TITLE: Water and Sun
AUTHOR: redprint
RATING: T
KEYWORDS: MSR, UST, Scully/Other, Angst, Humor, Adventure, Drama.
SUMMARY: Scully finds herself amidst the search for the Truth, well-guarded Jesuits' secrets, an enigmatic Catholic priest, and a wandering Mulder.
SPOILERS: Mild references to some episodes (Never Again, Hollywood A.D., The Truth, IWTB, etc.).
A/N: Scully is a strong person, fiercely intelligent, honest, and grounded, but you know that tattoo she got ...? Yeah, it makes me wonder, too. Consider yourself warned.
DISCLAIMER: ©2020 Fox Media LLC.
Chapter 1
**Into the Water**
IN A SMALL TOWN IN SOUTHERN TUSCANY
FRIDAY, MAY 29
07:12 HOURS
She was gazing out of the kitchen's window, contemplating everything she'd been through for the last couple of years. The arborescent green trees grew tall in the distance, moving majestically by the invisible hand of Garbino.
It was her fifth year abroad with Mulder. She couldn't believe how fast time went by. More than seven years ago, Mulder got some information that made them leave the U.S. right after their lives finally settled in. He was free of all charges but also worryingly restless. Nothing tied him to D.C., or any other place on Earth for that matter. And when a guy from MUFON approached him with serious intel, as he put it, Mulder decided to act on it, and she followed him. She always followed him.
They left the States in a week and traveled first to Damascus, Syria. It was a long and stressful journey to the other end of the world, where they supposedly did experiments on a new breed of super soldiers. DNA variations, mind control through sound waves, enhancing muscles with chemicals ... It disturbed her as a doctor and human being when she thought about it, but she wasn't sure it was their job to do anything about it. They found the facility the guy from MUFON claimed existed. It had been abandoned not long before they arrived. All samples gone, all files shredded or taken away. Only the locals could give them some unintelligible facts that led them nowhere. It was just one of many disappointments they would witness on their journey. They almost caught the official in charge, almost saved a victim, almost got to the men responsible, almost got a grip on damning documents. Almost. Egypt, Israel, Russia, Britain, Germany.
She sighed and ran a hand over her face, feeling tired and unsatisfied.
They arrived in Italy eight months ago, and for the last seven, they settled in Montepulciano, a small town in southern Tuscany. They lived at a locanda for the first two weeks. She loved it there, but their finances weren't limitless, and when the local priest suggested they move in with him, they accepted.
Father Nicola O'Brien. He was born in Belfast, Ireland, lived for most of his young years in England, and migrated to Italy at around 30. He was educated in theology, psychology, and history and well versed in languages. She couldn't fathom a priest like him. Compassionate, intelligent, daring, and honest. A force to be reckoned with, as Mulder described him. So kind, so gentle. And so incredibly challenging.
"My mom is British with Italian ancestry, and my father is plain Irish," he told her one evening when they were still getting to know each other.
"I have Irish ancestry, too," she said while preparing dinner for both of them. "What did you do before moving to Italy?"
His lips curled. "You mean before deciding to become a priest?"
She felt guilty for being so curious. "Yes."
"I was MI5, actually," he replied. "I was recruited at 24, after working for a year as a psychologist."
She wanted to ask him why he quit but refrained.
"I met a Jesuit when I first came to Rome and after some tribulations decided to become a priest," he explained when he saw her curiosity. "Didn't Mulder tell you that?" he asked when she fell silent.
"No," she shook her head. She got accustomed to Mulder not telling her everything. And lately, it started to upset her.
"Well, he knew," father Nicola pointed out. "It's the reason he sought me out."
She stared at father Nicola in silence.
"Why?" she asked Mulder that early morning when he told her he was going to Rome to meet a Jesuit to pursue a new lead.
"He claims to know about the coming apocalypse," he bit his lip. It sounded ridiculous even to him.
"I bet he does," she remarked cynically. "He'll probably quote the Bible."
"He knows about the Shadow Government," he added in a hopeful tone.
She didn't take the bait. "How old is he?" she inquired.
"Eighty five-ish," he grimaced.
"This is not working, Mulder," she met his hazel eyes and suppressed her anger.
"Scully," he whispered.
"Just ... just do what you have to, but don't expect me to follow you," she cut him off.
She watched him leave without a word. He looked upset. But what exactly did he expect? They couldn't overthrow the plans for colonization. And the dreaded December 22, 2012? Well, nothing happened. But he still kept things from her, went on his bizarre little trips, and told her little or nothing about it. When she voiced her concerns, he dismissed them instantly. But she knew. She knew when he was staring at the abyss. Tears stung her blue eyes, and she rubbed them. Why did it have to be so damn hard for them?
She stepped outside and faced the morning sun. Wishing away all evil thoughts, she walked to the nearby olive grove, greeting Michele and Anna, the couple that helped father Nicola with all the chores at the parsonage, and sat at the stone table in the far right corner of the large backyard, placed there by working hands some sixty years ago. She enjoyed the place very much. Garbino was blowing mildly through the olive trees, making a swooshing sound that nudged her to relax and let to go. Michelle and Anna were working in the garden not far from her, chatting lively about this and that, a dog barked somewhere in the vicinity, a car honked, and birds chirped vivaciously. She leaned back against the stony backrest and closed her eyes.
"Good morning," a warm voice greeted her. She awoke startled and saw him standing in front of the stone table, wearing his black cassock, arms crossed and lips curled in that unmistakable smile of his. Alluring and yet so irritating with all the insinuations behind it.
"Morning," she straightened up. "What time is it?"
"Around nine," he replied without looking at his watch.
"When did you come home?" she asked while adjusting her hair.
"Sometime around eight forty," he replied.
Had she slept that long? She looked around. Michelle and Anna were long gone. "I must have dozed off."
He watched her with an unsettling gaze. "Where's Mulder?" he asked, not caring about her morning nap.
She looked at him with blinking eyes, trying to focus on the conversation. "Mulder went to Rome to talk to a Jesuit monk."
"A Jesuit monk?" he asked, surprised. The odds of that. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Why?"
He moved to sit in front of her. "That's probably Father Gino de' Medici. He's not a monk. Jesuits are simply priests," he explained. "He's always preaching about the coming apocalypse."
Great, she thought, just what Mulder needed.
"Don't worry. He's not crazy, but he does tend to take things too seriously." He looked at her again. "Are you okay?"
She nodded quickly. Maybe too quickly. "I'm fine."
He looked at his Omega wristwatch, a gift from his late brother. "Do you have any plans for today?"
She looked at him, her eye wandering to his sculpted lips. "This and that," she answered, her mouth suddenly dry.
"Would you like to come with me?" he looked her straight in the eye.
"I wanted to go to the hospital to see if Clara needs anything," she replied, cursing her pitchy voice. What the hell was happening to her?
Clara was Father Nicola's late brother's wife. She worked as a trauma doctor at Ospedale Nottola in Montepulciano. Father Nicola introduced them early on when he learned Scully was a doctor as well. She worked as a volunteer, but once Clara realized how capable Scully was, she suggested a more permanent arrangement. Scully was about to start working there full-time in about two weeks when all the paperwork would be ready. Something she looked forward to even if her documents were fake.
"I'm sure she'll understand that you are taking the Friday off," he replied in a condescending tone.
She gave him an odd look. "I'm sure she'll understand either way." What had gotten into him?
"I'm out of line. Sorry," he apologized. But he wanted her to go with him.
She pondered his offer and finally agreed. "I need some time off, anyway."
His eyes lit up. "Alright."
"Where are we going?" she asked when they were walking back to the parsonage.
"Up north," he replied. "You'll see when we get there."
"Okay," she replied, amused. "I'll pack my things right on."
"Dana?" he said as they reached the door of the old building.
She looked at him. "Yes?"
"Make it three days," he said.
She raised her eyebrows. Three days? She had never seen him leave Montepulciano for more than a day. "Is that even allowed?"
He chuckled. "Father Vincenzo will cover for me. He owes me, anyway."
She nodded in apprehension and followed him inside. She packed quickly, avoiding any unnecessary stuff. She was trained to move as fast as circumstances demanded, leaving behind people she loved and keeping faith that it was somehow worth it. But was it? She tried not to overthink about the unmade bed in front of her. She wanted to make love to Mulder the night before, but he fell asleep before she got to bed.
"Ready?" father Nicola asked as she appeared in the front yard. He wore a brown leather jacket, a gray T-shirt with short sleeves underneath, and a pair of washed blue jeans. A black duffel bag was hanging over his chest and shoulders. And no Roman collar in sight.
"Ready," she replied, although she knew she was forgetting something.
"Alright then," he turned to the motorbike, parked beside him, and mounted it. A Harley Davidson Softail Standard, as he had told her one afternoon when she stopped to look at it. She had a thing for bikes.
"We're not taking the car?" she asked, surprised.
"No, we are traveling by train. The station is just ten minutes from here. We'll leave the motorbike there. A friend will take it back to the parsonage," he replied.
"By train?" She wasn't used to trains.
"Yes, by train," he repeated, looking at her in that unsettling way again. "You'll miss the view if we take the car."
She sighed.
"Come on. You won't regret it," he added.
The small station of Montepulciano was crowded, but they went by mostly unnoticed. A couple as any other, she thought. After twenty minutes of waiting, they finally boarded the train. Some families and older people were traveling on it. She wondered what they thought when they saw them together. She wasn't naïve. Some of them knew father Nicola and were not used to seeing him in a woman's company with a duffel bag over his shoulders.
"How come you finished so early today?" she asked him when they finally settled in their seats.
"I told you Father Vincenzo will fill in for me for the next three days. He offered to help me."
Father Vincenzo probably didn't know he planned to travel with her, she figured. Or he wouldn't have offered his help. He was a strict, old-school Catholic priest. Humble and gentle, but with steadfast, inflexible beliefs that verged on the extreme.
"What about tomorrow?" she asked. He had weddings on Saturdays in May.
"They postponed the wedding. They told me they needed some time to think. If you ask me, they won't get married at all," he said and looked at her.
Their knees and shoulders pressed together. She could feel the warmth of his body penetrate her clothes and skin.
"What about you?" she asked, seemingly unaffected. However, her eyes told another story.
He gazed at her, losing his edginess as he got lost in those clear pools of blue. "What about me?"
She observed his changing features. "Didn't you want to get married when you were younger?"
He finally realized what she was asking him and hesitated.
"I'm sorry. It's none of my business," she apologized and looked away.
"I never met the right one," he said when he saw her retreat.
She turned to him. "But you told me you were engaged when you were young."
"I was. She left me for another man, got married, had three children, and got a divorce ten years later," he told her.
"Sounds like you've been watching her," she commented.
He pressed his jaw together. "She came to Italy after her divorce to ask me if there was still any hope for us. I was already a priest," he narrowed his head.
She looked at his saddened face, and something in her heart broke. She would have squeezed his hand, resting in his lap, if they weren't sitting in front of an old couple from Montepulciano that knew him well.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked softly.
"No," he shook his head and lowered his voice. "It was done for me the day she told me she met another man. And besides, I would never have met you if I chose her."
She didn't expect that. He was trying to change the subject, surely.
"And ... Dana," he poked her shoulder, "I'm still young." He grinned at her.
She chuckled and looked out of the window. Her eyes set sight on a vast valley surrounded by green hills and covered with dark forests and green pastures. "That's amazing," she whispered.
"I told you," he smiled and leaned toward her to take a closer look himself.
She turned and almost touched cheek with him. "When –?"
"In about forty minutes," he replied and settled back into his seat.
A wave of heat spread down her neck, and she brushed the irritated skin, hoping he hadn't noticed her excitement. She sighed heavily and fished for her book while he looked at her curiously.
What?" she asked.
"You have my book," he said in an overly enthusiastic voice.
"You gave it to me," she pointed out.
He felt like an idiot. Of course, he gave it to her. He even went to the town library to get it.
"The Medici. Godfathers of the Renaissance," he told the young librarian as he approached the desk. She was an Oxford post-graduate, taking a year off from her studies and traveling around Italy. She ran out of money and found a job in Montepulciano. He liked to practice his English with her. "I'd like to borrow it." The young woman nodded and smiled at him. He was somehow used to women looking at him in a particular way. It amused him, but he was faithful to his calling.
"Third shelf on the left," she said and jumped up to help him.
As he walked home that afternoon, he wondered what she would make of it. The book was about one of the most influential, controversial, and corrupted families of Italy's Renaissance. It turned out she enjoyed it.
"I'll take a nap," he announced after seeing her get engrossed in the book. He turned his head away from the window. He smiled at the old couple and closed his eyes.
Tearing her eyes away from the pages, she peered at him from time to time. A boyish nature lay hidden below those mature features. She knew he tried to hide his personal life. He would always reply that his past wasn't exciting, but she knew better. He told her one night when Mulder was away that people liked a cleaned slate. If he kept it simple, the people in his parish felt safe and understood. He looked at her for approval. She didn't know why, but she told him she didn't like clean slates.
CASTIGLIONE DEL LAGO
THE FORTRESS OF THE LION
FRIDAY, MAY 29
10:51 HOURS
"You've got to be kidding me," she said as they approached what used to be the fourth island of Lake Trasimeno. A pentagonal-shaped fortress, built by Emperor Frederick II, stood tall and proud in front of them, while the enormous lake stretched in all directions.
He smiled to himself. "Come on, let's go. I know the keeper."
They were walking in silence when he spoke, "A young boy once confided in me that he could hear the old trees murmuring secrets to him as he walked to the fortress."
His voice felt soothing to her for some reason. She looked at the towering trees. They were impressive. She had to give him that. The whole atmosphere felt ancient as they walked to the castle. She let her thoughts travel back to a time she had long forgotten. Her grandmother Olive from Ireland used to tell her little stories about dwarfs and fairies, their secret lands, enchanted forests, lost princes and princesses, and vast kingdoms ruled by tyrants and just kings. And she believed them all. At nights she would dream about them and get excited and scared.
"I warned you," he told her, jerking her out of her memory.
"Don't be silly," she whispered.
He saw how awkward she felt, and his lips quirked up. "Just imagine the knights that galloped around here, the fights that took place, and all the broken hearts that did or did not find love in between these large castle walls," he teased her.
"I never took you as a romantic type," she commented.
"You'd be right. I'm more of an adventurer," he looked at her.
"So love is just an adventure?" She didn't know why she had asked that.
"Taken with all seriousness, yes," he replied.
"Of course, you're a saint," she said under her breath.
"I heard that," he looked at her accusingly, and she smiled.
She was going to be the end of him.
They reached the road that encircled the fortress, its four square towers now rising high in front of them.
Stone on stone, all work of men, he thought. "I'll get the keeper," he announced.
In five minutes, he returned with an older man, short and portly. His name was Giorgio. He showed them around and invited them to have lunch with him. He was an amusing fellow. Scully laughed heartily when he told her a story about a lady who was visiting the castle and ran into Nicola. He couldn't get rid of her.
Nicola chuckled but wouldn't divulge more about it. His eyes were bright, but something was building behind them.
"What is it?" she asked him when Giorgio left.
"Nothing," he replied too quickly.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" she bore into him.
"Not all," he lied and stood up. "The lake awaits us. We'll return for our luggage later. Just take something to lie on," he said.
She arched her brow and shot him an amused look.
"What?" he asked. "I didn't mean anything. Jesus, Dana."
She chuckled, and he blushed. A sweet, dangerous game they were playing. She stood up and took him by the hand. His heart jumped at the unexpected physical contact more than it should have.
"Take me to the lake," she said and looked him in the eye.
"At your orders," he whispered and tried real hard to look self-possessed.
ON THE SHORE OF LAGO TRASIMENO
FRIDAY, MAY 29
14:37 HOURS
"Thank you," she said and looked at him as they reached the shore of the lake. He looked back at her and quashed the happiness rising in his chest. She put down the blanket and sat on its side to make room for him as well. He stared at her and sat down near her without uttering a word.
"Are you alright?" She was genuinely concerned even though she knew there was no chance he would talk about it.
He avoided answering her. "Would you like me to make a fire?" he asked after a while when they were sitting together in the shade of the trees.
She loved fire. "If it's no bother," she replied.
She watched him disappear into the trees and re-emerge with a pile of branches. He placed them together and fished for matches in his pocket.
"I was a scout when I was in school," he stated while trying to ignite a spark.
"Really? Must have come in handy while at MI5," she joked.
He chuckled and cursed mentally when the fire wouldn't start.
"You must have excelled at your tasks as a scout," she teased him.
"I did," he replied.
"So what's stopping you now?" she teased him on.
He gave her a look that flattened every inch of her. "I have never ignited a spark in such a good company."
She smiled weakly, letting his words sink in. She feared the spark had already been ignited.
"There we go!" he exclaimed when he finally succeeded. He gave the fire a few pokes and looked at her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she reassured him and avoided his eyes. It was a lie, of course, and he probably knew it.
"I'm going to take a swim," he said then and got up to strip off his clothes.
She looked at him. "The water is probably cold." Oh, for the love of God! She wasn't prepared for such a display of well-toned muscles. He had to work out to be in such good shape. She looked away out of courtesy. Get a grip, she thought, now.
He ran into the lake and screamed as the water splashed around him. "Dana!" she heard him shout, waving one hand. "Come here! The water is fine!"
"I have nothing to wear!" she shouted back.
He walked out of the water. "Then wear nothing," he said when he came close to her. Drops of water were dripping down his skin, and she tried really hard not to pay attention to them.
"I'm not going to swim naked," she stated.
"You have your underwear, right?" he looked at her breasts.
She was speechless. He was kidding, right?
"Don't tell me you don't have any underwear on you," he feigned a breathless voice.
"Of course I do," she replied. What was he thinking?
"Come with me then," he persisted and offered his hand.
She felt her heartbeat quicken. She took his hand and stood up. She slowly removed her shirt and jeans while he watched her. She silenced her judgmental thoughts. A swim wasn't immoral. In any way. Whatsoever. She thanked God she chose to wear black underwear that morning.
"You look good," he teased when she was done.
"Thank you," she wanted to kick his ass so badly.
His lips pursed. "You do realize that I saw naked women before?" It wasn't a question.
He could be so dense. She lifted her eyes to meet his face, "Then stop looking at me as if I'm the first one."
His eyes widened, and he fell silent.
She dived into the water first, leaving him behind her. "Ah! You were right. This is fantastic. How often did you say you come here?"
He chuckled. "I'll make a mental note to take you with me from now on."
"It's going to raise rumors." She didn't know what made her say it. Maybe the way they looked at them on the train or Giorgio's remark that Nicola always had good taste in women.
His eyes darkened suddenly. "I don't care about what other people think. They don't know me, and they certainly don't know you."
"I wonder who does." She intended it to be a light joke, but it came out wrong.
"Clara does," he was referring to his late brother's wife.
There was a pause.
"And I know you," he added and swam around her. The water was deep and dark.
"Do you now?" she asked and turned around to keep eye contact with him.
He nodded, his eyes focused on her.
"Tell me," she challenged him.
He swam closer to her. "I know you're intelligent, honest, and grounded."
Okay, she could take that. "What else?"
He hesitated.
"Go on," she encouraged him.
"You're tired of this life. Tired of the search, restless travels, and Mulder's incessant need to find a truth that is so eluding that you fear all your work will avail to nothing."
There. He said it aloud.
She narrowed her head slightly. He was right. She was tired and afraid. She never imagined leading such a life. She looked at him with an accusing eye.
He felt his heart shrunk. "Dana," he whispered and reached for her. He pulled her into his arms, and she sighed against his bare chest. Their thighs brushed against each other in the water, catching them both off guard.
The unexpected contact sent shivers down her spine, making her gasp involuntarily. "Just ... let me go," she said and pushed him away.
His eyes closed. "I'm sorry," he apologized without exactly knowing what he did wrong. He let her go reluctantly and watched her swim to the shore. He followed her only after she had already reached their spot.
He walked to the blanket and grabbed his towel. She was wrapped in hers. Beautiful and fragile. Her fingers played with a scrap of wood. The fire was still burning. He sat down next to her and gave it a few pokes. It started burning brightly.
"I didn't want to upset you," he spoke softly.
She wouldn't look at him.
"Dana?" he asked and touched her hand.
Her muscles froze. She looked at him, realizing how close he was. A sigh escaped her, "I know."
"I went too far," he continued, feeling he had ruined something precious.
"I pushed you," she gazed into his eyes. "And you saw correctly."
He swallowed. He knew it was hard for both of them. He lay down on the blanket and gazed at the trees above.
"How did you get that scar?" she asked after a while.
He looked at the scarred skin on his chest, which healed a long time ago.
"I got stabbed on duty. It happened a long time ago," he replied, disinterested. "I barely made it out alive."
Something pierced through her heart. The thought that he could have died and they would have never met shocked her more than she was prepared to admit.
"What about your tattoo?" He looked straight into her eyes.
She didn't expect him to ask that. "It's a rather long story," she lied and hoped he would let it go.
"Is it?" he probed.
Alright, she thought. "I had to deal with certain decisions and patterns in my life," she replied dryly.
"Mulder?" he asked not so prudently.
She looked above them. It felt like the trees were shielding them. "He was only part of the problem." She was drawn to authoritative figures in her life, starting with her father, but withdrew when she began to feel smothered. The fathers, she called them.
"Do I fit the description?" he asked.
She winced. She had a hard time getting accustomed to his gift. "I don't know, do you?"
"I'm not controlling, but I am complicated," he looked away from her as if afraid of what she might say.
Not any more complicated than Mulder or my late sister Melissa, she thought. "You're challenging. That's different."
"And Mulder isn't?"
Oh, Mulder, the Prince of Challenge. "He is extremely challenging, but he's also obsessive. Something you're not."
"Are you sure?" he teased.
She smiled. "I should hope so."
"So, how did a tattoo change any of it?" He wouldn't leave it.
"It didn't, of course," her voice was almost a whisper. "I needed to do something out of character. I didn't want to be taken for granted."
"And you chose an Ouroboros? The eternal return?"
"I wanted something meaningful. Not just ink on skin." She wasn't the shallow type. He knew that, right? "I met a man while on assignment, and he just got a tattoo. I asked him to take me to the same tattooist."
She paused.
"It didn't go as planned," he suggested.
"No, it didn't," she shook her head. "He seemed nice enough ... flawed enough. And I felt I could trust him. But he was under the influence of a parasite and tried to kill me. I barely survived. It's a scar just as much as yours."
"So transformation it is," he said after a moment of silence.
"What do you mean?" she was thinking about the Jesuit Mulder was supposed to meet.
"The Ouroboros," he reminded her, "an endless cycle and transforming that which has ended into something new. You probably needed it at that time."
"I forget that you're a historian," she remarked, avoiding to comment on her need for perpetual transformation.
He smiled, "It was always a passion."
"And since we're talking about it, you should know that Christianity adopted the Ouroboros to symbolize the self-consuming, self-defeating, and circular nature of this world's existence."
"Thank you, Professor O'Brien," she stopped him. She could use something transformative right now.
He smiled and threw a small rock toward her. An eye roll was all he got from her.
He looked at the water. The sun was starting to lose its edge. "It's getting late, Doctor Scully, we should go. Unless you want us to sleep here." He looked at her frame, and a glint of something unpredictable appeared in his eyes.
"Are you implying that we could?" she returned the ball.
"There's the blanket," he patted the soft material, and his lips curled.
She knew he was going to say something utterly irritating.
"You've slept with men before, right?"
She could have pretended that it was just a joke, but she knew it bothered him that she had a one-nightstand with a man she barely knew. Even if she hadn't told him directly about Ed Jerse, he was clever enough to understand that something had happened between them.
"What is it, Nicola? You can't grasp the idea that I slept with someone I didn't know?" her voice was edgy.
He stared at her. His eyes transpired a fiery quality. "I have no problem with your night encounters as long as you don't assume that men are all the same."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He looked at her. "I never had a one-night stand, Dana."
That hit her. Never? Not even once? A man like him?
"Yeah, a man like me," he added.
"Stop doing that," she complained, her tone edgy.
His lips curled into a smile. "Take your stuff. I am taking you to dinner. And don't look at me like that."
COUNTRY HOUSE PRINCIPE DEL TRASIMENO
CASTIGLIONE DEL LAGO, ITALY
FRIDAY, MAY 29
21:47 HOURS
It was already late when they arrived at a country house where Nicola planned to stay for the next two nights. She saw him furrow his brows and brush his forehead while he talked to the receptionist. Something was wrong. The receptionist took the phone and called someone, but when she was done, she just shook her head.
"We have a problem," he said when he returned to her.
"Let me guess. There are no more rooms," she sounded tired.
"Well, actually, there's only one room. They mixed up the reservations," he replied.
Her face lightened. "And?"
"There's only one bed."
"Oh, I see." Despite all the insane things that had happened in her life so far, she didn't expect she would have to share a bed with a priest. Ever.
"We can still go back to the station and wait for the night train," he offered.
"No," she shook her head. "I'm too tired, and you should rest, too. We'll take the room."
"You sure?" he asked.
"As long as you are fine with it."
"Yes, of course," he had to suppress the sudden feeling of excitement rising in his bones.
"Thank God," she said when he lit the light, and a nicely furnished room appeared in front of her eyes. It smelled of fresh linens and sandalwood.
She sat on the bed and exhaled. He pulled out his sleeping bag.
"What are you doing?" she asked, surprised.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he replied and put his rucksack down.
"The bed is big enough," she said.
"No trouble," he insisted.
"I don't want you to, Nicola." She set his eyes on him.
He looked at her. What was she saying exactly?
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," she insisted.
He bit his lip. He was certain that a priest wasn't supposed to share the same bed with a woman. Any woman, father Vincenzo would add. This was uncalled for, for sure.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she said when his embarrassment became too obvious. What was his problem? They were adults, and they should be able to handle a situation like this without incidents.
"Okay," he replied, his voice slightly alarmed. He started to search frantically through his duffel bag and realized he hadn't brought any pajamas with him. He had just two pairs of black boxers and two shirts to wear for the next two days. That was just great.
He sat on the bed, feeling drained, and heard the water running in the shower. Images of her body hit him hard without warning. He could see her figure in his mind, the water running down her body, her hands on her breasts, her hips and thighs. He shook his head. Good God, he was in deep trouble. He inhaled and exhaled loudly only to find her out of the bathroom and in front of him.
She was stunning.
"I'm done," she stated. She was wearing only her panties and a T-shirt that fitted her nicely. Of course, as fate would have it, she forgot her pajamas as well.
He gave her a severe look.
"The shower's all yours," she continued and finally saw his expression. Maybe they couldn't handle the situation. At all.
"Yeah, right. I won't be long," he replied.
She could see his distress. "Take your time." She sat down on the bed. The sheets were clean and soft. She ran a hand over them to feel the fabric. It was then that she noticed a pair of black boxers hanging out of his bag.
Her phone rang.
"Hey, Scully."
A warm feeling passed her heart. Mulder.
"Hey," she greeted back. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. Father Gino's invited me to stay with him for a day or two. He says I should become a monk if I want to save my soul."
She chuckled. "You'll be the damnation of any monastery."
"Scully!"
"What? It's the truth."
There was silence for a few moments. She felt tired.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"With Nicola," she replied.
"I didn't know Nicola became a place," he said.
She blushed. "Near Lake Trasimeno. We went on a trip," she explained without too much detail.
"Should I be worried?" he teased.
Yes, she thought. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Listen, Father Gino is a nice old man, but I'm afraid this whole thing is just a big waste of time. If he doesn't show me anything of substance, I'm out of here."
Maybe the shadow government turned all the super soldiers into rag dolls and put Father Gino in charge. She didn't say that aloud. "I don't know why you went in the first place," she pointed out.
"Scully ..." he whispered.
"Don't Scully me," she sounded irritated all of a sudden. It probably coincided with the fact that Nicola walked out of the bathroom almost naked to retrieve his boxers. He was wearing only a towel.
"We'll talk when I get back," he promised.
"There's nothing to talk about," she retorted.
"Sure. I heard that one before."
"And I felt like this more times than I care to remember." Was he really going to patronize her?
He sighed heavily. "Listen, I don't want to fight."
"I'm sorry, Mulder, but I don't know how else to make it clear. I'm tired of living like this," she sounded upset.
He fell silent. "Okay. I hear you."
"Do you?"
"I do," he reassured her. "Say 'hi' to Nicola and tell him that Father Gino sends his regards. And Scully?"
"Yes?"
"I love you," his voice was soft.
She closed her eyes. "I love you, too."
She switched off the phone and lay against the comfortable pillows. Exhaustion was starting to get the better of her.
Nicola returned from the bathroom and stretched on his side of the bed.
She swallowed.
He looked at her.
She blushed.
What the hell was going on?
He said nothing but decided to rearrange his pillow. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath. It was too soft for his liking.
She looked away and searched for a magazine. Anything, really.
"Did you know that this place is known for paranormal phenomena?" he asked casually when he finally put his head on the pillow.
"What?" Oh, good, she could still speak.
He gazed at her. "People reported on several occasions that they witnessed a young woman dressed in white enter the castle's jail but never saw her leave."
"Could be one of the locals trying to attract tourists and their money," she offered a logical explanation quickly. She was well versed in the subject.
"Could be," he replied and lifted the bedsheet.
He was getting too close to her. "You don't believe it?" she asked, her voice too high. Shit.
"A man in my parish told me that he saw her walk through a thick wall inside the castle," he was looking her directly in the eye. They were lying close to each other now.
She stopped breathing and gazed at him. Those eyes could fuck her forever, God forgive her.
"There's a ladybug on your shoulder," he told her and reached for the tiny insect. He accidentally brushed her neck with his fingers while trying to catch it. She closed her eyes at the contact.
"There," he said when he caught it. "Look how small and beautiful it is."
He neared the little creature to her eyes and scrutinized it. She had to smile. How many men were able to display such a childlike enthusiasm towards life? He blew against the insect, and it flew away from his hand.
He looked at her. She was now just inches away. "You look beautiful." His breath caressed her cheek. He looked startled by his own admission.
She didn't know how to respond. In fact, she had trouble focusing on anything at all. The warmth coming from his body was enveloping her tired limbs so gently. He adjusted a lock of her hair that was stubbornly falling on her forehead, and she shuddered.
"Are you cold?"
"A little," she lied. What were they doing? She could barely breathe, and the bed suddenly wasn't big enough. Probably at that moment, any bed wouldn't have been big enough.
"I can sleep on the floor," he offered again.
She didn't answer right away, and he looked questioningly at her.
"Dana?"
"No, stay here. Sleep with me," she realized how it sounded and blushed at her poor choice of words.
He swallowed and nodded. Adjusting the pillow once again, he put his head down and gazed at her.
She looked into those luscious eyes and silenced her arousal. "Good night, Nicola." She switched off her bedside lamp and turned away from him. She wanted to sleep and forget about the day. But her brain wouldn't cooperate, and her body ached in a million places. The T-shirt she wore was too tight on her skin, and the bra irked her badly. She felt restless.
After a couple of minutes, he switched off the light as well and turned to his side. She took the chance to strip naked, not caring how it may seem. It was pitch dark, anyway.
They were both lying silently on the bed, pretending to be asleep, but she could tell he was as awake as she was.
"Is it hard?" she asked out of the blue.
"What?" he asked back as if he was expecting her to speak.
"Being a priest, not having someone by your side." She turned around to face his back, her arms covering her naked breast.
"God's with me," he replied and turned to her as well.
She didn't say anything to that. She took comfort in prayers a lot since she won her battle with cancer, but not always was she able to feel divine proximity." He's with all of us," she remarked.
He hummed.
She tried to catch his eyes in the dark of the room. "Nicola, we need to talk." She sounded earnest and vulnerable.
"No, we don't," he cut her off. His father told him he would know when the right one came by. But he never knew until now, and it was already too late.
Why was he so stubborn? "Okay," she replied quietly.
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to upset her, but to talk about it with her was madness. He could never tell her he was in love with her. "I'm not sure what I want, anymore," he said hesitantly.
She cursed the darkness for not seeing the expression on his face, but she didn't dare turn the light on.
"It is hard sometimes," he went on quietly. "Loneliness is the worst."
She knew what he meant. She said once that loneliness is a choice. His was for real.
She shifted closer to him, touching his forearm.
He tensed.
"Don't be afraid," she whispered.
Their bodies were inches apart.
He looked at her and slowly nodded. He wanted to touch her, press her body against his. He shivered.
"Are you alright?" She ran her hand over his shoulder.
"No," he admitted.
She slid her hand down the side of his back, sending sparks all over his skin.
"Tell me, Nicola. Just tell me," she pleaded with him. Her hand stopped on his hip.
He had to suppress a groan. "I can't," he felt weak.
"Why?" She started drawing lazy circles on his skin.
He swallowed hard. "I just can't." He thanked God it was dark.
She knew the effect she had on him. She knew she should have stopped. But the attraction she felt for him jailed all rational thought. His skin felt soft and gentle, his muscles taut and firm. Her eyes grew dark with desire.
He felt intoxicated.
They stared at each other in the darkness.
She was about to make something bold, irrational, unacceptable. With her right hand, she slipped under his boxers and felt his ass.
He groaned loudly and grabbed her hand. It startled her. They were both breathing heavily. He held her hand locked on his ass cheek.
"It's me, Nicola," she whispered. She thought her chest would open.
"I know," his voice was a growl. He let go of her hand.
A bitter taste of regret settled in her mouth when she realized how far she had let herself go. "Maybe it is better that you sleep on the floor." She removed her hand.
His eyes widened. She asked him to sleep in bed, she inappropriately touched him, and now she wanted him to sleep on the floor?!
"I'm not your puppet," he said grudgingly.
"I never said you were," she couldn't hide her emotions. "But you should sleep elsewhere."
"No," he replied.
She had to admire his stubbornness.
"Nicola, it's not debatable." She wanted it to sound like a command, but it came out more like a desperate plea.
"Everything is debatable. I thought you knew that."
"Fuck you!" She shouted at him.
He stared at her. "Really? Fuck me?"
"You're the one who can't be sincere!" she was beyond furious now.
He shifted and sat up on the bed. She could only see the frame of his body.
"I'm gonna go," he said.
She faltered then. She had no right to accuse him that he wasn't truthful. Neither was she.
He felt the mattress dip and her body move. Her hands hugged him around his chest, her legs circled him on both sides, and her body pressed into his back. His skin suffered multiple electroshocks when he realized her naked breasts jammed into his bareback.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, and he knew it was not debatable.
"Dana," he sighed and clasped his hands with hers, pressing them tightly to his chest.
"I know ... I knew from the start," she admitted and closed her eyes.
He couldn't remember the last time he felt that way. "I think I never loved that much," he whispered desperately.
She felt her heart fall. This wasn't fair. She pressed her lips against his shoulder blade and held him tight. "Oh, God," she sobbed. "I loved Mulder. I still do."
He nodded calmly, but his heart wanted to explode from pain. "Don't mention him. Not tonight."
He felt her shift behind him. He said something he shouldn't have. It was logical that she would retreat now.
"I won't," she simply said and tugged at his shoulders. Her hands pulled him with her.
His head rested on her chest. He could hear her heart pounding below her spilled breasts.
Thump, thump, thump.
Minutes flew by. None of them spoke.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"About life and love."
"You should enter a monastery," he joked.
She chuckled and ran a hand through her hair.
"Do you have any feelings at all for me?" He knew he shouldn't have asked her that, but the question burned inside him.
She stopped her hand. "You already know the answer."
"I need to hear it," he said and looked her in the eye.
"It'll only be harder," she tried to reason him.
"Tell me," he squeezed her hand hard this time.
She looked into those hopeful hazel eyes. She understood his love all too well. It felt like water and sun. The making of a new life. "You know I'm affected by you."
His heart came to a stop. "Affected," he repeated.
She nodded.
"How?" he shifted so he could look at her face to face.
"Nicola?!" he got too excited for her taste.
"Do you think of me?"
"No!" she was blushing.
"No," he repeated and rested his head back on her chest. It was so warm there. Her breasts moved with her breathing. He wanted to cup one, run his finger over the sensitive skin, but restrained himself.
"I like how you wonder at simple things," her voice was quiet. "The way you talk with me and look at me."
He found her hand and kissed it.
She closed her eyes. "Do you think we could get some sleep now?" she asked then.
He placed his head back on her chest. "Yes." He felt calm at last.
Her arms went around him, and he closed his eyes. Did she have any feelings for him? Yes, good God, she did. She loved him, or she wouldn't have let him lie in her arms like that. And the only thing that started to bother her each day more was the fact that it was beginning to feel like the need for water and sun for her, too.
COUNTRY HOUSE PRINCIPE DEL TRASIMENO
CASTIGLIONE DEL LAGO, ITALY
SATURDAY, MAY 30
08:25 HOURS
She woke up first. His head lay on his pillow, but his hand was placed protectively over her stomach. She slipped away from it and got up. She put on her T-shirt. Enough skin, she thought and stepped near the window to open it.
"Good morning," she heard a familiar voice.
She turned and saw him shifting in the bed.
"Good morning," she greeted back.
"I think I'm going to start counting from zero my days from this moment on."
She chuckled and joined him in the bed. Her hand found his, and she squeezed it.
"It was quite a night," she agreed.
"When is Mulder coming back?" he asked.
"Tomorrow, although Gino invited him to join the Jesuit order," her lips curled.
"That would be something," he smiled.
He looked at her the, into the red and blue.
"Don't look at me like that," she whispered.
"Why?" he kept looking at her.
"Your vulnerability ... it's freaking me out," she felt her throat go dry.
"Is it?" he was unable to stop looking at her.
Her lips opened just barely, and he leaned in closer.
They both started when the phone rang.
"It's Mulder."
She exhaled heavily before answering him.
"Hey," she said.
"Scully?" his voice was grave.
"Somebody killed the monk."
"What?" she gasped.
Nicola lifted his eyebrows. Gino's dead, she told him. His eyes widened.
"Who's with you?" Mulder asked.
"Nicola's here," she replied before thinking of it properly.
"Where are you?" he sounded confused.
"I told you we were at a country house," she didn't want to discuss it. "Why would anyone want to kill a priest?"
"I don't know. But some documents are missing."
"How was he killed?" she asked.
"Blunt trauma to the head," he replied.
"Tell him we'll be there in the evening," Nicola said and got on the phone to cancel the reservation he made for them.
She nodded and let Mulder know they were arriving.
"Gino's the one, Dana," Nicola said when she hanged up.
"What do you mean?"
"He's the reason I became a priest." He was visibly shaken.
"What?"
"Yes," he replied shortly. "There are things you don't know about me ... about the time when I first arrived in Italy."
She stared at him.
TO BE CONTINUED.
"What you seek is seeking you."
— Rumi
"Every heart sings a song, incomplete until another heart whispers back."
— Plato