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tlynnfic [at] gmail.com
Author: TLynn
E-Mail: fallingsky@comcast.net
Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated more than you know
Distribution: Also welcomed -- just let me know so I can visit
Rating: PG-13
Category: MSR, slight MA
Spoilers: 'Je Souhaite'
Summary: Early morning questions and confessions
Disclaimer: They belong to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, and the
disgustingly talented actors who portray them, not me.
Thanks: To my beta Carol, whose words are always reassuring
and always encouraging. And to Circe, not only for housing
my fic at her beautiful site (http://tlynn.invidiosa.com),
but also for being a good friend.
Author's notes: This is the fourth of what is to be a series of
vignettes that explore the complicated progress of a physical
relationship between Mulder and Scully. The goal is this:
though each will have a little something to do with the previous,
they will be near-standalones and can be read independently of
each other if you so choose. So is this a WIP? That's your call;
I'm making no promises. <g> But I'm hoping that posting in
such a fashion will help motivate me to get each part written in
a timely manner as I'm the slowest writer on the planet.
You can find the previous installments here:
Perfectly Flawed
Second Beginning
In The Clear
More notes upon final completion.
** * *
Her eyes open as soon as she feels him shift up and out of
the bed. Her back to him, she doesn't move to look at him,
doesn't open her mouth to question where he's going.
Rather, she balances in the warmth between sleep and
wakefulness for a few moments before once again succumbing
to the former, the retreat of his footsteps from the
bedroom nary a concern.
* * *
The mattress dips behind her and she is awakened once more.
Consciousness floods into her with more ease this time and
she is aware of his every move as he attempts to slide back
under the covers unnoticed. Her mouth curves into a smile.
"How long were you out there?" she asks into the darkness.
Her tone is free of demand, the question prompted by simple
curiosity.
She feels his body's slight start at her voice and she
finally turns to him.
"Hey," he says, almost a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake
you. Go back to sleep."
She settles into her new position, on her side facing him
now, elbows bent and hands tucked under her pillow. She
takes note of the distance between them, at least a foot of
space. Sharing a bed was no longer new territory for them,
but sharing space in that bed was still just that, at least
on a subconscious level. For no matter how hard she was
pressed against him, or he against her, when their eyes
closed to sleep, they always drifted to their respective
sides of the bed at some point during the night. She felt
it was only natural considering how many years they'd each
slept alone. And it wasn't as though they didn't often make
up for it once morning came.
"What time is it?" she asks.
Eyes fully adjusted to the half-light of the room, she sees
him swivel his head to the nightstand.
"Almost 5 A.M.," he answers as he turns back, his body
falling into a position mirroring that of hers across the
bed.
The air flowing through the open bedroom window is warm,
the need for blankets or even a sheet over their bodies
waning with the approach of summer's heat, and he takes a
moment to appreciate her exposed body. Her arms shield her
breasts from the scrutiny of his gaze, but he is free to
trace the line of her shoulder, the dip of her torso, and
the swell of her hip. The sheet she'd draped over her
bottom half has pulled away some, the edge riding low
against her belly now, scant centimeters from the apex of
her thighs.
Enough time has passed that he no longer feels like he's
dreaming when he's with her like this, but not so much that
he doesn't say a silent thank you to whomever might be
listening for the reality.
She wiggles her body slightly, effectively shifting his
focus to her face.
"Can't sleep?" she asks with a smile.
"Old habits die hard, I guess," he replies with a shrug.
"Have you always been such a light sleeper?"
She huffs a laugh.
"I'm surprised my mother hasn't told you the tales of my
teenage years," she says. "My father used to say it would
be easier to wake the dead than try to get me up before
noon on the weekends."
"Certainly not the case anymore," he notes.
"Definitely not," she agrees. "Whether it's due to age or
circumstance, I can't say, but my days of deep sleep are a
thing of the past."
He doesn't respond and doesn't speak further. The night is
quiet and only the rhythmic sound of their breathing fills
the room for several long minutes. Images from the previous
night float into her mind and she can feel a slight throb
between her legs as she recalls the sensation of his hands
on her body. The antics of Chevy Chase, Rodney Dangerfield,
and company were long forgotten as she'd straddled his lap
and welcomed his tongue into her mouth. He'd been
insistent, almost demanding, his hands first on her hips,
grinding her crotch down against his. Then, as her own
hands snaked up beneath the cotton of his shirt, she felt
his fingers at the zipper of her pants. Granted easier
access, he palmed the swells of her bottom, roughly
grabbing handfuls of her flesh and she'd groaned into his
mouth. Encouraged, one hand rounded the curve of her hip
and nestled between them, against the wet heat of her sex.
His long fingers stroked at her entrance, teasing,
promising.
Now, as she looks to him again, a light flush on her skin,
the pensive look on his face tells her his current train of
thought isn't in line with her own.
"What's on your mind, Mulder?" she eventually asks.
"Nothing," he says after a beat. "Just thinking about
wishes, I guess."
"Hmm," she responds, not quite convinced. Then, "Are you
ever going to tell me what your third one was?"
He only smiles and silence fills the space between them
once again.
"Falling asleep isn't easy when all one can hear are the
wheels in your head turning. What's up, Mulder?"
She can sense his hesitance and is intrigued.
Finally, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"
"What did I say?"
"You said you were happy."
She rises on one elbow and scoots herself over to close the
gap between them.
"Is that what's been keeping you up?" she asks,
incredulous.
"No," he's quick to reply. "Not completely. I was up
looking over some of that stuff for the audit meeting on
Monday. It started to feel like an episode of 'This Is Your
Life'. Well, I guess 'This Is Our Life' would be more
appropriate. Anyway, going back like that, seeing, if only
in the financial sense, some of what we've done...I just
got to thinking about what you said and I was
wondering...are you happy?"
She couldn't help the butterflies that had suddenly taken
up residence in her stomach. It wasn't that she couldn't
answer his question, more that it was the first of its kind
since this new aspect of their relationship. It was no
secret that they were never ones to communicate their
deepest thoughts and feelings, so it wasn't shocking that
they hadn't yet discussed any of what had happened between
them.
Here, under the shroud of darkness, she could see how easy
it would be. She could see herself telling him everything,
about her fears, how crippling they could be. She could
fathom telling him just how long she kept her desire for
him at bay, frightened of tipping the scales one way or
another, for that balance between them was and still is the
most important relationship in her life. Maybe here he
could fully understand the power of each and every 'what
if' that ran through her head, could see how a scientific-
like rationale extended into all aspects of her life;
extreme possibilities were even more terrifying when on a
personal level.
They carried the burden of truths no one should ever have
to, secrets that stripped them of their ability to trust in
little other than each other. They had done and seen enough
for two lifetimes and had been on the brink of death far
more than she'd like to acknowledge. For all intents and
purposes, neither should be alive at this moment, much less
huddled against each other in the predawn light. Somehow
they'd made it to this point in one piece. Along the way
her faith had been tested, had waxed and waned with as much
regularity as the moon, but if the miracle of their
survival couldn't restore her beliefs in God, nothing else
ever could.
The insecurities and fears are always with her, though,
ready to burst forth from beneath the seemingly still
waters. She often wonders if she'd still be able to talk
herself out of wanting him, out of loving him, even now
that she'd felt what it was like to have him inside her. It
scares her that she thinks she could. She can feel the
depth of his love when he touches her, can see it in his
eyes when he looks at her; and when he does, the desire to
run as far away from him as possible is nearly as strong as
the one to grab onto him for dear life. It scares her that she
needs him as she does. Of her happiness there is no doubt
in her mind; it's the implications of that happiness that
she still struggles with.
So she's stayed silent, letting actions speak for her. It
was easy to succumb to what her body had been craving for
seven long years, to let her senses take over and lead her
to him. She doesn't know if she can ever talk to him about
that first night, can ever fully explain to him the
desperation she felt, just as she doesn't think she can
ever convey how sorry she is for pushing him away the next
morning. She thinks that might have been one of her wishes
had she unrolled the jinni, to go back and try to fix that
morning. She saw the question in his eyes every day after
that night, saw how hard it was to not give it a voice. She
didn't feel she deserved his patience, but was grateful for
it all the same. He has allowed her to set the pace, is
willing to follow her lead in the absence of words. Perhaps
it is unfair, but it is the way she has needed it to be.
"Yes, Mulder," she says. "I'm happy."
No, this is not the morning she will let each and every
thought slip out, even as the warmth of his body curls
around her further. She knows his question was a heavy one
and appreciates his simplicity despite the weight it
carried. She appreciates that he allowed her to answer in
such a manner as to convey just as much without
elaboration.
"Are you happy?" she asks.
His smile is wide as he moves to his back and pulls her
against him until her head is pillowed on his shoulder. His
right hand falls to rest on her hip and her body tingles as
he traces small circles on her bare skin. His breath
becomes deep and even as his body becomes heavy with
relaxation and she thinks he has fallen asleep when he
finally answers.
"Scully, I'm ecstatic."
* * *
end
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