Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 17:59:58 -0500 Subject: Jump Start (1/1) by RM Source: xff Title: Jump Start (1/1) Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. SPOILER::: Post-Triangle ====== Jump Start ====== He was almost asleep when she came back inside, her arms braced on the railing at the side of the bed. He could feel her tight warmth next to him and her eyes intent on his face. "Mulder?" His eyes cracked open to look at her, wincing a bit with the overhead light. She was watching him with her doctor's focus, tracking the movement of his head, following his eyes, watching for tremors in his muscles. "You awake, Mulder?" "Yeah. . .ugh, I still feel like hell." She fingered his bangs, then smoothed them away from his forehead. "No wonder. You're all bruised." He was still on his side, his fingers brushing against her waist as she stood there beside him. She was leaning in closer now, concerned about the lazy and soft look in his eyes. Her fingers were running over his one purple and puffy lid, her touch light and cool. "Mulder, what happened to your eye?" He shrugged and smiled. "Nothin'." "Do you remember anything, Mulder? What happened to your boat. . .?" He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his finger up and down her belly rhythmically, the suit jacket open so that it was just the silk shirt between their skin. She was stiff and her muscles taut, but he could feel the heat of her even with just his fingers grazing her stomach. "Mulder?" "You saved the world, Scully. I told you that." "Mulder, you have a head injury, and the bruises around your eye suggest that you hit it on something fairly hard, so whatever you think happened-" "Your fist." "What?" she said, and he opened his eyes to smile at her. "You hit me, right here," he said, touching his purple and blue swollen eye. "I didn't hit you, Mulder. We need to get you some ice. . ." Her thoughts were jumping, not settling on one aspect of his story for too long. She knew how persuasive he could be, just how much she wanted to believe him some times. "Don't go just yet," he begged, snagging her by slipping a finger into the top of her skirt. She paused, feeling his finger against her bare skin. "Mulder. . ." "You don't have to believe me." "I don't," she said, smiling a bit. "But I still love you." She froze, eyebrows raised and hands clutching the rail. She had the trapped rabbit look that made him just a bit sad, but was also somewhat amusing. "Mulder. . ." "Let's just leave it at that," he said, tugging on her skirt again. It was a not so subtle hint that he did not want to leave it at that. "Mulder, I-" "You gonna get me some ice?" he said. She licked her lips and turned her head toward the door, as if looking for an escape. But then she uncoiled, her lips softening and her hands loosely snagging the finger that was looped around her waist. He watched her move down to his eye level, her lips damp with that tongue-swipe she did when she was nervous. And then she was kissing his eyelid, soft and wet and warm, her lips brushing his lashes and her nose bumping his eyebrow. Her breath was startlingly loud in the stillness of that moment, and her fingers were loose over his, barely damp with nervous boldness. She didn't know whether or not she wanted to see his face, his look, just yet. He opened his eyes and grinned at her, saucy and impetuous and not at all hurting. "That's a good start. . ." he murmured. ====== The car was warm and filled with sunshine, and the sharp cold of the day was pushed out by the heat of her hands on his shoulders. He eased into the seat, buckling his safety belt with one hand as he unlocked her door with the other. Scully smiled her thanks and slid behind the wheel, starting the engine with a grunt as the cold slowly unthawed from the motor. The were soon blending with the interstate traffic, the grey car seemingly silver in the winter bright day. Mulder rested his head against the window and closed his eyes, trying to block out the intensity of the light. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Does your head hurt?" "A little," he answered, keeping his eyes tightly shut. He felt her fingers thread through his limp hand, then settle on her thigh, warm and tight and comforting. He let his eyes crack open to see her, watching her easy and natural movements, checking her rear view mirror, licking her lips in the rush of air from the heater, or expertly maneuvering the wheel. He was surprised when she headed for his own apartment, breaking the bubble of contentment he had soaped for himself. She would drop him off and make sure he was all right, then go on home and everything would be the same. He would stay on his couch and watch mindless television, like the Lifetime weekend movie or the TNT network reruns. When they parked in his spot, a niggling of doubt settled into his thoughts, but he refused to be hopeful. So she had kissed him once, in the hospital with his head still buzzing from the meds and his eye throbbing with the bruise of her punch. That didn't mean she'd do it again, didn't mean she wanted to do it again. Maybe it had all been pity, or relief. She offered to help him out, but he shook his head and opened his door, then yanked his weary body from the seat with a rough grunt. It ached and throbbed, but he ignored it, knowing he'd be on his own soon and have to deal with it. He unlocked the apartment's security door, then followed her to the elevator, wincing behind her back in a shameless ploy for attention. If she was going to leave him there alone, he wanted to make it as guilty as possible. He wasn't above begging either. He turned to shut the door and felt his knees buckle beneath him. Scully caught him before he could crumple, then led him to the couch, easing him down. He clutched her shirt as he felt the leather behind him, tugging her forward. Scully eyed him and carefully disentangled herself from his grip. "Are you leaving?" he asked, pulling himself up to a sitting position. She sat next to him, taking his hand in her warm fingers, teasing his skin with the brush of nails along his palm. "Did you want me to?" "No." "I was going to stay here for awhile. Make sure you're going to make it." He just watched her, not sure what to say next, but very glad she was staying. Her hand was nestled at the joint of his hip and thigh, cradled with his larger one. She was fiddling with her shirt hem nervously, as if she didn't know what to do, and her tongue kept darting out to swipe at her upper lip. When he leaned forward, their joined hands were crushed by his chest and her fingernails dug sharply into his ribs, but he didn't move away. Her mouth was slightly open when he touched his lips there, and warm, and he didn't want to feel anything but her breath heating his tongue. He was making love to her mouth and cheeks and chin and neck when he felt her other hand on his thigh, hot and burning and stroking unconsciously. It was like a shock of electricity, heart thudding and painful and sweet. He couldn't breathe or think, only lose himself in the feel of her touch, that one small lava-hand burning him. He connected with her shirt hem, his thumbs brushing along her bare skin finally, baby soft and beautiful, his fingers discovering things his eyes had seen few times. She was pressing upward, crushing their mouths together and the gentleness was burned in need, like a flower in flame. He broke away to breathe, something in his brain screaming, something in his heart screaming back, and heaved on the couch, still clutching one hand and still an inch from her breasts. She leaned into him, her forehead on his shoulder, the regret seeping from her in waves of sorrow-sickness. He stroked her side and belly, closing his eyes to pray she was not hating him. "Scully?" He sighed with melancholy. She was crying now, but the soft silent tears that she didn't mean to shed, didn't want to let him see. He moved his hands to cradle the back of her head, forgetting the clutching ache in him to have her, and concentrating on the brokenness of the woman sitting there. "Scully, it's okay." He sounded lame even to himself. She was silent and still and he could only the feel the dampness on his shirt to tell him she had wept. Her fingers curled at his waist and he braced himself for pain. "I know," she said, and it sounded like she was laughing. He glanced down at the top of her head, then pushed her back from him, frowning. When he glanced in her eyes, she was smirking and trying not to crack up. "Are you laughing?" he asked, feeling something ease from his chest. She shook her head lamely, but her shoulders shook and her lips quirked and he knew she was going to start laughing. She buried her head back in his shirt and he heard the muffled gasps and laughs like being dunked underwater by a friend. "Finished now?" he said, when she was still again. Scully leaned back and nodded. "I couldn't help it." "Glad I amuse you," he said, miffed and just a bit hurt. "No, it's just. . .well, yeah. You're pretty funny, Mulder." He frowned, glancing away for a moment, his mind racing to think. "It was nice to hear you laugh." She looked shocked when he turned to see her, and her hands grabbed his shirt and clung there, as if trying to make sure it was really him, really this man in front of her. "Mulder." "No, I'm not upset, Scully. I just don't get to hear you being silly that often." "Well, maybe we need to start on that. I don't hear you laugh all that often either." He smiled and laced his fingers together behind her neck, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Just don't start on it when I'm trying to kiss you, okay?" She smiled and leaned in to brand his lips with her mouth and tongue and teeth, a battle won and lost in the taste and the touch of it. They parted, eyes opening to see the other, their hands tangled in hair and shirt and breathing. He crossed his eyes and made a face at her, and with the purple swollen eye and sleepless circles rimming the other, she couldn't help but laughing. "That's great," he said smirking at her like a child who's gotten a cookie from the off-limits top shelf. "Mmm, that's a good start," she replied. He pulled her against him, positioning them on the couch so that she wasn't hitting his sore ribs or her hair tickling his chin. She was content to trace invisible circles on his stomach, occasionally pressing her lips to his shirt. "I have to say, Scully. You kiss much better now than in World War II. Much better." ====== end adios RM