Time is the Fire in Which We Burn
Title: Time is the Fire in Which We Burn
Author: LiLx (a_is4Addiction)
Rating: NC-17 for sad times sex
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
My xf_santa gift for pukajen! I'm sorry it's so egregiously late. For you, I wrote my first ever sex scene. :) I tried to get a glimmer of hope in there.
Many, many heartfelt thanks to memories_child and namarie24 for beta work. You guys are awesome, and so encouraging. The title of this story is lifted from Delmore Schwartz' poem, Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day. It's also quoted in Star Trek: Generations, which is where I heard it first and promptly fell in love with it.
Set post-The Truth.
Mulder: There has to be an end.(7x22, Requiem)
Scully returns at midnight, later than she'd planned. When they started out on this journey, or whatever they're calling it now, they agreed that if they split up during the day, they would each return by dusk, and she's now broken that agreement by several hours. Once, during the first few weeks out of Roswell, Mulder had ventured away from their motel room to find a newspaper while she was asleep on the thin mattress. She'd woken to a room empty of Mulder and filled with suffocating panic. Her mind had run down every horror she could imagine- Mulder taken down by the FBI, murdered by bounty hunters, or just gone, having decided to leave her behind for her own safety. When he had returned, after what seemed like eons but were actually a mere 6 minutes, Scully had given him hell. When her fist made a hard connection with his zygomatic bone, she'd shocked even herself.
They didn't speak for several days after.
Now, months later, she worries about his reaction to her arrival, what he'll say when she walks through the door. If he reacts how she did that night, it definitely won't be pleasant. For a moment she allows herself to think that he could be sleeping, or maybe he isn't there at all, and she'll have more time to think. But even before she opens the door, she knows she's dead wrong.
Scully tries to be quiet coming in, but the latch betrays her silence, its click seeming to echo in the dark. Thin beams of light make their way through the curtains in the window, giving the room a sickly tint, and she sees Mulder. Of course he's waiting in the crappy hotel room chair; he's probably been sitting there since she left to call her mother this afternoon, just watching, waiting for her to come back. The thought is unexpectedly saddening, that he has nothing else better to do without her there. Yet she's not entirely surprised.
Somehow she's known from the beginning that he needed her, that his love is a desperate and beautiful thing, coming to her like a wild animal seeking refuge from those who hunted him. She knew when she came to him during the Bellefleur case in nothing but her underwear, terrified beyond belief, and he told her about Samantha, that in some twisted, fucked-up way he needed her that night as much or more than she needed him. She knew then that she would never get away, even if she ever thought she wanted to. Pitiful in its co-dependency, frightening in its dark depths, but astounding in its devotion. She's found she can drown in him. Go down to explore and forget to come back up for air. And she's always felt strangely comfortable with that, until tonight, because the news she has to bear isn't going to make things any better for the two of them.
But before she can ask him why he's just sitting alone in the dark, he bolts up out of the chair and makes his way toward her. "Where were you?"
Suddenly she's more nervous than she was before, and once Mulder backs her up against the door she can see how dark his eyes have become, perhaps even darker than that day in Quonochontaug when he almost killed them both. He grips her forearms and she can feel his thumping pulse through his thumbs, pounding in time with her heart. She wonders what he's going to do, now that he has the upper hand. Mulder has never been known for being predictable.
Mulder shakes her once, harshly, leaving her disoriented. He did it because of his fear, that has to be it, much like her panic manifesting itself as a right hook to the cheekbone. She starts to stumble forward but he holds her back up.
"Where were you?" His face is so close to hers that she can smell the aftershave on his skin, feel his shallow, ragged breaths on the tip of her nose. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she likes the anxiety that comes with not knowing what he's going to do to her. "Don't you know you could have been kidnapped, or killed? What would I have done then?"
She can't answer his questions, not now, because even in anger his closeness is intoxicating. She has the sudden urge to fuck him until he can't remember why he's angry, until they're back in his bedroom in Alexandria, until she can close her eyes and forget that they ever had to run away from anything.
Mulder's grip on her tightens and she knows that somehow he's already sensed everything she's thinking. Hell, maybe he thought it first and passed it on to her. He swallows hard and mutters, "God damnit, Scully."
She kisses him then, hard, biting down on his lip until she's sure there will be a bruise. For a few seconds, he just stands there, letting her do this to him. She nips at his dormant tongue with her teeth and then he comes to life, responds with a groan, his hands coming up to brace himself as he pushes his hips into her, pinning her against the door. When she tries to push back, he growls low in his throat and lifts her up as her legs wrap around him involuntarily. Maybe she won't be the one in control tonight.
Mulder finds her neck with his mouth and god, it feels too perfect. She needs him now, maybe more than she ever has. He turns and carries her to the bed, where he lays her down almost too gently.
"No," she whispers fervently, her hands flying to the hem of his t-shirt. He stills momentarily and allows her to work before his own fingers grasp clumsily at the buttons on her blouse. Their lips clash again and she feels his tongue poking and probing at her back teeth. Scully brings one palm up to the back of his neck, roughly massaging his tense muscles as she works his zipper, and once he's free she squeezes as hard as she can, feeling his need for her as desire sparks between them. Mulder moans against her mouth, pressing as close to her as he possibly can. His hands move over her body with the finesse of someone who's done this so many times before and she realizes that he's found her weak spot as well. She starts to sit up, to fully remove her shirt, but this time it's his turn to object.
"Don't."
When he pushes Scully back down to the bed, flat on her back, she takes him with her. His body comes down to meet hers with little finesse, and it takes him less than a second to slip inside of her.
They move together quickly, desperately, and when passing headlights illuminate the room she can see the wetness on his cheeks. She's oh so close already, and so is he, and she pulls him deeper into her until there is no telling where her body begins and his ends. He's panting in her ear now, and when he latches on to her earlobe she has to clench her eyes shut because she's coming hard, and then he's coming, and her heart's almost beating out of her chest with excitement and dread.
He stays inside of her for a few long moments, and she feels more than literally empty when he rolls away. Mulder sticks to his side of the bed, facing the window, and she knows he's waiting for her, always waiting, to tell him what she wasn't able to a few minutes ago.
Scully exhales slowly as her breathing returns to normal. Mulder's back to her gives her precious time to think again, and she lets herself imagine what she would do if given the chance to take the last several months back. Before, the thought would never have crossed her mind, but after the phone call today, that's all changed.
Her mother would hug her again, and maybe after all this time she will have forgiven her daughter for everything she's done. They'd sit down for coffee and Scully would explain herself and her decisions and her mother would hold her hand and say It's alright, I understand.
She can picture the halls of the Hoover building, inviting, providing a security that she can't provide herself. She could work with the FBI again, without having to watch her back. Skinner would tell her You did what you had to do in your situation. Agents Doggett and Reyes would certainly appreciate her help. She could solve cases, or go back to teaching at Quantico, or more importantly, do her best to keep them from getting to Mulder.
Mulder. As the years have passed, they've reached the point where they are no longer individuals, and each one is nothing but part of the other. Maybe it happened long ago, at Bellefluer or Skyland Mountain or in one of thousands of nameless hotels, and she's lost a part of herself that she can't realize is gone. No matter how she tries to convince herself otherwise, it is always about him.
Her mother vanishes. Skinner turns and walks away. And Mulder still lies on the other side of the bed.
Against her better judgment she moves closer, pressing herself against him from behind. Her hand finds his in the dark, twining their fingers together. And then she says what she has to, because it's what she's feeling and there's no other way to start this conversation.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."
He doesn't move, doesn't turn to face her, and she has a feeling it's better that way. She can almost hear him thinking of what he should say, how he's going to start his argument. But she's not going to let him, not this time.
"Scully-"
"Skinner contacted me." The words come out more shaky than she expected, and she hopes to hell that she doesn't start crying.
He stops, his fingers twitching around hers. Several seconds of silence, and then, "When?"
"After I got off the phone with my mom. He said, um..." Her voice cracks and she shudders even though the sticky heat is keeping her warm.
He still hasn't turned to face her, although he brings his other hand up to hold on to hers. He squeezes her fingers rhythmically, and she feels herself begin to calm.
"He said it's safe for me to come back."
Mulder swallows hard. "And what about me?"
"That's just it, Mulder," she says in a low voice. "He can't say for sure."
Mulder keeps mysteriously quiet, and she babbles on.
"I was thinking about what I should do. That's why I didn't come back when it got dark. We've been doing this for too long, Mulder. I mean, I see people, normal people, living their lives while we do this. I want to be with you, but we can't do this anymore. I want us to be okay..."
Before he can interject, she continues, "Just tell me you don't want me to go back without you." It's not a command, but a plea. Right now, she just wants to hear something. Whether it's go or stay, she isn't sure.
Scully waits in silence so that if Mulder wants to get a word in, he can go right ahead. For long minutes he breathes, slow and controlled until she thinks he's not going to answer her. When he does speak, his voice is so small that she might have imagined the words I need you.
Years ago, he would have told her to leave without even taking another breath. In Bellefleur, he'd said to her there has to be an end. But they're not in Bellefleur and she's not pregnant and it's now, not then. They've been through too much to think that way now, and without the mask of the FBI they're just two people whose paths are too twisted together to ever separate. She's always known that he needed her. She didn't count on so desperately needing him in return. She'll do whatever she can, no, whatever it takes not to go back alone. Tomorrow will be just another day.
She holds him tightly, and waits for the sun to come up.
End
Author: LiLx (a_is4Addiction)
Rating: NC-17 for sad times sex
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
My xf_santa gift for pukajen! I'm sorry it's so egregiously late. For you, I wrote my first ever sex scene. :) I tried to get a glimmer of hope in there.
Many, many heartfelt thanks to memories_child and namarie24 for beta work. You guys are awesome, and so encouraging. The title of this story is lifted from Delmore Schwartz' poem, Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day. It's also quoted in Star Trek: Generations, which is where I heard it first and promptly fell in love with it.
Set post-The Truth.
Mulder: There has to be an end.(7x22, Requiem)
Scully returns at midnight, later than she'd planned. When they started out on this journey, or whatever they're calling it now, they agreed that if they split up during the day, they would each return by dusk, and she's now broken that agreement by several hours. Once, during the first few weeks out of Roswell, Mulder had ventured away from their motel room to find a newspaper while she was asleep on the thin mattress. She'd woken to a room empty of Mulder and filled with suffocating panic. Her mind had run down every horror she could imagine- Mulder taken down by the FBI, murdered by bounty hunters, or just gone, having decided to leave her behind for her own safety. When he had returned, after what seemed like eons but were actually a mere 6 minutes, Scully had given him hell. When her fist made a hard connection with his zygomatic bone, she'd shocked even herself.
They didn't speak for several days after.
Now, months later, she worries about his reaction to her arrival, what he'll say when she walks through the door. If he reacts how she did that night, it definitely won't be pleasant. For a moment she allows herself to think that he could be sleeping, or maybe he isn't there at all, and she'll have more time to think. But even before she opens the door, she knows she's dead wrong.
Scully tries to be quiet coming in, but the latch betrays her silence, its click seeming to echo in the dark. Thin beams of light make their way through the curtains in the window, giving the room a sickly tint, and she sees Mulder. Of course he's waiting in the crappy hotel room chair; he's probably been sitting there since she left to call her mother this afternoon, just watching, waiting for her to come back. The thought is unexpectedly saddening, that he has nothing else better to do without her there. Yet she's not entirely surprised.
Somehow she's known from the beginning that he needed her, that his love is a desperate and beautiful thing, coming to her like a wild animal seeking refuge from those who hunted him. She knew when she came to him during the Bellefleur case in nothing but her underwear, terrified beyond belief, and he told her about Samantha, that in some twisted, fucked-up way he needed her that night as much or more than she needed him. She knew then that she would never get away, even if she ever thought she wanted to. Pitiful in its co-dependency, frightening in its dark depths, but astounding in its devotion. She's found she can drown in him. Go down to explore and forget to come back up for air. And she's always felt strangely comfortable with that, until tonight, because the news she has to bear isn't going to make things any better for the two of them.
But before she can ask him why he's just sitting alone in the dark, he bolts up out of the chair and makes his way toward her. "Where were you?"
Suddenly she's more nervous than she was before, and once Mulder backs her up against the door she can see how dark his eyes have become, perhaps even darker than that day in Quonochontaug when he almost killed them both. He grips her forearms and she can feel his thumping pulse through his thumbs, pounding in time with her heart. She wonders what he's going to do, now that he has the upper hand. Mulder has never been known for being predictable.
Mulder shakes her once, harshly, leaving her disoriented. He did it because of his fear, that has to be it, much like her panic manifesting itself as a right hook to the cheekbone. She starts to stumble forward but he holds her back up.
"Where were you?" His face is so close to hers that she can smell the aftershave on his skin, feel his shallow, ragged breaths on the tip of her nose. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she likes the anxiety that comes with not knowing what he's going to do to her. "Don't you know you could have been kidnapped, or killed? What would I have done then?"
She can't answer his questions, not now, because even in anger his closeness is intoxicating. She has the sudden urge to fuck him until he can't remember why he's angry, until they're back in his bedroom in Alexandria, until she can close her eyes and forget that they ever had to run away from anything.
Mulder's grip on her tightens and she knows that somehow he's already sensed everything she's thinking. Hell, maybe he thought it first and passed it on to her. He swallows hard and mutters, "God damnit, Scully."
She kisses him then, hard, biting down on his lip until she's sure there will be a bruise. For a few seconds, he just stands there, letting her do this to him. She nips at his dormant tongue with her teeth and then he comes to life, responds with a groan, his hands coming up to brace himself as he pushes his hips into her, pinning her against the door. When she tries to push back, he growls low in his throat and lifts her up as her legs wrap around him involuntarily. Maybe she won't be the one in control tonight.
Mulder finds her neck with his mouth and god, it feels too perfect. She needs him now, maybe more than she ever has. He turns and carries her to the bed, where he lays her down almost too gently.
"No," she whispers fervently, her hands flying to the hem of his t-shirt. He stills momentarily and allows her to work before his own fingers grasp clumsily at the buttons on her blouse. Their lips clash again and she feels his tongue poking and probing at her back teeth. Scully brings one palm up to the back of his neck, roughly massaging his tense muscles as she works his zipper, and once he's free she squeezes as hard as she can, feeling his need for her as desire sparks between them. Mulder moans against her mouth, pressing as close to her as he possibly can. His hands move over her body with the finesse of someone who's done this so many times before and she realizes that he's found her weak spot as well. She starts to sit up, to fully remove her shirt, but this time it's his turn to object.
"Don't."
When he pushes Scully back down to the bed, flat on her back, she takes him with her. His body comes down to meet hers with little finesse, and it takes him less than a second to slip inside of her.
They move together quickly, desperately, and when passing headlights illuminate the room she can see the wetness on his cheeks. She's oh so close already, and so is he, and she pulls him deeper into her until there is no telling where her body begins and his ends. He's panting in her ear now, and when he latches on to her earlobe she has to clench her eyes shut because she's coming hard, and then he's coming, and her heart's almost beating out of her chest with excitement and dread.
He stays inside of her for a few long moments, and she feels more than literally empty when he rolls away. Mulder sticks to his side of the bed, facing the window, and she knows he's waiting for her, always waiting, to tell him what she wasn't able to a few minutes ago.
Scully exhales slowly as her breathing returns to normal. Mulder's back to her gives her precious time to think again, and she lets herself imagine what she would do if given the chance to take the last several months back. Before, the thought would never have crossed her mind, but after the phone call today, that's all changed.
Her mother would hug her again, and maybe after all this time she will have forgiven her daughter for everything she's done. They'd sit down for coffee and Scully would explain herself and her decisions and her mother would hold her hand and say It's alright, I understand.
She can picture the halls of the Hoover building, inviting, providing a security that she can't provide herself. She could work with the FBI again, without having to watch her back. Skinner would tell her You did what you had to do in your situation. Agents Doggett and Reyes would certainly appreciate her help. She could solve cases, or go back to teaching at Quantico, or more importantly, do her best to keep them from getting to Mulder.
Mulder. As the years have passed, they've reached the point where they are no longer individuals, and each one is nothing but part of the other. Maybe it happened long ago, at Bellefluer or Skyland Mountain or in one of thousands of nameless hotels, and she's lost a part of herself that she can't realize is gone. No matter how she tries to convince herself otherwise, it is always about him.
Her mother vanishes. Skinner turns and walks away. And Mulder still lies on the other side of the bed.
Against her better judgment she moves closer, pressing herself against him from behind. Her hand finds his in the dark, twining their fingers together. And then she says what she has to, because it's what she's feeling and there's no other way to start this conversation.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."
He doesn't move, doesn't turn to face her, and she has a feeling it's better that way. She can almost hear him thinking of what he should say, how he's going to start his argument. But she's not going to let him, not this time.
"Scully-"
"Skinner contacted me." The words come out more shaky than she expected, and she hopes to hell that she doesn't start crying.
He stops, his fingers twitching around hers. Several seconds of silence, and then, "When?"
"After I got off the phone with my mom. He said, um..." Her voice cracks and she shudders even though the sticky heat is keeping her warm.
He still hasn't turned to face her, although he brings his other hand up to hold on to hers. He squeezes her fingers rhythmically, and she feels herself begin to calm.
"He said it's safe for me to come back."
Mulder swallows hard. "And what about me?"
"That's just it, Mulder," she says in a low voice. "He can't say for sure."
Mulder keeps mysteriously quiet, and she babbles on.
"I was thinking about what I should do. That's why I didn't come back when it got dark. We've been doing this for too long, Mulder. I mean, I see people, normal people, living their lives while we do this. I want to be with you, but we can't do this anymore. I want us to be okay..."
Before he can interject, she continues, "Just tell me you don't want me to go back without you." It's not a command, but a plea. Right now, she just wants to hear something. Whether it's go or stay, she isn't sure.
Scully waits in silence so that if Mulder wants to get a word in, he can go right ahead. For long minutes he breathes, slow and controlled until she thinks he's not going to answer her. When he does speak, his voice is so small that she might have imagined the words I need you.
Years ago, he would have told her to leave without even taking another breath. In Bellefleur, he'd said to her there has to be an end. But they're not in Bellefleur and she's not pregnant and it's now, not then. They've been through too much to think that way now, and without the mask of the FBI they're just two people whose paths are too twisted together to ever separate. She's always known that he needed her. She didn't count on so desperately needing him in return. She'll do whatever she can, no, whatever it takes not to go back alone. Tomorrow will be just another day.
She holds him tightly, and waits for the sun to come up.
End