From: joemimi@prodigy.net Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2001 13:54:38 -0000 Subject: xfc: NEW "The Last Temptation of Scully" (1 of1) Source: xfc "The Last Temptation of Scully" by Marie Endres joemimi@prodigy.net Classification: Scully Angst; MSR Rating: PG Spoilers: "Pilot" Summary: Temptation can sometimes appear as a wise choice. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. "The Last Temptation of Scully" Quiet night washes over me, enveloping me in its peaceful embrace. I am lulled into sleep by the sheer bliss of knowing that I am home once more. He touches me, so tentatively at first. It is our first time together; somehow, I know this. His hand cups my face to his as he reverently places a kiss upon my lips. He is so tender, so soft in his explorations of my mouth, I almost want to cry, but I do not because the pleasure is so great. He lowers his head, kissing his way down my neck until he runs his tongue, that gifted tongue, along my breastbone. I softly moan. "Not too loud, Dana." The words startle me. It is not his voice. It is not my own or that of the man who lies next to me. "It is I." "Wha-" I manage to squeak out as I sit up to gather my thoughts after my lovely dream. "I am here, Dana." The words seem to form in my mind as the visage of the one who speaks them comes into focus in front of me. Out of the darkness he speaks. Clothed in shadows, he sits before me. "You do not like my face. Yet, you certainly like his," he speaks as a smirk etches its way across his weather-beaten features. Small lines appear at the corners of his almost-black eyes. I know he is not referring to the man who shares my bed. "Who are you?" I quietly demand. "Who I am is not quite that important. Oh, sometimes it is. Tonight it is not. What's important is you, Dana. That's why I came here." His voice drips with sincerity, yet there is something more. Something that I cannot begin to understand; yet, I know that it frightens me, makes me uneasy. I am cold, colder than the night air can possibly be making me. It is coming from within me, chilling me to my deepest thoughts. "I know that you believe that he can make you warmer," again, sarcasm surrounds each of his words. "You're wrong, you know. That's why I'm here. To save you." "I don't need saving. I love Ethan," I reply with sternness. "You know I am not speaking of Ethan. You knew that even as I spoke my first words. Ethan has no power over you. Yet, there is one who does." I know of whom he speaks. "Mulder has no power over me," I shoot back as quickly as possible. "Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. I know that he does and that is why you must go," he says with a patronizing tone. "Go where? And who are you?" I demand. "As I said, who I am is not of relevance. Though, surely, I would think that you would know," he paused waiting for me to respond. I looked more earnestly at the figure who sits before me. He seems to not have a definite form, just a slowly changing, shifting blackness surrounding him. I fear I do know his true identity. "That's it, Dana! Good girl!" he mockingly congratulates my inner realization. "Now, you asked me a question; that's good. That means we are com-mun-i-cating," he says with satisfaction while drawing out the last word, syllable by syllable. "That's one of my greatest triumphs right now. People talking to each other and believing that they are in relationships, simply because they are yacking to each other. So many words, so many lonely people." He is chuckling. "Now where were we?" he asks with a certain sick glee. "Oh yes, you asked me where you should go. Bright girl that you are, you already know. C'mon," he seems to encourage, yet I know he is not truly capable of that. "You know you want to run as far away from him as you can. You know you want to leave this embarrassment of his work. Do something with your life, with your education. Do it, Dana. Leave him," he harshly whispers. "I cannot. I was assigned to this project. I can't leave now," I reply. "When will you leave him? When it's too late? When it has eaten up your life? When you are as old and withered as I appear before you? Leave now, and life may still be your servant. I can make sure of it," he says conspiratorially. His offer runs through my mind like a slow- moving slip of ice. "Dana, I can give you what you've hoped for, dreamed of," his words hang in the air as his face changes before me. Features sliding, shifting into that of a young child. "Is that better? Does that remind you more of life? " says the child with light brown hair and hazel eyes. My gasp was rewarded with a giggle from the one who sits before me. "Good, I've frightened you," says the child right before changing back into the elderly, ancient one. "Maybe now you'll listen, " he hisses. "You'll never see that life. It will never be yours if you stay with him," he says hurriedly. "I just work with him," I say, barely convincing myself. "You fool! You know it will be more than that someday. It will be everything to you. And you will lose everything because of it. I don't think you're capable of handling that, Dana. Do you?" I do not respond, which he takes as assent. "See, even you know that is beyond you. You saw how you panicked back in those woods. There will come a time when you have every reason to panic because of that place. But that can all be avoided, if you listen to me." My mind is racing almost as fast as my pulse. Is any of this real? Even if it isn't, what has caused me to invent this? "You didn't create me, Dana. I am the angel of light from before time. I was so promising once, too. Like you. Flee from him. Leave him," he demands. "And what if I don't?" I counter. "You are more of a fool than he is. Death is not romantic. Never underestimate me," he says in a terrifyingly sweet whisper. As if a sword has cut through the darkness, my thoughts turn to the faith of my youth: "Resist and he will flee." "Funny, you weren't able to remember the holy words when you were sleeping with a married man," he says accusingly. "And quit focussing on me. I'm only here to help," he says, feigning innocence. "No, you are trying to keep me from the life I have chosen," I say with a renewed strength. "You're just running away, Dana, from your father, from Daniel, from yourself. For once, put yourself * first *," he says emphatically. I know that is not who I am. I think of others, I think of the role my work plays in the lives of so many, in the life of the sad, brave man I call my partner. I cannot walk away. I will not. "I will walk the path set before me. I know I will not walk it alone," I say strongly. "Remember, only one man walked out of a grave," he says caustically, "I've kept the rest. And I'll keep the one you love someday, too. I gave you your chance, foolish little girl." The form that terrified me is swept from my vision in a swirl of murky black as I stay transfixed in my bed, staring at the very empty place where this apparition once was. The phone jars me from my waking nightmare. "Hello?" I speak into the receiver, fearing who the caller may be. "Scully, it's me. I haven't been able to sleep. I talked to the DA's office in Raymond County, Oregon. There's no case file on Billy Miles. The paperwork we filed is gone. We need to talk, Scully," implores Mulder. "Yes, tomorrow," I offer. I hang up the phone, knowing what I have done. I have sealed our fates: his, mine, ours. We will end up fighting Hell itself someday. And I am not afraid anymore. END Feedback: Visit me with your kind words joemimi@prodigy.net Author's Notes: Yes, I was hugely inspired by a scene in "The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc." It is with great respect that I put our ever-questing Scully in Joan's place in my story. Thank you's as always to dear Georgia, who never ceases in her beta kindness!