Title:The Only Thing
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Rating: PG to PG-13
Classification: SRA
Spoilers: Per Manum
Keywords: MSR
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue me.
Summary: Post-final flashback in Per Manum. He had always protected her. Comforted her. Provided for her.
But, with every other hope diminished, he will
give the only thing he has left.
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com
~**~
His arms could protect me.
They had so many times before.
His arms could comfort me.
Could soothe me when words were not enough.
His arms could hold me, as they were holding me
then.
Alleviate the pain. The fear. The anger. The
regret.
But as his unwavering embrace enveloped me that
night, endeavoring to shield me from the emotions
impending upon my heart, I received none of the
offered solace. There was no solace to be given,
no words to be spoken. Every flame, every fiber of
hope left in either of our hearts had been
quenched.
As he had approached me, hastily yet with caution,
I hadn't the strength nor the will to maintain my
controlled façade. I had expected my sorrows to
dissolve as he wrapped his sturdy arms around me,
drawing me closer. He sighed, and I lay my head
upon his chest, sensing his steady heart beating
below the velvety wool of his sweater.
How many times before had he held me this way?
Hadn't the pain drifted away, lifted by the
unwavering rise and fall of his chest? Hadn't the
walls crumbled as if crushed by some omnipotent
hand, inviting him to wash away the worry and the
suffering? If only for that brief moment in time,
I was invited inside from the cold of the world,
to share the warmth of Mulder's fire.
There should have been slowly forming rivers down
my ashen face. I should have been drenching his
chest with my tears, shamelessly revealing the
shock and unsurpassed sadness I was experiencing
at the realization that my only chance at bearing
a child had failed. Mulder would have held me
until the silent sobs subsided, silence until the
tears were gone.
But this was different. I had no desire to cry.
One extinguishes fear, anger, sorrow, worry,
regret, with tears.
There was no description for the emotion I was
experiencing, yet I knew it did not warrant
weeping. It was beyond sadness or sorrow. It was a
depression in my heart, almost tangible. It was an
emptiness filled in every woman but me. I didn't
cry, because crying demonstrates a fiber of hope.
All hope I had previously possessed had been
diminished.
Instead, I began to shiver uncontrollably. It
began with my hands, a nervous twitching that
tingled up my arms and spread to my chest. My
entire body trembled, despite Mulder's firm grip.
I sensed his arms tighten around me, willing me to
stop. My mind was racing, and my heart beat
quickened. Objects in my apartment began to spin
around me, and I quickly forced my eyes to shut.
"Shhh," he whispered softly into my ear, his lips
brushing the stray strands of hair lying against
my face. "Shhh, Scully. It's okay. It's okay."
I continued to quiver, my teeth chattering between
ever-quickening breaths. Mulder drew back
instantly, searching for my trembling hands and
clutching them tightly in his own. His thumbs and
forefingers gingerly massaged my shivering
fingers, slowly advancing to my palms. His gaze
locked with mine, and for a moment the shaking
ceased.
Then the flashes returned.
--Dana, I have some unfortunate news.--
--Adoption is always a possibility.--
--I'm so, so sorry.--
I gasped and turned away suddenly, as if to defend
myself against the onslaught of memories from a
doctor's office no more than two hours before.
The trembling became violent.
"I'm c-c-cold, Mulder," I managed, steadying
myself as the world began to fade in and out.
"Scully, you're in shock," he replied, placing a
steady hand upon my back as he led me to the
coach still bearing the imprint of his sleeping
form. Knowing I lacked the strength even to stand,
he crouched quickly and placed one arm on the back
of my knees and another upon my back. I became
vaguely aware of the sensation of leaving the
ground as he lifted me onto the couch, a china
doll poised to shatter with the slightest of
disturbances.
A blanket was laid upon me, though I barely sensed
its presence. A silent kiss was planted upon my
cold, moist forehead before the darkness consumed
my consciousness.
~**~
I wondered why Mulder was seated beside my couch,
his elbows resting upon his knees and his face
smothered by his hands. Had I asked him to come?
Had I fallen asleep doing paperwork with him
again?
Why was he radiating sorrow to an extent that
surpassed the norm?
"Mulder?" I queried, realizing my throat was
hoarse and dry.
His face jolted upward with the trace of a smile.
He locked eyes with mine.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice not
rising above a whisper.
The events of the night rushed to my memory.I
shifted my gaze to the ceiling, swallowing with
difficulty. Mulder nodded, understanding.
The blanket was tucked around my shoulders, and a
cool cloth rested upon my forehead, dampening my
hairline. My head lay upon a pillow, and my feet
were elevated with three. Mulder hadn't failed in
his treatment of my condition.
The sound of running water from the sink was
somewhat soothing. I sensed more than heard his
crossing from the kitchen to the couch, and lifted
myself onto my elbows to meet him. I instantly
regretted this action, as dizziness took control
and my head began to sway.
"Whoa, there, Scully," he said, kneeling beside
the couch to support my head with his free hand. I
relaxed and allowed him to steady me. His
fingertips gently massaged my skull as he brought
the sodden towel he had retrieved to my pasty lips.
Psychogenic shock: produced by excessive fear,
joy, anger, or grief. Symptoms: anxiety, rapid
pulse and breathing, pale, cold, moist skin, and
vomiting.
My mind, being the medical dictionary it was,
rambled off the specifics of my condition. Mulder
delicately laid my head back upon the pillow as he
dabbed my lips with the towel.
"Sorry, Scully," he murmured. "Can't have you
tossing cookies on my favorite sweater."
I smiled wanly in response to his quiet grin. He
arose, cradling the towel as to prevent its
dripping onto the carpet. I watched him as he
padded softly to the kitchen, his shoulders
drooping, his face expressionless. Once the towel
had been placed in the sink, he returned to stand
over me silently.
Mulder didn't smile. His face was streaked with
the remnants of tears, and his eyes were tired and
bloodshot. I flinched as he leaned over me
slightly, tucking away a strand of hair that had
drifted into my eyes. He then sat down before the
couch, rustling the cushions as situated himself.
His head was faced away from me and he rested it
upon the sofa, his arms holding his legs close to
his chest.
I closed my eyes as he began to speak.
"Scully, I don't want you back at work tomorrow,"
he whispered, his head motionless. I sighed.
"Not in this condition, emotionally and
physically." He spoke in his typical monotone,
cool and expressionless.
I made no reply, allowing him to misinterpret my
intentions. Arguing with him would be futile, I
realized, as his frustrating tendency to be
overprotective had already taken control. Hadn't I
worked during my cancer? Had he not realized that
work was my only escape from the troubles of my
heart?
He accepted my silence as an agreement, though,
and continued to talk.
"Actually, Scully, I've thought about this for a
while. Seeing you walk through that door, and your
face—-God, your face—-I've seen it too many times
before. Too much, Scully." His voice quickened,
beginning to stammer as I had come to realize
signified fear of the words he spoke.
"Too much has been taken from you. In your
abduction, your illness, your infertility, you've
remained strong, hiding behind your science and
your passion for work."
My pulse was beginning to quicken once again. I
felt beads of sweat trickling down my cheeks.
"Mulder," I breathed, barely audible between my
rapid breaths. Mulder continued to speak.
"You've followed me, Scully. In my search for
truth, you've stood beside me, letting me bring
you wherever it led me." He paused, as if
gathering strength to continue. His head
resignedly fell to rest upon his knees.
Chills began to traverse my spine. His words
brought emotions I was unable to handle in my
state, yet I knew he needed to speak them. I
swallowed, ignoring the pain it triggered in my
arid throat.
His voice hadn't risen, yet his words began to
ring in my ears, reverberating with significance.
He was crying without tears, weeping through the
revelations he was making; suppressed sorrow,
fear of rejection and loneliness fianlly being
brought to light.
"But its gone too far, Scully." He turned to face
me, his visage filled with immeasurable sadness.
His gaze locked with mine, his hand reaching
across my face to cradle my moistened cheek. His
thumb rubbed in a circular motion. My chills
reduced to an unexpected warmth. Calm. Silence.
"I've gone too far." His repressed tears were
shimmering in his eyes as he smiled ironically.
His face drew closer to mine.
"Mulder, don't—-"
"I've been selfish, Scully. Selfish and afraid of
having to go on alone. So, I've kept you beside me
and watched you die. I've watched you make
sacrifices no woman should ever have to make. I've
taken so much from you, Scully."
I silently shook my head despite his remaining
palm, denying these claims I knew to be true. He
continued, undaunted by my motions.
"And now this."
He stopped again, removing his hand from my cheek.
His eyes drifted slowly to the floor, feathers in
the breeze. They remained fixated upon the carpet.
"Scully, it started as a simple quest for the
truth behind my sister's abduction, and you…you
followed me. And you've followed me since…through
everything, Scully. Even when I didn't want you
there, wanted you out of the danger, away from the
lies and the pain. You've stood behind me as
support, before me as protection, and beside as a
friend.
"You're my constant, Scully. My rock. And as
you've stood beside me, I've seen you stripped of
everything—-"
He choked, biting back tears. A deep breath, and,
"Everything, Scully, everything."
His moistened gaze lifted and met my eyes. He
swallowed and tilted his head to one side, the
angle matching mine. His hand searched the blanket
for my fingers, clutching them tenderly, drawing
strength.
"Everything…" His voice trailed off, his tone
lacking closure. Yet, I knew he hadn't the will to
continue. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, and,
as in response, a single tear emerged and trickled
down his cheek. I smiled and brushed it away
delicately with my thumb, watching him
shudder at the contact.
"This is my choice, Mulder. My decision. I
resolved years ago to remain in this position,
here with you, here on the X-Files. With that
choice, I accepted the possible results, however
awful they became. However much I needed to
sacrifice…
"I never imagined it would come to this."
The words were a mistake. Mulder swallowed and
lifted his chin, his eyes darting to the ceiling.
I turned away and sighed, searching for words to
heal these wounds threatening to scar. He needed
comfort, a reminder that I harbored no blame upon
him. Mulder spoke instead.
"I'm sorry, Scully."
I made no reply, as none was needed. I fully
comprehended the implications behind his words.
He was sorry for my inability to bear a child of
my own. He was sorry for his key role in my
infertility. He was sorry for allowing me to
accompany him in his search for the Truth, sorry
for not forcing me to leave years ago.
But, above all, he was sorry that he couldn't take
this burden from me, couldn't share this pain with
me, as he had so many times before.
He could hold me for tonight and let me cry in his
embrace. He could whisper reassuring words to
assuage my fears and sorrows. He could let me melt
into his arms and sleep away my grief.
But this cup had been given to me, and it should
not pass to him.
He stood. Bending over to lift my feet, he slowly
placed them upon the ground, providing room for
himself on the couch. His weight depressed the
cushions, and I slid comfortably into his
outstretched arm draped across my shoulder. My
head lay naturally on his chest, absorbing the
thud of his pounding heart, the motion of his
steady breathing.
He had nothing left to give.
"We'll find a way, Scully," he whispered into my
hair, his warm breath bringing chills to my spine.
I sank further into his chest, nestling into its
rise and fall.
His finger met my chin, nudging it upward. I
lifted my face to meet his eyes, overflowing with
sorrow and guilt at a degree that struck fear in
me. The chills elevated, my face beginning to
tremor.
Without adjusting his expression, he lifted my
head from his chest with his palm, his thumb
massaging my temple. I tilted my cheek into his
hand, eyes leisurely closing. I didn't flinch as
his other hand cupped my left cheek, his fingers
running through my hair.
"I have to."
I barely smiled. The tears were already falling,
had been falling, and, for the first time in as
long as I could remember, I didn't hasten to hide
them or turn away. The walls had fallen, my guard
was down, and I was giving Mulder a glimpse
inside.
But I wasn't afraid.
I knew he would search for me, for a possibility
elusive, as he had searched for so many things
before. He'd be driven by guilt, obsession,
vengeance, consumed by his hatred for those who
had inflicted these things upon me. He'd follow
them wherever they lead him, brushing aside the
consequences, until they finally drove him mad,
destroyed by his failure.
I wanted to stop him. I wanted to grab him by the
shoulders and scream rationalizations until he
would understand. I wanted him to stay, to accept
my loss and alleviate this pain.
I knew I couldn't stop him, though. I knew he
wouldn't listen, wouldn't ever stop hunting for
his truths. With or without my consent, his
passion for his quest was his oxygen, his
nourishment, and he was willing to sacrifice
everything in pursuit of it.
I could see it in his eyes, the deep hazel eyes
fixated upon mine. Behind the grief and suffering,
a tiny flicker of passion that fueled him, rescued
him from the bottomless crypts of his depression.
I needed him to hold me. Just for tonight, and in
the morning, the walls would be rebuilt and I
could climb back between them, alone, cuddled in a
corner, trying to shield myself from the rain and
the cold. They were my haven, my safe place, my
resort when the world had turned its back.
But, tonight, I needed Mulder as my hiding place.
My shelter from this ache that throbbed inside me,
within the walls.
We were motionless, silent, upon the couch. His
hands still cupped my face, saddened eyes still
locked with mine. He swallowed, the muscles of his
throat bulging and receding.
His gaze began to trace the features of my face—
the tears, the moistened eyes, the pallid, clammy
skin. He sensed the hurting, the anger at the
injustice of it all, and the downright terror I
felt of the boundary he was rapidly approaching.
I couldn't feel my heartbeat, though I knew it was
rising. I couldn't feel myself breathing, though
my chest rose and fell. I couldn't feel my
fingers, my toes, and, slowly, my arms and legs,
until the sensation consumed my entire body,
rendering me unable to move. Unable to turn away
as I should have, could have, would have, had my
fences been strong. But they were down, my
barricades, and the gate was open.
He gently drew my face closer, inches away, and
tilted my head slightly to the side. His breathing
was silent—mine highly audible. And, here he
remained, staring soundlessly into my eyes, the
unspoken communication, perfected through the
years of our relationship, the only dialogue.
--I know it hurts.--
--I know I've hurt you before.--
--I've nothing left to give you, Scully.--
--Let me share this burden.--
--Let me take it all away.--
I closed my eyes.
--Don't hurt me, Mulder.—
His breath was warm, soft, as he lingered.
One breath. One moment.
I trembled with the touch of his lips to mine,
soft, barely touching. He lightly stroked my
temples with his thumbs, while slightly pressing
harder into me, seeking permission.
I ignored the heat flowing to my face, the nagging
hesitation in the back of my mind, the silent
alarm sounding within me, commanding me to pull
away.
--Don't ruin this, Dana. Not this. He's all you
have left.--
Mulder advanced, parting his lips tenderly and
closing them again.
My mind raced, indecisive, terrified.
--No, no, no, no, no.--
He continued to gently press deeper, opening and
closing his mouth around mine, inviting my
response.
I needed this comfort, needed this touch. I needed
him. Traversing this boundary, crossing this line,
couldn't take him from me. It wouldn't separate
us, wouldn't change things, wouldn't destroy the
friendship we had struggled so relentlessly to
establish.
Would it?
Because I couldn't bear the silence, the
awkwardness. The momentary locking of eyes with a
quick withdrawal, unsure. Things would be
different, our relationship transformed. I'd be
vulnerable, susceptible, weakened.
--You'd die for Mulder, but you won't let yourself
love him.--
He sensed my reluctance and drew his lips from
mine, pausing a moment to stare into my eyes,
asking for answers I couldn't give.
He sighed and slowly pulled my cheek into his
chest. I stared blankly forward, the silence
deafening.
I wanted to explain, but I wasn't sure I could. He
would understand, Mulder would understand.
But would he accept?
I felt his breath move unhurriedly down my face,
his mouth lingering above my ear, lips brushing my
hair. The chills were unbearable, my face
trembling. As breathed into my ear, his voice
barely above a whisper, his lips brushed my skin.
"Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight."
--Stop, Mulder. Please, don't do this.--
His lips traveled below my ear, warm breathing
tracing the tiny hairs of my neck. His eyes were
closed, ignoring my trepidation, taking no notice
of my shivering body, the goose bumps pervading my
skin. I breathed heavily, unable to fight back.
He delicately kissed the base of my neck, below
the collar of my blouse. He paused a moment, his
lips unmoving, before tracing his path up to my
ear with tiny kisses, barely touching my skin.
My head still lay upon his chest, my eyes
unwilling to open. As he reached my ear, his
coarse stubble grazed my cheek.
He stopped, waiting for my protest, expecting my
rationalization. And I was prepared to speak, to
tell him that I couldn't go through with this,
that I couldn't ruin everything like this.
He'd understand, wouldn't he?
He'd accept my denial. He'd walk away and we'd
never speak of this again.
But the pain would remain. The knowledge that
there was something he could have done, one more
chance he could have given me at having the thing
I wanted, deserved, above all else.
His fingers brushed my blouse as they slowly
traced the first button. Circling, pleading,
careful.
Silent.
He cautiously unfastened the button, smoothing the
cloth between his fingers.
I heard only dullness, buzzing, a murmur. I sank
deeper into his chest.
He continued to the next button, my breathing
growing hushed. His fingers were gentle, his
movements fragile and measured.
--Like a flick has been flicked somewhere.--
He continued down the blouse.
--I never saw you as a mother before.--
The next button.
--Agent Scully is already in love.--
He tenderly descended.
--There's something I haven't told you.--
Pulling away the last button, he slipped his palm
upon my bare shoulder, sliding it down my arm to
peel away the blouse. I sighed quietly.
--Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight.--
FINIS
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Rating: PG to PG-13
Classification: SRA
Spoilers: Per Manum
Keywords: MSR
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue me.
Summary: Post-final flashback in Per Manum. He had always protected her. Comforted her. Provided for her.
But, with every other hope diminished, he will
give the only thing he has left.
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com
~**~
His arms could protect me.
They had so many times before.
His arms could comfort me.
Could soothe me when words were not enough.
His arms could hold me, as they were holding me
then.
Alleviate the pain. The fear. The anger. The
regret.
But as his unwavering embrace enveloped me that
night, endeavoring to shield me from the emotions
impending upon my heart, I received none of the
offered solace. There was no solace to be given,
no words to be spoken. Every flame, every fiber of
hope left in either of our hearts had been
quenched.
As he had approached me, hastily yet with caution,
I hadn't the strength nor the will to maintain my
controlled façade. I had expected my sorrows to
dissolve as he wrapped his sturdy arms around me,
drawing me closer. He sighed, and I lay my head
upon his chest, sensing his steady heart beating
below the velvety wool of his sweater.
How many times before had he held me this way?
Hadn't the pain drifted away, lifted by the
unwavering rise and fall of his chest? Hadn't the
walls crumbled as if crushed by some omnipotent
hand, inviting him to wash away the worry and the
suffering? If only for that brief moment in time,
I was invited inside from the cold of the world,
to share the warmth of Mulder's fire.
There should have been slowly forming rivers down
my ashen face. I should have been drenching his
chest with my tears, shamelessly revealing the
shock and unsurpassed sadness I was experiencing
at the realization that my only chance at bearing
a child had failed. Mulder would have held me
until the silent sobs subsided, silence until the
tears were gone.
But this was different. I had no desire to cry.
One extinguishes fear, anger, sorrow, worry,
regret, with tears.
There was no description for the emotion I was
experiencing, yet I knew it did not warrant
weeping. It was beyond sadness or sorrow. It was a
depression in my heart, almost tangible. It was an
emptiness filled in every woman but me. I didn't
cry, because crying demonstrates a fiber of hope.
All hope I had previously possessed had been
diminished.
Instead, I began to shiver uncontrollably. It
began with my hands, a nervous twitching that
tingled up my arms and spread to my chest. My
entire body trembled, despite Mulder's firm grip.
I sensed his arms tighten around me, willing me to
stop. My mind was racing, and my heart beat
quickened. Objects in my apartment began to spin
around me, and I quickly forced my eyes to shut.
"Shhh," he whispered softly into my ear, his lips
brushing the stray strands of hair lying against
my face. "Shhh, Scully. It's okay. It's okay."
I continued to quiver, my teeth chattering between
ever-quickening breaths. Mulder drew back
instantly, searching for my trembling hands and
clutching them tightly in his own. His thumbs and
forefingers gingerly massaged my shivering
fingers, slowly advancing to my palms. His gaze
locked with mine, and for a moment the shaking
ceased.
Then the flashes returned.
--Dana, I have some unfortunate news.--
--Adoption is always a possibility.--
--I'm so, so sorry.--
I gasped and turned away suddenly, as if to defend
myself against the onslaught of memories from a
doctor's office no more than two hours before.
The trembling became violent.
"I'm c-c-cold, Mulder," I managed, steadying
myself as the world began to fade in and out.
"Scully, you're in shock," he replied, placing a
steady hand upon my back as he led me to the
coach still bearing the imprint of his sleeping
form. Knowing I lacked the strength even to stand,
he crouched quickly and placed one arm on the back
of my knees and another upon my back. I became
vaguely aware of the sensation of leaving the
ground as he lifted me onto the couch, a china
doll poised to shatter with the slightest of
disturbances.
A blanket was laid upon me, though I barely sensed
its presence. A silent kiss was planted upon my
cold, moist forehead before the darkness consumed
my consciousness.
~**~
I wondered why Mulder was seated beside my couch,
his elbows resting upon his knees and his face
smothered by his hands. Had I asked him to come?
Had I fallen asleep doing paperwork with him
again?
Why was he radiating sorrow to an extent that
surpassed the norm?
"Mulder?" I queried, realizing my throat was
hoarse and dry.
His face jolted upward with the trace of a smile.
He locked eyes with mine.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice not
rising above a whisper.
The events of the night rushed to my memory.I
shifted my gaze to the ceiling, swallowing with
difficulty. Mulder nodded, understanding.
The blanket was tucked around my shoulders, and a
cool cloth rested upon my forehead, dampening my
hairline. My head lay upon a pillow, and my feet
were elevated with three. Mulder hadn't failed in
his treatment of my condition.
The sound of running water from the sink was
somewhat soothing. I sensed more than heard his
crossing from the kitchen to the couch, and lifted
myself onto my elbows to meet him. I instantly
regretted this action, as dizziness took control
and my head began to sway.
"Whoa, there, Scully," he said, kneeling beside
the couch to support my head with his free hand. I
relaxed and allowed him to steady me. His
fingertips gently massaged my skull as he brought
the sodden towel he had retrieved to my pasty lips.
Psychogenic shock: produced by excessive fear,
joy, anger, or grief. Symptoms: anxiety, rapid
pulse and breathing, pale, cold, moist skin, and
vomiting.
My mind, being the medical dictionary it was,
rambled off the specifics of my condition. Mulder
delicately laid my head back upon the pillow as he
dabbed my lips with the towel.
"Sorry, Scully," he murmured. "Can't have you
tossing cookies on my favorite sweater."
I smiled wanly in response to his quiet grin. He
arose, cradling the towel as to prevent its
dripping onto the carpet. I watched him as he
padded softly to the kitchen, his shoulders
drooping, his face expressionless. Once the towel
had been placed in the sink, he returned to stand
over me silently.
Mulder didn't smile. His face was streaked with
the remnants of tears, and his eyes were tired and
bloodshot. I flinched as he leaned over me
slightly, tucking away a strand of hair that had
drifted into my eyes. He then sat down before the
couch, rustling the cushions as situated himself.
His head was faced away from me and he rested it
upon the sofa, his arms holding his legs close to
his chest.
I closed my eyes as he began to speak.
"Scully, I don't want you back at work tomorrow,"
he whispered, his head motionless. I sighed.
"Not in this condition, emotionally and
physically." He spoke in his typical monotone,
cool and expressionless.
I made no reply, allowing him to misinterpret my
intentions. Arguing with him would be futile, I
realized, as his frustrating tendency to be
overprotective had already taken control. Hadn't I
worked during my cancer? Had he not realized that
work was my only escape from the troubles of my
heart?
He accepted my silence as an agreement, though,
and continued to talk.
"Actually, Scully, I've thought about this for a
while. Seeing you walk through that door, and your
face—-God, your face—-I've seen it too many times
before. Too much, Scully." His voice quickened,
beginning to stammer as I had come to realize
signified fear of the words he spoke.
"Too much has been taken from you. In your
abduction, your illness, your infertility, you've
remained strong, hiding behind your science and
your passion for work."
My pulse was beginning to quicken once again. I
felt beads of sweat trickling down my cheeks.
"Mulder," I breathed, barely audible between my
rapid breaths. Mulder continued to speak.
"You've followed me, Scully. In my search for
truth, you've stood beside me, letting me bring
you wherever it led me." He paused, as if
gathering strength to continue. His head
resignedly fell to rest upon his knees.
Chills began to traverse my spine. His words
brought emotions I was unable to handle in my
state, yet I knew he needed to speak them. I
swallowed, ignoring the pain it triggered in my
arid throat.
His voice hadn't risen, yet his words began to
ring in my ears, reverberating with significance.
He was crying without tears, weeping through the
revelations he was making; suppressed sorrow,
fear of rejection and loneliness fianlly being
brought to light.
"But its gone too far, Scully." He turned to face
me, his visage filled with immeasurable sadness.
His gaze locked with mine, his hand reaching
across my face to cradle my moistened cheek. His
thumb rubbed in a circular motion. My chills
reduced to an unexpected warmth. Calm. Silence.
"I've gone too far." His repressed tears were
shimmering in his eyes as he smiled ironically.
His face drew closer to mine.
"Mulder, don't—-"
"I've been selfish, Scully. Selfish and afraid of
having to go on alone. So, I've kept you beside me
and watched you die. I've watched you make
sacrifices no woman should ever have to make. I've
taken so much from you, Scully."
I silently shook my head despite his remaining
palm, denying these claims I knew to be true. He
continued, undaunted by my motions.
"And now this."
He stopped again, removing his hand from my cheek.
His eyes drifted slowly to the floor, feathers in
the breeze. They remained fixated upon the carpet.
"Scully, it started as a simple quest for the
truth behind my sister's abduction, and you…you
followed me. And you've followed me since…through
everything, Scully. Even when I didn't want you
there, wanted you out of the danger, away from the
lies and the pain. You've stood behind me as
support, before me as protection, and beside as a
friend.
"You're my constant, Scully. My rock. And as
you've stood beside me, I've seen you stripped of
everything—-"
He choked, biting back tears. A deep breath, and,
"Everything, Scully, everything."
His moistened gaze lifted and met my eyes. He
swallowed and tilted his head to one side, the
angle matching mine. His hand searched the blanket
for my fingers, clutching them tenderly, drawing
strength.
"Everything…" His voice trailed off, his tone
lacking closure. Yet, I knew he hadn't the will to
continue. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, and,
as in response, a single tear emerged and trickled
down his cheek. I smiled and brushed it away
delicately with my thumb, watching him
shudder at the contact.
"This is my choice, Mulder. My decision. I
resolved years ago to remain in this position,
here with you, here on the X-Files. With that
choice, I accepted the possible results, however
awful they became. However much I needed to
sacrifice…
"I never imagined it would come to this."
The words were a mistake. Mulder swallowed and
lifted his chin, his eyes darting to the ceiling.
I turned away and sighed, searching for words to
heal these wounds threatening to scar. He needed
comfort, a reminder that I harbored no blame upon
him. Mulder spoke instead.
"I'm sorry, Scully."
I made no reply, as none was needed. I fully
comprehended the implications behind his words.
He was sorry for my inability to bear a child of
my own. He was sorry for his key role in my
infertility. He was sorry for allowing me to
accompany him in his search for the Truth, sorry
for not forcing me to leave years ago.
But, above all, he was sorry that he couldn't take
this burden from me, couldn't share this pain with
me, as he had so many times before.
He could hold me for tonight and let me cry in his
embrace. He could whisper reassuring words to
assuage my fears and sorrows. He could let me melt
into his arms and sleep away my grief.
But this cup had been given to me, and it should
not pass to him.
He stood. Bending over to lift my feet, he slowly
placed them upon the ground, providing room for
himself on the couch. His weight depressed the
cushions, and I slid comfortably into his
outstretched arm draped across my shoulder. My
head lay naturally on his chest, absorbing the
thud of his pounding heart, the motion of his
steady breathing.
He had nothing left to give.
"We'll find a way, Scully," he whispered into my
hair, his warm breath bringing chills to my spine.
I sank further into his chest, nestling into its
rise and fall.
His finger met my chin, nudging it upward. I
lifted my face to meet his eyes, overflowing with
sorrow and guilt at a degree that struck fear in
me. The chills elevated, my face beginning to
tremor.
Without adjusting his expression, he lifted my
head from his chest with his palm, his thumb
massaging my temple. I tilted my cheek into his
hand, eyes leisurely closing. I didn't flinch as
his other hand cupped my left cheek, his fingers
running through my hair.
"I have to."
I barely smiled. The tears were already falling,
had been falling, and, for the first time in as
long as I could remember, I didn't hasten to hide
them or turn away. The walls had fallen, my guard
was down, and I was giving Mulder a glimpse
inside.
But I wasn't afraid.
I knew he would search for me, for a possibility
elusive, as he had searched for so many things
before. He'd be driven by guilt, obsession,
vengeance, consumed by his hatred for those who
had inflicted these things upon me. He'd follow
them wherever they lead him, brushing aside the
consequences, until they finally drove him mad,
destroyed by his failure.
I wanted to stop him. I wanted to grab him by the
shoulders and scream rationalizations until he
would understand. I wanted him to stay, to accept
my loss and alleviate this pain.
I knew I couldn't stop him, though. I knew he
wouldn't listen, wouldn't ever stop hunting for
his truths. With or without my consent, his
passion for his quest was his oxygen, his
nourishment, and he was willing to sacrifice
everything in pursuit of it.
I could see it in his eyes, the deep hazel eyes
fixated upon mine. Behind the grief and suffering,
a tiny flicker of passion that fueled him, rescued
him from the bottomless crypts of his depression.
I needed him to hold me. Just for tonight, and in
the morning, the walls would be rebuilt and I
could climb back between them, alone, cuddled in a
corner, trying to shield myself from the rain and
the cold. They were my haven, my safe place, my
resort when the world had turned its back.
But, tonight, I needed Mulder as my hiding place.
My shelter from this ache that throbbed inside me,
within the walls.
We were motionless, silent, upon the couch. His
hands still cupped my face, saddened eyes still
locked with mine. He swallowed, the muscles of his
throat bulging and receding.
His gaze began to trace the features of my face—
the tears, the moistened eyes, the pallid, clammy
skin. He sensed the hurting, the anger at the
injustice of it all, and the downright terror I
felt of the boundary he was rapidly approaching.
I couldn't feel my heartbeat, though I knew it was
rising. I couldn't feel myself breathing, though
my chest rose and fell. I couldn't feel my
fingers, my toes, and, slowly, my arms and legs,
until the sensation consumed my entire body,
rendering me unable to move. Unable to turn away
as I should have, could have, would have, had my
fences been strong. But they were down, my
barricades, and the gate was open.
He gently drew my face closer, inches away, and
tilted my head slightly to the side. His breathing
was silent—mine highly audible. And, here he
remained, staring soundlessly into my eyes, the
unspoken communication, perfected through the
years of our relationship, the only dialogue.
--I know it hurts.--
--I know I've hurt you before.--
--I've nothing left to give you, Scully.--
--Let me share this burden.--
--Let me take it all away.--
I closed my eyes.
--Don't hurt me, Mulder.—
His breath was warm, soft, as he lingered.
One breath. One moment.
I trembled with the touch of his lips to mine,
soft, barely touching. He lightly stroked my
temples with his thumbs, while slightly pressing
harder into me, seeking permission.
I ignored the heat flowing to my face, the nagging
hesitation in the back of my mind, the silent
alarm sounding within me, commanding me to pull
away.
--Don't ruin this, Dana. Not this. He's all you
have left.--
Mulder advanced, parting his lips tenderly and
closing them again.
My mind raced, indecisive, terrified.
--No, no, no, no, no.--
He continued to gently press deeper, opening and
closing his mouth around mine, inviting my
response.
I needed this comfort, needed this touch. I needed
him. Traversing this boundary, crossing this line,
couldn't take him from me. It wouldn't separate
us, wouldn't change things, wouldn't destroy the
friendship we had struggled so relentlessly to
establish.
Would it?
Because I couldn't bear the silence, the
awkwardness. The momentary locking of eyes with a
quick withdrawal, unsure. Things would be
different, our relationship transformed. I'd be
vulnerable, susceptible, weakened.
--You'd die for Mulder, but you won't let yourself
love him.--
He sensed my reluctance and drew his lips from
mine, pausing a moment to stare into my eyes,
asking for answers I couldn't give.
He sighed and slowly pulled my cheek into his
chest. I stared blankly forward, the silence
deafening.
I wanted to explain, but I wasn't sure I could. He
would understand, Mulder would understand.
But would he accept?
I felt his breath move unhurriedly down my face,
his mouth lingering above my ear, lips brushing my
hair. The chills were unbearable, my face
trembling. As breathed into my ear, his voice
barely above a whisper, his lips brushed my skin.
"Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight."
--Stop, Mulder. Please, don't do this.--
His lips traveled below my ear, warm breathing
tracing the tiny hairs of my neck. His eyes were
closed, ignoring my trepidation, taking no notice
of my shivering body, the goose bumps pervading my
skin. I breathed heavily, unable to fight back.
He delicately kissed the base of my neck, below
the collar of my blouse. He paused a moment, his
lips unmoving, before tracing his path up to my
ear with tiny kisses, barely touching my skin.
My head still lay upon his chest, my eyes
unwilling to open. As he reached my ear, his
coarse stubble grazed my cheek.
He stopped, waiting for my protest, expecting my
rationalization. And I was prepared to speak, to
tell him that I couldn't go through with this,
that I couldn't ruin everything like this.
He'd understand, wouldn't he?
He'd accept my denial. He'd walk away and we'd
never speak of this again.
But the pain would remain. The knowledge that
there was something he could have done, one more
chance he could have given me at having the thing
I wanted, deserved, above all else.
His fingers brushed my blouse as they slowly
traced the first button. Circling, pleading,
careful.
Silent.
He cautiously unfastened the button, smoothing the
cloth between his fingers.
I heard only dullness, buzzing, a murmur. I sank
deeper into his chest.
He continued to the next button, my breathing
growing hushed. His fingers were gentle, his
movements fragile and measured.
--Like a flick has been flicked somewhere.--
He continued down the blouse.
--I never saw you as a mother before.--
The next button.
--Agent Scully is already in love.--
He tenderly descended.
--There's something I haven't told you.--
Pulling away the last button, he slipped his palm
upon my bare shoulder, sliding it down my arm to
peel away the blouse. I sighed quietly.
--Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight.--
FINIS