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From: Pam Gamble
Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1998 18:29:40 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Enough Part 1
Hi everybody!
In between "The End" and the movie premiere, my brain was suffering
from M&S withdrawal. This story is the result. Please let me know what
you think, but be nice, okay?
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Enough
by Pam Gamble
eksphyl@yahoo.com
CLASSIFICATION:MSR
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Scully attempts to deal with her jealousy of the other woman
in Mulder's life--and it's not who you might think.
TIMELINE: 5th season, before "The End"
DISCLAIMER: Poetry, quotes, and characters all used without
permission. Although, for all the money I've spent, you'd think CC
would give me a little piece of them!!
DEDICATION: This story is dedicated to all the residents of
Smutville, especially to Kasey for her encouragement, and Laura, for
editing and for helping me dress-and undress Mulder. Thank you both
for everything you did.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Fine. Whatever.
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You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then
And we'll leave it far and far away--
(Only you and I--understand!)
You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and--
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart--
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
--e.e. cummings
Enough (1/4)
She was standing on a diving platform. Up so high. So high, she
couldn't even bring herself to look down at the water below. But she
could sense that this was no placid pool. Dark churning waves awaited
her fragile body, ready to crush her within their swirling torrents.
She could sense the living creatures whose survival depended on her
demise.
She moved closer to the edge.
The atmosphere around her had become dry, threatening; blue-grey
clouds gathered overhead. The entire universe seemed to be beating out
a warning:
Her heart was pounding in her chest, a staccato
rhythm
Yet she took another step toward the edge.
She felt her teeth chattering. She felt fear seize her stomach like a
living creature seeking her last shred of common sense.
Now her body was in harmony with nature, all of these elements
combining in a cacophonous chorus that made her ears ring, her head
rush, the blood pounding through her veins
And she turned away, ready to climb down from her precipice.
Then she heard his voice.
Over the riotous noise she heard two clear words.
"Jump, Dana."
No promise of salvation, no reassurance. Just, "Jump, Dana."
"Why??" she screamed to be heard.
"To find her."
And she closed her eyes.
And she jumped.
1:43am
Dana Scully gasped and sat up in bed, as her eyes flew open.
"Not again," she moaned.
For the third night in a row, Scully swung her feet over the edge
of the bed, pulled her white robe around her shoulders, and padded
into the kitchen. She gulped down a glass of cold water, making a
vain attempt to slow her breathing. Still in the dark, she sat down at
her kitchen table. She could still recall the panic she had felt in
her dream. At least this dream had been different from the others.
Mortal fear she could deal with, had dealt with. Too many times. But
for a woman who insisted on running her life by her own rules, her
reaction to Mulder's words, to Mulder, was even more frightening.
How many times had she followed him on some wild goose chase, risking
her own life in the process? Was there nothing more important to her
than his quest? She had so many scars; some of them were visible. Why
would she do that to herself?
To earn his respect?
She had that. Probably since their first case together.
To save the X-Files?
That seemed to be beyond their control anyway.
Why then? Where--when would she stop?
When had she come to feel like a pawn in his game? Pawns could be
sacrificed; the game still won.
When would it be enough? Would he push her over the edge? Was she
strong enough to survive?
Would he be there if she did?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
8:25 a.m.
FBI headquarters
Scully left Skinner's office and stepped into the elevator, watching
as several other agents pressed the number for their respective
floors:3, 5, 8. Scully stabbed her finger at the button marked 'B' and
tried to pretend she didn't notice the amused smiles of the other
agents. Riding the last three floors down alone, Scully's 'bad mood'
mutated into 'kicking-puppies evil'.
"Assholes", she muttered to herself as she shoved open the door
to Mulder's office.
"Good morning to you, too, Scully."
Scully glanced over at her partner. He had his back to her,
rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. Finally locating his
small nugget of gold in that treasure trove of oddities, he lifted out
the file and placed it with a loud smack on her desk.
"Christ, Mulder, can't I get a cup of coffee first?" She
instantly regretted her tone, but told herself it was due to lack of
sleep.
scolded the voice in her head.
Long ago, Dana had assumed people who heard little voices in their
head were insane. As she got older, she amended that to anyone who
*answered* those little voices.
Having worked on the X-Files with Fox Mulder for five years, she had
given up on the notion of defining sanity, let alone claiming any for
herself. "Who am I to challenge anyone else's mental state?" she
thought ruefully.
"Sorry, Scully, I just thought we should get a head start on this
one." Mulder was staring at the floor as he spoke, clearly
uncomfortable and evading Scully's high-power glare. But Scully had
enough bad mood to share with the rest of the class.
"How long have you been here anyway? Don't you sleep like the rest
of us?"
Like a lighthouse beam cutting through the mist, Scully's words
belatedly reached the part of her brain that governed speech. She
jerked her head up, as though hearing her own voice for the first
time, only to see the pained expression in Mulder's eyes.
"No, I don't."
His words were without emotion. He set his jaw and turned from her,
walking out of the room.
With a sigh Scully let her head flop down onto her desk, earning her a
bruise on the forehead, which she felt she deserved for her bitchy
little performance.
"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered to the tabletop. Surprisingly
accepting of humility, office furniture was.
Sighing, she sat up and began to look over the file, absently
wondering where Mulder had gone to cool off. She didn't expect him
back for a while, although her Mulder-radar told her he hadn't gone
too far. Even so, it startled her when he came back through the
doorway about 10 minutes later to set a steaming mug of coffee on her
desk.
"Thanks," she said sheepishly, her face burning with shame.
Mulder raised his hands in surrender, and quietly retreated to
his desk. He propped up his feet and waited in silence until she had
read over the file and looked over at him. He simply raised his
eyebrows at her.
"Permission to speak, Agent Scully?"
She felt her face burn again, and nodded her assent.
"Man in California convicted of purchasing the services of a hooker,
kidnapping her, and releasing her on his ranch, in the middle of about
50 acres of forest. He tracked her down, hunted her down like an
animal. Shot her twice in the back."
Scully examined the crime scene photos, nodding as he spoke.
"Dale Edwin Cahill was arrested last year, charged with
kidnapping and murder one."
"But how is this an X-..." Scully's words trailed off as she
looked up at her partner, and saw The Look in his eyes. she realized. The
fresh, raw pain she was so familiar with she felt she had experienced
it with him; as though his grief had become a sentient being who stood
between them, pushing away as it simultaneously cried out to be
embraced.
Mulder stood and silently dropped a photo on her desk. Standard
issue police mug shot. A woman, early to mid-30's. Heavy makeup,
frizzy brown hair. Unremarkable in itself, except to Scully, who
looked at the photo through Mulder's eyes...
And saw Samantha.
"Mulder, you don't know..."
"No, Scully, I don't and neither do you." Mulder gritted his teeth and
began to pace the room. "It *could* have been her. She could have been
taken, abused, abandoned. I don't *know*. What kind of person did she
become? What kind of life does she have? I don't *know*. Is she still
alive? I don't *know*. Did anyone love her?" His voice cracked as he
stopped suddenly, and kneeled down in from of Scully, staring into her
eyes, now blurry with tears.
"I don't know, Scully," he whispered. He placed a hand on the photo.
"And it's killing me."
Scully closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the edge of a diving
platform, cold and hard beneath her toes.
"I know, Mulder. So when do we leave?"
And she jumped.
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8:34 P.M.
Somewhere in California
Driving down the dark interstate highway, Mulder laughed to
himself as he gently braked the rental car in response to the
furiously blinking headlights of the oncoming traffic.
"Scully, have you ever noticed that people who wouldn't go out of
their way to save someone dying on the side of the road will do
everything in their power to save total strangers from getting a
speeding ticket?"
A slight gasp emanated from the darkness of the passenger seat.
"Why, Agent Mulder, I do believe you've become cynical." Scully
smirked and turned to look at her partner. His facial features were
illuminated by the harsh greeenish glow of the dashboard, giving him
an other-worldly quality.
Mulder sighed in relief as he stared at the taillights of the Volvo in
front of him. 'She seems to be in a better mood', he thought. He had
no idea what had set her off this morning, except maybe lack of sleep.
Yes, he had noticed the bags under her eyes; but he had also known his
partner long enough to know that she was the guest at the masquerade
who didn't want to be unmasked just yet. She needed her privacy, a
part of herself to hold as her own. So many other things had been
taken from her, he couldn't take that, too. But it was only an
illusion. Because Mulder could read all her signals. And he was afraid
if she knew that, she would bolt like a frightened animal no longer
convinced of the safety of its camouflage.
She would leave.
The FBI.
The X-Files.
Him.
And he couldn't take that chance. So he had perfected his blank stare,
which he wore while trying to decide whether to react to what his
partner *said*--or to what she meant.
Those rare times when she had opened up to him, let him see her true
feelings, he felt closer to her than ever then. And he wanted so badly
for her to be able to open up to him. He craved her honesty, her faith
in him. Mulder knew that if the day ever came when she laid her soul
bare before him and said, "Here, the good parts, the bad parts, this
is all me. Do you want it? Is it enough for you?"; that day he would
love her completely. But until she could trust him enough to do that,
he knew he couldn't really have her heart.
And he didn't want Dana Scully.
Unless he had *all* of her.
"Scully, I know you were really looking forward to petitioning the
court for the exhumation of the body, but I thought we'd check the
newspaper archives tomorrow, see if any relatives turned up that we
could question."
"That's up to you, Mulder, but it seems like a waste of time. The
girl was a runaway, probably from another state, her family may still
not know she's dead."
Mulder's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I hope not. Do you
know how it would feel to hold out hope for so long and then..."
Scully reached over to put a hand gently on his shoulder. "I can
imagine what it must be like", she said softly.
Something about proximity in darkness inspires honesty. Like a church
confessional, the disconnectedness creates a feeling of talking to
oneself, a heart-to-heart with your own conscience. In Mulder's case,
that wasn't too far from the truth.
"Y'know, Scully, I've lain awake many nights in the past 20 years
trying to imagine what Sam's life was like, what she was doing right
at that moment. If we find out that this is...was...if she..." He
paused and Scully was silent, knowing he needed to say this. "At least
if that smoking bastard raised her--if that *was* her--at least she
was happy. Alive and happy. Part of me wants to prove the bastard
wrong, and part of me hopes he was telling the truth."
Scully nodded, knowing he was aware of her movements. None of this was
a surprise to her. When he'd driven her home from the hospital, he'd
told her about his meeting with Samantha. He'd sat at her kitchen
table, tears streaming down his face, as he told her how she'd begged
him to let her go, how the smoking man had caressed her face. Scully
had stood with her hands on his shoulders. When he was done, he'd
turned sideways in the chair and she'd held him for the longest time,
until the sobs stopped quaking through his body.
Sometimes she could see that the pain had dulled, only to have the
wound ripped open again. It was then that the tears would come.
She knew that Mulder wanted to believe; there were just so many truths
to choose from.
"Mulder, you didn't choose what happened to her. You didn't cause
it. You were a little boy."
"But Sam didn't choose it either, Scully."
"No, of course not. I just don't want to see you get hurt."
Mulder looked at her with an ironic smile, fresh tears glistening in
his beautiful green eyes. He took her left hand and held it on the
seat between them.
"I know you don't, Scully," he sighed. "I know you don't."
Even after five years, Scully was still overwhelmed by Mulder's total
devotion to his search for his sister. Ironically, while his search
was what had brought them together, it was also the very thing that
kept them apart.
So many times Scully had wanted to open up to him. Would have loved to
fall into his arms at the end of a hard day, to show him her fear or
her sadness, or hell, her happiness for that matter. But something
always held her back.
She had lied to Mulder.
When she'd returned from her weekend with Ed. It *had* been about him,
sort of. She'd needed to be enough for a man. Any man. And she found
that she could be. Except that she couldn't be happy with just any
man. Not anymore.
But she also knew that she couldn't have Mulder either. Not until he
had found his sister. Her abduction had left a hole in him that no one
else could fill.
So Scully held back, not wanting to show him how much she cared. Not
wanting to force him to make a choice.
Because she didn't want Fox Mulder.
Unless she had *all* of him.
So she went back to the nine-to-five grind of beating her head against
the wall and stuffing her libido in her sock drawer with her vibrator.
Because if being close to him physically was the best she could do,
then she couldn't do anything to jeopardize their partnership. And if
it occasionally meant that she saw him with other women, she'd never
really felt threatened.
She knew they wouldn't be enough either.
Only one person could complete Fox Mulder. And the thought of her
total rejection had almost destroyed him.
So that is why Dana Scully found herself disturbingly hoping to find a
broken clavicle bone on the ME's table tomorrow.
Maybe then she could begin to be enough.
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9:34p.m.
Sleepy-tyme Inn
Idly flipping channels in her hotel room, Scully wondered when Mulder
was going to be out of the shower. She'd wanted to go over their
itinerary for tomorrow and then get some sleep; but she could still
hear the pipes rattling through the thin plaster walls.
'Finally', she thought, as the water shut off. A few minutes later
there was a knock at the connecting door and Mulder came in toweling
off his hair. He was wearing a faded denim button-down and grey
boxers. She knew he'd probably sleep in just the underwear, but they
tried to maintain some semblance of decency when they were on the road.
Scully tried to ignore her body's response to Mulder's damp, musky
smell, his tousled hair. He reminded her of a little boy ready for
bedtime. That was the only one of her thoughts concerning him that
was maternal.
"So what's the plan for tomorrow, Scully?"
"Well, you may as well go question the local sheriff, see if
there's anyone who can tell you anything useful. I suppose I'll be at
the courthouse, filling out forms. And if I get *really* lucky, I'll
be examining the body tomorrow evening."
"Contain your excitement, Scully," snapped Mulder. "Sorry this
case isn't fascinating enough to keep your attention. If you want I
can go drag up a good old-fashioned fluke boy or something."
Scully sighed loudly. "I'm sorry Mulder. I just--I haven't been
sleeping well and I know that's no excuse. I know how much this means
to you. It means a lot to me too."
Mulder's peevish expression quickly turned to one of concern, making
Scully feel even worse. "Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares?"
Scully nodded. "I think my hypnosis triggered something. Nothing
definite, just images really, feelings". She wasn't ready to tell him
about the other dream yet.
Mulder sat down beside her on the bed. "Scully, do you think you, I
mean, would you remember, if you'd, seen her? Or someone who looked
like her? While you were--away? You could have been in the same place
she was. Maybe someone mentioned her name."
Almost since he'd met her, Mulder had used her two names to
differentiate between personal talk and office talk. Mulder's mistake,
he would later realize, was that he thought he was talking to Scully.
But it was Dana who answered.
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "There's just so much I'm
unsure of," she looked at him. "I'm sorry."
"You know, the doctor said that maybe the memories are too frightening
for you. That you feel threatened by them and..."
"Are you saying I don't want to remember where I was for *3 months*?"
Scully knew she was shouting but didn't care. "To remember the people
who gave me cancer so I could see them punished?"
Mulder was lost somewhere inside himself, his voice distant. "No, I'm
not saying that. I just think that if you realized how much this meant
to me, you might try a little harder to remember something." He sighed
loudly. "Can you just think, maybe a face, a voice, something,
anything..."
Dana recognized the look on his face. It was the same look her father
had had when Melissa told him she had quit college. The same look Ahab
gave her when she'd told him she had joined the FBI. Scully could feel the insecurities that had been
swirling around her subconscious since the burnings on the bridge
begin to multiply like the cancerous cells that had so recently
invaded her body.
The feeling that he had been disappointed at her returning with no
memory of what happened (again, no information useful to his quest.
The feeling that, given a choice, he would have wanted Samantha back
instead.
The feeling that her relatively short absence was somehow an affront
to Samantha's longer one.
If there was one thing a Scully hated, it was not quite measuring up.
And whether it was from that anxiety, the insecurity, lack of sleep,
jet lag, raging hormones, or a combination of all of those, Dana
Scully finally did the one thing she had vowed to never do in front of
her partner:
She lost it.
Tears began to well in her eyes. She lowered her head so that he
wouldn't see. When she spoke, it was in a small voice, that not only
belied her tears, but exposed her heart.
"I'm sorry, Mulder."
Mulder looked down at his hands, willing them to do something
appropriate. Finally, his right hand ran up and down her arm, coming
to rest on her shoulder.
"It's okay, Scully. When you're ready we can do more hypnosis."
Her head shook, hair swinging out to brush lightly over his hand. She
rose to walk away from him. She was tired. Tired of holding up both
ends of a silent conversation. Someone needed to fill in the blanks.
"No, Mulder. I'm sorry for coming back when she didn't. I'm sorry
that she's still gone. I'm sorry that there is this gigantic hole in
your life that no one can fill. I'm sorry that the person you need
most isn't here with you. I wish I could do something to get her back
for you. I..." Her head snapped up. "Dammit, Mulder! I'm *here*!!
What's wrong with*me*?" Scully sank down in the chair and let her head
fall into her hands, sobbing. Her voice was small now, as though she
had regressed into childhood.
"I just can't compete with her anymore."
Mulder stood, astonished. Not at her words, but at the catharsis of
emotion he had just witnessed. Scully was always on such an even keel.
He knew that what she'd said had been extracted from the depths of her
soul. And that it had hurt her, much more than it hurt him.
"Oh, Scully," he moaned, reaching down to stroke her hair. He
kneeled in front of her and spoke firmly to her still-bowed head. "I
know you're here. You give me strength every day. You're a part of
me." He took her hand from her face and placed it over his heart. "The
best part."
Scully looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Her wet cheeks quivered,
and she jerked quickly away from him, ran through the connecting door,
and locked it behind her.
Enough Part 2
by Pam Gamble
For disclaimers, see Part 1
Mulder could actually feel himself going into shock. Each word out of
her mouth was like a razor blade cutting into his conscience. He
thought he knew everything about her; he hadn't known this.
'This is what I've done to her. This is what I've reduced her to. How
could she think...?'
said the voice in his head. And
he had, hadn't he? In a thousand ways. Many times. He had explained to
her how important it was to find Sam, how it was the *only* thing that
mattered.
And it was.
Then.
But now...
Like the ghost of an infant that enters its mother's vision when she
beholds her grown child, Mulder could never look at Scully without
remembering what she had been when he met her.
New.
Innocent.
Naive.
So many things had happened to them in the course of his search. And
what did he do? Kept dragging her back for more. Hell, sometimes she
jumped in with both feet. Why? Why did she keep coming back to this
job, to this life with him...
Him.
The thought alone shook his brain, made him dizzy. He sat down hard.
Him.
She did all this for *him*.
Without reservation. And he had hurt her. Had seen her hurt. So many
times.
She had never asked for his sympathy. Wanted his comfort only once or
twice. She had endured so much pain. And for what? Not for some grand
belief in this noble cause.
But for him.
All those times she had defied her superiors, risked her career with
the Bureau, he had admired her strength, her determination to complete
what they had begun.
No matter what.
No matter who lived, who died, who fell along the way.
And when their search had been detoured by the Bureau, he had seen
that look in her eyes that told him they were wasting time, there were
truths to be found.
And sitting in that cheap motel room, Fox Mulder, a man with three
degrees and a reputation for brilliance, realized just how
staggeringly stupid he really was.
He *had* read all her signals.
He had just read them all wrong.
Now he had to tell her that. And maybe she would forgive him.
If it wasn't already too late.
Mulder waited a few minutes, then knocked on the narrow door. "Scully?
Please let me in. I want to talk about this, please?" He turned to
walk away from the door, then heard the lock snap behind him. Mulder
took a deep breath and turned the knob.
Scully was standing with her back to the window, arms folded. He sat
on the edge of the bed, bracing himself for her prepared statement.
"I'm sorry, Mulder, for falling apart like this on a case. Without
proper rest my body is reacting inappropriately to stress and..."
"Scully, don't," his tone quieted her instantly. She read his
expression and her face crumbled as she sank down on the bed beside
him sobbing. He rubbed her back as she cried, finally pulling her body
into his chest and holding her until she calmed down.
She looked up at him hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I want you to
know I understand if you want me off this case."
Mulder took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes. "Scully," he
looked at her in wonder. "Why would I...?"
"Maybe because I just told you I'm jealous of your kid sister," she
replied with a harsh laugh. "Maybe I should get a psych evaluation
when we get home."
"Scully, let's not waste my Oxford education. Why don't I just apply
my professional expertise, save us some time?" Mulder picked up her
hand and began to study it carefully.
"What *are* you doing?" she asked in a weary voice.
He flashed her a quick goofy grin. "Reading your palm."
Scully rolled her eyes and tried to pull her hand away but he held her
wrist, running a finger across her palm. She sighed, "Okay, doc, am I
certifiable?"
"Hmmm, it says here you are the only partner I would ever work
with."
"And this line over here, says that you need me." Seeing the fear in
her eyes, Mulder held his own hand up in front of her face. "And see
this line here?" He traced his finger down his own palm. "It says I
need you too." He placed his hand on top of hers, fingertip to
fingertip. The lines he had indicated were now touching. Folding
their fingers together, he whispered in her ear, "Must be fate. I love
you, Scully."
Mulder gently pressed his lips to hers, tasting the saline-sweet tears
that were coursing down her face. His tongue softly licked them away
as it searched for entrance into her mouth. Scully's lips parted,
moving to surround his and caress them with her own. Mulder's arms
slid down her arms slowly, winding around her back to pull her closer
into him. Scully lifted her left leg up into his lap to press herself
closer into him. His body responded immediately, and he pulled her
tightly against him. Her stocking foot slid further around to rest
above his hip, so that she was sitting in his lap. Mulder's fingers
ran up and down her sides. Tightening on her hips, he pushed her away
for a moment to catch his breath.
"Mulder..." she looked at him questioningly. He had never seen her
look so amazing. Her eyes were wild and feverish, her cheeks flushed,
her lips swollen and open, inviting him in.
Mulder put both hands on her shoulders and began to press her back,
following to lay beside her on the bed. As one hand stroked her flat
stomach, the other stroked through her hair. "I love you, Scully. For
a long time now."
"Why didn't you ever tell me before?" she asked as her hands began
their long-awaited exploration of Mulder's body.
"I was afraid you would leave me. I still am. But I couldn't let you
go on thinking I didn't care about you." Mulder stopped talking
because he had found a much more enjoyable use for his lips.
Suddenly Scully jerked her head up. "Skinner."
Mulder shook his head impatiently. "No, Scully," he pointed at his own
face, "me-Mulder. Can't you tell us apart yet? I'm the one with hair."
Mulder went back to kissing her shoulder.
"No, Mulder, I mean if he finds out he'll separate uuusssss..."
Scully bit down on her lip as Mulder's fingers explored.
He paused for just a second to whisper in her ear. "Well, I wasn't
planning on showing Skinner the home movies, although *video* is an
appealing thought." His hands moved between her thighs and he was
pleasantly surprised at what his voice had done to her.
"I just think we need to be, ahhh, totally pro-professional at work,
that's all. You don't know how many male agents look at me like I'm
Bachelorette Number Three. I don't want to be just your girlfriend."
He looked intently into her eyes. "You've never been 'just' anything
to me, Scully. And if you don't know that, I've really screwed up
somewhere."
Scully was still hesitant. "Mulder, I want this...want you.
"Do I sense a 'but'?" he smiled at her.
"But," Scully said with an evil grin as she squeezed his firm rear,
"I need to know what this is to you--sex, or love?"
Mulder's hands stopped. He knew her analytical mind would need solid
proof. He sat up smoothly and Scully propped herself up on her elbows.
He straddled her, running one fingertip from her collar, straight down
until he reached her waist. Then he spoke, softly, honestly. "Well,
Agent Scully," he unbuttoned her skirt, "*this* is about sex."
His voice lowered to a whisper.
"All those times you put up with me calling you at 3am, every time
your voice was the last thing I heard before I went to sleep..."
His finger deftly pulled her blouse free from the waistband, and moved
to unfasten the lowest button.
"That was about love."
"When you risked your job and your life to rescue me, in Puerto Rico,
and in a hundred little towns.."
Scully lay completely still, her body taut and aware of his every
movement; her mind reeling with his words.
"That was about love."
His hands moved up to unfasten the next button.
"When you went through 'unofficial channels' to drag my frozen ass out
of the arctic and were the first thing I saw when I woke up..."
Scully's mind was reeling. She should have known that Mulder's
photographic memory would have stored and catalogued these things; she
just didn't think he gave a damn.
"That was about love."
Mulder's fingers teased the next button, which lay just above the
cleave of her breast, still warm from his touch minutes before.
"When you were so close to dying, and fought to come back to me--not
once, but twice--I tried to make myself worthy of the life you had
chosen."
The small ivory disc slipped free of the buttonhole as tears filled
his eyes.
"And that *is* love, Scully. All of it. All of you."
Oh God, all these times she thought he took her for granted. When all
she wanted was a simple 'Hey, Scully, thanks for saving my ass!' But,
Mulder had stored them all away in his heart, and now he was gently
and graciously handing all of that love back to her.
And so much more.
"Please don't hate me for not realizing it before, Scully. But I do
love you."
Mulder slipped the last button free. "You see," he said as he slowly
pushed open her blouse to reveal her body, "before I met you, Samantha
was my life. *Finding her* was my life. She was all I had. The only
person who ever loved me." He reached down to take her hand as she
lay flat, eyes searching his.
"But now, Samantha is my mission, my quest. I still love her." Mulder
lowered his face until it was just a breath away from hers.
But *you* are my life."
Tears welled in Scully's eyes at the same time the passion overwhelmed
her. She clutched Mulder's head and pulled it down to her own, kissing
his beautiful mouth and pressing her chest against his. The teasing
her body had endured during his revelation had driven her internal
temperature up to boiling, and she couldn't stand one more second away
from his body.
Mulder managed to unstrap her bra clasp and his lips traveled down her
body to suck on the taut pink nipples. Scully moaned and twisted
underneath him, wanting his lips and hands everywhere at once.
Her hands ran eagerly through his hair, then in desperation for the
touch of his skin ripped off his shirt, sending buttons flying. Her
fingers danced over his chest, memorizing every part of him, every
angle, every surface. She felt his back muscles flex beneath her hands
as his arms slowly pushed her skirt down over her legs, taking her
hose and underwear with them in one smooth motion. Mulder's hands them
moved between her legs, where they proceeded to give Dana a new
definition for the term "Magic Fingers".
As Scully's body arched, her muscles clenched around his fingers and
she screamed his name, silenced only by his lips once again on hers.
His wet fingers now stroked her thighs, almost roughly. Scully had
never felt such a physical *need* for anyone in her life. She wanted
him inside her, and she knew that was where he wanted to be. Her hand
reached down to grasp him, and stroke him firmly as she moved herself
beneath him. She could feel the warm damp spot that had already
formed on the front of the boxers. She shoved them down out of the way
to get at what she needed. She rubbed her palm over his tip, and he
moaned, throwing his head back. A lock of hair fell into his eyes, and
Scully felt another surge of desperate need."
"God, I want you. Now, Mulder. Please," she panted.
Mulder's dark eyes looked deeply into hers as he plunged into her.
Their bodies seemed to recall this motion, this emotion, from some
long-forgotten past, and soon neither could tell where one ended and
the other began. Their rhythm was an echo of the perfect cycles of
nature, each giving, each taking, until they spun into orbit, clinging
to each other, spinning, spinning, and finally falling softly back to
earth.
*****************************
The smell of her hair.
That's what woke him.
The smell of her hair.
He inhaled deeply as his eyes blinked open, his heaving chest causing
Scully to stir in her sleep. He lifted her shoulders and rolled her
off him and onto the mattress. Scully's eyes half-opened and he leaned
down to kiss her.
"Go back to sleep, I'll be right back."
"'Kay," she smiled at him and closed her eyes.
Mulder returned to the hotel half an hour later, carrying a brown
paper bag. Opening the door, he found Scully sitting up in bed,
watching the news.
"What's that?"
"Breakfast," he announced, sitting Indian-style on the bed beside her.
"Coffee," he handed her two white styrofoam cups, "and bagels. With
*real* cream cheese." He smiled and kissed her.
"Thank you," she said and leaned her head onto his shoulder as she
ate. Mulder thought he might explode from happiness. And that wasn't
usually an emotion he had an excess of, so his body wasn't sure where
to store it. He felt it bubble up into his throat, until all he could
do--was laugh.
Scully looked at him, slightly confused. "What's so funny, Mulder?"
"Us, I guess. Me. I don't know." He smiled down at her and ran his
hand through her hair. "You know how sometimes you go looking for your
glasses, and you search the entire house, under the sofa cushions, in
your pockets, in the car. And then someone comes along and says, "Hey
Einstein, they're on your head."
Scully smothered her instant reaction to the thought of Mulder in his
glasses. "Yeah..."
Mulder brushed the hair away from her sleep-softened face. "Sometimes
what you're looking for, searching for your whole life, is right there
in front of you."
Following some after-breakfast 'consorting', Scully came out of the
bathroom, her hair still wet, face flushed from the heat of the
shower. Mulder looked up from his spot on the bed to see that she was
wearing her white flannel robe.
"Hey Scully," he said with a leer. "Want me to check you for mosquito
bites?" The hairbrush missed his head by an inch, but Scully's body
hit him full-force, knocking him backward onto the bed. Sitting on top
of him, she smiled wickedly down at him.
"I don't know, Agent Mulder. How thorough can you be?"
"Pretty *damn* thorough, g-woman." He rested his hands on her hips,
taking all of this in with amazement. Mulder Jr. was having his own
reaction, but Mulder told him to cool it for a while.
Scully settled onto the bed beside her partner, and kissed him.
"Mulder, can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What really made you think this might be your sister?"
Her eyes followed Mulder as he walked over and picked up the file.
Sitting on the end of the bed with his back to Scully, he opened it
and stared at the mug shot.
"Her eyes."
"Her eyes?"
"Yeah. Something about her eyes. Could just be that 'lost little girl'
look that some women have. Women whose lives haven't turned out the
way they'd hoped. But there's just something about her eyes."
Scully moved to sit behind him on her knees, her small hands on his
strong shoulders.
"When you came back," he began again, "when they brought you back to
me." She felt him begin to shake. "The doctors, somebody, had taped
your eyes shut. They said they do that with coma patients sometimes.
When I came to see you, they were like that." She could feel him
crying, his chest heaving.
"And I couldn't see your eyes, Scully. All I wanted to do was look
into your eyes, to know you were there, that you were okay, and I
couldn't see..." He dropped the photo and turned to take her face in
his hands. "I can take anything the world throws at me, if I can just
look into your eyes. That's where I feel safe. Trusted. It's where
things make sense."
Scully was crying again. With a clarity she had never known,
something suddenly made sense.
"I swear Scully. If you looked me in the eye and told me that this was
all too much, too much pain for you, I would walk away from it today.
I'd follow you anywhere. I need your strength, your spirit, and..."
"Samantha," Scully interrupted.
"What?" he whispered.
"You need Samantha." She pulled his head into her chest and held him
tightly. "You need her to complete you. To fill the hole in your heart."
"But I almost threw away the best thing that ever happened to me to
find her. And I won't take the chance of losing you again."
"Mulder," she tilted his face to hers. "Do you know what I see when I
look into *your* eyes?"
He shook his head slowly.
She smiled through her tears. "I see this angry, scared little boy who
thinks the whole world is against him. Who feels like a failure
because of something that wasn't even his fault." She ran a soft hand
over his cheek. "Who needs someone to love him and tell him that
everything is going to be alright."
He reached up to take her hands, as she slid down to sit beside him.
"*I* love the man you have become." She reached up to brush the hair
from his face. "But I'm not the one who can heal that little boy." She
shook her head sadly and kissed his forehead. "You need her." She
kissed his lips. "We need her."
Mulder reached down to pick up the picture again.
"And if it isn't her?"
"Then we keep looking. Together."
He pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head.
"I need you, Scully. You have no idea..." He looked at her face then,
and wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks as they lay back on the bed.
Somehow her tears seemed much more intimate than the other things they
had experienced together that night. Sex just gave him her body; tears
gave him her soul.
"I love you, Mulder," she said, running her hands over his chest.
"You're the only one who does, Scully," he said quietly, seriously.
There was a slight hesitation in her voice, and she glanced away for
just a second.
"Am I enough?"
Mulder pulled her down on top of him, holding her head tightly to his
chest for a moment. Releasing her, he let her look into his eyes,
knowing it was the only way she would believe him.
"You're everything, Scully. Everything."
The End
"The end of understanding is not to prove and find reasons, but to
know and believe."
-Thomas Carlyle
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