If She Lives
Date: Sat, 08 Nov 1997 14:14:45 +0000
Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, CancerMan and the Consortium belong to CC,
1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended.
Summary: It's not what you think. No death, just a little meeting.
If She Lives
The smoke hung over the room like demons at a satanic ceremony, choking
the men there with its oppression.
Yet, the man took another long drag on the white rolled up paper between
his lips and blew it out through his mouth.
It was the signal and he regarded the man before him with eyes that are
found on monsters in children's books. Yellow and bloodshot, with
fatigue and grittiness ringing them darkly.
"Have you reached any discernable turning point since we last spoke, Mr.
Collins?" Cancer Man inhaled the smoke of the room and put his own out,
stubbing it as he might stub out a life.
"Uh....no sir. You realize the organism is quite complicated and beyond
anything our-"
"Mr. Collins. Would it help to know this was a matter of life and
death?"
The man shook his head in regret, the dinghy white of his coat a silent
testimony to the number of times he had been at one of their meetings.
"Sir, I already know she'll die from this cancer, but it-"
"No, Mr. Collins. I mean life or death for your family."
The man's gravel voice mocked the seriousness of such a threat and
Collins found himself shaking in rage and fear.
"Then, *sir*" He spoke with as much contempt as he could muster. "You
had better let me have that equipment I requested months ago. And
anything else I need. Or else you won't get that cure!"
His flaming eyes stared into the smoking man's cold depths and his anger
was extinguished in a hiss and smoke.
Cancer Man motioned for a lackey to do everything Collins requested and
they left.
Cancer Man sat down in the cool leather of the chairs situated around
the cherry wood table.
The Fat Mna looked up from where he had been studying some reports,
seemingly completely oblivious to the conversation going on around him.
"What is your position on this affair?" he said in his slightly
phlegmatic voice.
"This is an opportunity, nothing more."
"Yes, but if we do not provide her with the cure, that is of no concern
for this Project."
"I realize that. But we can own them. Mulder, Skinner. All of the
X-Files."
The smoking man knew that uncontrolled emotional outbursts of the
Collins variety would get him nowhere.
"Yes, and if she dies, he dies too." The Fat Man calmly looked to him.
"Skinner is left."
"He is a problem. Quite the wild card in the whole deck, eh?"
"Yes. A wild card. But this allows us to nuetralize him effectively."
"Can we not do that in an easier way?"
Cancer Man looked through the smoke cloud to the man and shook his head.
Fat Man knew of something.
"Yes, we could. If you want a rebellion."
The Fat Man nodded and then shifted around in his chair until his great
mass of a body was settled. "Your interest would not be personal, would
it?"
Cancer Man's eyes glowed with something resembling either fear or
disdain. "No, it is not personal. It is an opportunity. If we find her
cure, we can own them."
"We do own them."
"Not Skinner. If we don't produce something very soon, he'll be
formidable."
"Yes, I am aware of that. I ma not questioning your actions. Only your
motivations."
"Then question them no more. I am still in this for the same reasons as
before."
"Yes, the Project."
Cacner Man eased back into his chair, the only outward sign that the Fat
Man's interrogation had riled him.
"Do we know how she got it?" Fat Man asked.
"No. We only found her. It allowed for some experimentation, nothing
more. Where this all came from . . . it could be a combination of our
interferences and another, outside force. The force that took her in the
first place."
"It maters, though." His statement was more of a question rather than a
knowledge.
"It matters. If she lives, we can find out, make her remember the things
before us. If hse lives, we can do that, we'll own them."
"And if she dies, as it seems likely now, then we have enough agents in
other places to continue their part of the Project." The Well Manicured
Man nodded his head at the words to confirm the exsistence of more of
their 'creations.'
"If she lives, however," Cancer Man said softly, "We will have a mighty
force."
The Fat Man eyed him with slothness that belied the quickness of his
mind and his wrath.
"Yes. If she lives."
end
adios
RocketMan
I Hurt
(1/1)Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: Characters belong to CC and FOX.
Rating: Harmless, Hint of MSR
Warning and other: None really, just something that's been on my mind.
First person. Never Again, Tunguska/Terma
Distribute: Gossamer please, and anywhere else.
I Hurt
I hurt. I hurt a lot. Deep inside where it never goes away only feeds
off the little things that happen until it comes boiling through like
anger but it's really not.
When he left me for Russia with Kyreck. That shouldn't have hurt so
much. But it did. Not that I had to save him in front of Congress, by
now that's a job hazard. No, just the small thing that he left me.
Without really saying anything and letting me worry as he was exposed to
the black cancer, or whatever. It doesn't normally hurt, but it did. And
it went down in that crack with all the other small hurts to fuel one
big hurt.
I hurt so bad I can't even stop from crying. It hurts like a broken bone
does when you first feel it break. It hurts like the needle does before
it numbs you into oblivion. It hurts like when the papercut first
becomes noticable.
It's a sting, or a rushing force, or a slicing wound. Depends on where I
am, who I am with, what I am doing.
With Mulder, it's not so bad. When he leaves, I feel it keenly, almost
like being away from him causes it. But really, loneliness brings it on.
And this hurt is gut wrenching.
I hurt, oh God, I hurt.
Please, please, no more.
When he looked at me, after the whole tattoo thing, with that look that
seemed to say - What are you doing with my Scully? - I felt it like a
knife. It gorged the crack until it became a raging inferno of hurt. And
then he almost said something, but stopped himself. Fruedian slip. It's
my life too - was that it? Or it's my X-Files? My what? My Scully......
But I'm not. I know that. I'm not his, or anyone's. I wish I were, it
would make it so much simpler.
I hurt for what I have become.
I think that's it. I hurt, definitely, but what it's about I am not
sure. I think it's becasue of what I have become.
I mean I can't even look at the cashier in Target without wondering just
a bit. Paranoia to the nth degree. And then sometimes, I am with my
family and I think, I just want to hide out here forever.
It's not that I want to quit. I just am disappointed that all my life
is, or all it will amount to, is more guilt and pain for the people I
love. Nothing good. No husband or child, and that's not as bad, just the
idea of not making a noticable difference.
I hurt becasue I am thirty something and alone and hate the way I live
and love the job even though it will kill me and love my partner even
though that will kill me too.
It's like a lament in my head, over and over.
I hurt, I hurt, I hurt.
"Scully!"
I jerk and look to see Mulder, standing over me with a frightened
expression about to be erased.
"Scully, did you hear me?"
I shake my head no. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt, I hurt
"Scully, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" he asks.
I frown.
"Scully, come on. I know something's bothering you and if you won't talk
about it, at least let me take your mind off it." he whines, a puppy
look making me melt.
No hurt would be nice, but I'll settle for a distraction.
"Okay, you're on."
He smiles widely, thinking he has accomplished some mighty thing.
I wonder what he would do if I kissed him? Would he kiss me back, or
would I just hurt a bit more?
"Mulder, what would you do if....."
Oh crap, what was I thinking? Oh, great, what an idiot....
"If what?"He smiles knowingly and I wonder if he really does know, or if
he does that look unconsciously.
"If I- uh...never -"
His lips are on mine!
Oh MY GO-
"Scully?" he asks.
I open my eyes to see a very satisfied look. "Yeah?" I say, a little
breathless, a little off guard.
"How about dinner?"
I nod and he lifts me from the chair. Good thing because right now,
there ain't no way I'm walking.
He looks down at me and nods his head to my chest.
"Cold?"
I think I'm going to die.
End
you like marianne? there's your kiss-HA
Adios
RocketMan
I Thought
(1/1)Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and
Fox. No infringement is intended.
Rating: V, A, MSR
Summary: Scully thinking about Mulder's faults in love.
I Thought (1/1)
I thought he might care a bit more than this.
All right, I thought he loved me.
That was stupid.
I mean, hello. This is Mulder we're talking about here.
The man who can't seem to keep his head on straight, the man who forgets
conviently about his promises, the man who substitutes healthy
relationships for porn.
And I actually thought he might . . . he might just love me.
That's ridiculous.
Mulder isn't capable of love.
It hasn't been programmed into his genes, I guess.
Oh, but . . .
I thought I could make him understand what love was.
I thought I could show him how beautiful it is.
Oh, I wish I had!
I thought he knew how much I loved him.
I thought he understood that a fight didn't mean I hated him, that a
forgotten promise didn't mean I'd never forgive him, that a whispered
insult didn't mean I never loved him.
I thought he would come back.
But he didn't.
Mulder . . . I thought you knew.
I thought you knew.
I never said . . . but I thought you knew.
I stare at the phone, wishing it to ring, for it to be him and his voice
coming out at me in that rich timbre of his that makes my chest tighten.
I glance to the clock in our office, seeing that it is way past time for
him to call. He told me he would, he promsed to call every day, to check
in.
He hasn't.
It means he's dead.
I thought he would come back to me.
I thought he knew how much I loved him, how much he had to live for.
He knew . . . he should have known . . . he should have come back.
The phone rings, startling me so hard that I slam my teeth into my lip
and it begins to bleed.
I pick up the phone and cradle it to my ear, blinding hoping to hear his
voice.
"Scully?"
A heartbeat.
"Mulder."
A breath.
"I'm okay. I really am."
A shudder of relief.
"Good. Good. Are you coming back?"
An expectation.
"Not quite yet. I have a bit more to do. . ."
Shattering.
He pauses.
I wait.
"But, I'll try to get back. Soon."
My eyes are closing.
Finality.
"Okay."
A whisper.
The click signalling he is finished with the conversation and then the
dail tone.
I don't want to put down the phone; afraid I'll lose my connection to
him.
As if, by touching him, I can save him.
I can bring him back.
I thought he would say I love you.
I thought I would say I love you.
I thought everything would be just fine.
But now, I have to wait again.
He always leaves me behind.
In love, in life, in our job.
I thought he would change.
Mulder never changes.
end.
Adios
RocketMan
I'll Be Waiting For You
(1/1)Date sent: Wed, 03 Sep 1997 22:21:33 +0000
Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: The song 'To Love You More' is by Celine Dion. Mulder and
Scully are CC's. Both used without permission, and no infringement is
intended.
Rating: M/S friendship.....PG......not a song story
I'll Be Waiting For You (1/1)
"I'll be waiting for you
Here inside my heart
Let me be the one to love you
more"
--Celine Dion
I saw him collapse today but he still won't let me go to him.
He's hurting so much and I can't help him.
I want to be the mother he never had, the friend he needs for comfort.
But he's so stubborn, or foolish, or stupid, I don't know.
I do know that I can't take much more of him doing this.
If I see him with that incredible look of pain, with that humiliating
amount of sorrow, once more.....I might not recover.
I want to sit down and talk to him. Let him talk to me.
"Scully?"
Oops. Caught daydreaming again.
Maybe that's why he won't let me in.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to go home early."
I stare at him, then shake my head.
"Sure. Go ahead. I'm almost done here anyway."
He gives me a tight polite nod of his head that could possibily be
colder than those igloo houses in Alaska.
"Good night Mulder."
I sigh and he doesn't even turn around.
I finish the reports, all autopsy ones anyway, ones Mulder really didn't
need to stick around for, but ones he always had stayed for anyway. If
only to crash at my apartment later with a movie and a pizza.
I guess it's really a tradition by now.
I want to call him, but as I get in my car I see that I actually have no
battery power in my cell phone and even if I did, I realize he probably
wouldn't be there.
At least his phone would be turned off, so it'd be the same.
And he probably wouldn't answer his regular phone, just let the machine
get it.
Would he pick up if it were me?
Probably not even then.
I sigh and pull onto the freeway, gunning the engine because my
transmission seems to be going haywire on me.
It catches sometimes, then other times not at all.
It makes me nervous, knowing that I could break down and be a long way
from help.
I could always call Mulder, but not tonight. He wouldn't be picking up.
He might be screening them. So I'd have a chance.
That makes me feel better.
I arrive home without further trouble and fall onto the couch as soon as
my pumps are off.
I hear a nosie.
<Someone's in my apartment!>
I jump up, pulling my gun in my hose and wide eyes.
I creep slowly to the sound; I think it's coming from the bathroom.
The door is closed.
I hear . . . the shower running.
I scramble back to my window, the one overlooking the parking lot, and
see with relief that Mulder's car is right next to mine.
I must have been too preoccupied to notice it.
I slump back to the couch and when the shower stops and he comes out, a
towel in his hands, I simply watch him.
I feel good because he came to me.
He rubs his hair dry with the dark green towel and looks at me while I
watch him.
"Scully?" he asks.
"Come here, Mulder."
He slinks over like a contrite child and gets just within my hand's
extended reach.
"Sit." I say and he does.
"Mulder . . . " I have nothing really to say.
I could berate him for worrying me so much, or I could scold him for
acting juvenile, but it'd do no good.
So when I say his name, that seems to be his invitation.
He falls into my embrace and I hold him, just as a mother would, as his
mother should, and offer him what peace he seems to find in me.
"I was waiting for you," I say, because I knew he'd be around
eventually.
"You could tell?" he murmured sleepily into my chest.
I stroke his hair. "I can see it in your face, Mulder. I'll always be
waiting for you."
He smiles slightly and I lean back against the couch, taking his limp
body with me.
Whenever his body catches up to his constantly racing mind, it tells him
to shut down, deal with his problems.
I seem to be his only safe haven at those times.
And I'll always be waiting for him.
"Thanks Scully," he mumbles as he falls into sleep.
I smile and close my eyes.
Waiting.
end
adios
RocketMan
The Inquisitor
Date: Fri, 06 Mar 1998 15:43:12 +0000
Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. The
Inquisitor is from "The Brothers Karizimov" (I think that's how you
spell it) and no infringement is intended for either. Parts inspired by
a Babylon 5 episode, all credit to JMS.
Spoiler: Up to and including Bad Blood
Notes: This is rated R because of Scully torture(?)....I mean, it is,
but not graphic. If the idea disturbs you, then please do not read.
The Inquisitor--Chapter One
"But these have no root; they believe only for a while and in a time of
testing fall away." --Luke 8:13
She was sweating and twisting in the bed, her face flushed and eyes
roving behind half closed lids. She hovered on the edge of sleep and
restlessness and could not keep her mind from replayinig everything that
had happened.
The deaths, the lives broken, the lights in the sky that Mulder had
seen, and yet had not seen.
She saw his face as he came towards her: crushed hope, squashed belief,
pulverized pride. He was not as he was.
Mulder had changed somehow, someway. In the time she fought and defeated
her cancer, Mulder had fought and lost his own private battle. He had
been so sure the man from DoD was fake, so sure that he was right, that
this was absurd, the ravings of a man made to believe a lie.
Somewhere, he had decided that he was the man made to believe a lie.
But surely not all . . . surely not all were lies?
It would be nothing then, everything would be nothing, for nothing,
meaning nothing. She herself, had not wanted to face that.
Mulder had taken it and rammed it down his throat until he gagged it up.
He was spitting up blood now. She was trying to heal him and he was
ramming it down further.
She could not sleep.
She stood and pulled jeans from the floor, tugging them on over her
white T-shirt, needing to feel the sharp and rough fabric against her
skin. It reminded her they had things to do, things to prove.
Mulder had forgotten these things.
She padded barefoot to the living room, glancing at the luminous clock
as she passed.
11:27.
Pretty late to be up and moving, pretty late to call Mulder.
He would be asleep. Contrary to popular belief, Mulder slept easily now.
Did it come with the knowledge that he had no control over his life and
so he might as well sleep?
She sighed and stretched out on the couch, hoping that the fevered
dreams would slip away and that she could finally rest.
She closed her eyes and felt the heat again.
She felt the glow across her skin, the heat of pain or maybe just
confinement, and it burned her intolerably.
She opened her eyes and realized why.
She was enveloped in bright white light.
Light.
"Not again....."
The anguished cry was all that remained in the room.
~~~~
His eyes opened and something was gone.
He stirred, eyes roving, body taking stock, fingers flexing to remind
himself that blonde nurses hadn't held him down and taken his arms.
His bleary eyes ran across the room and found nothing.
*Something* was gone.
He looked at the clock and squinted a bit, pushing it a bit further back
so he could see clearly.
11: 28.
He blinked once more and laid back down.
But sleep would not come.
Strange, he'd been sleeping very well since he had decided that he need
not care anymore.
He groaned.
He didn't need that life again. He didn't want it.
He shoved his head into the couch and forced his eyes to close and his
breath to slow.
He *would* fall asleep.
~~~~
The clicking sound came first.
A click of cold steel on cold floor.
She shuddered awake and opened her eyes to find the cold steel coming
toward her.
A formless, shapeless nothing was coming toward her.
No eyes, no ears, no mouth: a grey face and grey body dressed in a black
suit.
It could have been one of Mulder's suits.
Then she realized she was wrong.
Suddenly, there was a nose, there was a mouth, and long cruel fingers
tipped with short, white nails.
A man.
Possibly.
Not a woman. Defintely.
But a man? She wasn't sure of that.
It came forward and the clicking resumed. It echoed across her body and
into her soul and shook it hard like the earthquake does the ground.
It was the clicking of manacles.
She felt her soul shiver and she crawled away from the form.
The manacles were on her wrists anyway.
She let out a startled moan and realized that this was something more
than she was prepared to face.
The man without a face, or with form and suggestion of one, came to her
and stood her up and placed her against a wall.
All without touching her once.
She moved on silent, bare feet, her eyes trained on the man and watching
for a chance to get away.
She had no chances. That was clear in his grey eyes.
The mouth flowed open and shut and words were formed in her mind:
"This is your test. Should you pass, you will be returned. Should you
not, you will die."
And she knew this to be the truth.
~~~~
end part one
adios
RM
Title: The Inquisitor
Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No
infringement is intended.
see chapter one for other
The Inquisitor--Chapter Two
"But these have no root; they believe only for a while and in a time of
testing fall away." --Luke 8:13
"Who are you?"
Her bewildered head shot up, away from the cold of the floor that seeped
into her body and froze her soul.
"What?"
"Who are you?" The thing's head swiveled, looking directly at her as if
she was being asked a direly important question.
"Dana Scully."
"No!" The thing's voice was cold; she had expected an animal like growl.
"Who are you?"
"Da-"
The shock ran up her arms and knocked her heart out of rhythm and made
her blood boil in her veins. She gasped and wrenched at the manacles,
the skin itching around them where the eletric shock had originated.
"Who are you?"
"I told you! Dana Katherine Scully!"
The force was more powerful, the shock more deadly, the pain more
intense.
"That's an incorrect answer. I know your name. I know you. Now, who are
you?"
"If-if you know me, then why are you asking?"
"WHO ARE YOU?"
She jerked away from his thunder, her mind scrambling for an answer.
"Agent-"
"Not worthless human titles! Not names given to you by others! You! WHO
ARE YOU!"
She shivered and quailed as the currents ran through her skin, as if he
was reminding her what he could do.
"I don't know what you mean. I don't know what you're asking . . . I
don't-"
"That is sad. How can you survive without knowing who you are?"
"I know *who* I am! I don't know who you *want* me to be!"
"You."
She went silent, choking away tears and standing defiantly in front of
the man, the thing with the shifting face.
*Shifting face!*
A bounty hunter? Was that him?
She stared at him and did not let her anger and frustration shine
through.
"So, Little One, who are you?"
She searched blindly, desperately for the right answer.
"What kind of answer do you want?" she said, voice still steady,
thankfully.
"The truth."
"Dana Scully. I told-"
It was a train slamming her body through the air: no breath, no vision,
no thought.
Except, Oh God, don't let me die.
"Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?"
It was a mantra running through her mind now. A taunting question that
plunged through her sanity and ripped it to shreds.
<Oh, God, *let* me die.>
~~~~
Cold.
Why did he feel cold?
The four blankets on top of him should have defeated the cold, banished
it from his body.
Yet it remained.
A terrible, soul splitting cold that seemed to emenate from him.
Why was it so cold?
~~~~
She shuddered and drew her body closer to her, relaxing in the relief of
his absence, his lack of presence in her mind.
She was cold.
"Who are you?" she whispered to herself, trying to dissect the question,
understand its complications.
She was . . . Dana.
He had rejected that though. What was the right answer? What would pass
the test?
<Come on, think. You've done this. All those BS reports you gave in
English class, catered to the liking of whatever teacher you had . . .>
He had said, no titles, no names given to her by other. He wanted *her.*
He had said that, explained as best as he knew how, she guessed.
So, who was she?
A woman.
Yet being a woman did not matter overall. It gave her certian genetic
differences, but did not make her *her.*
What else?
--click--
She thought frantically. What else?
--click--
He was coming, slipping back into her mind.
Think!
--click--
"Who are you?"
No....she didn't know. She didn't know.
"Who are you? Do you think you are worthy of being accepted? Are you
worthy of the things you have?"
What? What did this mean?
"You beleive you are chosen to do the things you do, chosen by God, by a
weak man named Mulder. Chosen by shadows, chosen by someone for your
abilities, your beliefs, your notions. How ever you were chosen, you
were still chosen. You beleive that."
He paused.
"But I don't beleive that. And by the time I'm through, neither will
you."
~~~~
He woke in sweat and fear and could see her in his mind, cold and alone
and frightened, not knowing a very important truth that could save her
life.
He breathed fast and felt the image slip and he let it go.
When had he started having nightmares again?
He laid back down and pulled the blankets tighter around him.
<No more nightmares, please, God.>
~~~~
"This is your test, Little One. Your test. He cannot take it for you. He
could not pass it. This is your test."
She rolled her eyes away from his face, her head lolling on her
shoulders, her body slumped into a tight ball of confusion and fear.
Why was there a test? For what? She wanted to leave.....
"Who are you? Pass or fail, Little One."
"I am . . . "
He looked at her expectantly, eyes seeking something he knew lurked in
her.
"I am . . . Chosen?"
He shook his head. "No. Not chosen. Foolish. Foolish to think a man
might need you, would let you, dispel his demons. Demons are hard to let
go of. You could never do it, right, Little One?"
"I could do it," she protested stubbornly, like a child.
"No," he said softly. "You've already convinced yourself of that.
Remember?"
"I could." She let the words slip out indignantly, even as her
consciousness passed in and out.
Shocks came regularly, now to keep her awake, now to keep her from
oblivion.
Intense ones when she did not make the attempt to answer.
Sharp, knife like ones when she stared at him in defiance.
Body wracking, nerve shredding ones when she spoke in anger or hate.
Exploding, death longing ones when she gave answers that were not what
he wanted.
She longed for death many times.
"Who are you, Little One, that you could dispel his demons? Who are you
to presume you can make a difference?"
"I can . . ."
Pain....
"Who are you to assume you will mean something to him, that you will
make him change? Who are you to know what he needs?"
"I do . . ."
And Pain.....
"Who are you to chosen to guide him? Who are you to say you have a
Destiny?"
"Everyone has a Destiny.....everyone is meant for something,
someone...."
And again, Pain....
Her cheeks were raw with pain, heat and weakness poured into her like
rivers.
Her hed fell back and she let her eyes close in weariness.
Who are you....
"I'm here for him...." she muttered.
"Little One, have you heard nothing? Who are you?"
She whimpered and felt like screaming. The man made no sense. He gave
her many opportunities to answer and then narrowed down each with an
open ended question that could mean anything.
"I'm tired.." she said.
"Yes. Yes."
Her head rose sharply.
That was right?
"I'm tired of this. I'm tired of trying to answer a question that means
thousands of different things...."
"Little One, who are you?"
She stayed silent and for once, there was no shock.
"Little One, what is your faith?
She balked. Another question?
"Faith. Faith that Mulder will be there, a strength and protection.
Faith that God will not fail. Faith in who I am . . ."
"Who are you?"
Light dazzled her and she understood. She understood.
"A Beleiver. I am a Believer."
And then came black relief.
~~~~
His eyes were wide and panicked when she met them.
"Scully. Scully, answer me."
She realized he'd been calling her name for awhile.
Her lips would not move to form 'I'm fine.'
"Scully? Scully, come on. Look at me," he murmured to her with soft
tones, ones meant to soothe.
She flung her arm wildly for his hand and found it.
She felt the bruises from the manacles and remembered her words.
She had been returned.
"Mulder..." It was a slurred effort, but he heard it.
He buried his head in her shoulder in relief.
"Scully, Scully, Scully. I came in and found you here on the floor. You
had me so afraid.....You've got brusies everywhere....."
She nodded and let her eyes slip shut.
"Someone came for me." she said softly.
"Who did this to you?"
His voice was agonized.
"My doubt." she whispered.
His face was confused.
He pulled her up and into his arms anyway, then carried her to the
couch.
She shivered and he wrapped his arms around her.
The words came back to her. She had to tell him who she was.
"I believe, Mulder. Even if you don't. I believe."
He nodded against her and said nothing.
All he cared was that she had been returned.
~~~~
end
adios
RM
Insomnia
Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.
Content: MS/UST,V
Timeline: SPOILERS for The Movie.
~~~~~
Insomnia
~~~~~
She stared at the smooth finish of the wall for a long time, then turned
over and repeated the process with the other wall, attempting to memorize
every curve and every nick and every wash of paint against its surface.
Her legs kicked at the blankets after a moment, pushing them off her bed
and onto the floor, sweating through her thin night shirt.
The shadows shifted suddenly as a car sped down her street, the head
lights causing the walls to flare in a moment of bright clarity.
She turned back to the other side, the top sheet twisting around her
frame.
Sighing, she shut her eyes and breathed in the clean scent of freshly
washed linen and a cool pillow.
drip.
The sink faucet hadn't been turned off all the way. . .
creak.
The apartment building shied in the wind. . .
swish.
Her legs scissored under the sheet.
Blowing out a long breath, Scully rose from her bed and began pacing,
striding from the window to her door and back.
After a few minutes, she jerked open her door and slipped quietly through
her home, the dark shadows reaching out to soothe and caress her weary
body.
She grabbed a throw pillow and slumped into her couch, staring at the
walls, their new facets and colors and exteriors making her drowsy.
She closed her eyes, let her head fall to the arm of the couch, settled
deep into its embrace.
She heard every movement, every false sound, every whisper that echoed
through the building, and none of it would let her sleep.
Groaning with the unfairness of it, she yanked herself from the couch and
tore back to her room, forgetting any hope of falling asleep anytime soon.
She rummaged through her drawers, pulling out running shorts and a
T-shirt, then her sports bra and socks.
Scully sat at the end of her traitorous bed and yanked on her clothes,
angry with her inability to fall asleep, exhausted after everything she
had faced that day.
Another round of defending herself and her beliefs to Mulder, another day
of trying to put everything behind them permanently.
He obviously wanted to forget it all, forget what had happened in his
hallway months ago.
She kept having the horrible thought that he had tried to seduce her,
tried to sway her into staying by his side with the power of his hold over
her heart.
Or maybe he had never really noticed and maybe he thought it was fate that
they should be interrupted by the shadow government's plots.
She could think like this all night and never find peace.
He had tried to seduce her.
That's what it came down to.
She was leaving and he had done the only thing he knew how, run after her
and turned on his unfailing charm; he had said whatever came to him and
she had gone along with him.
She was still going along with him.
Her heart, her life, her soul was twisted among his own quest, tied to his
so tightly that she could never give it up.
He hadn't understood quite what she'd been telling him.
She had quit so that they wouldn't send her away from him.
If she quit, she could stay with him, she was still in the city.
But he had thought she would never never be around.
So maybe he did need her, but only in a professional way. Only to keep him
grounded in reality, to keep his thoughts and motives pure, to reel him
in, save him from himself.
This was a noble thing, and she did it willingly, but she wanted more than
this.
He had seduced her.
He had saved her.
He had pushed her away from him.
She was angry at her own softness, her weak willed spirit that slipped
back to him whenever he reached out.
Jumping up, she dashed from her bedroom, then out the front door, running
hard into the night and forever, ignoring all the voices in her that said
this was dangerous.
This was dangerous, but so was loving a selfish man.
~~~~~
It was odd because she had taken a cab at first, let it drop her off in
the neighborhood, then paid with the twenty she had on her.
It was all her money and she wondered how she would get back to her
apartment now.
After the cab, she had ignored everything around her and pounded the
pavement with her feet, slapped it hard and quickly as she raced through
the streets, thinking only of the in and out of her breath.
Her lungs ached, felt like a rib had slashed the soft tissue and ripped
into it every time she breathed.
A stitch in her side cramped violently and she stopped, gasping, bending
over in the sidewalk to relieve the tight pain.
A breath stole through her and shredded her last resolve.
Her tears slipped free and she sobbed once, needing air and hating that it
hurt so much.
She wanted to fall asleep, she craved that darkness, but even still,
nervous energy captured her.
She slumped to the ground, her face falling into her arms, fingers angrily
wiping the tears from her eyes.
Taking in a deeper breath, she waited for the cramp, but found she could
move again.
Standing, she looked up, wondering where she was.
Mulder.
She was standing right in front of his apartment, and his living room
light was on, a soft dim glow that called out to her.
She walked up his stairs in a daze, wondering at what had put her there,
right in front of the last place she wanted to be, and the only place she
needed to be.
She was sweaty and breathing quickly, her hair was wild because she had
forgotten to pull it back; the pieces got into her mouth now and she spit
them out.
Pausing for just a moment, she knocked on his door, praying he was up,
just as wretched as her.
The door opened and sleepy eyes greeted her, his body looking as if it had
recently been unfolded from his couch.
"Were you asleep?" she said softly, frowning.
He nodded but grabbed her arm before she could even turn around to leave.
"Are you okay, Scully?"
"I ran."
He nodded, but his eyebrows lifted as he took in her appearance
"The whole way?"
She shook her head. "I got in a cab at first. Then I ran."
"You ran here?"
He pushed her across the floor.
She felt exhausted. "I meant to run back. . .I couldn't sleep."
"Guess you went the wrong way," he said softly, hiding a laugh with a
smile.
The couch was warm when he pushed her into it and she knew he'd been
asleep there, finding no problems in his own slumber.
He was still standing.
"Want some water?"
She shook her head.
He sat down.
It seemed very odd now, yet not at all, as if this was meant a long time
ago to happen, in just this way.
She wanted to fall asleep now, to dream in his couch about his almost kiss
and never wake up again.
He reached out and took her hand, tracing the edges of her fingerprints
with his thumbnail.
"Couldn't sleep?" he said suddenly, and she remembered that he was the
expert on insomnia.
She nodded, and he noticed the way her eyes were slipping shut, then
flying back open.
"Tired now?"
She nodded again and turned to him, her sleepy eyes and relaxed lips
burning into his mind.
He reached out and took the side of her face in his hand, smoothing the
wild hair along her cheek.
She sighed into his touch and, after a gentle tug of his fingers, fell
into his lap.
The dark outside creeped inside his living room, only to be batted away by
the faint light from the lamp on his desk, and it was warmer than her own
bedroom.
She curled her fingers around his sweat pants and took in deep breaths,
finally able to relax.
His fingers slipped along her jawline, light and feathery, like soft jazz
in the evening.
She turned her head deeper into him, then sighed and sat up again.
"I should let you go back to sleep," she said softly.
"Yes, maybe so."
He pushed his legs behind her, against the cushions, then laid back in the
couch, pulling her down beside him.
She barely fit, and her head rested on his chest, but he smiled and laid
his hand on her back, a heavy reminder.
She stopped breathing, waiting.
"Mulder?" she asked, hesitant to say anything.
"I'm right here, Scully. Sleep now."
As if she needed his permission.
She found she did though.
"Thank you."
He tightened his arms around her and softly kissed her ear with tender
lips.
Then his lips twitched at the side of her face, moved up to her forehead,
brushed her nose.
Her eyes opened and she looked at him for a long moment.
He eased closer and tasted her chin, letting his lips drag along her
throat with an animal noise growling from his chest.
She moved against him, tightened her arms around him, let him trail his
lips across her skin.
No words, no sudden explosions of confessions, no tirades or heart
wrenching conversation.
Just his need, her want, their mutual feelings falling into place like
puzzle pieces.
She slumped against him and he closed his eyes, staying still.
"Sleep," he whispered.
She floated away.
~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
"In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see
your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven."
--Matthew 5:16
~~~~~~~~~~