two lines to make it fit
for my favorite male fibbie. :) And if I never thought I’d write
a Songfic, I certainly never though I’d write a sequel to a
Songfic in a million, kabillion years but here it is. Let me
know what you think!
This is a sequel to ‘Untouchable Face’ (but it does stand on its
own) and it’s dedicated to: Caroline, Susan, Renee, Shanna,
Toniann, Mina, Michele, Kelleigh, Caity, Heather, Steven, Julia
and Lili. I love you guys! Thanks. :)
Cheers,
Sarah
****************
(Cradling the softest, warmest part of you in my hand.)
(Feels like a little baby bird fallen from the nest.)
March had blown swiftly into D.C. and been unexpectedly cold to
boot. But that didn’t really concern Fox Mulder, warm as he was
in his apartment while March rattled his windows, trying futilely
to break in. Trappings of himself were spread out around him in
ever increasing fans--file folders, papers, photos, field notes.
Come hell or high water, he was going to get some paperwork
accomplished tonight.
*Won’t Scully be surprised?* His lips curved a little at the
thought. It was a peace offering, the most he’d ever give her.
Ostentatious declarations weren’t really his speed.
Amends needed to be made though, Mulder was the first to admit
that, if only to himself. Something had gone horribly awry in
Arcadia. He had to smile at that--master of understatement. In
his haste to achieve more of a rapport with Scully something had
been lost. Though they had been physically close, their emotions
had been forgotten in the shuffle.
*She could have at least kissed me,* he observed silently,
feeling a bubble of anger rise out of his stomach. Her perfect
lips hadn’t even neared him, as if she suddenly found him
repellent.
(I think that your body is something I understand,)
(I think that I'm happy, I think that I'm blessed.)
What was so different in the hand he normally kept at the small
of her back? She could accept that but he had felt her body
stiffen every single time he--or rather, Rob Petrie--had put his
arm around Laura Petrie. If he closed his eyes and concentrated,
he could still feel her shoulders harden and certainly feel the
stabbing, ripping sensation it had produced in the vicinity of
his heart.
Mulder sighed. He had been so *sure* that she loved him. After
all, he was the only man in her life; just as she was the only
woman for him. And he smiled at this, pain behind the expression
because that had been his fault and he’d been wrong about
everything.
They were both changed by being husband and wife. Mulder wasn’t
sure they’d ever get back to where they’d been before. That was
all he really wanted now.
Well, *almost* all. But Scully had made her feelings
blisteringly clear. Mulder pulled a face and continued shuffling
through the file in his hand. There was a knock at the door, a
silence and then a repeated banging.
Mulder climbed to his feet, his stiff knees complaining all the
way. The file he’d been holding went sliding to the floor,
spilling its contents everywhere.
*Dammit.*
(I've got a lack of inhibition.)
(I've got a loss of perspective.)
The knocking became louder and more insistent.
“Dammit, I’m coming!” he yelled, his voice scratchy. He pulled
open the door and found himself facing the last person he’d
expected.
“Fox.”
“Diana.”
“Can I come in?”
“What? Uh, sure. It’s kind of a mess now...”
Diana laughed and he realized with a sort of nostalgic ache how
much he’d missed her laugh. It was light and infectious and
warm. It seemed to spread through him and intoxicated him like
spiced wine on a cold day.
And it was most definitely a very cold day.
“When is it ever *not* a mess, Fox?” she asked with delicate
mockery.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand, feeling
suddenly ashamed. “Well, you know, jet-setting men like me, we
can’t be bothered with details.”
Diana’s eyes twinkled. “That and it’s the maid’s day off,
right?”
He felt an answering smile spread across his face and immediately
felt guilty for it. He had no right to feel anything for Diana,
she was his past. He gazed at her critically.
But he had to admit that the past had never looked quite so good.
Her cheeks were flushed with cold and exertion--perhaps she had
taken the stairs instead of the elevator? Her eyes were bright
and her hair was a little mussed.
“Why are you here, Diana?” he asked suddenly. Fact was, she
wasn’t to be trusted. Scully had been right. And yet their
history together was difficult to ignore--she had always been
square with *him*.
“Oh, no reason really. I was just kickin’ around.” She held up
a bottle of white wine. It glinted amber in the dimness of his
apartment. “I thought we could talk about old times.”
(I've had a little bit to drink and it's making me think that)
(I can jump ship and swim that the ocean will hold me,)
(That there's got to be more than this boat I'm in.)
“Have a seat.” He indicated his well-loved leather couch.
“Thanks.” She sat, judiciously avoiding the broken spring that
threatened to pop through the leather covering at any moment.
“I’ll get us some glasses.” All that were clean were two old
juice glasses: a Wonder Woman and a Batman. “Which do you want?”
he asked her, holding the glasses up for her inspection.
She laughed again. “Do you remember when we got these?” After a
moment of thoughtful consideration, she chose the Wonder Woman
glass. “Dark, disturbed heroes were always more your style,” she
said by way of explanation.
“They were our wedding set, weren’t they?” he teased, feeling the
guilt about Scully begin to lift and a warm, familiar
comfortableness set in. It wasn’t as if he and Scully were
really married. She had made her feelings clear enough.
“Oh no,” Diana replied lightly, “*my* wedding set came from Lord
and Taylor.” She stopped long enough to locate a corkscrew
underneath the piles of magazines and week old Washington Posts
that adorned Mulder’s coffee table. “It was made of genuine
Austrian crystal.” With a skill that still amazed him, she held
the bottle between her knees, deftly removed the cork and poured
them each a generous glass of wine. Diana held up her glass.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” he echoed. The glasses clinked together, the sound
ringing hollowly in Mulder’s ears.
Mulder drained his glass quickly and Diana poured him another
one. They were sitting on opposite sides of the sofa, the broken
spring standing sentry between them.
“So,” Diana said lazily, her fingers tracing intricate patterns
on the back of his couch, “your partner doesn’t seem to like me
very much.”
“Scully?” Mulder was surprised. “She...ah...she’s a complicated
person.”
“She hates me,” Diana said, letting her right hand fall limply
onto the couch cushion with a smacking plop. “It’s okay, you can
say it.” She smiled encouragingly at him.
“She hates you,” Mulder agreed.
“Why?” Diana’s eyes lit up. “Are you two...?”
“No,” he answered forcefully. “No,” he added quietly, with a
hint of wistfulness. The significance wasn’t lost on Diana.
She forged ahead. “It must be hard, working with someone who
makes you fight for everything.”
“Sometimes,” Mulder answered carefully, the wistfulness still in
his voice.
“It must be horrible to be tied to someone like that,” she
continued.
“Sometimes,” he said without thinking.
*What the hell am I saying? Where did that come from?*
Scully didn’t imprison him, did she? Of course not.
This wasn’t right...hell, it wasn’t even all that sane. Mulder
realized that he had downed two thirds of the bottle before
remembering that he truly hated white wine.
('Cause they can call me crazy if I fail.)
(All the chance that I need is one-in-a-million,)
(And they can call me brilliant if I succeed.)
Before he knew what was happening, Diana’s lips were on his and
he was returning the gesture. Her mouth was soft and passionate.
Still familiar after all these years but strange in the same
instant. He had kissed Scully so many times: in dreams,
fantasies, thoughts. Every time he touched her it was like a
kiss to him. Every time she touched him it was wild, passionate
sex.
And when they touched each other. Well. That was like building
universes. That was cosmic.
Yet here he was, trying to escape by kissing Diana and her
foreign mouth. Maybe he could bury himself in her like an
ostrich with its head in the sand until the danger passed; like a
caterpillar into its cocoon. By the time the butterfly emerged,
Scully would have forgotten that she ever knew anyone named Rob
Petrie. Diana’s hands were at his waistband, frantically pulling
his shirt out of his jeans and he was responding to her as if
nine years hadn’t passed.
Somehow they got to the bedroom without incident. They tumbled
downwards, the waterbed waving around them with a rhythmic
schlooping sound. Mulder started counting time, knowing that
this was a mistake that had to be carried to its inexorable
conclusion.
(Gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound.)
(I'm just going to get my feet wet until I drown.)
Mulder settled into a pattern. They had always been somewhat
formulaic in their lovemaking, he and Diana. Ten beats of
kissing and then a dip of the tongue which made her shiver for
two beats. Twenty more beats and then he ran one hand through
her hair while the other one worked at the buttons on her blouse.
Over the slapping water, Mulder heard something else. Something
unexpected. A crying sort of sigh that hit him like a bucket of
cold water. It was a Scully noise. Mulder struggled to raise
himself only to find that Diana was twined to him as tightly as a
creeper on a tree trunk.
(And I teeter between tired and really,)
(Really tired and I'm wiped out and wired,)
“Did you hear something?” he asked when he’d finally managed to
extricate himself from her grasp.
Diana looked around quickly and then back at Mulder. “I don’t
think so.”
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn I heard *something*.” He looked
at her and something came clear to him. The light in her eyes
that he’d taken for merriment was greed. The banter he shared
with her, the things that he’d found so delightful in her,
everything about her was *wrong*.
*She’s not Scully.*
(But I guess it's just as well.)
(Because I built my own empire out of car tires and)
(Chicken wire.)
Diana had abandoned him before things had gotten really hard.
She was the past when everything had seemed so cut and dry. But
that was a fallacy too. His life with Diana had been full of
petty snipes and trivial arguments even as it had been filled
with the splendid ordinariness of married life. Mulder could
never regain that past, even if he’d truly wanted to. He’d seen
too much.
He suddenly felt uneasy sharing the same room with her. He was
stifling, drowning in his own history. Scully had been in his
apartment he knew, her presence lingered in the air like smoke on
a cool autumn night.
(And I've got a lack of information,)
(But I got a little revelation,)
He drove, following her for hours, nearly content in knowing that
she was contained--like a pearl in an oyster--in the hulking
shape of the car in front of him. She never once realized that
he was following her. Perhaps it didn’t occur to her that anyone
would bother. This thought brought tears to his eyes, which was
foolish because it only blurred his vision and made following her
that much harder. He wiped his eyes. There would be time for
tears once he found her.
(And I'm climbing up on the railing trying not to look down.)
(I'm going to do my best swan dive in the shark-infested waters.)
He barely remembered finding her room, or the knowing smile the
desk clerk gave him. The lights were off when he arrived and he
stumbled over the cheap motel chair on his blind man’s quest to
reach her. He could feel the heat radiating off her body before
he touched her and it scared him.
Frantically, he groped for the ice bucket, cool water and a
washcloth. He dipped the washcloth in the water, wrung it out
and smoothed it over her burning face. She shifted a little and
murmured softly. Mulder managed to pull the sheets out from
under her fevered body and he tucked them around her with a
tenderness that surprised even him.
Words to songs he thought he’d long forgotten came unbidden to
his lips. Words to songs his mother had sung before Samantha had
been taken.
“Lavender’s blue. Rosemary’s green. When I am king, you shall
be queen....”
“White choral bells, upon a slender stalk. Lilly of the Valley
deck my garden walk. Oh how I wish that you could hear them
ring. That will only happen when the fairies sing.”
He left to get ice, moving as quietly as he knew how. When he
returned she was awake, staring at him with round blue eyes like
a sea in wind.
(I'm gonna start splashing around.)
(‘Cause I don't care if they eat me alive,)
(I've got better things to do than survive.)
When Scully began hitting him, he drifted far away from himself.
It was a skill he’d perfected for times of trouble.
*Ostrich in the sand.*
And he’d found it useful during difficult or disturbing cases as
well.
Somehow, he managed to capture her wrists and he held her fast.
She was crying, big iridescent tears running down her fevered
face.
*Dammit but she’s beautiful even now.*
“If I let you go will you promise not to hit me again?” She had
the capacity to damage him far more than any number of odd blows
ever could.
He looked at her. She had a heart that was free, he had once
foolishly believed that he might possess it, yet she held his
glass idol fragility in the palm of her hand easily enough.
*Don’t drop it, Scully,* he silently implored.
(I've got a memory of your warm skin in my hand and)
(I've got a vision of blue sky and dry land.)
(The ship is pitching and heaving,)
(My limbs are bobbing and weaving and I think this is what I understand.)
“I love you,” she said, trying to swallow the words as she said
them, they were that repellent to her.
The room tipped and Mulder tried to hold onto the last shreds of
his sanity. “You what?” He was incredulous, he felt hysterical
laughter bursting inside.
“You heard me the first time. Don’t make me say it again, not
unless you like making me cry.” She sounded as desperate as he
felt.
“I don’t like making you cry.” His eyes were gentle now. He
didn’t want to fight with her anymore. He didn’t want to fight
with his nature or the attraction he felt. He wanted to realize
everything he’d been promised whenever he touched her.
“Good,” she said. The word was flat, with the beginnings of
coldness. She turned away from him.
“That still doesn’t explain why you attacked me,” he prodded
carefully. He had to keep her talking. It couldn’t end like
this: on a soft mattress, in a sleazy motel room, in the middle
of the night.
“It explains everything. I came over....”
“This is about Diana?” He laughed at the terrible road his life
had gone down. *How* could he explain? His almost-sex with Diana
wasn’t a choice of her over Scully, it was more of an exorcism.
Nasty but necessary.
“No, this is about you and me; probably just me.” Her tone was
still flinty but he thought he caught a hint of softening around
the edges. *God I hope so,* he thought with all the fervent
prayer an atheist could muster at 3 o’clock in the morning.
(I just need a little vaccination for my far-away vacation.)
(I'm going to go ahead boldly because a little bird told me that)
(jumping is easy,)
(That falling is fun up until you hit the sidewalk,)
(Shivering,)
(Stunned.)
Tentatively, he reached for her unmoving figure, nothing too
drastic, he didn’t want to scare her, though he had to make an
intense effort to control himself. For the moment, he contented
himself with a hand on her elbow and one on the small of her
back.
“I meant what I said in the hospital. Generally I’m a patient
man,” she laughed and Mulder’s hopes soared, “and I thought I
could wait until you were ready to believe. I hope you know by
now that I’m not perfect.”
He bit his lip and shook his head. At the moment, that was the
best he could offer her. He bent his head slightly and touched
his lips to the spot where her neck sloped into her shoulder.
Her skin burned his so that when he withdrew, it felt like *she*
was kissing him for several luscious minutes.
(And they can call me crazy if I fail)
(All the chance that I need is one-in-a-million.)
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” she finally said after an
extended and uncomfortable pause.
*That’s not a good sign.* But he sensed that it was the best he
was going to get from her. Truly it was more than he deserved
and yet he couldn’t help feeling just a little disappointed and
angry. He climbed to his feet and switched off the light.
Carefully retracing his steps, he seated himself in the
uncomfortable motel chair and prepared for a sleepless night.
The darkness waited. He could hear her breathing and it was more
arousing than...well, than anything he could think of. “Well?”
she asked after several minutes had passed.
“Well what?”
“Are you coming to bed or not?”
(And they can call me brilliant if I succeed.)
(Gravity is nothing to me moving at the speed of sound.)
(I'm just gonna get my feet wet until I drown.)
Mulder’s brain kicked into hyperdrive. This was the stuff of his
wildest fantasies.
No, he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
Not that anything would happen, they were both tired and angry.
So many things were unresolved now, resolving the physical first
would have been counterproductive and senseless.
Taking a deep breath, he crawled into the bed, neatly avoiding
stubbing his toe on the bedpost. She was facing him now at
least. He could feel her feather light breaths caressing his
face. He lay there, facing her through the dark until he heard
the rhythm of her breathing change, signifying sleep. He slowly
stretched out his left hand and traced his index finger through
the air over her face.
Once, he thought a soft strand of her hair brushed against him
but it might have been his imagination. Sooner than he would
have thought, he joined her in unconsciousness.
THE END
let me know what you thought because feedback makes my day!
