Title: Starless
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Keywords: MSR/Angst
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Don't own them, yada yada yada...
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com
The road was icy, slick below the tires of his car. The snow had already begun to fall, but the biting wind lifted it from the ground in swirling patches of ashen powder. Twilight, starless, the untainted darkness a backdrop to the mosaic of flurries sticking to his window.
If he had spoken, she might have replied, but the silence of the car and the warmth of the heater kept a stillness neither felt compelled to disturb. So he placed both hands upon the wheel and stared silently ahead, as his fingers ached and blanched in his grip. His breaths were deep, measured, impatient perhaps, and he turned his head quietly as the first lights of dusk flickered along M street.
She rested her elbow upon the rim of the window and stared at the hem of her coat.
But they hadn't the words to say, nor the will to hear them spoken aloud.
And as the snow began to fall in silence, unsullied flakes and innocence, untainted, melted quickly into the grime of the sidewalks. Her eyes still rested on her trembling hand, her back turned to the speckled darkness of the Georgetown avenue.
His focus hadn't wavered from the dashed lines of the road ahead, though his steady gaze had been clouded by something more than the mist of warm air. But she glanced at him quickly as he blinked, and it was gone.
Too quiet since this morning, apart and detached. His movements were mechanical, his words few and far between. He had stirred his coffee and refused to meet her eyes. His gaze had wandered to the sunrise through the curtains of the hotel lobby, the faded glow of daybreak the only light upon his face.
For the morning had been a first of many.
He coughed beside her, and she turned to meet his eyes. Perhaps there was a smile, for an instant below the haze, and she thought to return it, but his eyes were on the road again.
And the white lines passed before him, one by one until they blurred into monotony. And the stolid brass numbers of the whitewashed hotel doors were marching beside him like soldiers on parade, as he buttoned his shirt and threw on his jacket to battle the bitter wind of the early morning hour. He had sighed and run his fingers through his hair, and her perfume had lingered on the back of his hand.
But when he awoke, it was gone. Like so many thing in the stillness of the morning, and he rested his bare feet upon the carpet of the hotel room. And he lifted his head and rose quietly from the wrinkled sheets below.
He slowed and turned the wheel unconsciously as they left behind the lights of the street and crawled along the quiet neighborhood side roads. Three minutes and she'd be alone in her apartment, silently unpacking her suitcase and willing her eyes to stop drifting to the door. Three hours and her lights were off, though the sleep refused to come.
And she had sworn she could hear him breathing beside her, though his room was down the hall. And she hadn't the strength to button her blouse or turn off the lamp beside the bed, so she lay her head upon the pillow and waited for morning.
But as she tucked her hair quietly behind her ear, she could smell his cologne upon the back of her hand.
Mulder sensed her shuddering beside him and he turned, but she looked away before he could meet her eyes. He flipped on the headlights and turned back to the road.
Her hands had been like ice when he touched them, and she'd trembled when he kissed her neck and whispered that he couldn't pretend anymore.
And he could feel her throat rise and fall as the words came to tell him to stop, but he kissed her there and murmured softly not to speak.
She sighed quietly as the snow fell harder on the rooftops, beside the streetlights, and the shadows were dancing like fire on the frosty windows of the townhouses. Each moment they drew nearer to her empty apartment, though farther apart as the silence lingered.
For the night had said so many things unspoken for so long, and his fingers gently brushed the collar of her blouse as he drew his lips from below her ear and stared quietly into her clouded eyes.
The car rolled slowly to a stop beside the sidewalk. His eyes rested wearily upon the dashboard, and she paused for a moment to listen for the hushed rhythm of the snowfall on the roof of the car.
And the words were there, and the snow kept falling, but she opened her mouth and he turned to meet her eyes.
And as his fingers had grazed the third button, she'd torn her eyes from his and turned her face away. He lingered quietly for a moment, staring vacantly at the shimmer in her eyes.
She'd sighed and faced the open window, as the breeze had lifted the whispering curtains from the pane. The night had been starless, still, and his hand had cradled the side of her face as he kissed her forehead gently and rose from the bed.
And as her fingers grasped the handle, the words were no longer there. So she turned to face him once again, but her eyes drifted slowly to his fingers on the seat.
She offered her hand into the darkness but refused to lift her eyes.
And the whitewashed door had closed without a sound, though the biting wind of the early morning had crept into room as he left.
But his fingers were warm, and the trembling stopped. So she squeezed his hand slowly and closed her eyes to the tears threatening to form.
Beside her, he nodded quietly, and turned to reach for his own door.
But he paused for a moment as the flurries floated past his window and the fallen leaves yielded to the mercy of the wind.
And his hand was in her hair once again, as he cupped her cheek and pulled her to his chest. He stared past her into the twilight, unmoving as she cried into his shoulder. And his face yielded no emotion, in the shadows of the streetlights and the stillness of the empty street.
FINIS
starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Keywords: MSR/Angst
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Don't own them, yada yada yada...
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com
The road was icy, slick below the tires of his car. The snow had already begun to fall, but the biting wind lifted it from the ground in swirling patches of ashen powder. Twilight, starless, the untainted darkness a backdrop to the mosaic of flurries sticking to his window.
If he had spoken, she might have replied, but the silence of the car and the warmth of the heater kept a stillness neither felt compelled to disturb. So he placed both hands upon the wheel and stared silently ahead, as his fingers ached and blanched in his grip. His breaths were deep, measured, impatient perhaps, and he turned his head quietly as the first lights of dusk flickered along M street.
She rested her elbow upon the rim of the window and stared at the hem of her coat.
But they hadn't the words to say, nor the will to hear them spoken aloud.
And as the snow began to fall in silence, unsullied flakes and innocence, untainted, melted quickly into the grime of the sidewalks. Her eyes still rested on her trembling hand, her back turned to the speckled darkness of the Georgetown avenue.
His focus hadn't wavered from the dashed lines of the road ahead, though his steady gaze had been clouded by something more than the mist of warm air. But she glanced at him quickly as he blinked, and it was gone.
Too quiet since this morning, apart and detached. His movements were mechanical, his words few and far between. He had stirred his coffee and refused to meet her eyes. His gaze had wandered to the sunrise through the curtains of the hotel lobby, the faded glow of daybreak the only light upon his face.
For the morning had been a first of many.
He coughed beside her, and she turned to meet his eyes. Perhaps there was a smile, for an instant below the haze, and she thought to return it, but his eyes were on the road again.
And the white lines passed before him, one by one until they blurred into monotony. And the stolid brass numbers of the whitewashed hotel doors were marching beside him like soldiers on parade, as he buttoned his shirt and threw on his jacket to battle the bitter wind of the early morning hour. He had sighed and run his fingers through his hair, and her perfume had lingered on the back of his hand.
But when he awoke, it was gone. Like so many thing in the stillness of the morning, and he rested his bare feet upon the carpet of the hotel room. And he lifted his head and rose quietly from the wrinkled sheets below.
He slowed and turned the wheel unconsciously as they left behind the lights of the street and crawled along the quiet neighborhood side roads. Three minutes and she'd be alone in her apartment, silently unpacking her suitcase and willing her eyes to stop drifting to the door. Three hours and her lights were off, though the sleep refused to come.
And she had sworn she could hear him breathing beside her, though his room was down the hall. And she hadn't the strength to button her blouse or turn off the lamp beside the bed, so she lay her head upon the pillow and waited for morning.
But as she tucked her hair quietly behind her ear, she could smell his cologne upon the back of her hand.
Mulder sensed her shuddering beside him and he turned, but she looked away before he could meet her eyes. He flipped on the headlights and turned back to the road.
Her hands had been like ice when he touched them, and she'd trembled when he kissed her neck and whispered that he couldn't pretend anymore.
And he could feel her throat rise and fall as the words came to tell him to stop, but he kissed her there and murmured softly not to speak.
She sighed quietly as the snow fell harder on the rooftops, beside the streetlights, and the shadows were dancing like fire on the frosty windows of the townhouses. Each moment they drew nearer to her empty apartment, though farther apart as the silence lingered.
For the night had said so many things unspoken for so long, and his fingers gently brushed the collar of her blouse as he drew his lips from below her ear and stared quietly into her clouded eyes.
The car rolled slowly to a stop beside the sidewalk. His eyes rested wearily upon the dashboard, and she paused for a moment to listen for the hushed rhythm of the snowfall on the roof of the car.
And the words were there, and the snow kept falling, but she opened her mouth and he turned to meet her eyes.
And as his fingers had grazed the third button, she'd torn her eyes from his and turned her face away. He lingered quietly for a moment, staring vacantly at the shimmer in her eyes.
She'd sighed and faced the open window, as the breeze had lifted the whispering curtains from the pane. The night had been starless, still, and his hand had cradled the side of her face as he kissed her forehead gently and rose from the bed.
And as her fingers grasped the handle, the words were no longer there. So she turned to face him once again, but her eyes drifted slowly to his fingers on the seat.
She offered her hand into the darkness but refused to lift her eyes.
And the whitewashed door had closed without a sound, though the biting wind of the early morning had crept into room as he left.
But his fingers were warm, and the trembling stopped. So she squeezed his hand slowly and closed her eyes to the tears threatening to form.
Beside her, he nodded quietly, and turned to reach for his own door.
But he paused for a moment as the flurries floated past his window and the fallen leaves yielded to the mercy of the wind.
And his hand was in her hair once again, as he cupped her cheek and pulled her to his chest. He stared past her into the twilight, unmoving as she cried into his shoulder. And his face yielded no emotion, in the shadows of the streetlights and the stillness of the empty street.
FINIS
starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com