*************************************************************************** Leyla Harrison's email address has changed to: sparkle72@videotron.ca *************************************************************************** From: "the *enigmatic* Dr. Scully" Date: Mon, 11 Aug 1997 17:57:57 -0700 Subject: NEW: Eyes (1/1) **NC-17** by Leyla Harrison Eyes by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: They're not mine. What more do you want me to say? Rating: Ah, yes. NC-17 for sexual situations. Classification: VA, MSR. Major angst ahead. Spoilers: This story takes place right after Memento Mori. Summary: Mulder and Scully come together after drifting apart since Scully's diagnosis. This story was written in the spirit that the concept of a real soulmate is indeed a true one; that the love, trust and communication (oh, yeah, and the sex too! ) that go on between those two people cannot be matched by anything else in the world. Feedback: yes, please. This one means a lot to me, so let me know what you thought. **** "Scully?" I hear Mulder's voice from across the room and I barely look up, instead making a wordless sound that acknowledges that I've heard him. "Scully, I've said your name three times and you didn't answer. Are you sure you're OK?" I marvel at what my diagnosis has done to him. To the way he treats me. Suddenly he's become so careful, so cautious. So protective. Are you OK, Scully? Is there anything I can do for you, Scully? You look tired, Scully. Did you eat something this morning, Scully? Are you sleeping enough, Scully? He was never like that before. Not even close. Now he's downright solicitous. It makes me want to slap him. "I'm fine, Mulder," I answer him in that noncommittal tone that I reserve just for him. "I was just distracted." I tap at the book that I'm looking at and he gets up from his desk to come over to stand near me. He looks over my shoulder and examines the text I am poring over. He looks at it, then at me. Accusingly. Then he walks back to his desk and sits down. *He's* angry at me? I close the book softly, carefully. It is Kubler-Ross's On Death and Dying. It had been mailed to me anonymously, wrapped in plain brown paper. At first I was horrified that someone would send something like that to me. How dare anyone? But then out of curiosity I opened it and began to read. It was fascinating. Touching. It was teaching me things I needed to know about living with my cancer. About dying from it. "Mulder," I say to him, getting up and coming to stand in front of his desk. "What's the matter?" His eyes look me over. "What do you think the matter is, Scully?" he asks, wearily. "I don't have time for games, Mulder. Just talk to me." A short, bitter sound comes from his lips. I immediately realize the hypocrisy of my words and I lower my eyes. Fuck this cancer for doing this to us. Before it, I could look at him and we could talk without words. I could look into his eyes and he would communicate with me silently, his hazel eyes telling me everything I needed to know. Those eyes would comfort me. Guide me. Tease me, even. And now -- now, everything has changed. Now we turn our eyes from each other, trying to spare each other's feelings and trying to protect our own injured psyches. Finally I look up at him. He is, of course, not looking at me. He is looking everywhere but at me. His eyes are darting around the room. "Mulder," I say in a low voice. His eyes stop skittering around and come to rest on me. "What is it, Scully?" he asks. He is not angry. He is exhausted, as am I. I realize that with all the things I want to tell him, I'm not able to tell him anything at all. Protect me, Mulder, I am thinking. Take me home and wrap me in your arms and keep me safe. Make love to me and hold me and tell me that you will take care of me and that you will not let me suffer. I can't tell him any of this. Not because I'm afraid. It's not because I'm afraid. It is because I don't want him to be afraid. Mulder knows that I am strong. For all of our differences, Mulder does give me credit for being strong. I know that he will always be there to back me up when we're working. But I also know that if he were faced with how weak I really feel, he would crumble under the force of it. He would not see me the same way again. So I cannot show him those weaknesses. He cannot see them. I sigh heavily. "I'm going home, Mulder," I tell him. He nods. "Try to get some rest, Scully." It's hard to miss the dark circles under his eyes. You too, Mulder, I think. I nod at him and leave. **** I get home and immediately peel off my work clothes, replacing them with a pair of soft cotton sweats and a worn t-shirt that used to be Melissa's. I am tired. So tired. I want to get up and make dinner, to make some tea, to curl up on the couch wrapped in a blanket and eat my dinner and drink my tea and watch TV, but I don't. It isn't for lack of physical energy. It's for lack of motivation. I could call the little Chinese place down the street and have something delivered. I don't want to, though. The thought of having to face anyone -- even the delivery boy -- is too much for me. So I curl up on the couch and wrap myself in the blanket without food and without tea, and I turn the TV on for background noise. I close my eyes and try to sort out my jumbled thoughts. Instead, I sleep. The next thing I hear is knocking on my door. Three soft knocks. I get up, turn the TV off and pad to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing Mulder as he fidgets and looks down at his feet. I am not happy to see him. I am in such a dark state that I don't want to be around anyone, least of all him. I open the door anyhow. "Hey, Scully," he greets me, but his face is not happy, either. "What's going on here, Mulder?" I ask him, the fatigue in my voice evident. "I wanted to see how you were. I know you weren't feeling well when you left the office." Damn him. He's trying to play big brother again, and I'm tired of it. "I'm fine, Mulder," I tell him, putting a little more emphasis than necessary on the word "fine". There is a long pause as Mulder stands in the doorway and we regard each other. "You look like hell, Scully." His voice is low and sad, and he won't look me in the eye when he says it. "Thanks a lot." He looks up at me and his eyes are dark. Concerned. "I just want to make sure--" "I know, Mulder. You want to make sure I'm feeling OK. You want to make sure that I don't need anything. You want to know that I'm going to be fine. Well, Mulder, I have news for you. I have cancer. I'm eventually going to die. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually. In the meantime, I'm *fine*." I spit the words out and instantly regret them. Mulder's face goes slack as if I have slapped him. He lets out a breath heavily. "Christ, Scully. I *care*, you know?" I'm sorry, Mulder. I know you do. I know. I'm so sorry, I think. But I can't speak. I use my eyes to try to reach his, to try to connect with him. I'm sorry, Mulder. There is a long pause. Finally, I gesture for him to come in. "You sure you want me to?" he asks, and I nod guiltily. I shut the door behind him and he comes into the living room, sitting down on the couch, his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. He runs his hands through his hair. I sit down as well. Mulder is wearing jeans, a gray t-shirt and his leather jacket. The same jacket he was wearing the night he came to talk to me at the hospital in Allentown. He is such a beautiful man. Beautiful and tortured. If only I wasn't going to die. If only I wasn't weak. I would have loved to have had the time to love him more. To have saved him. To have taken away some of the pain that is such a part of him. He looks up at me. "Scully, I need to tell you something." I settle back into the chair. "Go ahead." Mulder jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket and sighs. He looks down at my coffee table. "When you were in the hospital in Allentown, I found something. Something that I didn't tell you. I didn't know how I could." He pauses, and then closes his eyes briefly, as if trying to give himself strength. Then he opens them again and looks directly at me. "They had been harvesting your ova, Scully. Creating hybrids. It's a long story. But all the other women -- it was done to them as well." My mind whirls but I do not move. I do not even breathe. "Scully, you..." he falters. "You can't have children. They made you barren." I think for a moment. Then I shake my head and let out a small laugh. "Mulder, I'm *dying*. They've killed me. Whatever else they've done doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Don't you understand that?" I can feel the blackness creeping up on me, the emptiness, the feeling I get whenever I remind myself that I truly am dying, that my life is coming closer and closer to ending. It is making my voice waver and my eyes fill with tears. I angrily push them back. I will not let Mulder see me like this. "Scully--" "I don't want to know about it, Mulder. I don't. Unless you have something to tell me about my health, unless you can tell me something that will save my life, which I know you can't, then I think you should leave." My voice has grown cold. What am I doing? This is *Mulder*. I ignore that little voice in my heart. Mulder stands up and takes something out of his jacket pocket. He sets it down on my coffee table. It is a small vial. "I took it," he tells me, not looking up. I reach out and finer the vial. It's cold. Mulder looks up at me, his eyes sheepish. "I've been, well, taking care of it." I swallow. I suddenly realize that I am ignoring what he has gone through. What he did for me. To save my life. He is truly the only one that I have ever trusted. And he has never let me down. He is already halfway to the front door. "Mulder," I cry out, jumping up, going after him. "Wait." He's at the door, his hand on the doorknob. I touch his back, and he slowly turns around to face me. His face is streaked with tears. Oh, Mulder. Mulder. In trying to make sure that he didn't see my weaknesses, I've ignored his. I touch his face with my hand, stunned by his tears on my fingertips. I draw him back into the living room and we sit down on the couch together, and I pull him to me, his head onto my chest, and let him cry softly against me. I let my cheek rest on the top of his head. The love I have for him is so strong and so encompassing that I cannot even describe it in words. So instead I hold him close to me and let his body press up against mine, trying to tell him everything I cannot say with words. After a time his tears slow and stop. I don't let him go. I just continue to hold him. And he continues to stay close to me. There are no words spoken between the two of us. This is what we have needed to reconnect with each other emotionally, spiritually. And I have always known that as much as Mulder can annoy me and drive me to the very edge of insanity, I also know that he and I share a very special link, a spiritual link. It is almost as if we were soulmates, meant for each other. We are almost complete opposites, and yet we have so much in common. I have been more open with him than I have been with anyone. I have let him see me more than any other person has seen me. Which is why, I realize dimly, he is in so much pain. We are so strongly connected that my cancer is killing him as well. I was so immersed in my feelings of loss and by my slow slide into the abyss that I have neglected to realize that Mulder was by my side the entire time. I hold him to me, silently realizing this, and a slight shiver passes through me. Is there nothing that this man will not endure for me? We sit in silence. After a time, he shifts against me. I'm afraid. Afraid that he is going to pull away, that the spell will be broken. But he is simply shifting to get closer to me, and in a flash, I realize that I can feel the length of him, hard and strong, against me. How can this possibly be arousing to him? How can *I* possibly arouse him? He moves again, trying to move away from me a little so that I don't feel his erection, and I tighten my hold on him. "Mulder..." I whisper. He lifts his head from my breast and looks up at me. "Yes, Scully." It is not a question. It is a statement. It is him answering my question. My unspoken question. Do you love me, Mulder? Yes, Scully, I do. I do love you. He waits for a moment to make sure I understand and then he reaches up and kisses me, pulling my mouth to him and sealing my lips with his. I start for a moment only because of the electric sensation of his hot lips sliding along mine for the first time. Then I relax into the kiss. His tongue teases my lips, requesting entry into my mouth, and I give it. Everything else is forgotten. The cancer. My exhaustion. Mulder's fear. Mine. All of it is forgotten in the heat of the kiss. The joining of our lips is passionate, as I always knew it would be. Mulder's hands are already on me, his fingers tracing over the curve of my face, of my jaw, my neck. Down my shoulders and my arms. "I've always wanted to know what you felt like, Scully. I've always wanted to know," he murmurs against my mouth, and I nod mindlessly. His hands are like fire, leaving hot trails wherever they touch. His mouth is on my neck, his tongue tracing small circles on my skin behind my ear. God. I can't speak. His hands are pulling the t-shirt up and over my head, and I feel him reach around me and unclasp my bra as he buries his face in my neck and in my hair. The bra loosens and I shrug it off my body. I have no reservations about showing myself to Mulder. His sighs are indication enough that he wants me. I am not afraid. He buries his face in my breasts and it is my turn to sigh. His hands are warm on my sides, cupping my breasts, lifting them. His thumbs are achingly gentle on my already hardened nipples, and I moan low in my throat, wanting more. Needing more. "Mulder," I manage to get out. He lifts his head to look at me and I plead with him, trying to use my eyes to communicate with him what I want, what I need. I don't even know how to describe it. All I know is that I want more. He catches my nipples between him thumbs and his forefingers and rolls them gently, then takes one into his mouth and tugs on it with his lips, letting his teeth graze over it. This pulls a moan from me. I reach for him, for any part of him. I have to touch him. I help him out of the jacket and pull the shirt over his head. I run my hands over his chest, trailing my fingers down and over his nipples and then circling around to his back and shoulders, almost massaging them. There is no hesitation for either of us. Mulder gestures towards the bedroom and I shake my head. No. I want you here. I can't wait that long. It's true. My body is aching. I can't wait much longer for him. Mulder can see this in my eyes and he helps me pull the sweatpants down, taking my already drenched panties with them. I scoot back up on the couch, my legs pulled under me, for a moment shy. "Don't," he murmurs. "You're beautiful, Scully." I reach for him again, undoing his jeans and pulling them down, then his boxers. He pushes them off and away, and then stands there, naked, in front of me. His body is taut. He lets me look at him. Allows me take him in with my eyes. Finally I can't just look anymore and I have to touch him. I reach for the part of him I want most at that moment and take him in one hand. He groans. He is hot and hard and silky. I grasp him at the root and slide my hand all the way to the tip, teasing him, rubbing my thumb over the drop of moisture there and slicking it down over the length of him. My hands slide up and down a few times, and then I lean my head towards him and he gasps. "Scully..." he moans as I take him into my mouth. "Scully, I can't stand up...let me lie down..." I ignore his pleas. Instead I slide my lips over him, taking him all the way in, then all the way back out, my tongue smoothing the way, licking the underside of him and then swirling over the tip. "Jesus Christ, Scully," he gasps and takes hold of my head. I stiffen immediately. I hate when men do that; when they take me by the hair and push me down more, force me to take them deeper. But Mulder doesn't do that. Instead, he gently pushes me back and looks down at me. I look up at him, perplexed. "I just want to make love to you now," he murmurs in response to my confused face. "Later we'll have time for everything else." I am stunned. He joins me on the couch and kisses me, his lips tender and warm. His tongue is stroking the insides of my mouth, in imitation of what I can only assume will also occur later. He parts my legs and slips one hand between them, dragging his fingertips along the insides of my thighs. I have begun to tremble in anticipation. Please, Mulder. Please touch me before I lose my mind. Suddenly he parts my lips with his fingers and slips two fingers all the way into me, deep, and rubs his thumb over my clitoris. I cry out and jerk up on the couch, against his body. His other arm is snaked around me, holding me steady. "Please," I cry, "please..." His fingers slip out and he strokes me for a few more moments until I am mindless with it, thrashing about in his arms. "God, Mulder, you're going to make me come," I moan, and I am dimly aware of him nodding. His fingers are suddenly gone and his penis is there instead, teasing me, right there at the entrance to my body, just at the entrance for a moment and no farther. Then he slides into me, and I feel him fill me. He strokes in and out of me in smooth, fluid motions. I am on the very edge, the very brink, and I do not know how I can manage to hold on for much longer. I am clutching at his bare shoulders, moaning his name, chanting. And then it happens. I feel the friction of him against me and the delicious in and out motions of him and I hold tightly to him, feeling my own muscles tightening, clenching up around him. I close my eyes and throw my head back and let out a noise that is somewhat like a scream and I hear him as well, repeating my name, ScullyScullyScully, and I can feel him jackhammering into me as he comes and I hold onto him as the orgasm rips through me. I open my eyes. I feel as if I have blacked out for a few moments because Mulder is now lying, still and quiet, on top of me. His breathing has returned to normal as has mine. I see that he is awake and looking at me, silently watching me. One hand is resting along the side of my face, slowly and gently brushing his fingers along my skin. I look deep into his eyes. What has changed? I still have cancer. I am still, as Mulder has told me, barren. I am still the same woman I was when I got home. Scully, his eyes tell me, softly. I loved you then. I love you now. I know what else he would like to say. It is the same thing that I would say to him. It is the thing that we both know. There is no difference where that is concerned. But now...now we are together. Before we were separate. Now we truly have each other. I cock my head slightly to the side to make sure I understand. And I reflect upon what his eyes have just told me. And I know, after hardly a moment's deliberation, that he is right. We may not have much else. But we do have each other. I pull him closer, needing more contact. I feel him burrow his head into my neck and I feel the soft, relaxed breaths that he takes. I feel my own breathing falling into the same fluid pattern. Mulder places a light kiss on my shoulder, and then we sleep. END -- the *enigmatic* Dr. Scully http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/1377 ----------------------------------------------- "I am drunk in my desire...but I love the way you smile at me, I love the way your hands reach out to hold me near..." --Sarah McLachlan