From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2000 15:46:57 -0500 Subject: A Greater Intelligence by XRie by Source: direct Reply To: x_rie@hotmail.com Title: A Greater Intelligence Author: XRie Contents: V, implied MSR Rating: PG Spoilers: all things, Closure, hints of Herrenvolk and Redux II Summary: all things post-ep Distribution: I'd be flattered, but let me know where it's going. Disclaimer: They are not mine. I am just pitiful and need to expand upon the love. Feedback: Petted and adored at x_rie@hotmail.com Notes: The quote is from the opening scene of "Out of Africa." Great movie. Pints of ice cream to Sue and Char for their excellent beta! A Greater Intelligence **************************************** He gave me ... an incredible gift: a glimpse of the world through God's eyes. And I thought, "Yes. I see." This is the way it was intended. **************************************** And Mulder's body was transparent. But his heart was big. Too big. Fluttering quickly, thickly, inside surreal, see-through tissue. Veins and arteries carrying ... nothing ... through sculpted arms and legs that weren't there. Not really there. His eyes pulsed open, casting a soft green hue onto his lips--the full, sensual lips that parted to mouth her name. She shot to an upright position in the darkness, heart thrumming into her ribs, fingers sliding ineffectually across cold cushions. Recognizing the familiar groan of leather beneath her legs and the scratchy texture of the blanket under her chin, she relaxed back into the couch. The fishtank gurgled reassuringly at her feet. Two mugs of cold tea rested side by side on the coffee table. She stood quickly at the thought, cold wood sending chills up uncertain legs as her feet made contact with the floor. She dropped the wool blanket to the couch with a reluctant shiver. When *had* she fallen asleep? There were things she needed to understand, had meant to tell him, and she had fallen asleep. Lulled deliciously by his voice despite two cups of strong tea. But her heart was brimming. Set to explode. And she sensed ... well ... she sensed. Her pantyhose skated across the slippery floorboards as she navigated the three steps to his room and edged herself through the half-open door. He was sprawled across the bed, his bare chest partially visible, one sculpted calf protruding from the blankets. Her lips quirked into a fond smile as she moved towards him. Mulder would definitely steal the covers. She hovered over him momentarily, reveling in his presence. His features, though always sensitive, were even softer in repose. Soft, but very real. A well-muscled arm across his chest, down his stomach. Downy hairs and scattered freckles. Solid. The sheets rose and fell gently with each rhythmic breath. She didn't want to disturb this peace. But she wanted to touch him. And she needed to hear him. Her toes curled into the still-soft gray carpet. "Mulder." Her whisper sounded raw, foreign, in the stillness of the room. His face twitched, and he curled towards her, rolling onto his side, one hand hanging limply over the side of the bed. She caressed his palm lightly with her finger. "Mulder." A sharp inhalation of breath, and his head jerked, eyes blinking sluggishly before his gaze met hers. Green smoke and haze. His hand closed around her finger where it still rested on his outstretched palm. Warm and safe. His lips twitched into a lazy smile. "I'd say G'morning, Scully,' but it still seems pretty dark in here." His groggy words scratched at something deep inside her. "It's 3:11," she replied softly, nodding her head at the red glow of his alarm clock. She lingered intently on the numbers, watching the 11 flash to a 12 before she turned back to him. He was fully awake now, head tilted on the pillow, eyes taking on the peculiar focus he reserved for her. Questioning. She rolled her entire hand into the warm cocoon of his grip. Her eyes fixed absently on a spot just above his head. "There is a greater intelligence in all things,'" she murmured. He stroked her knuckles once, twice, with the pad of his thumb. "Do you believe it, Mulder?" His mind sampled the words, tasting, savoring, small bites. Considering. The process revealed to her by the faint play of moonlight over his face. A beat of silence, then he tugged her towards him, guiding her firmly to the edge of the mattress as he rose to a sitting position, sheets sliding to pool around his waist. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, could feel his foot flexing under the sheet next to her. She formed her lips around his name in vague protest, but he pressed a finger to her mouth. "First things first," he whispered. He positioned their hands gently on the bed, leaving a stamp of warmth behind as his fingers left hers. He extricated his long legs from the sheets, dropped his feet to the floor, stretched his arms forward with interlocked fingers to crack his elbows, affording her a full view of sinew and spine. As he stood and padded toward the closet, the loose legs of his pajama bottoms fell back down to brush the tops of his feet. He rummaged around on a shelf then returned to her, offering two folded articles of clothing. She glanced from them to him, then to the stiffly tailored jacket and skirt she still wore. Comprehension dawned. She took them fully from his grip and moved to the foot of the bed, began to shrug off her jacket. He stretched back out on the bed, ankles crossed and hands behind his head, meeting her gaze once before he closed his eyes. Privacy behind a curtain of flesh. She unzipped her skirt and shimmied it down her hips, breathed deeply, feeling the outward thrust of her ribcage as the air coursed into her lungs. She shed the pantyhose next, her skin enlivened as the constricting garment zipped down her thighs and calves. Her ankles popped as she toed the delicate fabric into a pile on the floor. Feet stepped into the pair of pajama bottoms he had offered, and hands cinched the drawstring tightly. At their tightest, the thin cotton pants hung low on her hips, gathered in massive folds at her feet. She pulled the pale green sweater over her head with a crackle of static, leaving the hair on her arms standing on end. Electricity mixing with the cool air of the room and something else. She glanced over at Mulder's still form. She would have thought he was asleep if not for the intent tilt of his head, the concentration in his bearing. And he was holding his breath. With a quick snap, she unhooked her bra and tossed it on top of the pantyhose, pulling the t-shirt over her head to billow down to her knees. A soft caress of fabric softener and Mulder. He opened his eyes when her weight shifted the mattress underneath him. She sat crosslegged beside him, grabbed his spare pillow and held it in her lap. He rolled onto his side to face her, propping his head on the heel of his hand. "A greater intelligence ..." he began, voice trailing into the expectant silence between them. "I suppose you could say I believe in fate." She pursed her lips, unsurprised by his facile response. "Not fate, Mulder. Not a cosmic force. I'm talking about an intelligence. Some sort of sentient being that not only guides our lives, but understands us. And, at some level ... well ... *cares* about us. About me." A pause. "About you," she finished quietly. He looked at his hand where it flexed and relaxed, flexed on the mattress in front of him. He held it in front of his face, watching the delicate bones shift under the skin. "Scully, I don't know ..." he stopped and scrutinized his hand again. She reached out and took his fingers, stilling their agitation with a gentle squeeze, bringing them to rest on her ankle. A bridge between them. "Mulder, why don't you believe in God?" "Why do you?" he countered softly, eyes locked with hers. "Empirical evidence." He quirked his eyebrow at the unexpected remark, searching for an explanation. A sardonic chuckle escaped her lips, and she dropped her chin, hair tumbling in front of her face. "I always had faith, or belief, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe it was just my upbringing. But then I began to push it away." She held her palm out stiffly in a gesture of dismissal. "It didn't seem to mesh with the scientific belief system I was adopting. But now ... I've seen too much that suggests He *does* exist. How can I deny the evidence when I can't refute it?" He smiled at that. She was talking about more than God. He rubbed his thumb gently across the smooth rise of her ankle. "And the ship in Africa? A vision in a Buddhist temple? They don't sound like your God to me." Her eyes shifted perceptively, focus lost in contemplation. Her low alto hummed softly in the air. "I think those do more to reaffirm my belief in God than not. Nothing happens in contradiction to nature, only in contradiction to our understanding of it.'" She paused a moment, considering. "Maybe God is the grand scientist, manipulating matter and physics with a sophistication beyond anything man can envision. And if He is a god of all things, how could one faith comprehend Him?" She closed her eyes as his fingers traveled up her calf then back down to caress the delicate bones of her foot. "Maybe there is just *truth.* And over the centuries we have snatched at pieces of that truth, created a distorted picture. Maybe we need to reassemble the puzzle before we can begin to understand." "So, does this mean no more going to confession?" he joked softly. "No," she smiled down at him, foot twitching as he stroked a ticklish spot. "No, it doesn't. I think God appreciates my form of worship." She nudged his shoulder. "But Mulder, you still haven't answered my question." His expression sobered. "I don't know that I've formed a concept of God. Not a caring one at least. Bitterness and doubt are the feelings I've associated with the possibility of a supreme being for as long as I can remember." She nodded, urging him onward. "But ... there *have* been times when I've had to believe in something. When it was all I could do not to ..." he shrugged uncomfortably "... fall to my knees." "When?" she asked quietly. He paused, looked in her eyes. Her expression was patient, passionate, pleading. His gaze locked to a spot on her ankle, seemingly mesmerized by the circling movements of his thumb. He swallowed, began haltingly, voice barely a murmur. "Um, the LaPierre case, when we ... found the bodies. All the children. I had to hope ... And then later, when ... Samantha. I heard ... and there were so many ... they were smiling." His emotions bubbled to the surface, and his voice took on a gravelly texture. His hand stopped its circling, resting warmly on her shin, a slight tremor. "One night when you were in the hospital. You were asleep ... peaceful. But pale. From the cancer. And I couldn't save you. Someone *had* to care. Because I was ... helpless ..." His voice broke. His throat was dry and constricted, choking away the words. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly through the hair above his ear. He sat up suddenly, grasping her hand and holding it to his cheek. Continued earnestly. "I do have trouble comprehending God, Scully. Especially a loving one. I envy you that conviction. But maybe I don't need it." He rubbed her knuckles against the rough stubble of his jaw. "I hear you speak of God with fervency, and I have to respect him. I see you walk into my life every day, and I believe. Maybe I'm not meant to know for myself. Maybe I never will have that assurance." He focused on her with clear, honest eyes. "But I have you. And I see God reflected in you. See the world through new eyes. More perfect eyes than mine. And for me, that's enough. Right now, that's enough." She cleared her throat, took a breath, ignored the heat seeping in her abdomen and the warning signals conditioned by seven years of inhibition. His fingers slid to her elbow and she dropped her hand to the base of his neck, looked directly into his eyes, tears forming. "I learned something today. Something important I wanted to tell you." She paused as her voice trembled. "Everything leads me to you, Mulder. You are my right choice. The only question that remains is: where does the path go for *us*?" He smiled, illuminating his face, the entire room, with emotion. Happiness. And everything seemed clear to her again. His eyelids fluttering lushly against his cheeks. The shifting colors in his eyes. The throb of his artery under the pulse of her fingertips. An age-old rhythm that resonated inside and around them. This was the way it was meant to be. ************ The end. ************ Pick out something leaden and sexy and prepare to do some funky reading at XRie Vision: xrie.iwarp.com