She steps out into the night, and watches the sky.
There is something about him, lately. The current that lies under his skin has begun to hum against her as she fits herself along his spine each night.
She presses her cheek to his back, holds him close, and feels an electric pulse that is constant, steady with purpose. Something has begun to call his name.
The stars wink slyly at her, far away from the safety of her porch. They seem harmless, shining bright, the only light in the sky as the new moon hides. The scent of the night-blooming Gladiolus, planted last year in the only concession to a garden she will allow herself to have, is a momentary distraction from her thoughts, and the air is so cool against her skin she has to pull on her nightgown, snagged on the way out.
She glances through the window at the man sleeping in her bed, then up at the sky, silently acknowledging that it isn't the cold that is making her shiver. She knows, better than most, that the safety she feels is false. She knows, better than most, that the stars are not harmless.
Something is coming.
She can't put a name to it, cannot even begin to fathom a hypothesis as to its form, but she knows that it is there, and she is reaching the end of her ability to pretend it doesn't exist. She has had extensive practice at this and has long since reached the conclusion that her own uneasiness is usually better proof than any of the monsters that she has seen come crawling out from under the bed.
Something is coming, and her own flat acknowledgement of it helps her to reconcile herself to the coming future.
They haven't talked about it. She questions him, in her own way, holding his gaze, searching it, when she kisses him goodbye each morning. Raising her brow, just a little, when he tells her about his day and the feel of his words are too-quick, glossed over and lacking his usual gravitas.
He answers her, in his own way, the ghost of a sheepish grin crossing his features, the barest hint of a shrug allaying and acknowledging her fears at the same time.
They won't talk about it. They will sidestep and prevaricate and talk in circles until they are standing on the edge of whatever rabbit hole fate will place in front of them to step through. And then he will grab her hand and she will grab his, and they won't pretend that either one of them was planning to do anything else.
The night suddenly feels too dark, the scent of the flowers too cloying, her nightgown close and suffocating. She tears her gaze away from the sky, feeling hunted and small, the rabbit to a predator she can't name but can feel watching her, watching them.
She doesn't know if she can do this again.
She jumps at the feel of a hand on the nape of her neck.
She rears up, stiff and cold, momentarily panicked before she recognises the feel of the space the man sitting beside her takes up. She's been sitting curled over for some time, hunched over staring at nothing while the stars spun above her and brought the dawn.
"Scully, you're going to catch a cold if you keep gardening at night." He shifts to look into her face, worry clouding his gaze, his tentative opening line asking her if she wants to continue to pretend the knowledge they're both carrying isn't real.
She looks up at the lightening sky, and the pure relief that another day has come where they are sitting together and she can touch him makes her catch her breath. It also makes her stiffen her spine and keep from reaching for him, because even after all this time habit is hard to break.
"I never know if I can do this again." She directs her comment to the sky, but he stays silent, challenging her. The quiet frays at her nerves, puts fire and courage back into her heart, and she turns to glare at him.
That's when he takes her hand, searching her gaze. "Until you do." She hears the question, the uncertainty and fear underneath the flippancy, and she squeezes, giving him the ghost of a smile.
"Until I do." She agrees.
A/N: Woohoo – New X-Files! Thank you for reading XD