From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 9 Jul 2006 19:53:54 -0000
Subject: New: Kvs7 "Amnesia" by Khyber by Khyber
Source: direct

TITLE: Amnesia
AUTHOR: Khyber
EMAIL: khyber@khyberfic.net 
CLASSIFICATION: VR
RATING: R
SPOILERS: "all things", "Brand X"
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SUMMARY: Khyber vs. Season Seven. Post-ep for "Brand X" and to a
lesser extent "all things."

Disclaimer: You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant,
excepting Alice.

Author's Notes: Part of "Khyber vs. Season Seven." Takes place
about two weeks after the nicotine treatment saves Mulder's life.
For the purposes of this story we're going to pretend the dumbass
final "two weeks later" scene of "Brand X" didn't happen.

Again, "Khyber vs. Season Seven" is best read in order, and you're 
sort of in the late beginning/early middle here.

* * *

Amnesia
by Khyber
khyber@khyberfic.net 
* * *

It's Cosby for sure, raspy but obvious, a routine he definitely did
not do.

"And I-iiiii... had never haaad, a blowjob. Like that. Before."

Scully stifles a goofy laugh in the pillow, conscious of her mouth
and the now-ruined position of Bill Cosby records in her family
canon. She kicks him in the knee with a tiny bare foot. Cosby
records, and How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Christmas
Eve. Everyone could agree on that, at least until Missy was sixteen
and briefly awful. Mulder's big hand clamps on her ankle and she 
twists with wiry naked strength, laughing.

* * *

"Busted."

His voice is a sheepish, breathy hiss as she leans in the doorway
of the office, car keys dangling.

"So busted," she replies. It's almost eight PM, and he's not even
supposed to be here at all.

"How'd you catch me?"

She nods at the ceiling.

"Pattern of pencils changed this morning." She crosses her arms
under her breasts, and he tries not to pay attention to the way
things move and shape beneath soft cotton. "Whatcha doin' here,
Mulder?"

He loves it when she contracts. It's tensionless, means that no
one is actually in trouble. 

"It's only been the past two nights," putting one hand over his
heart, "I swear."

"I know." Scully's trying not to smile. "That line last night about
why you were on your cell from your apartment was pretty weak." He
grins and shrugs. She sits down on the edge of the desk. "And, you
moved around about eight things on the desk, too. You'd think you'd 
be better at sneaking around where you're not supposed to be by 
now." 

"You'd think."

A look of fondness, like but not exactly like she'd give her nephew. 

"You didn't drive down here, did you?"

"No, I got a cab."

"Okay. You have two minutes to get whatever you want, then I'm
taking you home."

He sighs heavily, stretching in his chair and leaning back. She
watches his chest. He's broadening as he approaches forty, not
softening but thickening. His knees bother him on the long runs
so he goes to the gym more, has some weights in his apartment. She
remembers the size of his biceps, what felt like it should have
been familiar now surprising.

"Come on, Scully, I'm bored out of my mind. I'd be bouncing off 
the walls if I had enough energy. The drugs aren't even fun 
anymore." He gestures around the office. "I'm basically here for 
a change of scenery."

She's looking around the office for something, stands as she
speaks.

"Did you at least bring the meds?"

The pile for recycling by the door is ruthlessly neat, as it is on
days when she has the office to herself.

"Yes. I even brought fucking Boost." It comes out harsher than he
meant. He smiles at her back, trying to put the smile in his broken
voice. "You were right. I'm coming around to the strawberry
after all."

She tosses a retrieved section of newspaper on his desk. 

"Okay, then you have two minutes to pick a movie. My treat. But 
we're not staying here."

While he rattles the listings contentedly, she sits down. The
rolling chair edges towards her laptop.

"Someone's thinking about logging into her email..." he grins as
he flips the folded paper towards her. She glances up sideways at
him, her untended mid-evening hair falling into her face, and
pushes herself back from the desk.

"I'm not," she chuckles, "I'm not." She rises, looking compact and
content.  "Okay, what am I watching blow up this time?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to take advantage if you're paying. John 
Cusack?" On the way over to the coat rack he puts his arm around
her shoulder. The pressure is gentle, steady.  "I have a certain
affinity with aging losers with record collections."

"That's dangerously close to a girl movie, Mulder." She'd caught
herself preparing to say 'date movie'.

"I'm hoping you'll get distracted so I can eat popcorn." 

"You can try eating popcorn, but you have no idea how much that's
gonna hurt going down." She hasn't shrugged his arm off-- there's 
no one in the hallway at this hour.

"Actually, I do, I tried toast this morning." He winces.

"Mulder..."

"It was almost worth it. I said the strawberry was best, I didn't
say it was good."

* * *

Scully wins the wrestling match. Her hands pin his on his
chest, still laughing.

Seventeen, twenty times, somewhere between, she thought. An average
of five a year, which of course wasn't how it worked at all.
Counting this, and the slow, silent midnight they shared three
weeks ago when her head had been abuzz with a weary sense of
displacement and freedom. That night he'd lifted her from his
couch, and then that dizzy buzz had lifted them both into his bed.
Two hours' sleep, perhaps, then a wordless snuggly tangle of
lovemaking with bodies spooned together. She'd noticed the size,
the strength of his arms as they wrapped around her, and was quite
certain that that slow and cradled way was entirely new for them.

She doesn't ever remember them laughing before, either, not like
they are now. It makes him cough a couple of times, and he starts 
talking again to clear the concern from her eyes. 

When they're silent Mulder can feel her tense up-- four years
later, almost five, this is still what passes for afterglow from
Scully. He wants to be able kiss it out of her, blast the thoughts
out of that fine and ferocious mind. No, not that, they've fucked
each other's brains out before and the thoughts always come back. He
wants to give her amnesia (transient global amnesia, Mulder, it's not
uncommon but not easily explained) just let her be, watch her watch
the world go by as if everything was happening for the first time.

* * *

Scully checked herself one step at a time, first deciding that she
would get out of the car, then that she would go up to his door.
And then it would be silly not to go in, since she had come all the
way up here already. In fact, it would be Spooky, one of those
weird things they would do to maintain distance. So she went in,
conscious of the roughness of Mulder's breathing. The wedge of
light from the door narrowed and disappeared. 

He's close and dear and alive (we're alive) and hasn't turned the 
lights on yet. She decides to move, tugging gently at his arm to 
turn him towards her.

Even in the dark she's familiar enough with his face to avoid the
nose, tilting her own head slightly. He senses the shift in her
posture, her electromagnetic field, and ducks just enough that she
doesn't have to strain upwards.

They stay there for long enough to make the deal: one little
inviting starter kiss to be certain that the other isn't planning
to just say goodnight, followed by raising the stakes a little.
He opens his mouth first, and she surprises him with a little
flick of her tongue. She feels him starting to smile under her
lips. When the kisses break he's just slid the tips of his fingers 
under her shirt, along the soft skin of her waist. They stay close
together and her hand lands on his wrist, keeping
his hand on her body. Yes.

"Hmm."

"Hmm."

"I was afraid I was going to lose you." It's practically a mumble, 
as though she fears mispronouncing the words.

"I knew you weren't going to let go."

She's afraid of starting to cry and so starts it again, urging him
down so she can kiss him lightly on the cheek, then brush her lips
across his face, stopping gently on the mouth. He tries to deepen
it, his eyes closing and his short breath rasping. Gentle, firm 
fingers press on his lips, the small sweet mouth moving to his
jawline.

"You just keep breathing."

"Doctor's orders?"

"Shhhh."

* * *

She demanded quiet for this strange and beautiful performance, he
thought. Scully on top of him was not just aesthetically superb and
physically convenient, but reflected something oddly ritual in his
catholic girl. He imagined that when she was young, either
twenty-nine or fifteen, conscious or unconscious, the image formed
for her that this was Dana Katherine Scully in love. She would move
slowly and deliberately atop this man, whoever he was or would be.
This is what she would do when that time came. He watched her
proceed gracefully through the stations of her pilgrimage, hands,
mouth, mount with a soft gasp. She is heedless of her own condition
and does not wish him to concern himself with her, having faith
that the virtuous pilgrim will be rewarded for her good works.
Divine favour descends upon her as she knew it would. He feels her
slim small back tighten and arch, feels the shivery sensation
inside her, hears the wounded cry. This is three times he has been
the object of this quiet ceremony, three times the offering has
been made and he messed up the first two so bad, so long ago he
barely remembered what the real thing was like maybe third time's
the charm...

* * *

"There wasn't a single black kid on the Vineyard, obviously. But at
school, there were Richard Pryor records floating around."

They're done wrestling, laying on their bellies. She can tell Mulder 
wants to hold her, put an arm around her. He'd held her earlier but 
at this point, a good twenty minutes after, it would be getting into 
cuddling, snuggling, one of those soft words.

"God, he was funny. It was like a different world. I was into Lenny 
Bruce, too, but that was, you know, that was obvious." She makes an 
appropriate noise as Mulder rolls over onto his back.  "I had
literally no idea what Richard Pryor was talking about but I knew it
was hilarious."

He's trying to bring her down to somewhere sweetly mundane and it's
working, to a point. As he rolled over he'd paused for a second, 
seemingly only to look at her.

"I liked Dr. Seuss. When we stopped watching it, the Grinch, at
Christmas I still liked it. I was fourteen."

There's a moment of silence in which each of them wonders
exactly how she had started thinking of the Whos in Whoville,
and then they both laugh quietly. The verbal equivalent of bumping
noses when you kiss, Mulder thinks. It will take some practice.

"I should go," Scully says, rolling onto her side. She rests her 
hand flat on his naked chest, studies the contrast. "I have to work
tomorrow."

He doesn't say anything, which she appreciates, and she doesn't
close them off with the bathroom door as she dresses, which he
appreciates. 

Emerging, she leans over the bed and kisses him. 

As Scully turns away, she feels her heart growing and growing nine
times its normal size, threatening to break her chest.

* * *

fin

feedback greatly appreciated at:
khyber@khyberfic.net