"Scully, stretch out here and get some rest. I'll take the couch. Just call me if you need anything." I stand and take a step away from her but she grabs my hand and pulls herself up from the bed.
"No, Mulder. No more. I can't take any more," and she reaches up with both hands and grasps the back of my neck. Our lips connect awkwardly off-center for a few seconds, and then seven years of anticipation take over.
By the time we are forced to come up for air, I'm hanging on the thin edge of control. Then I notice that Scully's hands have abandoned their post at the back of my neck and are taking up a much more hazardous position somewhere south of my waist, one on either side of my butt. She squeezes firmly, pulling my pelvis into her belly and I moan into her mouth, half from lust and half from embarrassment. There is no way she can miss the evidence and, much as I agree with my body's reaction, this is not good. The part of my brain that has managed to keep functioning with so much of its blood supply detoured south is screaming at me to back off before it's too late. The rest of my brain is telling me smugly that 'too late' has come and gone.
"Scully, I..." I realize I'm speaking directly into her mouth and that her tongue is interfering with my ability to form words. In a very few seconds, there will be no way to halt our forward momentum. I make one last attempt.
I pull my face away from hers and focus on her eyes which have gone dark and liquid. "Scully, if you don't stop me now, there will be no going back. I'm taking this very seriously." I hold her gaze for a long moment until I see her eyes swim back into focus. "I don't want you to do something you're going to regret. Ever."
"I've never regretted one moment with you, Mulder. I'm not going to start now." To emphasize her point, she brings her right hand to the front of my pajama bottoms and slips her fingers just inside the waistband, rubbing lightly across my belly. At my gasp of acknowledgment, she smiles up at me and steps back, removing her jacket and dropping it on the bed in one smooth motion. When she reaches for the buttons on her shirt, I push her hands gently aside. I'm ready to take part in this dance.
She drops her hands to her sides and looks up at me with such trust and acceptance that I feel the lump return to my throat, stopping the words I want to say. Her smile tells me she already knows.
Author's Notes: There's been much speculation about the sadness on Scully's face when she looks at Mulder 'the morning after'. I don't think it was regret over what they had done (or NOT done, depending on your point of view) so much as it was fear for what she now stood to lose if anything happened to Mulder. Maybe a premonition? What do you think?
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