From: Laura Bontrager Date: Tue, 20 Apr 1999 11:29:29 -0500 (CDT) Subject: By Their Nature (1/1) Title: By Their Nature Author: RM >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Sure, I could do it better than them, but what would be the fun in that? No more UST. . . . SPOILER::::: Milagro ~~~~ By Their Nature ~~~~ "By their nature, words are imprecise and layered with meaning -- the signs of things, not the things themselves." --milagro ~~~~ It's all a rush. Like blood through veins, screams through flapping vocal cords. . . Even when her dreams come back to that last second, that place where time was a mixture of agony and eternity, she can find nothing to latch on to, nothing to grasp and hold tightly to her. It's all a rush. The hand closing down over her throat, hard and tight and cold, no pulse or throbbing heat of the man, just the cold. The slam of the hard wooden floor into her back, unyeilding, uncompromising, digging painfully. The sound of her screams echoing in her head, along her teeth, jarring her body with the force of it. Gunshots. She flashes to that, the gun, the shots point blank and nothing. The agony, Oh God, please, please.... please the hand hand spreads her flesh hard and fast too hard in her in her digging around knuckles scrape her ribs, shifting them around as he feels inside her hand, the fingers, swiping, swiping along fingernails scarring bone and flesh and tissue destroying her body with an intimate hand she screams she screams she writhes, and finds more jagged jagged misery. ~~~~~ She wakes with a scream, and doubles over, holding her chest, trying to breathe. Sounds of the hospital do nothing to comfort her, and she sees flashes of Mulder's face, the panic face, firm and resolute, holding her tightly. Anything, she'd give anything for Mulder to hold her right now. Stoicism, sexism, it can all be dragged to the curb and shot. Dana Scully closes her eyes for a brief unthinking second, then flares them wide again, white white in the dark room. She aches everywhere, with a kind of distress that pulls on her insides like strings, strings played too tight, pulled too hard, and she is stretched, stretched, ready to shatter. She wants to shatter. She wants to come to pieces in his arms, sobbing as before, trying to find the other half of her heart within him, because that is all there's left of it now. It seems. Scully convulses with the memories and turns on her side, hoping to allievate the pressure building in her aching bones. She thinks of Mulder, in her evil darkness, anguish breaking into her body: she tries to think of Mulder. Mulder. ~~~~ Before, she woke with a shattered sob-scream and scrambled to find something solid of him, clutching tightly to the smears of blood soaking her hands, shaking with fear. She wanted to claw her way inside of Mulder, to bury her entire body so deep into him that nothing could ever find her again, no horrible hands reaching to take the one thing she guarded so closely. He was holding to her tightly, his hands supporting her back as she clung desperately to him, his face buried in her hair. There were long long frantic moments until he spoke, where she wasn't sure who she was trying to entomb herself in, and she had no coherent thoughts to ask. "I'm here." It was a whisper nudged into her consciousness only because of its soft soft gentleness, and she stilled in his arms, her sobs loud and loose. "I'm here, Scully. . .I'm here." There were kisses of warmth in her neck, a hand cradling her skull, and a voice that brought her back from her grave. Hysteria had a rough hold over her, and her newly freed imagination replayed the twist of the hand through her sternum, jostling ribs and reaching for her heart. She caved in on herself, causing Mulder to tip off-balance, so he had to catch himself with one hand. She felt less secure and shivered severely, until he sat on the floor and took her up into his body with his entire being. With the walls still vibrating to her screams, they now danced with her fever pitched cries, and she felt no shame, no embarassment, no silliness. All she felt was the stranger's hand, thrust into her body, straining to graze his fingers along her madly thumping heart, knocking into bone and blood like bowling pins. Mulder said nothing more, and the fear began to fade into the background. He rocked her back and forth, his face pressed to her neck, eyes shut tightly. When they both felt the clingy need falling from them in shreds, he pulled his telephone from the desk and called for an ambulance. He didn't let go until the nurses made him stand aside. ~~~~ The memory is a buoy now, even with its hysteria. She takes in a deep breath and glances around her, noticing the darkness, the soft hospital aroma of lotion and medicine and nightmare sweat. Despite the agony, despite the horrific pain each breath caused, each sobbing choking breath, she feels now that the moment with Mulder in his living room floor means more and says more and gives more than any single word or message or truth he has conveyed to her ever before. Curling onto her other side, needing to ease off her bruised ribs and swollen side, Scully finally notices him, watching her from the doorway. She wonders why he hasn't come in yet, why he had not hastened to gather her up when she was sick and panting, night terrors still fresh. He sees that she has spotted him and walks slowly inside, arms loose at his side, lips quirking, eyes begging for humor. She shakes her head, but tenses as the aftershocks roil through her body, jarring bones and lungs and flesh. His hand reaches out to her and she cringes: with the darkness and her dreams and his straining hand. He slumps and she extends her arm, inch by precious painful inch, inviting him close to her. She can't speak yet, her throat and vocal cords were burned raw by her screams, then mistreated by her sobs. Mulder sits next to her in a flash, easing his arm onto the bed, a safe distance from any part of her body that he might accidentally touch, and therefore, hurt. Scully slips her hand into his, squeezing tightly, thanking him for everything, yet not knowing where to even start. His hand tightens fractionally, but noticably, and she smiles at him. She can still feel that hand inside her, filling her chest cavity like a perverted rape, and she can taste the man's dirty fingernails every time she swallows. But Mulder's hand is soft and dry and warm, and she runs her thumb along his palm. He reaches up and strokes her cheek. "I thought I was too late," he says, and closes his eyes. "Too late to save you because I wouldn't *believe*" he says, and again, his eyes are closed and tight. Scully wants to lean forward and ease his mental anguish, but her body is wound tight and any movement to the left, toward Mulder, causes lightning pain to jolt her. He sighs and lowers his head to her shoulder, carefully putting his weight on his hands, not on her, but the touch is nice and healing and she longs for more of it. Her cold hands come to his face, and she kisses his unruly hair, pressing her lips into the contact to offer words that she can't yet speak. He seems to know and glances up to her. Words, by their nature, are inadequate and foolhardy things. They tumble around in his mouth and stumble his true feelings; their symbols are different to her than they are to him, so he does not even try. His touch, his presence, his caring, his eyes. . .say things she herself doesn't understand the language to speak. She shifts on the bed, until her back is against his chest, resting, aching with every brief contact of skin, but still, it is better than any healing touch. Hesitating, Mulder lifts his hand, the palm broad and wide, a vast map of his life, and drops it in his lap, resting atop her own hand. Her fingers twitch on his thigh, and he smiles at her, noticing the look in her eyes. He raises his hand again and slowly, slowly, reaches for her. Fear melts into a slow trust and his fingers grace her skin with light touches. Then his palm is against her belly, letting one long thumb smooth her sternum, careful of the fresh ache of bruised bone, making sweeping motions that barely graze her breasts. She sighs and touches his hand, bringing it to her heart. His fingers curl around hers, above her heart, and he feels the quick surge of the muscle against her skin. "Sacred heart," he whispers, close to her ear. She turns her face into his shoulder and lets calming, cleansing tears stream down her cheeks. Her protects her heart with his hand. ~~~~ end adios RM ~~~~~~~~~~ "In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." --Matthew 5:16 ~~~~~~~~~~ http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shire/5007/ Come check out my web page ~~~~~~~~~~ also: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Comet/3883/rocketmm.html for my Recommendations