"What We've Become"
by Becca O.
You know the drill: All characters belong to FOX, CC and 1013 Productions. However, I've enjoyed playing with them immensely and just might have to do it again sometime. Any similarity to existing flickfic is purely coincidental and is certainly because everyone else saw the same things I did and read into them the same 'shippy thoughts.
It's over. Finally.
Or maybe it's just beginning, it's difficult to determine. It's been so long since I ... since we had this kind of breathing space, that the silences are awkward, conversations contrived.
And there are a hundred different scenarios hanging unspoken between us, needing only the proper words to set them back on their course.
Impending destruction tends to create an environment that is ripe for overreacting ... for cloying sentimentality and hasty words that can never be taken back.
But do we want to? Take them back, I mean. My gut instinct is that live or die situations bring out the base honesty in Mulder; that only when faced with certain death or destruction can he be honest with me. Maybe only then can he be honest with himself.
Amazing, isn't it? Just days ago we were out of work, displaced and at loose ends and now ... now we're a team again.
A team? Poor choice of words. Partners. *sigh* Another poor choice. Technically, I suppose that's what we are, but in light of all the recent events we'll never again be merely "partners".
Too much has happened for us to return to the way it was, and what we've become is an entirely new entity unto itself.
Mulder and I have always felt the spark of potential between us, but recently it damn near ignited a firestorm that would surely have been unstoppable.
"I need you" he'd said. "I'm nothing without you". The memory of the anguish behind this confession weighs on my heart still. God knows, I've seen Mulder at his worst ... drunk, bleeding, unconscious ... but the truth of his words cut right to my very soul.
I was leaving. I was LEAVING him. God, what could I have been thinking? He's become such a part of me that to leave would be tantamount to suicide. Desperation drives us in directions that we would otherwise never travel and that desperation very nearly drove me from his life.
And yet here he is, calmly waiting for me on a park bench, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks up to find me watching him.
My heart pounds and my stomach aches. With one look I'm reduced to quivering like a teenager on prom night. The unspoken reality of our feelings for each other is a dam about to burst and once breached, it can never be repaired. The flood will be all-consuming and I find myself wanting to ride the rapids and see where it leads.
In the five years we've been together, I've been the sensible one. No more. I need more than sensibility, I need... I need him.
Once more, the twisted "facts" have been noted on page 24 of a local paper; once more our names have been omitted and the truth buried.
Mulder is defeated. Now he has given up and wants me to do the same, but I can't. Not this time. I've seen enough and been through enough to seriously question all that has gone before, all that has brought us to this moment.
He stands before me, imploring me to get on with my life, leaving him and all we've worked for, behind.
"Mulder, I can't. I won't." Finally, he begins to see my determination; my sense of purpose. "If I quit now, they win."
We join hands as he stands before me and the longing on his face takes my breath away. I know he can sense my indecision, but I trust him with my life, my heart. With tenderness he brushes his fingers over the abrasions that still mar my face; the only physical reminders of what we've so recently been through. I wince involuntarily and he sweeps a gentle kiss over my brow.
"What now?" I ask, not knowing for certain what the reply will be. Knowing Mulder as I do, it could be flip and totally off-base or maybe, just maybe, he can find it within himself to once again be honest with me.
I can almost hear the thoughts turning themselves over in his mind before he gently sets me away and says "Pizza. And a beer."
"Pizza?" I reply. "You want pizza?"
"Sure, but only if you're buying."
Well, there's the old Mulder that I know so well and love anyway. The tension is broken (for the moment) and we set off arm in arm in search of sustenance.
There's something to be said for ordering in. No one cares that you eat from a box with your shoes off. You can sit on the floor, which most restaurants tend to frown on, and it's much less embarrassing when the cheese separates itself from your dinner and ends up hanging from your chin.
We have spent the majority of the evening lost in our own thoughts, wondering exactly where the evening will end. Do we talk about what very nearly happened in his hallway just a short week ago? Or by airing our thoughts, will it destroy the precious memories we secretly harbor? Maybe, just maybe if we say the right words we can capture the moment again.
But that's certainly not me. The old Dana would never try to recapture the past, yet Mulder has spent his entire life chasing the past, trying to capture a moment that has forever been lost to him.
I think it's time he has at least a small victory in that regard. I'm not kidding myself, this is as much for me as for him, but my rational side still seems to need an excuse.
We have been side by side in companionable silence for hours, old movies playing themselves to their completion on my television, when I take the first tentative step.
"Mulder?" I ask softly.
He suddenly seems to return to the present from whatever far-off place his thoughts had carried him, and seems genuinely surprised that I am tucked against his side, my knees drawn up to my chest with his arm about me.
"Where did you go? You've been awfully quiet for someone who usually trashes my choice of video material." I smile, remembering the good-natured bickering that preceded this evening's entertainment.
He turns to me to reply, his face so close to mine that I feel the warmth of his breath. "Are you sure you want to know?" Oh God, a serious answer.
"Where were you?" I ask once more, knowing full well that the chain of events to follow is now in motion, for better or worse.
"I was home again. In the hall outside my apartment, watching you leave me for a so-called 'normal' life."
Where I expected to hear bitterness, there was none. Instead there is a sadness that is tinged with something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on.
"Tell me something Scully. If things had been different, if I had kissed you without that goddamn bee interfering, would you have still gone?"
There it was. Leave it to Mulder to lay it all on the line, no punches pulled.
This was the very same question I had wrestled with practically since regaining consciousness on the icy floor of the Antarctic. And I still have no concrete answer.
"That all depends, I suppose." At his questioning look, I try to make sense of my own questions before replying.
"I didn't do it to use you, Scully. To bribe you into staying."
God in heaven, he knows me too well. "Then why...?"
"Why? You don't need to ask that, Scully. You know why now and you've known why for a long time. It was inevitable, and it was right. You were prepared to walk out on me. On *us* and I couldn't let you do that without knowing exactly what I'd be missing."
Suddenly my vision is misty and my throat is raw. "And did you get your answer?"
"No. Not completely."
My breath catches as his hand wraps behind my neck and his mouth slowly descends to brush mine in an echo of our first almost-kiss. His mouth is warm on mine and is perfect in its sweetness. The feel of his arms pressing me tight against his chest surpasses any late night fantasy I have ever had.
As my arms steal around his neck, we whimper in tandem, our lips parting as we taste deeply of each other for the first time. Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind it occurs to me that this is the first time in a very long time that I have been with a man. It seems only fitting that it should be this man. We have been so much to each other for so long, it's time we see this through to its logical conclusion.
Logical. Leave it to me to think logically as I lie in Mulder's arms, his mouth ravaging mine, his hands... oh God, what his hands are doing to me.
He has turned me and I lie across his lap, his hands stealing beneath my t-shirt to caress my back. His fingers soon discover no bra to impede their progress and Mulder shudders against me. One strong hand captures my breast and squeezes gently, thumb brushing over the nipple, and now it is my turn to shiver.
I moan softly against his mouth and his erection nudges insistently against my back. Mulder rocks his hips against me in a prelude of what will be and our tongues tangle in imitation.
In one fluid motion I rise to my knees, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. I'm gratified to watch as his eyes devour me and a fine sheen of sweat breaks forth on his brow.
Straddling his hips, I lean forward to kiss him once more, and it is erotic beyond measure to be making love to a fully clothed man. His jacket and tie were flung haphazardly over a chair hours ago, but his carefully starched shirt still remains in place. The only concession to comfort is the fact that the sleeves are rolled up in a GQ kind of way.
Mulder's hands roam hypnotically over my back, once in a while sneaking forward to brush my nipples with the backs of his fingers. And God this feels good, so wonderful, so right.
I've become impatient with his shirt buttons and he rises, setting me off his lap and baring himself to the waist. Embracing once again, the warmth of his skin against mine is incredible. Stretching out on the couch, we hold each other for a long time, calming the storm and allowing the urgency of the moment to cool.
And then he's kissing me again; soft, slow kisses that leave a trail of moist fire down my neck to the hollow of my throat. "Ohhhh..." There's no holding back the sigh of pleasure that escapes me as his lips fasten lightly onto my breast, his tongue drawing circles around the pebbled tip. I feel an answering rush of moisture between my thighs and cannot stop my hips from rising of their own accord to press against him.
Mulder mumbles something against my skin, whether encouragement or admonition, I cannot discern and suddenly I find my lower garments removed and tossed aside and his hand closes on my buttocks to hold me closer.
"Ah, God, Scully, this is crazy." It occurs to me that this is probably the most accurate thing I have heard Mulder say in all the years I've know him, but I have no intention of stopping him. All rational thought flees as his mouth moves lower and lower, his nose grazing the soft curls at my thighs, yet maddeningly stopping short of their destination.
I feel his hands part my thighs and heat radiates from him as he traces a line of heat with his tongue; slowly up one thigh ... slowly down the other. My body is crying out for release and his hands caress my abdomen, stroking me into calmness much as a trainer calms a frightened throrobred.
"Please..." I whisper raggedly, all dignity gone in the heat of passion.
"Not yet." The answer comes softly, reassuringly, and once more the madness begins. I shudder as his fingers find my nipples and a sob escapes me as a single tear falls.
I glance down to find him studying me, his cheek resting against my thigh. The expression of adoration in his eyes takes my breath away and with a quick look of reassurance he bends his head to me in the ultimate kiss. I quake in his arms as his mouth performs wonders on my sensitive flesh, his tongue stroking the delicate folds of my sex. Holding his head against me, I feel his teeth close gently around my clit and tug softly to and fro, sending waves of pleasure through my entire being.
"Mulder.." A strangled cry as the heat builds in intensity. "Oh, Mulder, now ... now ..." And my world shatters into brilliant fragments of light as my climax rips through me and my thighs close about his head.
I barely have time to recover when he's over me, his erection pressing against me through his suit pants. It's not enough. I need to feel him, I need more. Five years of pseudo foreplay is more than I can bear.
Pushing him off and over onto his back, I make short work of undressing him. His erection is freed to my sight and my arousal makes me bolder than I've ever been. A strangled cry rends the night as I lean forward and take him into my mouth. Admittedly, it's never been my favorite part of lovemaking, but tonight it just seems right. That I can give this incredible feeling back to him, well, it's what I want, too.
He feels so silky in my mouth, a wonderful contradiction of softness and steel. I'm having the most wonderful fantasies of how he'll feel inside me when we finally connect, and his hands are tangled in my hair, moving with me in encouragement.
His penis throbs in my mouth and I can feel him tensing in concentration.
"Scully ... no ... move up ... please..."
Regretfully, I move away. Mulder lifts me up and over him, and I take him in my hand to guide him into my body. Slowly, so very slowly, I lower myself onto him, connecting to the very heart of our souls.
"Oh, Mulder." I sigh contentedly.
I open my eyes just long enough to see the devilish glint in his eyes. Raising myself almost completely away, I squeeze him with my inner muscles and am gratified to see that look completely erased and replaced with a much less dignified face. We rock together in delicious harmony until the storm threatens to overtake us once more. Never breaking contact, Mulder rolls me beneath him and we begin the dance in earnest.
The intensity is building yet again, and the only sounds are that of our labored breathing and our hips meeting in a steady rhythm. Mulder tenses and I know it will be over soon. Too soon.
*Oh please, not yet, more... just a little more...*
Oh God, he's psychic, too. My unspoken desires have somehow reached him, and he presses a hand between us, firmly massaging the hooded knot of flesh that rests where our bodies meet.
"Ah ... ahh... ah yesss..."
Oh my ... I feel him in me and around me and in my thoughts....
"Scully, open your eyes."
"Mulder--" his name is torn from me in a gasp of near completion. It takes every ounce of concentration I have to make my eyes focus on his.
"Scully," he whispers raggedly, "look at me. I want to see your face as you come."
The import of his words along with the strength of his body pushes me to the edge and beyond.
"That's it, let go. Come for me."
Calling his name like a prayer, I shatter in his arms and am vaguely aware that he is holding back. He slows his thrusts as my body grips his in ever-slowing waves of release.
Mulder smoothes the damp waves from my brow, kissing me softly.
There is nothing adequate to say at a time like this, so I content myself to press my hips to his. His moan of pleasure is all the reward I need and his eyes close in concentration.
"Mulder, look at me."
A dazed Mulder tries unsuccessfully to focus his eyes, his lower body pushing me deep into the mattress. Oh, he feels so good inside me and even again the tension begins to coil in the pit of my belly.
"Do it, Mulder. Let it go." His fingers tangle in my hair and his entire body goes rigid with the force of his climax. His penis pulsates within me, spilling his seed in my body and onto my crisp, starched sheets.
His mouth fastens onto mine, and the possessive forcefulness of his kiss sends me spinning out of control yet again.
I think we sleep, and I'm awakened by a pitiful plea.
"Scully, wake up. Scully?"
"Scully, I need a doctor."
"Why? What's wrong?" I can tell from his tone that he's not in immediate danger, so I pointedly avoid rousing from my sated stupor.
"It's broken, Scully. I think we broke it."
"It's not broken, Mulder. Trust me, I'm a doctor and it's not broken."
"You sure? Maybe you need to examine me just to be certain."
Laughing softly, I pillow my head on his chest and pat him reassuringly. "Rest, Mulder. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Promise?" He slurs his answer sleepily and I know for certain that I could never have left him. What we've become is what was destined to be.
FINI July 8, 1998
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