From: Msk1024@aol.com Date: Sat, 1 Mar 2003 19:08:38 EST Subject: Exiles by Michelle Kiefer (1/1) Source: direct Title: Exiles Author: Michelle Kiefer Email: msk1024@aol.com Category: Post ep Spoilers: The Truth Rating: R Classification: MSR, Vignette Archive: Haven boards for now. Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary: Every loss has torn a little piece out of them, until the individuals that remain are forever altered from their original form. COMMENTS: Please visit my other stories at: http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm Maintained by the wonderful Jennifer. Author's Notes at end Exiles "Scandal Rocks the Nation's Capital." What the hell else is new, he thinks as he walks back to the motel. The hot sun beats relentlessly against his shoulders, scorching the fabric of his shirt. Little puffs of dust kick up with every step, and he tastes the grit on his lips. Folding the newspaper, he tucks it under his arm and picks up speed. The sooner he gets back to air-conditioning, the better. He spots a flash of rusty red in the general vicinity of their door as he continues up the driveway. He smiles at the sight that greets him. One leg drawn up before her, Scully is sitting on the front steps of the motel cabin. Intent on painting her toenails, she doesn't hear his approach. He takes this opportunity to study the woman he's been bound to for years, inseparable for weeks. She's bent over, focussed on the task of applying polish to the nails on her left foot. Right foot extended before her, the red polish glistens as shiny as blood. She must have been sitting in the sun for a while. The skin on her thighs and forearms is already a little pink. A can of Diet Pepsi sits on the step next to her. After years of sleek little bobs, her hair has grown long enough to gather into a ponytail. She looks like a teenager waiting on the front steps for a certain boy to walk by, not at all like a fugitive. He loves watching Scully indulge herself a little. Life for them has been full of too much pain lately, and not nearly enough pleasure. And the return of polished toenails is deliciously welcome. He remembers a time when he kept an eye on the weather, waiting for the warm days of summer. Before they became lovers, hot weather offered a rare opportunity to see the porcelain skin that had been covered all winter. Not that Scully ever violated proper FBI dress code, no matter what the thermometer said. She maintained complete professionalism at all times, even if work took them to Alabama in August. But in warm weather, there was the chance she would take her jacket off in the car, allowing him a glimpse of toned bare arms. And if he could persuade Scully to have lunch on a Saturday in July, he could almost always guarantee a barelegged, sandaled partner. Sleeveless dresses, polished toenails--he'd eek out the long, buttoned-down work week for those revealing weekends. She glances up at the rustle of newspaper. Though her skin is smooth and unlined, the illusion of youth is gone when he looks into eyes that have seen too much. She cocks her head and wears her Mona Lisa smile. "News from home, Scully," he says shaking out the paper to exhibit the headline. "It's spring, and the annual Congressional scandals are in bloom." "Interns or pages?" she asks, squinting into the afternoon sun as she looks up at him. "Underage Congressional pages this year." "Quit it, Mulder. You're making me homesick." "I know what you mean," he says, easing himself onto the step next to Scully. "Overhearing gossip from the next booth at the coffee shop, playing 'guess the Senator'--nothing beats DC for good dirt." "Yeah...good dirt." Her voice sounds tight, whispery and he knows she's homesick for much more than gossip and the big city bustle of Washington. He takes her hand and brings the palm to his lips. "It's hard. I know." He hears her crying in the bathroom at night, and he knows about the baby shirt she keeps tucked in a pocket of her bag. Few secrets survive in the close quarters of a single motel room. "I dream sometimes," she says. "I dream about the Hoover building and about my apartment. Even your place. I dream about the first night we made love there." He doesn't try to hide his smile at the memory of that night. In the year he still thinks of as the dark time, a handful of memories were all he had to hold on to. He cherished them beyond all reason. Scully asleep against his shoulder on a stakeout, the way she felt in his arms one night on a baseball field, the first time he held William--he turned these over and over in his mind until the edges were worn smooth. The very best memory was the night he woke to find her sitting on the side of his bed, her hand warm against his bare chest. Her touch had been light, as if she wasn't sure he would want it. How foolish. There wasn't a moment in all the time he'd known her that he wouldn't have welcomed her touch. Her sweater had been soft under his hands, her skin softer yet when she pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside. Her shoulders pearly in the moonlight, she took his breath away. He remembers fearing he was dreaming, and never wanting to wake. She'd slipped out of the rest of her clothes, stretching out along his side and he feared his heart would stop in his chest. They'd kissed for what felt like hours, though it had probably only been minutes. That night, time seemed to defy its boundaries. He'd been amazed at how perfectly they fit together: this mismatched pair, this "Mutt and Jeff" duo. But her curves had dovetailed perfectly with his angles as he covered her with his frame. When he entered her in one fluid movement, it was as if he'd found the last puzzle piece of his fragmented life. Sometimes, it feels like that night happened in another universe, to two other people. Each loss has torn a little piece out of them, until the individuals that remain are forever altered from their original form. She offers him a drink from her Diet Pepsi, and he shakes his head. He watches her take a long pull from the can, studying the way her throat works as she drinks. She looks into the distance, her face wistful. They have to leave here soon. It isn't safe to stay in one place too long when their enemies might still be pursuing them. Tomorrow, they'll leave this crappy motel and find another a few hundred miles away. "We should probably pack up," she says glancing back at the cabin. He wonders at the way their minds work in unison sometimes. "Find someplace else." "Yeah," he agrees. "Someplace else." He puts his arm around her, his fingers drawing little circles on her shoulder. She turns her face into his neck, inhaling deeply. He feels her lips grazing along his skin. Need and desire are intertwined for him, as they have always been. He suspects she needs him on the same elemental level. It's not exactly romance in the usual sense. It's something deeper and more primal. She places her hands on the sides of his face, drawing him close. Their lips meet, the kiss gentle at first, then demanding. The sun beats down on them as their hands travel over each other. To the eyes of a passer-by, they probably look like randy teenagers, as if the boy she was waiting for on the steps had finally arrived for a make-out session. "Let's go inside," she gasps, as his hand explores her breasts through her shirt. "It's too hot out here." He laughs, standing and holding out a hand to pull Scully to her feet. Any resemblance to teenagers is gone now, as two adults leave the sun-heated wooden steps for the cool interior of their motel room. If they were twenty years younger, they might have risked splinters and sunburn in their horniness, but a relatively comfortable bed exists ten feet away. The air feels almost refrigerated by comparison to blazing heat outdoors, no small feat for the barely adequate A/C unit. The bed is rumpled from last night; maid service is somewhat casual in this mom and pop motel. They undress in silence, their movements quick and purposeful. He strips off his t-shirt and jeans, hurriedly toeing off his shoes. Scully's eyes never leave him as she slips out of her blouse and shorts. Her hands reach behind her to unhook her bra. He never grows tired at the sight of Scully without her armor. It's fascinated him from their first days of lovers: the dichotomy of tough, business-like agent and soft, unguarded woman. Her nipples grow hard in the cool air. He reaches out to caress her skin, amazed as always at its silkiness. Her hands slip under the waistband of his boxers, cupping his ass and drawing his closer. In seconds, his shorts are around his ankles. Their communication is mostly non-verbal these days, both in and out of bed. She slips out of her panties and pulls him to the bed; he sits and guides her to straddle his lap. Words are over-rated, he thinks as his lips close over Scully's nipple. Her back arches like a bow, pressing her more firmly against him. She guides herself over him, and he closes his eyes, nearly overcome with emotion. Each sensation washes over him: heat, friction, arousal, completion. He's always known something was missing in him, something vital. Scully had appeared so self-possessed when he first met her. It was only when each painful turn of her life ripped a little more out of her, that he recognized her for what she was: another incomplete person. Together they seemed to fill each other's gaps, even before they became lovers. Their first coupling had been only the physical representation of that. He'd feared the losses they'd suffered in the last year had torn too much away, that they no could no longer make each other whole. But each time they make love, he feels the balance return. He opens his eyes, unwilling to miss a moment of Scully's expression. He can read her even through the haze of sexual desire. She feels it too. Her movements become more frantic, and he knows she is close. She gasps and moans, her head thrown back. He can feel her tighten around him. He wants this to never end, but he feels the pulsing within him, his climax only seconds away. He roars with release, his arms tightening around her. Scully's face presses into his neck, her body boneless and languid. He reclines, shifting her onto the beg beside him, his hand coming to rest on her belly. They'll sleep for a while now and get cleaned up. He'd like to try that little place in town one last time, the one with the great barbeque chicken. Then they will pack up and load the car and drive off to someplace else. The end. Author's notes: Happy birthday to Sybil! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you... hell, you know the rest. Sybil has really revitalized this old broad with her challenges and public and private prodding. I'm grateful to her for making this fun again. Thanks, kiddo. And thanks for the beta--how ballsy is that--I asked the birthday girl to beta her own present. Kind of reminds me of my mother, taping my Christmas present boxes closed and having me wrap them.