WALK By Alanna. alanna@alanna.net +++++++++++++++ I walked. I walked so damn far my feet hurt. I walked until the world around me became unfamiliar, unwelcome. Cars passed by, carrying people god only knew where, off to their parties and their kids' dance recitals and their goddamn hairstyling appointments. My feet became unsteady, ankles wobbling on three-inch heels, sliding across rain- slicked pavement. A car sped by, splashing me with the water from a dirty gray puddle, and the shower was like a baptism. And so I was reborn. Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, welcome to your new life. +++++++++++++++ Arlington to Georgetown is one hell of a walk. I've never been a quitter, but I finally gave up just as I was about to cross the Potomac. A bus pulled up along the road I was on and I found myself hurrying to catch it, digging a handful of change out of my pocket until I hit upon the sufficient fare to get me home. The cold plastic seat was my own personal La-Z-Boy. The kind my dad had as I was growing up, following us house-to-house until a home became a collection of four walls paid for by the U.S. Goverment, signifying nothing but a return address on the postcards I'd send to the friends in the city I'd just left, postcards which were never answered. Postcards I never expected to be answered. How the hell did that song go -- the one Charlie used to play on his guitar? "Life is a highway, and I want to ride it alllll night long"? Whatever. I didn't have the energy or the interest in looking at the monuments the bus passed on its route. Once upon a time, they had held the promise of grandeur and glory. I'd looked upon them with the eye of a patriot, the wide-eyed little red haired girl indoctrinated into Americana from the womb to the mortarboard. A symbol of all we had lost and gained on our Road to Freedom. But what the hell is a Road to Freedom when it only leaves you enslaved? Government: you were good to me when you first started paying my salary, then you screwed me over and left me for dead. So long, good riddance, I'm through with you. The bus passed along Rock Creek Park, and I chose to concentrate on the foliage and jogging trails and parked cars rather than the more snapshot-worthy sights on my right. Everyone had a place to go, even if it was just running until your feet hurt and your blood sang in your veins. We were in Georgetown before I knew it, and when I started recognizing familiar haunts, I yanked the call cord and got off the bus, picking up my march where I'd left off. Autopilot made me turn onto my street, good sense made me turn right back around. The cellphone in my pocket trilled loudly, though the far-too-jaded inhabitants of Georgetown didn't give me a second glance as the sound assaulted their ears. I did catch their attention when I pulled out the phone and tossed it into a gutter. Could've sworn I saw someone in my peripheral vision diving for its remnants, but I really couldn't have cared less. There goes another couple hundred dollars. Hell, let the Bureau dock me the replacement fee. I had enough in savings to cover it. I knew who was calling. Mulder. All the more reason not to answer it. +++++++++++++++ "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." I hadn't been scorned, but I was still furious. Or maybe just confused as all get-out. I let the doorman open the door of lobby of the Hyatt Regency Georgetown for me. Common niceties have never been my style, but it was his job and we all have to do our jobs, right? Marching up to the counter, I asked for a room. "Single or double?" the clerk asked. I tried not to laugh. "Single." Double? Not hardly. Probably never, at the rate things were going. I pulled my credit card out of my wallet and handed it over. Not the most effective form of payment for a woman "on the run", but if Mulder wanted to find me, by God he would, and even my paying in cash wouldn't stop him. The elevator ride to the seventh floor was smooth as helium in a balloon. I didn't have any luggage or clothes besides what I wore, and knew that I'd probably have to head home in the morning -- but right then I just needed to get out of my head for one night. Just one night. Was that too much to ask? According to him, it was. Because he controlled my life. I made him a whole person. I fucking validated his existence. Was I supposed to be grateful for that? Sorry, Mulder. Your choice, not mine. And don't expect me to live with it. +++++++++++++++ The shower spray hit my skin like a thousand kisses. His kiss. I pressed my hand to my lips and it felt like his touch. Phantom Mulder to the rescue. Could I ever escape that man? Sitting in my apartment in the hazy early afternoon light, I'd had it all planned out. Quit the Bureau. Get reinstated by the AMA for a full-time medical license. Find some police department which needed a pathologist and apply for the job. Get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe I'd go to Southern California. It never rains in San Diego. I could go live with Tara and Bill. Slip something in her Tang and get rid of her, then become Aunt Dana to baby Matthew. I'd always wanted a little baby boy. We look alike so nobody would be the wiser. Hell knows I've learned enough about falsifying records to pull it off. Mommy and baby make three -- oops, two. Who needs Daddy? Full of grand designs, I'd booted up my computer and started typing my letter of resignation. The words flew like quicksilver from my brain to my fingertips, and the letter was printed and the envelope sealed before I'd even remembered to run spellcheck. No matter -- when agents are quitting, typos are the least of concerns. Got in my car and drove. Pulled into the parking garage at the Hoover Building and breezed through the corridors to Skinner's office. Didn't bother asking Kimberly's permission before opening the door to his office, the letter clutched in my hand like a warrior's club. And the irony of it was that Skinner wasn't even there. Probably still at the meetings trying to work out cost of living adjustments between D.C. and Salt Lake City, and how they could wipe all evidence of the X- files from my record. Could they save my reputation, though? I doubt it. Next stop: Mulder's place. Some kids were playing out front as I pulled up. I didn't even know youth existed in this neighborhood, full of hard people with hard lives, their hard- earned paychecks paying for a great apartment in a great location, but not giving them any happiness. Contrary to popular opinion, Mulder's place is not a dump. He pays damn good money for it, and his landlords earn every bit of it, what with all the havoc he wreaks on it. I didn't need a key to get into his place, and I marveled at this man's complete disregard for his personal safety -- or maybe he was just nihilistic. The carefully-prepared speech I'd rehearsed on the way over ("Mulder, I know this will be hard for you, but I can't do this any more. I need to find my dreams elsewhere, I need to do this so we can stay together. I need to save us both", etcetera) evaporated at the sight of him sitting before me. Hair tousled, t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin. Eyes haunted. Always haunted, his eyes were. Always will be. And yet, I felt no sense of guilt. I couldn't. I wasn't sure I still had it in me. Disillusionment drains a soul. "Salt Lake City, Utah. Transfer effective immediately. I already gave Skinner my letter of resignation." Yes I can quit on you now. I should have done so a long time ago, but something kept me here. YOU kept me here. I can't stay any longer because if I do, I'll lose my soul. And Mulder, that's all I have left. I turned to leave. Bad idea, Dana, but we all have 'em. I turned my back on him but though my words spoke of finality, I knew I'd see him again. I always did. Mulder -- my own personal bad penny. He keeps turning up. He followed me, of course. I turned the corner of the hallway and his stride easily outdistanced mine. And thus began his litany. I could have let myself believe his words so easily, so very easily. I could have gotten caught up in the emotions and the words and the convoluted poetry of the moment. When Mulder wants to bare his soul, he gives it all he has. I am logic, he *is* emotion. Mulder seduced me. He told me everything I wanted to hear from him, everything I had wanted to hear for so many years: that I mattered to him, that he needed me. That he was in love with me, in the way only he could. And for one brief moment, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe that I was loved and treasured. That I filled his soul. And looking back, I know he was being sincere, but I don't think he knew it. He wanted me back, and he almost had me. My partner is nothing if not extraordinarily clever. He knew I couldn't just walk away, so he did some fancy convincing. My God, that man could be charming when he tried. If I had let my heart rule my actions, within five minutes we would have been naked on his couch. He would have made love to me and consumed me right there. And I would never have been able to leave him again. But I couldn't stay. He looked at me for a long moment, asking permission. I granted it. Heaven was in the brush of his lips over mine, the tiny puff of air hitting my upper lip, the warmth as his hand caressed the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Heaven was in kissing him back, of opening my lips and tracing the crease of his mouth with my tongue, sliding over it like silk. Heaven was in knowing that if I wanted, I could spend the rest of my life making love to him. That I could rule his world with one snap of my fingers, one opening of my legs. Hell was in knowing that I could never, ever allow this to happen. I turned on my heel and walked. I walked. I walked. +++++++++++++++ My hair was wet when I slipped into the bed, but I didn't care. Personal appearance is trivial in times like these. All my plans seemed foolish as I lay there, eyes wide open, body naked, mind whirling in thought. What next? Instinct had gotten me this far, but I'd run up against a wall. I couldn't go home -- Mulder would be there. I couldn't go to Mom's -- she'd try to talk some sense into me. I couldn't go to San Diego -- I think I'd rather die first. I only knew that I couldn't go back. My legs moved in a scissor-kick under the covers. Still walking. Tears smarted at my eyes but I blinked them back. This was a time for strength, not cowardice. But I couldn't keep from placing my hand on my collarbone then moving it down my body, skimming my skin. Imagining it was his hand. Knowing that this is what I could have had if I hadn't left him. Trying to convince myself that was not what I wanted. Trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him. Failing. The knock at the door echoed around the room. I didn't bother to panic. I knew who it was. Him. And so I closed my eyes and willed the knocking to cease, but it wouldn't. It went on for minutes I was too far gone to count, each rap at the door and each cry of "Scully!" another tap of the icepick to my heart. I am a strong woman. I am a survivor. I can face him down. He can't get to me. On barely-steady legs, I made my way to the bathroom and pulled the robe off the hook on the door. Wrapping it around me, I walked over to the door of the room. I opened it. It was him. Time to face the music. __________________ Sanity is merely finely-tuned insanity. I had lived on that border so long I scarcely remembered where the line was drawn. But now I was rediscovering it. She was my line. She always had been. She stood before me, hair wet, body wrapped in a plush hotel robe, and all I could think was that I had to have her. I had to feel her skin on mine before I went mad. Before we all went mad. I stepped through the threshold, the groom without a bride, and closed the door behind me. She didn't move. I had a thousand questions I had to ask her, the foremost being "Why?" Why are you doing this to us, Scully? Why are you trying to break my heart? Why won't you let me love you? Her lips pursed in a cruel imitation of a kiss. Thoughtful, she was, always thoughtul -- right up to the end. Thoughtful of herself, and always thoughtful of me. Except now, I was forgotten in the midst of her demons. We stood there, facing each other in a Mexican Standoff, for what seemed like hours. A mental thrust-and-parry with only souls as our weapons. My gaze was lime, trying to dissolve the mortar of her walls. Her heart was water, washing away the acid before it could do its work. I don't remember who moved first -- me or her -- but it was probably me, the volcano of my furyneedlove erupting and spilling lava all over the world below. My muscles tensed, so brittle the faintest tap of her fingers might shatter them, the coils wound so tightly that the first twitch propelled me forward into her arms. Not waiting arms. Just arms. Her head in my hands was a pecan, my hands a nutcracker. I could have crushed her so easily -- the fury inside of me would have let it happen -- but she could have crushed me even more easily. She always had that power. I wanted to bury her so deeply within me that she would need to draw my breath to survive, so deeply within me that she could never leave, not even if she wanted to. Some absurdly lucid cell in my brain told me that she wasn't responding, that I needed to try something else to get her to submit. But Casanova Mulder was taking a beating from Desperate Mulder, and all I could do was pull her closer to me, my mouth bathing her parched face with kisses. And then something snapped and crackled, humorless and intense, and my world was bathed in white light as her lips met mine and I was suddenly the submissive one, left to her whims. But then, hadn't some part of me always been like that? Such is the glorious and macabre power of love. I felt the bruises and welts rising on my skin, absurd brandings of everywhere she had touched, my beloved, deadly little sorceress. She was consuming me. I wanted to be consumed. My body flooded with heat, the lava spreading through my abdomen and swelling my body. She ground against me, her body molding into my own, and just when I thought I might burst, she walked away. She walked away. Her hands clasped in front of her, she walked away. The Sorceress braced her hands on the edge of the bed, her hair spreading over her head like a cap of flame, her robes covered with phantom images of half moons and starbursts. Her soul was her magic wand. I could have crept up behind her, I could have seduced her into staying. I could have done so many things, but for the pain-passion seething in my blood. So I walked. My feet on either side of her, my body pressing into her own, I moved my hands to her waist and squeezed slightly. She shuddered at my touch. "You want this." My voice was feral. "No." Her voice was a growl. Pause. "Yes." Her voice was a whisper. The snake of her robe-belt lashed out at me and I grasped it by its head, tugging until it submitted. My hands came to her shoulders and pushed at the robe until it fell in a puddle at her feet, her small walking feet. The robe was anchored by her hands, still braced on the bed, and she moved them until she was naked in front of me. Her skin shone like satin, like polished cotton. Like a spider's web, caught in the first light of day. I peeled off my shirt and threw it to the floor, then my shaking hands fumbled with the fly of my jeans until they too were on the floor, discarded like so many bonds. The arch of her back before me was permission granted. My hands touching her skin were acquiescence. I traced her muscles, so hard, so strong beneath me. I couldn't see her face, which was strangely fitting under the circumstances. Fingers moved to her stomach, feeling its pliancy at my touch, then began the journey upward. Soft skin. Firm breasts. Racing heartbeat. My fingers traced her lips and the hot sough of her breath scorched me, a baptism of fire. I wanted to kiss her so badly, to make love to her until our eyes glazed over. But not now. She wouldn't -- couldn't -- let me. She wouldn't let us *make love*. The rise of her head to touch my shoulder was her first move of tenderness, then it was gone just as quickly. She was mine, and then she wasn't. But she wanted this. WE wanted this. My hands moved downward once again, skimming over her soft-hard skin, touching the crinkled tips of her breasts, grazing over the patch of hair where her legs met. The slight swing of her hips brushed against my cock, and I found my hand buried in her folds, slick and hot. I bathed myself in her, then raised my hand to my lips. She tasted of capers and smoked salmon and all the finer things in life. All the things which I could never have. I grasped her wrists and she crumbled beneath me, the smooth fury of a waterfall. I crumbled onto her, my body pressing into her, trying desperately to be absorbed. Trying desperately to reclaim her. Scully Siren reached behind her and clasped my cock in nimble fingers. Fingers which had pulled triggers and held scalpels. Fingers which could destroy me with the force of a snap. Fingers which were slowly destroying my sanity. She whispered. I couldn't make out her words, but I thought they were, "Do it, Mulder." Fantasy or truth, I knew not which. But I did. I made love to her. I worshipped her, my beautiful goddess. I claimed her. But then, I was always hers. ++++++++++++++++ I shivered in the cool air conditioned air, wrestling with the sheets wrapped around me. The room was cool. Inhuman. And I knew that when I opened my eyes, she would be gone. I opened my eyes. She was gone. +++++++++++++++ END.