By Shelby Parker
Shelbyparker777@hotmail.com

RATING: NC17
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, Heavy Scully Angst;
DISCLAIMER: I only own their naughty bits.
SUMMARY: Some choices are made for you.
ARCHIVAL: Ephemeral, Gossamer please. All others
please ask first so I can visit ;-)
Feedback: Shelbyparker777@hotmail.com
Author's notes to follow.

~~~~~~~~

They say the trick is to just keep breathing.

You remind yourself of that until it becomes
your mantra.

Thanks to the wonders of L'Oreal, your hair is
once again its semi-natural shade. You've taken
special care to blow it straight, just like you
have thousands of times in the past. Your face
is scrubbed bare, with the exception of a drop
of foundation to hide the mole by your lip; you
never used to show it before.

Instead of the faded cotton dress you arrived
with, you now have on a pair of silk pajamas,
men's style of course.

Keep breathing.

Tonight you are allowed to be Dana Scully once
again. Ex-FBI, ex-physician, ex-daughter, ex-
friend, everything you've been forced either to
abandon or mask.

In the past six months, you've been a Texan, a
waitress, a student, a drifter. In fact, you've
become so adept at this game of charades that
you figure it shouldn't be hard to pretend that
you are still his partner. Pretend that, in this
fucked up, renegade life, you are still together
instead of what you will soon be.

Alone.

Well, almost alone.

Keep breathing.

He won't know.

Your palms sweat and your hands shake and you
wonder if you can pull this off as you smooth
your hair down and give yourself one last
fleeting glance in the streaked mirror.

Dana Scully, you think, hey, I remember you.

Don't allow yourself the luxury of continuing to
hate her, because she is exactly who you have to
be to pull this off. Once more, you need to be
that direct, nonplused, brass-balled Dana
Katharine Scully.

It is she who turns the handle on the shoddy
bathroom door. It is she who, with her superior
posture, walks into the bedroom knowing that her
transformation into her former self steals the
breath from his body. Maybe he thinks you're a
ghost, surely you must a figment of his fertile
imagination; you've both pledged that neither
Scully nor Mulder could ever resurface, not even
in private.

His brow knits in confusion, his head tilts to
the side in question. After all, it's not like
you to break a promise. At least that is what he
has come to trust.

Keep breathing.

You do the only thing you know will effectively
shut him up. You slowly unbutton your pajama top
and say his name.

"Mulder"

His name. Not Joe, not Mike, not Matthew, not
David.

"Mulder."

You say it a third time simply because you can,
and, for a moment, you try to shake the tears
that threaten to fall from your traitorous eyes.

You're a brave solider, Dana Scully. That's what
you've always heard.

"Starbuck, you have the heart of a lion."

You know it is a lie. It's always been a lie.
You know that your heart is just a muscle and
that the only reason you've ever been
particularly brave is because you had no other
choice. That deep down, just as you are now, you
have always been terrified. Terrified enough to
give up the one thing aside from Mulder that
made you whole; you know you cannot go through
that again, that this time you'd never come out
of it. And frankly, you doubt he would either.

"Scull..." You still his generous mouth with a
touch of your fingertip.

Tell yourself this is for the best. You are
doing this not for yourself, but for him, your
partner, your friend, your lover. Remind
yourself that you've worn so many masks over the
past six months, been so many different people,
that he's sure to be blind to the obvious.

That this is goodbye.

That in all likelihood you will never feel your
flesh against his again, that you will never
again experience how it feels to be held in his
arms.

Keep breathing.

His hands are not idle and it isn't much longer
before your silk armor is pooled at your feet.
It's even less time then you had calculated
before he is poised above you, mapping out your
body for his own personal survey.

But, you had thought by now that he'd make you
forget. You hadn't counted on that nagging voice
in the back of your mind, the voice that won't
let you cover up your intentions with sweet lies
and smooth gestures.

Still you move in tandem with your lover,
indulging yourself in your only true vice.

Remind yourself to pick up a pack of cigarettes
on your way, because, if you taste him on your
lips, you are liable to turn back. To tell him.
And you know you can't.

Keep breathing.

Push it out of your mind; you have exactly
twelve hours to be everything in the world to
him. Twelve hours before he will get up and take
the train to one of many odd jobs that he seems
so adept at scoring. Twelve hours until you pack
your bag, take the keys and drive right into the
very core of Hell itself.

You can't help but shiver as the blunt head of
his cock slides its way into you. You're still
amazed that he is actually inside of you,
filling your heart just as he fills your cunt.
Block it out when you realize that it is this
very act that fucked it all up in the first
place, borne of your naive stupidity and foolish
need to have what you knew by every law of
nature you shouldn't.

Keep breathing.

You place your feet flat upon the mattress and
push up hard into him, you know you will be sore
for days and that you will deserve the ache and
more.

"God, I've missed you, Scully, I've missed
us..."

You silence him again with your mouth, because
each word slices into your heart. Even now, as
you feel his body tense and his thrusts become
erratic, you hide your face in the crook of his
neck like a thief, stealing his love and trust,
because this is the only thing that does give
you courage. Even if it means stripping him of
his own.

His body falls down upon your own, spent from
his climax. You almost faked orgasm, knowing
that he receives more joy from your pleasure
than from his own, but you couldn't do it.
Instead you whisper to him that it's alright,
that this is the way it is meant to be, and you
mean it. You didn't fuck him for the pleasure of
it; you made love to him because you are
selfish. Most likely this will be your final
time. You are sure that you have lived your
ninth life together, and you needed one last
fix.

You don't sleep very well, instead cataloguing
the actions you have already planned. Some of
them are still haphazard. You have no clue as to
how you are going to pull this off, you know
only that you have to.

Or die trying.

Keep breathing.

When he kisses you goodbye it almost breaks you.
Again, you tell yourself that you have no
choice. This is what you must do. You've already
robbed him of the future that you yourself
begged him for. You cannot do it again.

The car is packed and gassed and soon you find
that, within what seemed like the blink of an
eye, you have traveled for hours. You've tipped
the rearview mirror all the way down, because
there is no looking back.

No looking back even when you realize that
you've left the test in the cabinet under the
sink. Even when you realize that, soon, he will
know. You can see him in your mind's-eye,
ransacking the motel room looking for any clue
he can latch onto. You can picture the confusion
on his face and the bitterness in his eyes. Oh,
you would like to continue to lie to yourself
and think he won't check it, that he won't even
realize, but....
 

Even someone without an Oxford degree would be
smart enough to know what the little blue plus
sign means.

To know why you have to go, why you have to
fight.

You've already given away your heart, but you
cannot give away your soul - not twice.

Not even for him.

~fini~
 

For Gail, this pales as the proper birthday gift
she deserves, but I hope she enjoys it
nonetheless.

A special thank you to David Stoddard Hunt for
his last minute beta. I almost appreciate your
sharp eye and your red, green and blue pens as
much as I do your friendship, which is a hellava
lot.

Oh, and fellow Believers? Chalk this up as one
punishment fic down, three to go. I'll catch up
eventually! Thank you for your patience with
this and so much more.
 
 

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