"24 Hours Earlier" by Seagrumn Leigh and Jennifer Arthur Disclaimer: The characters included within belong to the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. No infringement is intended. Classification: MSR Rating: NC-17 Time line: Season 5 Spoilers: Redux Archive: Gossamer: Yes. Anywhere else: Yes, as long as our names stay attached. Just drop one of us a note so we can see our names in lights. Summary: A missing scene from Redux. Authors' Notes: We owe it all to Amanda, our faithful and tireless editor. *************************** Why did I have to say that? The reaction is immediate and fierce. I watch as the pain washes over his face like a crashing wave - crashing right back into me. His eyes widen in shock, hazel like I've never seen before. His mouth is slightly agape, words failing him at the moment. They seem to have deserted me, too. Right when I need them most. Where is the "I'm sorry" - the explanation that I so desperately need to wrap my tongue around? God, I had no idea that one sentence could tear two people's lives this far apart. But I see that on his face. His face has always told me what his voice will not. He's more of an open book than he likes to think - at least to me. As I surely am to him. Except now he turns from me, wordlessly, and I watch his back as he walks to the warehouse door, opens it, and leaves. I am alone. Literally. Figuratively. Take your pick. It really makes no difference. No matter how you dice it, it's just Dana Scully, all alone in her "factual" world. I have really fucked this up. But how else was I supposed to get his attention? He becomes so single-minded in his quest that he's like a horse with blinders. He sees one path, straight ahead, and misses all the peripheral things that, unbeknownst to him, shift his course. Somehow, I've managed to get to my car. And I thought he was bad about clicking over to autopilot. I just want to drive for a while. It always made me feel better when I was a teenager. When a new crisis in Melissa's life would appear or Bill's condescending attitude got to be too much, I would take the car and drive. Detachment at its teen-angst finest. No wonder it got to be so easy. Except I worry that I have lost touch with what reality is. And by reality, I don't mean that elusive "truth" that my partner and I chase after everyday. It is the reality that people feel - that I feel -has become lost on me. I've always known that he blames himself for my abduction, Missy's death, the cancer, and God knows whatever else he can heap on the pile. And what did I go and do? The one thing he feared most - I said it. I gave the guilt and regret a voice. My voice. I register that I have finally made it back to my street. I look at the clock on the car's dashboard. 12:15 I suppose that's enough time wasted. Time to go back to my apartment. Alone. And then it hits me. The same emptiness that resides secretly in my soul, rearing up and making itself known in the darkness of night. Ironically, I just alienated the man who fills the void that I try to deny exists within me. Label that the stupidest move I've ever made. Actually, I take that back. Label it the =second= stupidest move ever, next to falling in love with my partner. "You have no messages." As if he would call, anyway. Why the fuck did I have to fall for my best friend? Smooth, Dana. Let's make things even more complicated than they already are. All I want to do right now is crawl in a hole and die. But hey, that won't even take long now. I guess the bed will have to do, for the time being. But first, I have to get rid of this damn suit. As much as I wanted to grow up and wear suits everyday when I was little, it's starting to get really old at this point in life. I'd much rather be running around in the tattered jeans and sweatshirt that served as my "uniform" back in college. It's dark in my apartment, but I don't make any effort to turn on the lamp. It's comforting somehow. The anonymity, the lack of light and feeling... And yet, it =is= full of meaning. It's him, and this darkness may be all I have left after our words earlier tonight. I walk to my window, looking outward in some fanciful romantic notion that just maybe his car would be there, waiting. No such luck. I reach for the hem of my shirt almost violently, needing to get out of these dreadful clothes. The fact that I'm stripping right in front of my open window strays vaguely across my mind, inciting a little niggle of modesty, but I ignore it. Who the hell cares? Let whoever wants to see this disease-ravaged body see it. At this point, they can't do any more damage. It's all been done before. I'm - "Keep going, FBI woman." Mulder. His voice surprises me. It comes from the dark - its rightful place. "Mulder?" I ask, trying to sound angry that he's been sitting here the whole time. "What are you doing? Why are you sitting in my bedroom in the dark?" That sounded downright bitchy. "My apartment was too crowded." Oh really? ******* I've listened to his plan. And what can I say? Only Mulder could come up with it. "A lie to find the truth." I let his words sink in for a minute - this elaborate scheme to find the "truth." "Mulder, we don't have time to play these kind of games." "Scully, I know time is tight -" "You have no idea, Mulder." Oh shit! Did I just say that? I wasn't going to tell him until it became impossible to hide. And now his hand has crept from the edge of the table to cover mine. "Scully? What do you mean?" I look up to see his face, just barely below mine. His eyes are full of dread, and the remnants of anger still hang on by thin threads of amber. The color is that of vengeance, tainted by a heart that cares too much. Time to confess, Dana. But I am not doing it to his face. I've already caused it to fall once tonight. I don't want to watch it again. I turn back to the table, focusing on some unparticular grain of wood as if it can answer all of my questions. Wishing that it would speak to the man who holds my hand and answer all of his questions, too - so I don't have to. "Scully - " "It's metastasized." I cut him off while my courage is momentarily bolstered. I need to get it out. Tell him, and maybe he'll leave me to my own misery. Leave me to lie awake for the next few hours and prepare myself for his "death." Crazy, isn't it? He's going to "die" before me. I know I'm a terrible liar, but this shouldn't be too difficult. Just act like he's ditched me again. I've had plenty of practice in that arena. He's silent now. I half-expect him to start railing the minute that the words leave my mouth, but he's so much calmer these days. I wonder if it's for my sake. He's staring at the table, seemingly searching for a grain to answer all of his questions, as well. He gulps hard. I can see his Adam's apple straining, trying to force words out past his larynx. "How long?" He's trying to stay calm. His words are harsh and sharp, spat out as if by a dire effort. "A few weeks, maybe. It's entered into my bloodstream, so it's just a matter of shutting down organs, at this point." I'm amazed at how apathetic I can make my words seem. But then again, I've uttered these particular words a couple times now. They're just statistics. It's what I've been trained to do. Facts without feeling. My specialty. But then he looks up from the table, into my eyes, and I begin to feel once again. His eyes surprise me. There is such sadness there, and the little wells of water that have accumulated at the bottom of those stormy hazel orbs are merely a confirmation. I notice his eyes are already tinged with red. This isn't the first time he's cried tonight. And now it seems as if my own water works have sprung a leak. "Like I said, Mulder, we don't have much time. I'd love to pull off a big elaborate sting operation with you for old times' sake, but I just don't have it in me." Still no words. I can tell he's thought about this - feared it. And once again, I gave it a voice. He just looks up at me like the same twelve-year old little boy that must have stared out the window all night long looking for what had disappeared right before his eyes. I lift my right hand to his hair, ruffling it, as our eyes remain locked. I love a man with nice hair. That's probably why I never went for the military boys on base. Mulder's hair, unlike theirs, is just so =perfect.= This must be, I think, only the third time I've allowed this indulgence. I'm treating myself, and why shouldn't I? One more thing to catalog away in the hope of remembering it in the Great Beyond. "We'll do it quickly, Scully. Find you a cure." The words come from him softly, but with a determination I had not expected. "And then you'll have all the time in the world." And with that, he shifts from a crouching position to rest upon his knees. He takes my hand from his hair, bringing it to rest on his cheek as his eyes slowly lower and close. "I wish, Mulder. I wish." I watch the lines of sorrow furrow in his brow, and I feel the first tear seep from his eye and fall into my hand. Suddenly his hand is moving again, bringing mine around to his lips. He kisses my palm, and I, too, must close my eyes, squeezing out the tears that have been hanging there in waiting. And then just as suddenly, I'm being pulled from my chair and onto his lap, straddled across his bent knees. His arms wrap around me like a twining python, one around my waist and the other running up through my hair, pulling my face beside his, cheek to cheek, as he crushes me to him. "We'll beat this, Scully." The feel of his lips moving against my skin makes my stomach turn over and feel as if it drops out, while my heart beats even faster than I thought possible. It's absolutely surreal. I can't stand this. "I promise we'll beat this." Oh, fuck it. I turn my head into his, lowering my face slightly and dropping a kiss at the corner of his mouth, just grazing the satin of his lips. And then, being the smart man that he is, Mulder takes his cue and turns his head in as well, bringing our lips together in their first chaste meeting. It's soft. Oh so soft. Lips meeting carefully, deliberately, and then pulling back, only to brush against each other once again. But then he makes it more - takes it farther. As we meet again and his lips part mine, I feel his tongue enter my mouth. My hands have found their way back into his hair, weaving through the silky strands that I love so much, and I hold his mouth to mine as our kissing escalates. We continue to test the textures of each other's mouths, as our hands break past boundaries set long ago. Mulder senses my need to touch him, to touch life. He is a willing participant, his hands guiding my head as our mouths continue to break apart and rejoin. However, he is following my lead, allowing my desperate desire to enjoy this act set the pace. I move to pull his black henley and gray t-shirt off of his body, and all at once I am taking in as much of his skin as I can. My lips and hands travel over his flesh, and I want to devour him whole. I'm sucking his lips, kissing his eyelids, and letting my fingers skim his now sleek flesh, all the while grinding the heat of my center into his lap. He deftly disposes of my shirt, the same gray silk top that I began to remove in front of him an hour ago, and I am aware of how thin I've become. I have imagined myself in every feasible sexual position with this man over the past five years, ranging from the wildest, kinkiest scenario to the downright boring and mundane. But in all of those fantasies, my body was that of Dana Scully =before= the cancer. When I imagined Mulder and I making love for the first time, I never envisioned this ill, too-thin, gaunt body pleasuring him. What must he think? And does it even really matter at this point? As if I would be willing to turn back now. I manage to extricate myself from his tangle of arms and rise to a standing position. I look down upon his flushed face and mussed hair. He is on his knees, kissing my stomach and working the button and zipper on my dress pants. When he discovers the obstacle of my nude-to-the-waist nylons, he looks oddly amused, a wry grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Having little patience at this point, I less than gracefully yank them down over my legs and feet, and I am left standing before him in my sensible cotton panties and bra. I lead him by the hand into the bedroom, where the rest of his clothing is discarded quickly. Soon, we are heat upon heat again, flesh upon flesh. By the light of the lamp that he turned on earlier, Mulder reverently removes my undergarments, before allowing me to pull him onto the bed. He is touching me everywhere, with his eyes, his hands, his mouth.... That lush mouth works its way over my torso, across my breasts, down my stomach. His hands move from my hips to my thighs as his head descends further down my body. He buries his face between my legs, expertly making me gasp for breath and claw savagely at the sheets. I put my hands on his head, crushing his mouth to me more tightly, silently begging him to give me what I want, what I need. His licking turns to sucking, and my fingers curl in his hair. I inhale sharply and hold my breath as my body convulses with the force of my orgasm. I guide him back to my mouth, and his slick lips cover mine. Wrapping one arm around his neck, I hold my mouth to his. I flatten my hand, pressing his body closer and guiding him to the waiting cradle of my hips. He's trying to say my name, but I won't let him. I'm too busy tasting myself on him, and at the same time, pushing the tip of him inside of me. With several thrusts of my hips, we are joined. The look on his face is one that I will remember in my grave. The perfect combination of ecstasy and love. His body is moving sensually on top of mine as he alternately kisses me and murmurs my name. I want this to last forever. So much so that I wonder if it ever has to end. But I know that it must, so I raise my legs higher around Mulder's hips, and he is deeper inside of me than any man has ever been. Not just physically, but spiritually as well. I hasten his movements, stretching one hand into the hollow of his back, while the other slips lower, urging him towards release. I watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure as he empties into me, and I realize that this connection with this man is exactly what I needed to feel. As his breathing returns to normal, I enjoy the last sporadic spasms of Mulder still inside of me. His weight is heavy and uncomfortable on me, yet I cling to him even tighter, holding his face next to mine. I don't want to let go. I =won't= let go. ******* One would think that, considering what just happened between Mulder and I, I would be able to fall asleep without a problem. But that peaceful land does not seem to want to claim me right now. I lie on my stomach, face turned toward the window, looking out at the looming darkness that the moonlight dares to dance across, and I hear Mulder's steady breathing echo in my ear as I feel his heartbeat pound steadily against my back. I am totally surrounded by him. His leg is hitched up across the back of my thighs, while his left arm and torso cover my back. He blankets me in his warmth. Perhaps it is the fear of losing his heat, his passion, which keeps me awake. Knowing that I have to get out of this bed, crawl out from under him, in less than four hours and pretend that the man lying in his apartment with a bullet hole through the head is Mulder might be what leaves me unable to sleep. Or maybe it is the fact that I know I could have a nose bleed any day now that will lead to a blackout and then I'll never see the light of day or feel this content again. Talk about a walking nightmare. And unfortunately, it's mine. But, at least I have had this taste of heaven before plunging back into the hell that has become our lives. The End We love feedback. Please reach us at XFileLuv@aol.com and/or Shasta1013@aol.com. All feedback will be answered promptly and gratefully.