SUMMARY: When three lives intersect, a triangle is formed.
PAIRINGS: Scully/Skinner, Mulder/Scully
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
DATE POSTED: August 1998
WORD COUNT: 2,077 for this part
Body meets body and friction is formed.
It's like opening a long-awaited gift, tearing the wrapping paper aside and flinging the bow on the floor to find the Malibu Barbie with Special Curl Hair. Ah, just what I wanted, Santa. So what if I had to wait so damn long for it? It's here now in my hands and it's time to play.
I'm tired of crying, of sitting alone in the living room, feeling helpless, trapped in the sucking whirlpool of my life. Tired of defeat, of failure, tired of being thirty-four years old and feeling so damn old, so weary by the evil we encounter.
No, don't. I can save myself. But stay by my side. Walk with me on this march.
Today is Sunday. Don't want to think about toxicology reports, of secret informants, of budget reports. I don't want to remember that Monday morning we have an 8:00 meeting with Skinner. Can't think about him right now, lying with my head on your bare chest, your hands tangled in my hair.
Today is Sunday. God himself said in the Bible that this is a day of rest. Last night's storm never fully left the area, and a fine drizzle mists the streets outside. No need to go out today, no need to admit that there's a world beyond this little apartment. There's a bed, a refrigerator full of food, a toilet and a shower. What more do we need?
Help me create an island today. You and me, shipwrecked on this bed. Our life raft has deflated and there's no way we can get off this sandy isle, not today. Lie close to me and float in the warm water. I can taste the salt on my lips, and realize it isn't seawater, it's my tears.
God, I promised myself you wouldn't see me cry.
It's just overload, too much of everything at once. My life has been a series of careful, even steps. Look before you leap has been my motto since I was a young girl. In matters of love I have been the empress of judiciousness, choosing wisely, willing to go without if I cannot have the
Now, take a look at me. I did, about an hour ago, in the glare of the bathroom. My hair a tangled brush of copper thread, my face rosy from razor burn, and oh Lord, was that actually a hickey on my neck? A sudden memory flashed before me of trying to explain to my mother that the purplish bruise was actually a burn from the curling iron. "Just be glad your father is at sea, Dana." Swollen, cracked lips. Have I ever been so utterly, thoroughly kissed?
I looked beautiful. A wild beast-woman, a woman who has had every inch of her skin explored and mapped by her eager cartographer.
Eager, that's what we are. I can't stop now that we've begun this thing. It makes me catch my breath in my throat, fear, fear of going too deep, of losing myself in your tawny skin and melancholy eyes. What if we drown in our combined pain, its blackness washing over us in waves until we are irrevocably pushed down to the bottom, far below?
It's all about control, isn't it? It's hard for me to let go, to just take each moment in my hand and savor it, roll the moment on my tongue like a fine Bordeaux. My brain is always just going, going, thinking too much, trying to achieve goals, trying to see the pattern. Help me let go of my control
I have to stop this incessant thinking. You're here, sprawled naked on my bed in all your masculine beauty. Yes, men can be beautiful and you are. I've seen you standing in front of the mirror dissatisfied with what you see. "I'm too skinny, no butt, hollow and virtually hairless chest," your expression says to me. Jeez, you're worse than most of my girlfriends with your self-criticism. Let me assure you, lover, I've seen all of you now, and you're beautiful. I've seen you bleeding, sick, vomiting, crying, pointing a gun at me. Now I've seen you standing before me, naked as the day you were born, wearing nothing but a hesitant smile and an erection. You're beautiful, okay? I lust for you, I am lying here with just my head touching your chest and already I want you again so badly my jaw aches from clenching it.
There's so much you don't know, can't know. You'll always have that question in your eyes when you look at me, "Why him?" How can I explain? I can't, I won't. You don't know him like I do, don't know the other side that exists in him. To you, he's just the big, glowering guy who sits up in the executive suite, the man to whom we report, in his starched shirts and immaculate suits. I've seen the other side, the man who loves opera, who taught me to make pasta, who once lay by my side and read me to me from Pushkin's Evgeny Onegin. The man with improbably gentle hands, who purred like a kitten at my touch. You'll never know that man, because I won't ever tell you. That's my little secret, which I keep close to my heart, something entirely my own, which I won't have to give over to you.
You asked me if I loved him. No, I did not lie to you. I never did.
It's always been you.
Why? I've been asking myself this all day, as we've made love, as I've been crying out from the sensation of your tongue stroking my wetness, from your hands on my ass, pressing you deeper into me, I've been screaming why why why why? As I feed you raspberries and cherries from the bowl, your red-stained mouth closing over my fingers, I still am asking myself that question. Now I think I know the answer, or something close to it.
We're elemental. Hydrogen and oxygen make water. Sodium and chloride make salt. Mulder and Scully make love.
Sound too simple? It is, but there it is. I've never believed in fate, in predestination. We make our own destinies, but it's an undeniable fact that between the two of us there is something so strong, so unbreakable, that I am in utter awe at its force. I felt it the first night we were in Oregon, chasing our very first set of little gray men, and I spent long, long years ignoring the pull, telling myself nice little dictums about trust, partnership, loyalty. Bullshit. I loved you then, as I love you know.
Call me a slow learner. Call the both of us slow learners.
It's all about friction, Mulder. I push, you pull, but somehow we get somewhere.
I need the stimulation. You make me come alive, in infinitesimal ways. We sit in rental cars in boondock towns in the middle of who the hell knows where and argue about who killed the boy found in the pond with his head a mile and a half away, and it's intense, infuriating. I get colder and more logical by the minute, while you just sit there, smirking, so damn sure you're right, but the bottom line is, I am loving the conflict, the tension, the friction that is so thick in the air you could scoop it up with a spoon and serve it in a glass bowl for dessert. It's a high more powerful than crack, more addictive than heroin. You and me, baby, we're better than drugs, we're pure adrenaline.
Mulder, we're a couple of junkies and together we can provide the fix. Straight to the vein, no needles necessary.
Yet, it's more than that. It can be tender, it can be comfort. It can be you, holding me as I contemplate my death. It can be me, sponging your feverish body to health again.
Can I tell you a secret?
On that night at the hospital, as I was so precariously close to death, I awoke to the sound of the door opening. I was so weak I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't speak, but I immediately knew from the sound of the footsteps that it was you, Mulder.
You knelt by my bedside, lay your head on the bed and collapsed in wracking sobs. I don't know if you were crying for me, for yourself, for the both of us, but it broke my heart to hear you so vulnerable and lost. God, I wanted to gather you in my arms and soothe the pain, but I was helpless, paralyzed to the bed, an involuntary voyeur to this naked display of your ravaged soul.
Instead, it was you who comforted me. Your tears subsided and you spent most of the rest of the night sitting in the bedside chair, holding my hand. I now believe it was the warmth and strength of that hand that kept me anchored to the land of the living during that long, dark night. Towards morning, I was able to open my eyes and I saw you dozing in the chair, my hand still in your firm grip.
That is the moment I realized it was now my choice to make--to live or to die.
I chose life.
Do you see, now? Do you understand what I mean when I say elemental? We need each other, like water, like food. We are the only thing that can save the other.
God, my therapist would roll her eyes if she heard me say that, but she's not me. She's never bargained her own life for her lover's, she's never chosen her lover over her sister, she's never had to face the darkness like we have. Would she really blame us for wanting to create some light in our lives?
Come here, now. That's right, kiss away my tears and tell me jokes to get me to laugh. Help me to stop taking myself too seriously. Teach me to watch cartoons, to leave the bed unmade for the day. Let's be normal people for a while, who go to movies, have dinner and go for walks, holding hands.
Let me kiss away your fears. I can taste the raspberries you ate, your mouth is tastes like summer. We can take turns, I'll be the strong one for a while and then we'll switch, okay? Let me hold you during the nightmares and tell you that you're here with me and everything will be just fine.
We can play pretend for a while.
Mulder, I'm sore as hell, but I want you again. I need you inside me now, filling me, our skin touching, the two of us connected. Oh, that's it, it hurts, but God, you feel so good, do it harder, shit, do you even begin to know how I love you? I love your smell, the way your eyes get a little crossed as you're about to orgasm, how your muscles in your back become knotted. The way you fuck me like a strong woman, not a delicate flower. I'm tough, and you know just how tough I am, that I won't break in your grasp. You take these deep, sweeping strokes into me, until I feel like the bed is opening up, that I'm opening, getting deeper, pooling into fathomless depths of animal arousal. I love the way you aren't afraid to be noisy, to groan, to moan, to urge me on, to tell me what you like. The way you say, "Oh yeah, like that, bring your knees up Scully, shit you're so tight and wet and Christ, I'm gonna come if you do that." And the look in your eyes when I talk back to you, telling you precisely how I want it too.
Partners, in every sense of the word. Working together for a common goal, whether it be the truth or the perfect orgasm. I'd like to think we'll eventually find both. After all this, I still have my optimism more or less intact.
Tomorrow is coming precariously close. I can almost hear the digital clock humming if I listen hard enough. We have that dreaded meeting in the morning, and we're going to have to pull ourselves into our best facsimile of professional Mulder and Scully to get through it.
What comes tomorrow? Where do we take this?
Questions, always the questions. For once I'm going to let this one slide and just let myself love you. I hope you can do the same.
I bend down to look at your face. You're eyes are closed as if you are dozing, but the faintest of smiles plays at your lips. Something inside me expands, and I realize it's the place in my soul where you belong.
As the room becomes darker, we lie together, content to exist in the moment, breathing together.
Tomorrow will come soon enough. I've set the alarm for 6:00 am.