RocketMan XXX

Unending

Volcanoes

Mine Series

Unending

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully, even in this form, belong to CC, 1013,

and Fox. No fringe is intended.

Warning: Extreme UST ahead, along with some of it resolved, in a way.

This is probably PG-13.

~~~~~

Unending

~~~~~

I had this dream once, where a large dinosaur came rumbling up to me,

his tongue shooting out and licking me like my dog used to do.

I was laughing and petting his nose and then another dinosaur, some big

T-rex or velociraptor or something came up and took a huge hunk from the

first dino's side and the animal screamed.

I am fuzzy on the details of everything else, even on what the dinosaurs

looked like, where I was in the dream, and even what happened

afterwards.

But that scream.

That unholy howling of pure rage and fear and intense pain . . .that

stayed with me the entire night.

I had four other dreams that night, and I know I did because in each I

heard that scream.

Once from a little girl.

Then from a bird.

Then from Mulder.

I don't remember what the other dreams were about, only that scream.

It still haunts me.

I hear it sometimes, in the whisper of wind through the trees before a

storm, in the chiming of the clock when it hits twelve noon, the guitar

solo in Hotel California on my CD player.

A scream of pain, of death, of rage.

All directed at me.

Screaming . . . unendingly, forever, horrid.

That scream stays in the front of my memory.

Which has to be the explanation for why I heard it yesterday.

Why I heard it from the lips of a four year old boy.

~~~~~

"Scully?"

I snap back to his voice, staring I know, with my hands shaking a bit

and my lips refusing to say those magic words.

"Scully?"

And he's looking anxiously for those magic words, the ones that say I

will be all right, I will be *fine.*

"Scully!"

I shake my head. "That . . . little boy. . ."

Mulder hangs his head. "I. . .I. . ."

He can say nothing. It may not have been our fault, but that didn't

absolve us from the guilt.

He comes to sit on my desk, hands white and clutching the top, closing

his eyes slightly and leaning back.

The picture of a man in ecstasy, or a man in pain.

How odd that the two would be so similiar, so close to each other.

Pain and pleasure are two feelings so deeply rooted together that

sometimes they cause each other, grow off each other.

Feed on each other.

The man who murdered the little boy had no separation between the two,

no difference between hurt and love.

He showed he cared by carving up the boy's chest.

He showed he loved without end by killing the child.

"We should have stopped him." I say softly.

He nods. We are heavy in this guilt.

We knew the man, knew the identity of the boy's kidnapper, and we

waited, hoping to follow him to where he placed the boy.

"We lost him. We had him and we lost him." Mulder pounds the desk with a

large fist, then grinds his teeth together.

"It was a team effort," I say wearily.

He snorts at the thought of the entire FBI hostage team as they swarmed

the building, forcing entry and perhaps, maybe, being the trigger to set

off the kidnapper into a killer.

I want to find peace in this; I want to escape the horrible truth that I

am responsible for a little boy's death.

I can't though.

I shake my head at Mulder and grip his hand.

I want so bad for someone to hold me, to take me in their arms and say

it wasn't my fault, no matter how much I know it to be false.

Just for someone to hold me.

~~~~~

Mulder comes home with me and sinks into my couch as I grab the popcorn

from the microwave and salt it.

He grabs the belt loops on my suit jacket as I come to sit next to him,

then yanks me down into the couch roughly.

Such a fine line between pleasure and pain.

He flicks on the television and surfs until he comes to a movie we have

seen a few months ago, same sort of situation, except then, we weren't

responsible for the death of a child.

The black and white is grainy and it makes me think we are in a

different kind of world, a different place where things have not

happened at all and color has been leached from the joy of life.

The man onscreen is shouting at the woman, I think it was Grace Kelly,

or maybe that other one, Judy something.

The man is an unknown, but handsome, with dark regal hair that glistens

in the stage lights but doesn't seem greasy or dirty. His lips are

flared and thick and his nose is thin with a hint of freckles that I can

almost see.

I lean back into the couch, drifting in the world of swishing dresses

and greys and men with mustaches and a clever accent.

Mulder slips his arm around me, pulls me into his chest, then lowers his

chin to my head.

I wanted him to hold me, and this feels safe.

I am caught up in the movie again, needing to be away from my own world

for awhile, when I realize what he's doing.

Mulder's hands are roaming, smoothing my dress shirt over my stomach,

slipping his hands into my jacket, his thumbs barely running over the

sides of my breasts.

It sends an immediate rush of warmth all through me and I find it hard

to breathe right without opening my mouth.

My eyes are fastened to the screen as I try to think exactly this has

happened, how exactly we have gotten to this point and how I have let

it.

I am leaning into him, my head now on his chest, he leaning against the

armrest, and the entire atmosphere so very alluring.

I want to let him keep touching me, but I can't.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Want anything?"

I stand suddenly, feeling my heart hitching in my chest as he looks up

at me.

He gives me a sort of grin or maybe it was the look of a hunter enjoying

the game, and shakes his head slowly.

I stumble into the kitchen and nearly drop my glass as I take it from

the cupboard, then spill ice all over the floor as I grab a few pieces.

The water sliding down my throat does nothing to cool me off, only makes

me think of how silky his touch was, how soft it slipped up my stomach

and brushed my breasts.

I feel a hand on my elbow and I jump, the touch so matching the one I

was fantasizing about that it freaks me out.

"Don't freak out yet," he murmurs.

I think he's said this to me before. Maybe that's why this iss making me

shiver.

I turn, trying to conjure up something to say that would make this all

turn around, somehow.

I've never had anyone make me so nervous that my hands are shaking.

He grabs my waist and pushes the glass of water onto the sink, then lets

his forehead meet mine.

I am shivering, closing my eyes, when his hand reaches out and brushes

my cheek, then he chuckles.

"Open your eyes."

I do and the force of his gaze makes me feel weak and all I can think

is, this isn't me doing this. He can't be making me this weak, this

helpless.

"Let's go watch the movie, Scully."

I sigh in relief and, maybe just a bit, in disappointment.

He pulls me to the couch and then into his arms and I close my eyes and

tried to get my own courage back.

He may not have ravaged me in the kitchen, but he's doing a good job if

it now, or trying to at least.

His hands seem to be on a different level than the rest of him. Looking

at his eyes, he seems involved in the moive, but of course, how involved

could he be with his hands slding up my shirt and the fact that we've

seen this movie before?

His eyes slide and meet mine and he gives me a knowing grin that would

have infuriated me, had I strength or the emotional reserve to be angry.

I simply want to melt.

I close my eyes and forget everything, forget how silly and needy I must

seem by staying in his arms and letting him do this, because all that's

in my head is the way this feels.

The way this feels.

Plesaure pain so close to the line that it makes me forget I am

responsible for the death of a little boy.

Unending pleasure unfurling from the very center of me, making my breath

come fast, then slow, sometimes not at all.

He wants to do this, I want him to do this.

My eyes flash open when his lips follow his fingers.

My body twists shamelessly and hot flush creeps up my cheeks.

"Mulder. . ."

He lets his hair brush my bareed stomach, then reaches for my jacket,

slipping his hands under my back.

This has quickly gone from arousing to urging, needing.

"Mulder, we can't do this."

He doesn't seem to be listening to me anymore.

That's what breaks me from the addiction of his touch. I pull myself up

into a ball, making his eyes raise to mine and his heda tilt.

I reach out to touch him, knowing that I have to say this so he doesn't

think . . . whatever it is he thinks.

"Mulder, if we did this now, it wouldn't be right, the same. We both

feel bad about the little boy . . . this would only be something to

regret later on."

His eyes are suddenly closed down, emotionally cold to me again.

I make a noise in my throat and clench his shirt tighter.

Doesn't this ever end? Are we ever going to be able to simply love each

other without all this . . . this crap between us?

"Not like that Mulder. I meant. . .oh hell, I probably would regret it.

Not because it's you, but because of the reasons why."

He seems confused, but not willing to stick around to figure it out.

But as he moves, I grab him, yank him back into the couch.

"I do love you, Mulder. But this needs to be something we do because

it's coming from that love, not from our guilt."

I think I've made him understand, but he simply shakes his head and

pulls away from me.

He stands and kisses my forehead, then walks to the door.

I rush forward, catch him just as he turns to leave, and close my eyes,

mounting as much courage as I can.

I pull him to me and kiss his mouth, forcefully, asserting the claim

that he is mine, and no one else's.

The cry he makes is that same, unending scream of pleasure pain.

He shoves me to the wall and presses himself fully against me, more lust

and desire than anything, and firmly brands me with a quick kiss.

"You'd better just let me walk out," he whispers and slips out the door

quickly.

I sink to the floor, the feel of his body everywhere on me.

We have said nothing about anything, but everything about most things.

Without any words at all.

Just a searing, unending kiss promising more in the future.

Unending.

I can feel him even now.

There's no way I'm falling asleep now.

~~~~~

end

adios

RM

Date: Tue, 22 Jul 1997 08:24:46 -0700

Author: RocketMan [email protected].

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. CC made them up.

Rating: P

Notes: Distribute wherever, and have a nice day!

"If they are well cleaned out, volcanoes burn slowly and steadily,

without any eruptions." --"The Little Prine" Antoine de Saint Exupery

Mulder watched the television play another haunting episode of "The

Twilight Zone" and shuddered at the way it so much fit his life. The

anger in him was exactly like the anger in the main character, ready to

explode at anything or anyone. And his frustration was sky high; he had

a bad feeling it would all come out, exactly when he didn't need it to.

He felt like a volcano about to blow, the hot magma of anger rising up

through him, ready to explode and kill all the things around him. The

liquid fire coursing through his veins and awakening the sleeping pain

and setting it ablaze with his anger. He was ready to blow.

The knock on his door seemed a bad omen for it and he cursed silently,

hating that he was angry enough to curse in the first place. He got up,

switching off the TV and walked to the door. He saw the top of her head

through the peephole and hoped he would be good. If there was one thing

he couldn't mess up, it was what they had.

"Mulder." she said as she walked in.

He nodded, afraid the words out of his mouth would be foul.

"I know you're angry."

"Not with you." Whew, that went all right enough.

"But with them, I know. You can't let it eat at you, Mulder." she said.

"Since when did you get a pyschology diploma?" he asked snidely and

immediately regretted it.

She didn't seem fazed. "Since you became so hostile." she shot back and

he winced. He had been hostile, that was for sure.

"Sorry."

"Mulder, I want you to let it out. Go run or lift weights or do whatever

it is you do to relieve stress."

He couldn't tell her that he releived stress by watching his videos and

imagining her, it'd be too crass.

But the look on his face said it all.

"Even that." she sighed, wishing there was another way.

His face broke into a smile and he grinned wickedly. "Maybe you could

watch them with me, huh?"

She seemed apalled and he mentally berated himself.

"Jeez, sorry I-"

"Mulder, shut up. You're only being you."

He flinched at that. "I certainly hope this is not me."

She frowned. "What?"

"I hope I'm not always so disgusting, especially around you."

She sighed and shook her head. "Well, sometimes."

His mouth dropped open. "But it's joking most of the time."

"Most?"

"All." he hastily corrected.

"You weren't joking then?"

He shook his head and pulled her to the couch. "No, just stay for awhile

though, Scully. I don't know of any other way of putting me in a good

mood."

"No videos?"

"Why, were you hoping for them?"

She violently shook her head.

"No, no videos, but reruns of "The Twilight Zone," if you can stand it."

"Much better than your videos." she said and allowed him to pull her on

the couch.

They sat together for the first story, then he pulled her against him,

onto his chest after that.

She didn't say a thing.

When she fell asleep later that night at about midnight, he realized

that sometimes he needed to be cleaned out. Get out in the light of

goodness and bask in it, before the dark could reach in and steal his

soul.

And she was just the one to clean him out, to give him light.

Sleeping in his arms, so light and delicate, her hair in waves around

his chest, was the one woman who could put everything right again. Dana

Scully, partner, friend, and volcano cleaner.

Adios

End

RocketMan

Date: Sat, 30 May 1998 20:14:36 +0000

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is

intended.

SPOILER:::::US5::::::THE END::::::POST (again, I know, I know)

You Are Here

=====

"No longer what we were before

But not all that we will be. . .

Tomorrow, when we lock the door

On all our disbelieving. . .

I'm caught in between

The Now and the Not-Yet

Sometimes it seems

like forever and ever."

--Amy Grant, "The Now and the Not-Yet"

=====

When I walked in and saw it, I finally, finally, understood one basic

truth.

The X-Files are, were, my life.

And now that life is gone.

It's completely, utterly, totally gone.

Gone.

It's still echoing in my head like a bad catchy song that you hear when

you wake up in the morning.

Mulder is standing there looking just as lost as I am, but there is also

something very wrong changing in him.

He's not merely shocked and outraged, he's . . . he's gone too.

I want to touch him, let him know not everything is gone. I hold his

arms, tightly, wishing I could squeeze some life into him. I want to

shake him.

Instead I lay my head against his chest.

I can't pretend to be the strong one anymore.

I just can't.

And he can't be strong either.

It hurts when he doesn't move to comfort me. It hurts that he doesn't

even notice me.

It's like my soul has been gutted along with this office. Earlier,

listening numbly as Skinner told me that people were out to get us, that

people wanted the X-Files closed, there was always the hope that the

X-Files would always be here. That they would be waiting for us to come

back, open their depths and discover their truths. There were many

truths in those files, not only relating to Mulder's family, or my

cancer, but to science and life in general. Truths about spirituality

and beasts and genetics. Truths about things most people don't want to

even look at too closely.

And now, those are gone.

Where do we go now? Where are we headed for now?

What nice little trip to the woods awaits us now?

I want him to answer me, to be strong and hopeful for me. I've had the

strength of his beliefs and his beliefs are me.

He is me.

And we're both dying.

The acrid stench of destruction and hell comes at me and I pull away

from Mulder this time. I pull away and head for the door, but I can't

leave.

If I actually leave, then this will actually have happened.

I stand just outside, slumped against the wall, hating my fear, hating

this sense of becoming "unstuck in time" here. I am here, and yet I can

see everything we have done and everything we should have done

unraveling before me.

I feel my knees unlock and I slide down the wall to the floor.

I can't be the strong one anymore.

I can't see a way out of this, I can't see that light at the end that

tells me we've fought the good fight.

We are nothing without each other, and "we" doesn't happen without the

X-Files.

I let my head fall to my hands and try not to breathe in too deeply.

I always knew that this would end someday, but I hadn't really thought

it would be like this - in a flaming downward spiral.

I thought the end would be triumphant, with Mulder and I bonded together

forever, and maybe even more.

I thought the truth would be revealed and everything would change: I

could trust the government once more, we could be who and what we

wanted.

We are nothing.

I am nothing.

I am without a map in a foreign land that twists and turns and caters to

the whims of its ferocious, native beasts. The X-Files were our guide,

and Mulder . . . Mulder was the adventursome spirit that said "Don't

give up."

He has given up and I don't think I have the strength to continue.

I feel like I have lost another child.

Another . . .

Where I am going? Where am I? Caught between this horror and the

inevitablity of the future.

And nowhere to run. No one to turn to. Truly, utterly and completely

alone.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up.

"Scully, come on. Let's go home." His face is still stone.

My first thought is--whose home? to do what?

I shake my head and push off his hands.

He squats down and there is nothing in his eyes.

"Scully . . . I need you . . . you can't give up."

I want to kill him. "You have. Why can't I afford that luxury?"

His face contorts. "I don't want to give up. I want to . . . I want to

figure out where this is going, what I want to gain from this. But

Scully, is it worth it anymore? I need you to tell me it is."

His words are anguished, brittle.

"I can't tell you that Mulder. Is it worth my life? It's not worth

yours, it's not worth losing you or me, or life, or love, or happiness,

or faith. But maybe, if we gain peace. . . maybe this can be worth

something."

He takes my hands and kisses them, just as he did in the hospital.

"It's not worth some things, but it is worth picking ourselves up off

the ground and fighting this."

"What are we fighting Mulder?"

He shakes his head. "The future . . . "

I watch his lips ghost out the words and I shiver. "But I don't want to

be stuck here . . . "

His smile smirks and I avert my eyes.

"Wherever we are, Scully, it's okay, as long as we do this together.

With us, we can do anything."

"Can we fight the future with just us?" I say and feel my doubt slip

back in.

He smiles and picks me up off the ground.

"We have to."

~~~~

end

adios

RM