Thanks for all the years and betas, WildwingSuz.
"I'm fine. I'm free." He says past a lump in his throat. I almost ask him what happened but I don't.
I remain there, behind him, observing the emotions going through him. Years of knowing him have not prepared me for a moment like this, because he has been through a wringer the likes of which I've never seen.
Trying to surmise what he needs right now by body language alone, and knowing that I would want a few moments to privately process everything that had happened, I stand back. Then he takes a few ragged breaths, hangs his head low and brings his left hand up to his face to presumably push back tears.
I watch his shoulders rise and fall as several more shuddering breaths fill and leave his lungs, and just as I think he is about to crumble he sets his shoulders straight and looks to the stars once more.
Then, he reaches back toward me with his shaky right hand, beckoning me. So I intertwine our fingers and move to stand next to him. I set my own sights on the cosmos now.
And so we stand for a time and just as I wonder if he is through the worst of it, he turns his face to mine. When our eyes meet, my heart breaks for him. I can only assure him in our language that is spoken with eyes rather than lips, that I'm here for him in whichever way he needs. I recalled a handful of times he's held me as I broke down after the monsters tried to get me.
I can only imagine what he must be feeling in this instant. For someone whose life's mission was to find these answers, freedom is a double edged sword. He looks lost, as if he doesn't know his place on this planet anymore. 'Allow him his ignorance. It's what give him hope,' is what that smoking bastard had told me, and I can only pray to God that's not entirely true. All I can do is grip my partner's hand tightly, with both of mine now, weighing him down as if I can keep him from floating away. Always brimming just below the surface, every sentiment I harbor where he is concerned is palpable in this moment and I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.
He glances once more toward the sky before turning back towards me and gathering me up in his arms. "Thank you," he whispers, squeezing me as tightly as he ever has with my head fitting perfectly under his jaw. I know that he is thanking me not only for tonight, but for all these years.
I stroke his back soothingly, reassuringly until he releases me and takes my hand again. He doesn't hide the fact that he wipes a few tears from his face but I can tell by the way that he walks that he's made his peace.
As I drive, Mulder is so still with his seat reclined back a couple of notches that I wonder if he's fallen asleep.
Back at the hotel, we are walking toward our rooms. He'd taken my hand just as I'd thought to offer it again.
When we are about to walk past his room, and I think I may ask if he wants some company so I can keep an eye on him a bit longer, he stops and tugs on my hand so that I have to turn to face him.
He levels me with a stare that steals my breath. He licks his lips and swallows hard before filling his lungs in preparation to speak.
"Scully, could I kiss you?"
I am taken aback but can see it there, just behind his eyes, what he wants. This is not a sexual request, he merely needs something to ground him.
Time and time again I've learned that I can deny this man nothing, from lying under oath to performing an autopsy on the woman that birthed and raised him. Tonight is no different.
He sees the decision in my eyes before I even have time to nod and enters my personal space where we both, long ago, began to welcome each other in times of sorrow.
He raises his hands to my face. His fingers smooth my hair near my temples while his thumbs caress my cheekbones. I expect him to hesitate, but am pleasantly surprised when his lips touch mine for only the second time.
This kiss is not chaste, nor is it entirely sexual. I part my lips for what I intend to be only a moment if he doesn't accept the invitation. When he does and his tongue enters my mouth just enough to find mine, my lungs expand. My feelings for him are making themselves known for the second time tonight, heart fluttering and knees weak.
I yearn to wrap my arms around his neck, to open myself more to him, but that's not what he's asked of me. So, rather, I move my hands to his wrists and stroke them gently with my thumbs at the same pace which he strokes my cheeks with his.
Our tongues dance for mere seconds and then it is over before it really began. He nuzzles his nose up next to mine, more intimate than an eskimo kiss, before taking in and releasing a cleansing breath.
"Thank you."
When I pull back just enough to look in his eyes, I am assured that the kiss has served its purpose.
"Get some sleep, Mulder." I let him go, resisting the urge to find his lips again.
When I hear his deadbolt turn, I watch his door for a few more beats. I feel like if I could shake my head just right I might be able to get a few things back in their rightful places. But some things, once they are set free, cannot be contained again.
That is not an issue for this night, though, so I return to my room to prepare to fly home tomorrow.