TIMELINE: The Sixth season episode entitled Milagro teleplay by Carter and by writer/producer John Shiban and Frank Spotnitz ended as Scully and Mulder hugged. This small work picks up from there. If any moment so begged an intimate exchange between them, this one would be it.
Feedback is welcome
Post Milagro:
Scully wanted to hold on forever, wrapped in his strong arms for all eternity.
As her abject terror abated, she became more conscious of his responsive nestling. She clung all the more desperately, weeping deeply as she had never done before.
Was she dying? The agonizing pain was gone—but maybe she was merely numbed beyond sensation; unmistakably, the onset of death was that much closer. Yet, she could feel him, his breath in her hair, she could smell smoke in his, as if he had been near an incinerator, and the panic of loosing him made her tighten her embrace. She did not want to die, especially now that she was so close to him.
Mulder was whimpering. He caressed her hair, kissing her ears, her neck, clutching her closer, his grip flexing in waves of emotions. "…Gotta call for help," he mumbled, his voice choking back tears, "gotta call…" Grief was palatable.
"Don't leave me." She voiced softly, still dazed and trembling with shock.
"Don't leave me." He echoed.
Slowly growing more alert and oriented, a part of her mind reflected on what had happened. Hadn't her heart just been ripped out by a phantom? Mulder, too late to save her, was cradling her with such tenderness. Shouldn't I be dead by now? Perhaps she was, for the comfort of his closeness filled her with such intense joy, she considered the possibility she was in heaven.
Scully sobbed aloud once more. Losing him was such a terrible tragedy. Burying her face against his neck, she sniffed the tangy musk of his sweat—he had been running, felt the rough texture of his afternoon beard against her cheek, enjoyed the heat of his skin as it warmed the chill off her body. She pondered: How can I experience these if I am dead?
"Gotta call," he apologized and pulled away.
Their arms reluctantly untangled as he grabbed the phone.
"No!" But even as she cried out, she clutched at the chasm where her heart had been and felt it thudding, intact. Sitting bolt upright, she tore open her bloodied blouse—her breast was without a fresh scar.
Wide eyed, Mulder stared, a mirror of her own face.
A voice in the phone were prompting him for answers about the nature of the emergency. Automatically responding, Mulder completed the rapid-fire call in stunned monotone: words now meaningless about his downed partner, her alleged attacker, and the accomplice in the basement.
It was way beyond belief.
This miraculous recovery was in absolute contradiction to the facts: the sinister doppelganger had attacked Scully, leaving her in deathlike unconsciousness upon the floor of his apartment. The bloody evidence was seeping through her shirt when he found her—only now the wound was apparently missing.
"Scully?" His bafflement mixed with tremendous hope as he drew closer. "Scul-lee!" He savored her name as though it were a prayer. "Are you in any pain?" He ran his fingers along the fabric of her blouse. It was sticky with blood, she appeared faint and disoriented, but her complexion was normal, healthy. She had lost blood, but without a wound, she wasn't going to bleed to death.
She shook her head uncertainly. "Did it happen? Did I imagine it?" Her eyes were more confused than her voice.
"Don't know. It almost happened…." Awed, he entitled his long fingers to explore further and massage small circles over her heart. "You're okay!" he gasped hoarsely.
Disbelief and relief flooded her.
His fingers, still doubtful, continued to stroke.
"It's been undone?" His incredulity skyrocketed. "When I left him, Padgett was burning his book in the incinerator. He must have done that to reverse it!" Mulder's face was rapt. "Oooh…." He shut his eyes tightly, enjoying her softness, his fingers tingling, the sensation of her warmth sending shivers down his spine. He moaned again, leaned forward, reopened his eyes, and focused on the perfect swell of her unblemished breast buttressed by the lace-edged bra. Bending, he brought his lips to kiss the delicate pale skin, brushing over the mound like butterfly wings.
She quivered, ignited with the fire in his kiss.
Deftly he lifted her off the floor, a swoop so sudden, she clung to his neck and tucked her head under his chin for safety. His thudding heart was reassuring.
He hesitated, poised between longing and duty.
She looked up, her face luminous with anticipation.
Eyes exchanged messages that no words would utter. Eyes filled with desire, eyes filled with need. Eyes that mirrored the depth of their love.
When the wail of approaching sirens warned them.
Scully felt Mulder flinch, recover, then purposefully he laid her on the couch. She knew he was retiring for propriety's sake—please don't—she wanted to scream, she clung more tightly to his broad shoulders. Please don't leave me! A sharp breath and a sigh escaped. "Will I ever be loved?"
A shudder rippled across his shoulders as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud in his ear.
When she released him, she realized she had.
His face, scant inches away from hers, was taunt, a war of emotions flickering across his features. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her passionately, to fulfill her need with his desire. He had waited so long for this moment, to acknowledge her as the only person he had ever truly loved. Ying to Yang, they were the perfect complement—making each other whole. If only she wouldn't fight so hard to be the dutiful partner. If only he hadn't worked so hard to be the boorish counterpart. There was no greater joy on earth than to have her in his life, in whatever way she was willing to have him.
"Love? How could you think you aren't loved?" He whispered and clasped her hands.
The distant clangor of gurney wheels and buckles accompanied calls from the elevator, heralding the arrival of the EMT. Mulder did nothing to hail them.
"It's in your power. Just say when…" His voice could melt a glacier.
She quizzed him first with her eyes. Cognition made her speak. "When!"
Parted lips beckoned him. Vibrant eyes sought his. Yes, the trauma they had both endured made them equally vulnerable, emotionally frayed, eager to seize the moment—Carpe Diem!
Instantly his lips caressed hers, relishing then devouring their sweetness.
She moaned with pleasure, at once sated and excited, her sensuality heightened by his touch. Numinous and naked, profound and profane—all in the moment of joyful affirmation. No kiss this long-awaited was more exquisite. Rapture illuminated their hearts, revealing the truth in each other.
Too abruptly it was forced to end.
"Emergency Team here! Where are you?" The encroaching voices threatened without.
"In here!"
Time had run out. EMT and Police swarmed in.
They found Mulder crouched before a flushed and silent Scully.
"Sir, please, step aside. Sir!" Their insistence persuaded Mulder to relinquish his position. Mulder's eyes showed his reluctance.
In blissful anguish, Scully watched him retreat, feeling her telltale heart beating rhapsodically in her chest. "When." She muttered softly to the attendants.
"Soon…," someone reassured her.
"You left the accomplice in the basement?" An efficient detective questioned, shouldering Mulder brusquely aside. Functioning on auto-pilot, Mulder gave routine answers to routine questions about the incident. Things around him seemed miles away. The unendurable separation made him search constantly for his partner.
The team performed their tasks, asking questions, showing appropriate sympathy. Scully sat dully by, docile, passive, allowing the medics to take vitals.
"Why didn't you apprehend him," the officer queried relentlessly, "once you realized you're partner was okay?"
" 'Fraid someone might come back to attack her again." Mulder struggled to give coherent replies despite the bizarre events.
Officers with grim faces interrupted the detective. Conversing privately with them, the detective shook his head and grimaced, as though their information was inconceivable.
Immediately Mulder knew. He could read their faces. Padgett was dead. He could feel it. And he knew how. To save Scully, Padgett allowed himself to be the next victim—his own warped heart torn out by the hand of his alter ego doppelganger.
Scully would be safe!
He turned with relief to her. From across the room, she met his gaze, a hint of a smile, like the first light of dawn, graced her mouth.
As the medics assisted her out, she kept her eyes locked with her partner's.
"When." She said once more as they passed.
"Now, Miss. We're gonna take you to the hospital now. Just relax."
Never before had Mulder experienced such unbounded hope.