Summary: The thoughts of Mulder and Scully after the events of FTF. I refuse to believe that there were no sleepless nights for these two, no struggling to move on, after the events of FTF.
Disclaimer: I don't own The X-Files. In fact, I don't own much of anything. Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and all those other important people and companies are still making money off of this show. Not me.
Rating: T, for two bad words
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Fight the Future
Note: It's been a while, a very long while since I've written anything, including fanfic. Years, actually. I'm trying to get back into writing in general, and fanfic always presents a fun challenge. This is my first fanfic for The X-Files, as I haven't even finished watching the series yet. Yeah, I know, I am so behind the times. If you feel so motivated, please send me a note letting me know what you think of this.
That bee.
That bee!
THAT BEE!
That stupid fucking bee. It's a good thing it's already dead. He'd kill it again if he could. He'd kill it a million times over.
Because of that bee, he almost lost her. Its venom nearly killed her. Then they took her away, buried her in an alien ship in Antarctica. She nearly died there. She would have died if he hadn't gone after her. The alien virus would have killed her, they would have killed her, or she would have just… disappeared.
And if she was lost, he would have been just as lost. He couldn't do this without her. He needed her. She pushed him, challenged him, completed him. He needed her in every sense of the word. He had almost lost her, and she didn't know what she meant to him.
All because of that stupid bee.
That was the worst of it, almost losing her. But there was more, oh, there was more. That bee didn't just sting her, it got him, too. Not physically, but emotionally.
They had been so close, so agonizingly close. He had felt the heat in her hands as she held his neck. He had been drowning in the tears in her eyes. The depths of the sadness in them was enough to swallow a man whole. He couldn't bear to see it anymore, see the pain etched on her face. He only wanted to feel, to feel her. His hand was on her neck, on her face, and he could feel the heat there, too. They moved closer together, closer, closer. His heart was racing, but he swore he stopped breathing. He could feel the heat radiating from her. Their lips almost touched, just a hair-width apart, when she jerked away.
In a split-second, his heart shattered. They were so close and it was a beautiful sadness, she was truly going to complete him, and she pulled away. Had he been wrong all along? Had he been the only one who had felt the connection? Broken, hurting, he muttered an apology. He was the one who wanted to cry now.
That bee.
When she pulled that bee out from her collar, he couldn't believe his bad luck. His hand was still on her neck and he slid it down to feel the spot where the bee stung her. He could already feel a tiny swell, but what he noticed was the heat and the softness of her skin. He couldn't help it; he was a man and his hand wanted to go further. He wanted to be enveloped in that softness.
Then she spoke, "Something isn't right." And it all fell apart from there.
He rolled over on the couch, unable to sleep. What would have happened if that bee hadn't stung her? Was that the only reason she had pulled away? Every time he closed his eyes, this is what he saw. He was terrified by the images of what came after, of the ambulance, the tank in the ship, her skin so cold and pale it was almost blue, giving her mouth to mouth to bring her back, running through the snow, dragging her, freezing. These images haunted him when he was awake, when he was asleep. When he saw her, there was always those brief visions. But at night, when he tried to sleep, when he was on the verge, treading between the waking world and the dreaming world, he was haunted not by these nightmare images, but that glimpse of heaven. In some ways, that was the worst.
He imagined their lips meeting in that hallway. He imagined the kiss, slow and gentle at first. They would explore each other, get to know each other on this level. His hand would cup her face, caress her cheeks and her jaw line. Her hands would wrap around his neck, pulling him close, run through his hair at the base of his skull. Gradually the kiss would become more urgent. His tongue would slide between her lips, begging for entrance, and she would grant it. Their heads would shift, deepening their explorations, aching to be closer. He could feel her heartbeat under his hands as he held her neck. It was racing, matching his own, beat for beat. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest. His lungs ached to breathe, but he couldn't let her go. They would find themselves against the wall, pressing into each other, unable to drink each other in fast enough. He would move his hands, lift her, intending to take her away.
He would pull back to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes, reality came crashing back. For a moment, he would see a smile on her lips, a rare one that truly lit up her eyes. That moment was all too brief. The tears were still there, still trailing down her cheeks as they spilled from her eyes. The sadness was all encompassing; it was the sadness that was in her eyes before the kiss. It hadn't gone anywhere. They hadn't gone anywhere. The kiss never happened. Then her eyes turned into the dead eyes he found in Antarctica. And she was gone.
And he was awake on his couch, sweating and shivering at the same time. She was alive, but the kiss was dead. She was safe, she wasn't going anywhere, and that was most important. But some part of him shattered and died when that bee stung her and broke them apart.
Rising from his reclined position, unable to sleep, he moved to turn on the television. He wasn't going to sleep. Again. The images of what could have been were going to haunt him and he couldn't clear his mind. He needed the numbing effect of the television, the distraction.
He needed her.
What he didn't know was that across town, she couldn't sleep either.
She, too, kept falling into those visions. During the day she could forget, try to use science to fight her memories. The daylight hours were full of distractions, full of life. But the nights were the worst. The memories would settle in, robbing her of her warmth and security. Once the memories started, she couldn't get warm, she couldn't stop shivering. She would find herself swimming in warm clothes, wrapped in blankets on her couch or huddled beneath the covers in her bed. Every noise outside made her heart race, pried her sleepy eyes wide open. A hot shower would make her feel as if she were drowning, suffocating. Her sleep was plagued by nightmares, terrifying dreams of drowning, freezing, being ripped open from the inside. The most horrifying nightmare involved him pounding on the glass, she was watching from inside, freezing and dying, while he was unable to save her. The sadness in his eyes as he realized he couldn't save her often woke her before she died.
The nightmares woke her, but getting to sleep was a challenge all its own. As her mind slipped between conscious and unconsciousness, it went back to that night in the hall, the night she came to tell him goodbye. She was prepared to walk away, or so she thought. It took all of her strength to walk out the door of his apartment. She wasn't surprised when he followed her; somehow she knew he would. But what he said, what he did, that surprised her.
The passion and the intensity as he bared his soul to her tore at her heart. He was right and she knew it. Her skepticism and faith in science kept him balanced. His sadness, his reluctance to go it alone but unwillingness to quit, that conflict she could see in his eyes brought tears to hers. She gave in, she knew she couldn't leave. She would find a way to make this work, to continue this quest. As she wrapped her arms around him, he likewise embraced her. Her head found a home on his shoulder and as he wrapped his arms around her, she felt safe, like things would be okay.
That was the last time she had felt safe.
She could feel the pounding of his heart beneath his shirt. She knew he meant every word. He was just as scared as she was. Kissing his forehead, she resolved to find the courage and the strength to fight this. They would win, though it wouldn't be easy. As he rested his head on hers, she struggled to find the words. She struggled, and failed. They clung to each other, trying to figure out the next step. When they parted, his eyes broke her heart. They had been passionate and intense before, but now they were sad and broken, full of fear. And the longer she looked at him, the more tears spilled from her eyes and the sadder he looked.
She became aware of his hands on her neck and cheek. She felt as if they were burning through her skin. She was afraid to look away, unable to break eye contact, feeling as if breaking contact would break her. He moved towards her, his eyes questioning, and she couldn't believe this was happening, but she knew it was what they needed. Some unspoken acknowledgement of the depth of everything, an unspoken promise of a future. Just before the line was crossed, just before his lips touched hers, there was a painful sting on her neck, making her pull away.
He murmured an apology. The pain in her neck drew her focus and she quietly whispered a denial. She didn't want the moment to end, didn't want him to think she was rejecting him. The sting hurt and the moment was broken. As she found the bee and drew it out from under her collar, she was aware of his hand beneath the collar of her shirt. She felt that the heat of his fingers would set her skin on fire, especially when he found the sting. For just a moment, she longed to feel those fingers elsewhere, caressing other expanses of skin. Then she started to feel off, feel the pain intensify, and she lost control. She didn't remember much, just him running away and her fear that he wouldn't come back, that she was going to die on the floor in his hallway.
Her mind came back to this as she sank into sleep. She jumped awake, shivering, feeling alone. She was in her bed, surely safe in her apartment, but she didn't feel that way. She had been drawn back to three of the most intense minutes of her life, and her mind would take over. She would feel the fear of being abandoned in the hallway, but yet she was shaking at the missed opportunity. She could envision it, if only that bee hadn't stung her. She could feel his lips on hers, surprisingly soft. They would slowly kiss, slowly explore each other. She could taste the salt of her tears and wonder if he was crying, too. As their kiss deepened and intensified, his tongue would slip between her lips and she would let him in. Her lungs would scream for air, but her lips would scream for his lips even more.
She could feel his hands as they moved from her face and neck to her back, pulling her closer. She would grip the back of his neck, holding him to her, refusing to let him go. He would gently lift her, intending to carry her to his place, and she would go willingly. They would be breathing hard, hearts racing, blood pounding.
And she would jerk awake once more, shivering beneath her blankets. Her cheeks would be wet with tears. She knew she would eventually come to terms with everything that had happened. She would move on, and either accept everything, or find a scientific explanation for things. He would be there to help her, to question her, to push her, just like she would be for him.
But what could have been made her feel incredibly sad. Those visions, what was and what might have been, broke her heart. She had felt it in his body when she pulled away; he felt rejection. She wasn't sure he heard her denial. It wasn't him. She couldn't bring it up, though. What if he regretted it? What if it was a single moment, something that happened because he thought she was walking away? Something he did to hold her back?
What if he didn't know that she wanted it, too?
Pulling her arms out from under the covers, she sighed as she turned on the light. After those visions, sleep was chased away. It would be a long night. Reaching for her book on the nightstand, she shivered again as she opened it up to read. She would keep replaying that moment in the hall, be haunted by nightmares, and she needed to distract herself in order to sleep. And even with reading, sleep wasn't guaranteed.
What she needed most was him, the warmth, the safety, and the security he provided.
That damn bee.
