By Char Chaffin
char@chaffin.com
 

MSR, R, Post-Closure
Spoilers:  Early Season Seven, "Emily", brief mention of "Detour"
Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan

Dedication:  To Sallie, who smiled when she needed to and who asked
for first-time "Closure" as a reward for doing so!

Thanks: to Tess, Carol and Robin for the quickie read and zippy
beta!  Thank ya, my dears!
 

~~~

"Just Another Sleepless Night"
    By Char Chaffin

I sometimes think it's a shame we've both been blessed - or cursed,
depending on how you look at it - with questioning, analytical minds.
It's kept me awake on nights when I most need some sort of
replenishing sleep; it's done the same to Scully.  For as many times
as I've called her in the middle of the night complaining that this
or that idea or thought - or worry - was keeping me awake, she has
returned the favor.  Maybe not as often as I've called her, but she's
had her share of sleepless nights, too.

I remember once, not long after Emily's funeral, Scully called me at
four in the morning.  I'd been dozing, TV muted low, all the lights
out.  Her voice had been thick with tears and I'd sat on my sofa with
the phone cradled to my ear, listening to her grieving and wishing
like hell she'd just let me come over so that I could comfort her
properly.

I'd murmured those very words to her, my own voice hoarse with
sympathy.  Her reply hadn't really surprised me.  "Mulder, I... thank
you, but I need to get through this on my own.  You can't help me or
speed up the grieving period.  Nobody can."

I rubbed my tired eyes with one hand, picturing her curled up on the
end of her sofa, wiping at the tears I could hear over the receiver,
and my heart just broke for her.  I'd cajoled gently, "That's true.
I can't speed it up for you.  But I can hold you, Scully.  I can
comfort you with actions if not words.  You could cry on my shoulder
instead of into your telephone."

"No.  It's not that I don't appreciate it, Mulder.  I do.  But if
you came over here and I leaned on you, I wouldn't regain any level
of strength.  You know that.  It was the same when your father died,
remember?  You had to do it alone.  When Missy died, too... somehow
we've both needed to mourn by ourselves, regroup alone.  It's just
the way we are."

She was right.  It WAS the way we were, back when we were younger
and had less partnership, friendship, caring, whatever you want to
call the measure of what we meant to each other... we needed to stand
alone.  At the time, I was sure I understood, and I agreed softly
into the phone, murmured to her a few minutes more and didn't protest
when she hung up the phone.  I didn't call her back and when we met
in our office the next morning, I followed her conversational lead;
the phone call wasn't mentioned again.  Over the next few years,
whenever one or the other of us had overworked-brain-syndrome and
couldn't sleep, we still exchanged phone calls.  Everything more or
less stayed the same as it had always been.

Until two nights ago.

********************

In the small, dark hours of the morning I hold her in my arms and
think of how this all started, with nothing more than a phone call.
This time I was the one doing the calling.  Two days ago I buried my
sister... more or less.  Days before that I'd stood in a dreary
graveyard and buried my mother, the last known living member of my
biological family.  Other, unrelated family stood on either side of
me, lending their support.  Scully, holding my hand.  Skinner,
standing beside me and offering silent strength.  Even the guys had
come and were grouped behind me; I could feel their three-fold
caring, awkward and self-conscious but present all the same, aimed
right at me.  No words were spoken; none were needed.  Their quiet
presence got me through that black day.  They bolstered my inner
fortitude.  I knew I could make it, regardless of what I later would
discover about my sister.

A few days ago we did it all over again, this time with a small
marker next to my parents' gravesite.  Above ground that would never
be dug out to enclose a casket, I'd had the inscribed stone placed.
Samantha's name, her birth date, estimated date of death and the
words, "Sister and Daughter, Most Beloved."  I'd put the word
'sister' first because I'd always felt she belonged more to me, than
to my parents.  I refused to allow any guilt feelings to surface as
I'd written out the instructions to the monument company.  I'd been
amazed at how quickly they'd finished the job; maybe they'd felt
sorry for me.  At any rate I got the deed done, and this time with
only Scully at my side, I laid my sister to rest, at last.
 
But this time I couldn't make it alone, as I'd been able to in the
past.  This time when it all hit me in absolute waves, I picked up
the phone and I called Scully.

"It's me.  I can't sleep.  I can't stop my brain from thinking.  I
can't seem to stop my eyes, from seeing..."  My voice threaded out to
nothing as I clutched the phone to my ear like a lifeline.

She never hesitated, never said a word about the lateness of the
hour, the fact that she'd have to drive through the rain to get to
me.  She merely said, "I'm on my way, Mulder," and hung up gently,
before I could admonish her to take a cab.  I sat, holding the
receiver in my hand, until she got there.  I must have self-induced
myself into a trance because I never heard her at the door, unlocking
it.  My first awareness of her arrival came when she tugged the phone
out of my hand and then pulled me into her arms.

I didn't cry; I was curiously beyond tears.  It's not that I curled
into a fetal position in Scully's embrace and moaned aloud of how
alone I now was, an orphan, sibling-less, the last of my direct line.
I knew I still had family; they just were not of my blood.  The
connection I'd felt with her, with Skinner and with the guys at the
funeral... that was all still in place.  There was my family. But for
the first time my grief manifested itself into a need to feel another
body against mine.  Call it comfort, call it something else; didn't
matter.  It was what it was, and I needed it.

So, I discovered later, did Scully... more than even she knew.

I can't say when the small touches of empathy turned into something
else.  It seemed one moment Scully's hand was pressed against my
face, holding my cheek to hers, and the next moment I'd turned my
head a little and caught her bottom lip in a kiss.  Not one of
gratitude, not exactly; more than friendship and somewhat less than
blatant passion.  It wasn't a continuation of that sweet but
milquetoast kiss of New Year's Eve, but a kiss that defied
description.  Like my need for her physical presence, it simply was
what it was.

Suddenly craving more, I moved my lips a little and covered her
mouth fully, gave her the kiss I'd always wanted to give her.  Full
and open, hungry, tongues touching and twisting together; one breath,
issued together.  She cupped my face and kissed me back, just as
intensely, just as deeply.  When I felt moisture at the corner of my
mouth my eyes opened, to see tears overflowing her eyes.  I somehow
knew she was crying not only for me, but for her own losses as well.
I wrapped my arms around her tightly, kissed her and kissed her...
and with those tears of hers I felt the ice around my own emotions
splinter, break.  I still didn't cry, but all that emotion, which
normally would have backed a severe bout of tears, poured itself
instead into the kisses I gave her and the way I held her.

There was no question of whether this initial physical expression
would become intimacy.  We both knew it would.  Years of caring, of
loving... how could it not?  We'd been alone for so long.  Even in a
roomful of people, we were alone.  Standing shoulder to shoulder,
more often than not we'd still be alone.  Whether out in the field on
a case or eating a makeshift dinner at her place, or mine... somehow
we were such solitary people.  She knew me better than anyone else in
the world ever had, and I think I knew her the same way.  But those
damned barriers had erected themselves with little or no assistance
from either of us, based on who we were and what we did day to day.

All of them came crashing down so quickly, once we finally allowed
that expression free rein.

At the time I didn't agonize over the worry that our need to be
intimate was couched in nothing more than sympathy, either from me or
from her.  I wasn't thinking to myself, 'Well, Scully's only touching
me this way because I'm such a sorry loser,' or, 'God, she needs a
man, I need a woman; guess we're both going to step up to the plate.'
Comfort sex was never fulfilling past that first rush; we both knew
it.  Sex for any other reason beyond love was worth less than the
time it would take to move through the motions and achieve the final
climax. I wasn't the type to have sex for the sake of sex, and
neither was Scully.  Otherwise what we did that night would have
been an act we both could have put behind us when it was all over.

It was more important than that.  It meant far, far more than that.

I kissed her eyes, catching residual tears with my mouth, feeling
her smile against my chin as I did so.  When my hands slipped under
her sweater and found only soft skin, she sighed and pushed closer,
giving silent permission to touch her, undress her.  Wanting to do
just that, still I denied myself the joy of discovery, preferring to
make my way as if blind, learning the texture of skin I'd already
seen nude but had never touched in quite this manner, except in my
own fantasies.

I stroked my palms over her small nipples, recalling perfectly how
sweet they were, framed in the firm flesh of her breasts.
They beaded against my fingers and I bit back a groan of delight at
the way they responded to my touch.  I nuzzled her throat as I
slipped my hands up and down her spine, along her sides; feeling the
delicate ribs and the subtle play of musculature there.  I loved the
curl of her arms around my shoulders, the way her lips closed over
the pulsing artery in my neck, the urgency in her voice when she next
pressed those lips against my ear and entreated, "Mulder, please...
skin, I want skin..."

It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about my skin.  I
stifled an inane urge to chuckle and instead pulled back until she
could reach the hem of my tee shirt and tug it up and over my head.
Immediately she pressed close again and I found my mouth, tongue and
probably my tonsils all firmly engaged in one of the deepest, most
probing kisses I'd ever experienced.  I speared my fingers into her
hair and returned it all, every bite, nip and probe.

We slid sideways on the sofa and I hovered above Scully, brushing
tangled hair from her face, staring down into her luminous eyes and
thinking I'd never seen a more beautiful sight.  A thousand words of
love and desire churned in my head, demanding to be spoken, yet I
couldn't seem to say even one of them.  Maybe after the loving I'd
retain enough presence of mind to speak, but for now I could only
show her...

Which I did.

*****************

Those first hours of us together pass over my mind in significant
bits and flashes as she curls against my side, asleep and hopefully
dreaming good dreams.  For me, the dream is the one I hold in my
arms, one I never thought I'd have.  I stroke her silky hair and
recall the damp taste of it against my lips when I kissed her neck,
her ear.  I trail my fingers down her arm and feel again the strength
of them as she held onto me, so tightly.  I gaze at her sleeping face
and replay the wonder in those blue eyes of hers; the same wonder I
know must have been reflected in mine... that it was so incredible,
our first coming together.

We'd slipped out of our remaining clothes, both of us barely willing
to release each other long enough to get them off and out of the way.
In the dimness of my small living room her body was pale and perfect,
delicate, and yet I knew its innate strength.  She'd once held me all
night in a cold forest; she'd lent her physical support so many
times, keeping me steady on my feet.  Any worries I might have had,
that my own weight might be too much for her, well... those worries
were dispelled when she pulled me down to her; when her legs parted
and then coiled around my waist, locking me against her.  She was wet
and warm and welcoming, and I slid inside her in one long, smooth
thrust.

We both groaned.

Loving Scully defies description; I recall every moment of it, two
days later, and I still can't frame it properly.  If pressed to write
it in words of two or less the best I could come up with would be
'all-encompassing.'  It was more than I'd ever known lovemaking to
be.  It completely took me over, reshaped my mind, recast my fate.
It changed everything, and for the better.  Until Scully, I had never
melded so fully with another woman; mind, body and soul.  And as I
moved within her, holding on for dear life, locking eyes with her
because I couldn't bear to miss a single instant of how her response
was reflected on her face... I knew that for whatever secondary
excuse we made, the primary reason for our new intimacy had to be
love.

In the meshing of our bodies I discovered a wealth of passion within
myself that I didn't even know I possessed.  I wanted it to last
forever, never wanted to leave the sheath of her, the clean and tight
good of her, clasping me.  When she tensed, shuddered; then cried out
my name, it felt as if all the heavens were in perfect alignment, the
yin of my existence had finally met her yang, all was right and
proper in my previously sad little world... and the explosion
triggered by her release shook me to the very bone, leaving me almost
unconscious.

It was the first time in my life I'd actually blacked out from
climaxing.

I think about it now and I can't stop the dumb grin that spreads
over my face.  No doubt if I looked into a mirror I'd surely resemble
a baboon.  I can feel my body starting to stir again, just in
recalling those hours, though I'd be hard-pressed to find
another burst of lust that would result in a decent erection.  I'm so
very drained, and yet in the best possible way.

After that first time; after we'd both come down from the utter high
of it, Scully had stirred beneath me and I'd immediately tried to
move away, positive I was crushing her.  She'd clamped her arms
around my waist and had whispered, "Stay, Mulder.  Right where you
are.  It feels so good."

I'd stayed.  Still inside her, willingly captured within flesh that
fit around me so lovingly, I'd managed to turn us both until we lay
on our sides, face to face.  I had so many things I wanted to say.
Thoughts bubbled up, trying to form into words, all of the things a
man usually never has the need to say, right after sex.  Except this
wasn't just sex.  This was loving a woman who'd been the focus of my
life for so long.  This was the consummation of a relationship that
had been seven years in the making, four of which I'd known with
utter certainty contained love on my part.

I should have fallen asleep holding her.  Instead, I let my damned
analytical, questioning mind run loose with my tongue.

"We can't let this ruin our friendship.  We can't let it hurt what
we already have together.  I love you so much, Scully... and I want
you to know how much this has meant to me, even thought I realize
you were only trying to comfort me..."

She clapped a hand over my mouth to shut me up.  I was babbling.
Usually I never babble.  At least I don't think I babble... I became
aware that I was trying to talk against her palm, however, which was
proof positive that I did indeed babble.   Scully pressed my mouth
harder and I quieted, figuring she had something to say first.

Which she did.

"Mulder, I didn't do this out of the need to simply comfort.  I
didn't come over here just because I thought you needed comfort,
although clearly you did.  You still do.  I'm here because in a
situation like this, you should be around the person who loves you
best.  I didn't make love with you in pity, compassion or anything
else your insecure mind can think up.  I'm here for the love.
It's as simple as that."

I took instant exception to some of what she said, at first not
hearing the word 'love.'  "Insecure?  I'm not insecure!"

Scully sighed deeply.  "You're often insecure when it comes to
knowing and accepting your own human worth.  I am, too.  In that as
well as in other ways, we are so alike, Mulder.  Sometimes I think
neither of us wants to imagine anything good happening in our
lives."

She curved her hand around my neck and pulled me close, until she
could reach my lips to kiss me.  She put so much love into that kiss
that I couldn't possibly confuse it with anything else; then she
leaned away a little and murmured, "I would give everything to take
away the pain of what you've had to go through.  Your mother... your
sister.  Just as I know you wanted to do when I lost my family... my
little girl.  Making love from grief isn't merely sex for comfort's
or pity's sake, Mulder.  It's a way to start the healing process.
Using each other to help that process is what people in love do when
tragedy broadsides them."

Her tender admonishment went a long way toward ridding me of those
insecurities I claimed not to possess, and I pulled her very close
and buried my face in her hair, too overcome to speak.  She stroked
the back of my neck; added, "As for your other concern... nothing can
alter our friendship, Mulder.  Some of the best friends in the world
are lovers to each other.  My dad was my mother's very best friend.
I know the worry you have, that this changes things.  It can't help
but change things, that's true, but I'm thinking those changes are
for the better.  We have to make sure they're for the better."

Her eyes were damp when they locked to mine, and I could feel
moisture gathering in my own, too.  I cupped her face in my hands and
tried to speak around the giant lump in my throat.  "I want this to
work, Scully.  So much.  But I can't pretend there won't be
difficulties.  I won't ignore the odds that I feel are against us.
Some of the focus of our work has been diffused but the threat is
still there, still very real.  We both know it.  We have to find ways
to protect what we've chosen to share.  We have to protect each
other."

"We will, Mulder.  We're not a couple of horny kids wearing
blinders, you know.  We have balance, leverage, we have... what are
you doing?"  For my mouth had started to wander while she talked of
how mature we both were, and her voice tapered from confusion to
squeaky comprehension when she realized where I was headed.

Against her silky, damp heat I muttered, "I take grave exception to
the idea of us not being in the 'horny' category, Scully.  Speak for
yourself."  I smiled when she started to tremble and outright grinned
when her trembles blossomed into shudders, as I opened her gently,
kissed her passionately, right in the very heart of her.  She wound
her fingers into my hair and held on tightly; I let my tongue and my
own fingers talk to her, better than words could ever express.

*****************

The room is lightening, a muted sunrise trying to break in around
the drawn blinds at the windows.  I think I dozed a little, but
mostly I've been lying here holding Scully, letting my mind drift.
Well, at least the side of it that's not overly analytical and
questioning, that is.

My mother once told me to never look a gift horse in the mouth.  I
used to think that phrase meant that we should be grateful for any
and all presents we receive, but now I know it refers to the legend
of the Trojan Horse, itself.  How if we don't look closely at
something that's offered to us, we might not find the flaw, the
exception, the loophole.  If danger is there, cloaked in
the gift, we might bypass that danger completely because we were
too enchanted with the idea of receiving a gift in the first place,
to question its origin and its purpose.

Perhaps I've been spending too many years convinced I was seeing the
loophole, thus tossing flaws and exceptions in the path of the gifts
that might have been nothing more than what they appeared to be:
something good in my life; something needful, happy, a slice of
contentment that I'd rather have denied myself.  Maybe the human
existence has always been destined to have a mix of good gifts, bad
gifts, some hiding an army of trouble and others offering exactly
what they represent.  I spent some years looking for the army when I
should have accepted the gift at face value.

My sister was a gift; so is Scully.  The gift of my sister hid an
army... but Scully's value is real, powerful and all for me.

As sunlight streaks into the room I feel my gift stirring, awakening
slowly, to wrap her arms around me, smile up into my face with sleepy
eyes, kiss my mouth softly.  The day will loom before us as usual,
laden with its own difficulties, potential problems and possible
armies.  How we choose to deal with it - and with each other - is up
to us.  How we find our own balance of closure is also our choice.

We're stronger together.  We always have been.  We always will be.

End

Additional Note:  I've written post-Closure before, quite happily.
It's a poignant and lovely episode to extend and enhance.  And it's
always a pleasure to write something for my friends when they ask for
it.  In this case, that lovely smile of Sallie's was reward enough.

Hope you enjoyed the read!  I love hearing from you; email me
sometime!  char@chaffin.com

Come visit my site!  http://char.chaffin.com