TITLE: The darkness, they fear
AUTHOR: AntheaMS
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DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, but please email me first.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORIES: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
SPOILERS: X-Files 2
SUMMARY: Sometimes, they just feared the darkness.
Disclaimer: Do I look like CC? No I don't. All characters don't belong to me. They belong to CC, 1013 Productions, Fox, Frank Spotnitz, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson.
Author's Notes: Dedicated to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. Happy Birthdays! The following text contains some suggestive reading material. If you are offended by such material, please do not read this piece of fanfiction. Though the rating should have told you that by now
They feared the darkness, as they often had. The pain, trauma, and fear that came along with it. They feared it, for the hardships that they bore, for causing the angst that they knew that they could do without. They knew all those years ago that they should have left when they could, run as far as they could from the darkness, even as they knew that the darkness is almost impossible to hide from. But they tried, as they often did.
Now, lying in bed next to him, she could not help but to wonder if that was what he had wanted all this time. If the life they led now was to only satisfy her selfish desires, and nothing more. She had observed his slow descent into the darkness, watched as he neglected everything again, holing himself up in his study while she went out to work. Sometimes, she wondered if he had ever given up on his sister.
She had watched silently as he accepted the offer, watched as he went out into the darkness again, this time searching for an agent that they didn't know if she was still alive. And she had followed, in spite of her insecurities. Even as she feared that this time, they would not come out of the darkness together, that she would be the only one left standing.
Things changed, after the operation, where she found herself confronting him for one last time. Angry and torn, she had wanted him to stay and to get out of her sight at the same time. They had parted ways then, he to his manhunt, and she to her more pressing concerns of the operation. As she watched him leave, she felt her heart breaking. But she had forced herself to go on, as she had always did.
When she couldn't contact him, she was anxious, furious, and wishing to tear out the agent's throat. Instead, she controlled those instincts and dialled the only number that she had removed from her speed dial. The FBI headquarters. When she had finally gotten through to Skinner, it had only took a few sentences to explain what was going on, before he had helped her access the channels she needed.
It was then that she found out about the accident. She didn't dare to believe it at first, but when she reached the scene, it took all she had to control herself and stop herself from bursting into hysterical cries. Her fears were overwhelming her, the guilt and fear that the angry words they exchanged were going to be the last memory he had of her. She had been so afraid that he would be dead, that it was true that the last memory that she would ever have of him was their angry exchange, which had ended so much worse than she had expected it to end.
Things changed though, and it was with a stroke of luck, and if she dared to believe it, guidance from God that drove her to the very place that she would find him. It had been a few anxious moments, when she had rushed into the shed only to find the strange Russian made positioned to kill him. Taking the nearest object, she had hit him as hard as she could, watch with some perverse satisfaction as the man fell with a loud thud, to the ground. She had ignored the prone, pale form lying next to her beloved, rushing to his side. It was with a sense of happiness and peace when she had realised that he was not hurt anywhere important.
She left him in search for Skinner then, almost growing cold when she realised that the victims of those kidnappings were in fact a sacrifice for a man who was on his death bed. Almost immediately, she had gotten to work, losing herself in the familiar routines, trusting that Skinner would take care of him.
She had managed to save the woman, but only barely. Fortunately, she was admitted to the same hospital as him, and once she was done with her patient, Scully had made her way to Mulder's room. It was with a breath of relief that she noted that the large cut on his head was the only wound that was serious enough to demand for stitches. She didn't have a chance to talk to him though, as she was whisked away from him after a few minutes gazing at him. But it had been enough. She knew that he forgave her, from the way he looked at her, the way he squeezed her hand, and his whispered declaration of, "everything would be all right."
Things had gotten worse later on though, when they found out that Father Joe had passed on. But they got through it, as they always did. Then came the second operation. She had been so nervous, scared that she had made a mistake and Christian would die. But Mulder had reassured her, calmed her doubts, and gave her enough strength to make it through the op. As he had always did.
And now, here they were, Mulder rowing a small boat that he somehow acquired in the cool, blue waters of the Caribbean, with her sitting opposite him, enjoying the view. She was dressed in nothing but a black bikini, with an unbuttoned white blouse over it. Sitting opposite Mulder, she had looked on with open appreciation when she noted that he was dressed in nothing but a pair of red Speedos, and the ever growing lump underneath them. Caressing her leg teasingly, she smirked when the lump grew, and Mulder paused in his rowing, letting the boat drift while he leaned forward and pulled her towards him.
"Mulder!" she exclaimed in mock annoyance, though the smile on her face gave it away.
Her only reply was a low, husky chuckle, before all thoughts were lost as he placed his lips over hers, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers.
Sometimes, she had missed the days when they worked in the X-Files, but now, lying in Mulder's arms, leaning against his bare chest, sated, happy, as she watched him row, the soft sounds of the oars cutting through the water the only sound in the silent sea; she knew, this was one thing that she would never want to give up.
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