From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Mon, 5 Dec 2011 06:04:08 -0600 (CST) Subject: Complicated by Blue Samutra Source: direct Reply To: bluesamutra@gmail.com Title: Complicated Author: bluesamutra@gmail.com Classification: VRA - Vignette/Romance/Angst Rating: R Disclaimer: The X-Files is owned by Fox; no infringement of copyright is intended Feedback: Yes, please... Spoilers: Redux Summary: Things like this happen to other people. They don't happen to Dana Scully. Notes: Penultimate story in my Dust series Scully chases a perfectly cooked straw of pasta around her plate, wishing she could taste the tang of the sauce or enjoy the crisp bitterness of her salad. Everything she eats these days seems to taste like cardboard. She's in such a fug she can't see straight, and the only thing she seems to feel anymore is lust. Every time she's in the same room as Mulder. She's sick with herself, with her adolescent obsessions; she's a grown woman and she should know better. Her mother, despite her ability to maintain a one- sided conversation throughout the lunch with ease, watches her curiously in between stories about Scully's nephews and Margaret's efforts at the church jumble sale the week before. "I notice you didn't take communion today," her mother says with false lightness before she takes a sip of the especially nice sauvignon blanc and eyeballs her daughter over the glass. Scully abandons the pretense of eating and fingers her own glass of wine. "I haven't been to confession recently," she says tightly. Margaret reaches across the table to cover Scully's hand with her own. Their skin contrasts starkly; age and youth, olive and cream. "I thought you had been able to reconcile some of your differences with the church, take comfort in your faith again?" "I have," she mumbles, "I just..." she's stumped for words. She hasn't been to confession because she can't think how to explain her relationship with Mulder; and truly, how can she confess a sin she isn't sure she can stop committing? Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I'm having an affair with my partner. I know I need to stop because it's wrong on so many levels, but when he's inside me, whispering how hot I make him in my ear, I can't think straight. Actually Father, I can't think straight most of the time because I'm thinking about how much I want him. Scully pulls her hand from her mother's and swallows a gulp of wine. She can feel the flush on her cheeks and curses her complexion. Margaret sits back in her chair and after a beat she resumes eating. Any hopes Scully had that the conversation was over are smothered when her mother next opens her mouth. "Would Fox like to join us for Christmas?" The forced innocence to Margaret's tone, and her preternatural insight, pisses Scully off. That and the fact that she insists on calling him by his given name. "Why would Mulder want to do that?" She says in the self-righteous voice of someone who is not sleeping with her partner. It's not lost on Scully that her mother would likely keel over with shock if Mulder did join them for Christmas. "It seems to me that Fox would want to do anything that meant he got to spend time with you.." "What's that supposed to mean Mom?" Scully pours more wine into her suddenly empty glass, slapping the bottle back on the table so that the candles flicker. "Just that it's plainly obvious for anyone with two eyes to see that there's something going on between you two. When you were recovering after your cancer he was at your apartment every day with solicitous glances. It was written all over his face." "Mom..." she can't find the words to explain. What *is* going on between her and Mulder these days? How can she explain 'fuck-buddies' to her mother? And yet even as she thinks it, she knows that it's always been a lot more than that. She remembers so well how attentive Mulder was those first weeks after she went into remission. She would catch him looking at her with wistful reverence, and for a few weeks, she'd let herself relax into the cocoon of her recovery, to enjoy the frequent touches and sweet kisses that had developed out of nowhere and would end all too soon. She remembers dozing on her sofa one Wednesday afternoon, huddled under the throw from the back of the chair. Her mind had been at war with her body those first weeks out of the hospital, when she'd wanted nothing more than to immerse herself in life, but instead found herself so weakened just brushing her teeth had left her exhausted. The soft chenille throw had tickled her nose as the late November sun filtered through the blinds and highlighted the living room in ochre. The steady tick of the clock in the hall measured out time and Scully had found herself lulled by the repetitive beat. She'd felt the sofa shift as someone sat in the crook of her waist and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. She'd cracked her eyes open to find Mulder leaning into her, his face just inches from hers. His eyes were warm and pistachio flecks glinted in the sunlight and when he'd smiled, small wrinkles stood proud at the corners of his eyes. Scully had wondered how many of those wrinkles had been caused by her. "Hmm, where's my mother?" she'd asked in a voice rusty with sleep. Mulder had smoothed another strand of hair from her eyes, and he'd trailed his fingers down her cheek. Letting his hand cup her face, his thumb stroked her chin. "She just went to the pharmacy to pick up your prescription." The warmth from his hand seeped into her cheek and she'd pressed her face into his touch before blinking sleep from her eyes and rolling slightly away from Mulder so she could see him better, "What time is it?" "A little after three. I didn't mean to wake you." Mulder's eyes had stroked her face along with his fingers and he'd rested his other hand beside her head on the arm of the sofa, bracing himself. "It's ok," she'd whispered, letting herself revel in his closeness. She recognized the familiar fragrance of the Downy he used, and the citrusy smell of his aftershave. And underneath, she could detect the warm, woodsy scent of his skin. It reminded her of her father, who always smelled of the outdoors. Mulder's eyes flickered between her own and her mouth, and she had unconsciously licked her lips just as he'd moved his thumb to caress her lower lip. His pupils had dilated as her tongue accidentally swept over his thumb, and her breath had hitched in surprise at the taste of his skin. Her pulse had suddenly been loud in her ears as Mulder had slowly lowered his head towards her. Their eyes were locked and she had felt his breath caress her mouth in small puffs as his lips hovered over hers for what felt like an eternity but could only have been five or six seconds. Her fingers had slid from under the chenille blanket to grip his bicep, the firm flesh hot under the cool white cotton of his shirtsleeve. His lips brushed hers softly once, twice, three times, and then he pulled back to look her in the eye with such longing that her stomach clenched in response and she felt a rush of moisture between her legs. His mouth had descended on hers and this time she hadn't been able to keep her eyes open. She had parted her lips and Mulder's tongue dipped into her mouth, pointed tip sliding hotly in circles around her own tongue as his hands had threaded through her hair and anchored her head. Mulder's had explored her mouth, his tongue gliding over her teeth, the roof of her mouth and darting back to lick her lips, sucking her swollen lower lip into his mouth, teeth worrying the sensitized flesh. He had relaxed his grip on her hair, moving one hand back down to cup her cheek whilst he slid the other down her neck and the satin of her pajama sleeve to rest on her waist. Scully had felt a whimper rise in her throat but it had emerged as a moan when Mulder's fingers danced over her stomach, burning her through the slick material. Her stomach muscles had rippled under his touch and she thrust her tongue between his teeth, exploring his mouth as he had hers. Mulder had tasted of mint and want and Scully had arched her body against him, desperate for more contact. She had combed her fingers through his hair, and scratched hair nails down his back, finding the slice of flesh at the base of his spine where is shirt had come un-tucked. Mulder had shuddered under her touch, his own hand finding its way under her pajama top to trace circles on the soft skin of her abdomen. Scully had felt her body hum under his touch, and another moan had risen in her throat as his probing fingertips brushed the underside of her breast. Through the hammer of her pulse in her ears, Scully had heard the rattle of the front door opening, but before she'd been able to process it, Mulder shoved away from her, sitting back on the sofa. She had seen his erection outlined in his slacks before he shifted and adjusted himself surreptitiously. His face had been flushed, his hair rumpled from her hands, and his chest had heaved as he struggled to bring himself under control. Scully had been distantly aware that her own appearance must mirror his but then her mother was standing by the dining table, looking over at their disheveled appearances. "Ah, I'm back," she'd said, needlessly; and from the quirk of her lips, it had been pretty damn obvious she knew what had just gone on. Scully had felt her cheeks flame and Mulder had shot her a rueful glance, his eyes casting over her face before he hauled himself to his feet. "I have to get back to work," he'd murmured in a voice that sounded like sex, and with one last caress of her cheek, he was gone, leaving Scully overheated and breathless on the sofa. "Nothing happened," Scully had said pre-emptively, her head flopping back against the sofa as her Mother had looked at her with raised eyebrows. Dragging her eyes from the delicate stem of her wineglass, Scully finds her mother watching her with the same expectant look now. "It's complicated," Scully eventually settles on, but the face her mother pulls makes it clear her choice of words was inadequate. "Dana, do you love him?" Margaret's voice is kind. "I --" she starts to say she doesn't know, but she can't bring herself to be so disingenuous. Of course she loves him, but that just makes it worse. The thought of losing him is enough to help her tamp down her feelings. Margaret purses her lips and Dana can feel the disappointment rolling off her mother in waves. Disappointment in her. "Well Honey, you need to decide how you feel. Because I think it's pretty clear that Fox loves you, and if you don't love him back you need to be honest with him." *** Author's notes: I wasn't sure about the Mrs. Scully intervention because it can be a rather unrealistic plot device... but I felt it was the right move here. If you want to debate the merits of her appearance, email me.