words spoken from the heart
Tonight's conversation, after I came home from her mother's, before she tumbled, exhausted, into bed.
Her: Is Maggie settled?
Me: I think your mother still has issues with the dog being named Maggie.
Her: I know she does.
Me: Did you eat? I grabbed something on the drive back.
Her: (waving at the fruit bowl) I did, actually. And a few crackers.
Me: A veritable feast.
I sat down then, her hands in mine. Her fingers are so skinny now that the ring I gave her hangs lose, but she keeps it as is. Her belief, I know, that she will truly get better and it will again fit like it did.
Her: I finished packing.
Me: You didn't have to do that.
Her: It felt good to do it. I mean, really, Mulder, I can perform surgery during the day I can pack at night.
Me: You are just so tired at night. Anyway, I like to feel useful.
Her: You know you are.
When she strokes my face, her fingers are always so soft. If I were to lose her tomorrow, it is the thing I would always remember about her - how touch her fingers have always been against my cheek. Even when her hands were hardened and calloused from a life on the road, when her hands are dry and chapped from disinfectants and surgical cleansers, her touch on me is always so very gentle and soft.
Me: Marry me, Dana.
Her: (still stroking my cheeks) Mulder, you've asked me that at least once a year since our first kiss.
Me: And I'm still asking. It's romantic now, isn't it?
Her: Yes.
And she twirled that ring on her finger so the diamond was again facing up and I kissed her so thin fingers and cursed God for cursing her like this.
Her: Mulder ... Fox ...
(Yes, sometimes I let her call me Fox.)
Her: Don't you know?
Me: Know what?
Her: I've been married to you since I first walked into that basement office and you told me off in that sarcastic way of yours. You were the FBI's most unwanted. But from the moment we shook hands, I wanted you.
Me: ... sometimes. Sometimes I know this.
Her: Don't ever think it's because I don't want to be right here. It's because we're already married.
Me: But I can keep asking you, right?
Her: Please.
She kissed me then. She pressed her lips against me and she kissed me and I lost myself in everything about her. As I always do when she kisses me like she kissed me in that moment. She's asleep now and we have an early flight. The bags are packed. The dog is with her mother. There was an energy in her tonight I haven't seen in so long. We are waiting until we get home to have them do any more MRI's and CAT scans. This trip to Romania is just us. And I'll ask her again to marry me.
Her: Is Maggie settled?
Me: I think your mother still has issues with the dog being named Maggie.
Her: I know she does.
Me: Did you eat? I grabbed something on the drive back.
Her: (waving at the fruit bowl) I did, actually. And a few crackers.
Me: A veritable feast.
I sat down then, her hands in mine. Her fingers are so skinny now that the ring I gave her hangs lose, but she keeps it as is. Her belief, I know, that she will truly get better and it will again fit like it did.
Her: I finished packing.
Me: You didn't have to do that.
Her: It felt good to do it. I mean, really, Mulder, I can perform surgery during the day I can pack at night.
Me: You are just so tired at night. Anyway, I like to feel useful.
Her: You know you are.
When she strokes my face, her fingers are always so soft. If I were to lose her tomorrow, it is the thing I would always remember about her - how touch her fingers have always been against my cheek. Even when her hands were hardened and calloused from a life on the road, when her hands are dry and chapped from disinfectants and surgical cleansers, her touch on me is always so very gentle and soft.
Me: Marry me, Dana.
Her: (still stroking my cheeks) Mulder, you've asked me that at least once a year since our first kiss.
Me: And I'm still asking. It's romantic now, isn't it?
Her: Yes.
And she twirled that ring on her finger so the diamond was again facing up and I kissed her so thin fingers and cursed God for cursing her like this.
Her: Mulder ... Fox ...
(Yes, sometimes I let her call me Fox.)
Her: Don't you know?
Me: Know what?
Her: I've been married to you since I first walked into that basement office and you told me off in that sarcastic way of yours. You were the FBI's most unwanted. But from the moment we shook hands, I wanted you.
Me: ... sometimes. Sometimes I know this.
Her: Don't ever think it's because I don't want to be right here. It's because we're already married.
Me: But I can keep asking you, right?
Her: Please.
She kissed me then. She pressed her lips against me and she kissed me and I lost myself in everything about her. As I always do when she kisses me like she kissed me in that moment. She's asleep now and we have an early flight. The bags are packed. The dog is with her mother. There was an energy in her tonight I haven't seen in so long. We are waiting until we get home to have them do any more MRI's and CAT scans. This trip to Romania is just us. And I'll ask her again to marry me.