2000
The up-and-down of his breaths was the most agonizingly sweet sensation she'd ever felt, better than his warm lips the first time they'd captured hers, better than the first stirrings of their child within her womb. His hospital gown against her lips fed her more completely than any meal she'd ever eaten.
Taken. Returned. Dead. Alive. She'd lived through her every nightmare, and come out the other side. Twice. If you don't count all the other nightmares she'd survived before that.
That night in Oregon, she hadn't realized it could be the last. It was one of the hardest truths she'd lived since then, knowing she hadn't paid more attention. To his mouth as he'd followed the curve of her ribs, to his lips as they'd suckled the tips of her breasts, to his tongue as he'd delved deeply, deeply, into her most secret valley.
She couldn't remember their last kiss. And it had been quietly ruining her.
"I almost lost you…," she whispered against his chest, the soft cotton clenched fiercely in her fists, as though she could keep from losing him again, just by the strength of her fingers.
His hand in her hair brought tears to her eyes, just as everything the last day brought tears to her eyes, just as everything for the rest of her life would probably bring tears to her eyes, now that he was back. Now that she had another chance to memorize his kiss.
"You found me, Scully," his voice was raspy from lack of use. It reminded her of early morning confessions on lazy, naked Saturdays, and she blushed, not as ashamed as she probably should be for thinking of such things.
2002
They were nearing Harrisonburg before she really allowed herself to breathe. Before the weight of the last day lifted enough for her to take him in. To bask in him. A few hours ago, they'd stolen his future, and now… now, he sat warm and alive and close enough to smother her in his scent. She'd missed the smell of him most, had pressed her nose against his sheets so many times, she'd consumed all that was left of him, even in the most hidden spots. Even beneath his down-filled pillows.
His physical presence, just inches away, washed over her body like rainfall, first a slight sprinkle, then growing, growing, until she eventually was soaked by his thundering downpour. Until suddenly, having him beside her in the car after so many months without— until that was quickly becoming not enough. Her breaths quickened and her nipples tightened and her clit swelled. She ACHED for him. Impossibly. Desperately.
"Mulder…," the whimper in her voice was faint, but the gravel skidding beneath their tires was deafening. It echoed in her ears as she found herself in his lap, as she found herself sinking, sinking into his depths.
They were frantic, sloppy. Her pants pinched at her thighs as she sunk down his length, too hurried to fully remove them. His teeth on her nipples hurt so exquisitely, she gasped. She ground against him like she could dig him into the soil, like she could root him into the dirt so that he would never, never be lost again. And when she unraveled herself around him, she sobbed at the utter joy-pain-agony of her release.
Face still wet from his tongue, panties wet from his semen, she didn't speak until the mile markers were once again blurring past. "I almost lost you," she whispered, tears threatening to fall.
His fingers were warm as they pressed against her palm, and she closed her eyes until morning.
2016
Her overnight bags slumped against the doorframe, the items inside begging to be put back into drawers and closets, back into the places they lived until just a few months ago.
"Rest for a while…," her request sounded so much like the past, it was almost unnerving. Would she ever stop tending to his wounds? Would she ever want to, especially now?
Saving the human race was making her remarkably introspective. Finding their child was making her remarkably sentimental. And looking across the bed at his resting body and even breaths was making her starry-eyed and tender-hearted and sappy.
His back was warm against her chest as she curled up behind him, his heart wonderfully alive as it thumped into the bowl of her palm. Her leg was hitched around his thigh before she could think to stop it.
Twenty-three years with him. Twenty-three years of ins and outs and ups and downs. And death and life and rebirth. She'd never escape. Despite it all, he was still her everything.
"A guy could get ideas, Scully," he murmured, surprising her.
She blushed, even after this many years, even after all they'd been through. Her leg found its way back home as she began to retreat, "I should let you rest."
"Maybe a guy WANTS to get ideas, Scully…," his voice was soft, and she was almost ashamed at the way he could stir her so quickly, his body rolling to engulf her.
The sudden weight of him was divine. It was rich and full and heavy. She didn't want to feel light anymore—weightlessness was over-rated. She wanted him to pull her down, to tether her.
His eyes were dark as she searched their depths. They've seen death too many times, and she wished she could take that away. "I almost lost you. Again," she whispered, fingers playing in the scratch of his jaw.
"Come back home, Scully. Come back home, and I promise you'll never lose me again," she felt him hard against her thigh, and her eyes fluttered closed.
His tongue inside her mouth convinced her. And right there, on top of the sheets, with her bags resting against the door, she found him.
With hungry mouths and slickened fingers and thrusting hips, they found each other.
And it was enough.