By diehard
alvaradomccain@earthlink.net

Rating: MSR/NC-17
Spoilers: Orison
Keywords; Sometimes it's better when it all falls apart
Feedback: alvaradomccain@earthlink.net
 
 

Scully stands naked in front of the full-length
mirror in her room, just out of the shower.
She can't be in the tub, not yet, maybe never.

It's her first night alone after she killed
Donnie Pfaster, first night back in the separateness,
the quiet loneliness that is her apartment, her life
for that matter. She is finally capable of this level of
self-awareness after spending a week a Mulder's.
It's amazing what unloading your service weapon
into your demon kidnapper in frenzy of rage and panic
will do. Frank appraisal of her life seems
to have risen to the top of her list of priorities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wrapped her in her trench coat like a broken
child's toy, like a tarnished treasure after
the police left, brought her to his apartment
and watched over her almost constantly for a week.
He was kind, funny, solicitous, cooked
for her, gave her space, but stayed always within
earshot. Without telling her, he took care of getting
someone in to clean her place her place and make
it liveable again.

Killing Pfaster unraveled her, but what she found
in the wreckage of her soul was Mulder, holding
the threads, silently waiting for the two of them
to weave her back together.

As she alternated between his bed and his couch,
half-sleeping during the day and walking the floor
with insomniac guilt at night, all she was able to
find when she could look him in the eye was
love--naked, fierce and simple, possessive
and tender.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoothing her wet hair back, she makes a decision,
no, she accepts the truth, it's wrong to be here
alone. It's wrong to try to re-build herself on
stoicism and denial. She loves him; not as a friend
either. Her flesh aches for him, needs him, wants
to be revealed to him, by him.

Scully has always loved God and science and
the things you can know and hold in your hand.
She is finally, finally at the place where
she's ready for the absolute truth of Mulder,
of how he makes her feel, of her own need to
mark him, to braid herself to him.

She doesn't waste any time getting dressed,
white shirt, black pants, shoes--and she's
out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
 

He's washing the dishes and hears the key turning
in the lock, her footsteps coming toward him.
He hurries to finish, he wants to know what's wrong,
but he doesn't want to panic her. Something must
be wrong, she's back so soon. He desperately wanted
her to stay, but recognized her shuttered face and polite
thanks for what it was--Scully needing to find Scully
again. Turning around, he's startled to see her hair's
still wet, slicked back against her head; that she's
not wearing makeup.

"Scully, what is it?"

"Couldn't find what I was looking for..."

He stays silent, wanting to believe she's
going to tell him what he's heard only in his dreams.

"You, Mulder. I was looking for you."

She moves toward him, reaches for him, her hands
rest on his shoulders, pulling him down to her
level. Her mouth finds the side of his throat,
hot on his skin. He leans into her a little and
her hands slide down his arms and trail their way
across his chest. She licks at him, working her
way to his earlobe. She takes the flesh between her
teeth and bites down. He manages to stay still
until then, but that bright little pain pushes him
over the edge.

"I'm home," she breathes, "I'm home, now."

"Home," he tells her and his voice is rough
with tears.

He throws himself into her, unbuttons her shirt,
shoves her bra up and begins to thumb her nipples
around and around like time passing, like time
chasing its tail. Her nipples harden and now he
wants to touch her somewhere else, make her hard
somewhere else. He longs to make time turn in on
itself, start and stop and dissolve.

The kitchen stays silent. She's quiet, even now.
She talks to him this way, with flesh, with skin
answering skin. His hands find the zipper
of her pants. They make it move, find their way between
her legs where he's finally allowed to know her small,
wet, hard secret--the only secret that matters in this
sliver of time. His fingertips trace time's unraveling
against her clit. Slowly, around and around, and then
just for a minute he stops to look at her face,
softer and younger now. Mulder's eyes travel their
way to hers--liquid, dark, deep. He's sure he can
see himself in them, and then she blinks and says,

"Yes."

His fingers move again, simple, simple circle--
the circle erasing everything, blotting out the minutes,
collapsing the hours. Scully starts to shake against him,
closes her legs her legs against his hand. She shatters
and he feels the waves of it, draws it into his soul
through the tips of his fingers. When she is finished,
he slowly takes his hand and licks away the taste of her,
honey-sweet, salty as tears, bitter as ash.

"Now you," she says, and reaches under his shirt.
He puts his hand over hers, "Yes," he whispers.

"Not here. Come lie down with me," and he leads the way
to the bedroom. They're silent again, no sound except
their footsteps, the sound of their breath.

Then he hears her.

"You knew, didn't you," she asks.

"I hoped," he says,  "I hoped you'd find
your way home..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
 
 
 

Ý
Ý