From: Kate Rickman Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 18:40:25 -0400 Subject: Coloring Fall (1/1) Kate Rickman Source: xff Reply To: kate.rickman@mindspring.com TITLE: Love for all Seasons II: Coloring Fall AUTHOR: Kate Rickman E-MAIL: kate.rickman@mindspring.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere CLASSIFICATION: MSR RATING: R SPOILERS: None DISCLAIMER: Just the wall, not the bricks. SUMMARY: Still learning how to be comfortable in their new intimacy, Mulder and Scully are ambushed by the Scully clan. Love for All Seasons is and will be: I. Summer into Fall--archived at my site II. Coloring Fall--this story III. Winter Solstice--Ah...coming next??? IV. Winter into Spring--Artsy, tough to outline IV. Leaves of Spring--ack! V. Summer--?? VI. more, more, more--expect a gap Other parts of this story and my other fiction can be accessed at http://kate.rickman.home.mindspring.com/ (This time I typed the URL correctly!) *** September 29, 1998 7:38 AM "Well." I swim through many layers of sleep toward the sound. Scully curls against me, her soft round derriere tucked into my lap, her smooth warm back pressed against my chest. I breathe in the nest of her hair, wild and fragrant; her breath tickles my arm as it drifts from her lips, parted in sleep. With Scully in my arms, I sleep the night through, undisturbed by dreams. With Scully in my arms, I have found myself. "Fox." Scully called me Fox one day last week, then blushed as if my given name were too intimate to use in broad daylight. She called me Fox on the day we found the old Hobie Cat in the barn, dusty, but its sail carefully furled and stowed in a dry place. The blocks ran fine after we'd cleaned and oiled them; the sheets were strong and good. We used ropes to drag it across the meadow, flushing geese into the sky, leaving a long trail of bent grass while the birds cursed and nagged us from the air. The thin mast wobbled awkwardly as the little catamaran bumped along uneven ground but, in the water, the Cat bobbed gracefully, its boom swinging side to side, inviting us to sail. So we did. Under Scully's light hand, the little craft tacked smartly across the bay, skipping over the waves, veering left and then right as she sent us sailing into the evening sun. A chilly breeze whipped across my face. I should have felt cold, but I felt warm all over instead. "Fox, look!" With one hand she pointed at the shore. A flock of Egret sprinted through the shallow water then took flight and skimmed along the bay, their long legs trailing behind them in the air. Laughter poured from Scully's throat as she pulled the tiller, sending us skimming in their wake, losing the race as the white birds dissolved into the sun's glare. She changed course sharply, turning the Cat on one hull. I leaned back against the turn and rose high in the air. From the look on her face and the flush across her cheeks, I could tell she'd heard my name on her lips. "It's OK for you to call me that." Both hulls settled against the waves and we tacked in another direction. "I'd like for you to call me that." That night she used my given name several times, loudly. I smile at the memory and snuggle closer to her. My arm easily circles her small waist and I press my palm against her flat belly, lazily running one finger around the soft dimple of her navel. "Dana." I still call her Scully. Somehow between us it seems the more intimate name. Scully. I hear her name in my ears and see her face, smiling, above mine in the darkness. Scully. I feel the soft down of her thighs slide across my hips and warm heat of her core envelop me, drawing me in, sheltering me, making me warm and safe and whole. Scully. Delicious goose bumps bubble along my spine as I push into her, hearing her gasp my name in turn. Scully. I hold her against my heart as our breathing slows and we drift into sleep. Her warmth comforts me. I am reluctant to leave it but something tugs me to wakefulness. "Time to wake up," the voice says loudly this time; so I do. Blinking sleepily, I flinch as Mrs. Scully materializes from the bright morning sunlight. Shit. Busted. Reflexes honed to a sharp edge during adolescence kick in and I bolt upright, bare chested, blankets pooling around my waist. I'm certain she knows I'm stark naked beneath the flannel and cotton. Somehow she also knows that her daughter and I made glorious love in this bed last night. Twice. It doesn't matter that her daughter is a 35-year-old woman. It doesn't matter that I've been "dating" her daughter for six long years. It doesn't matter that I love her daughter more than life itself. She's a mother, I'm in bed with her daughter, and I'm dead meat. "Mrs. Scully." The words hiss from my lips like air passing from a corpse. "Mom?" Scully asks sleepily, pushing herself to a seated position. I grab the sheet as it slips, anchoring it to her shoulder with one hand. Her eyes deglaze at my sudden movement, focus. She stiffens as she realizes we have company. "Mom!" and then "Charlie!" Her voice trails off in a squeak. "Long time, no see, Sis," a red-haired man steps around Mrs. Scully and glares down at me as he speaks to his sister. Scully folds into herself, pulling the sheet up to her neck. She peers at her family from the far side of the hem. "We didn't expect you." Indeed. "We wanted to surprise you," Mrs. Scully replies, a faint smile on her lips. Charlie scowls. They did, indeed. Scully struggles to regain her composure and take control of the situation. "Charlie, I'd like you to meet my part...uh...my...um ...friend.... Well." She thinks for a moment. "This is Fox Mulder," she says finally. Smooth, that's my Scully. "So I gathered," Charlie says. He turns to me. "Bill's told me a lot about you." Great. "I hope they're all good things," I say, knowing they're not. To Bill, I'm the devil incarnate, corrupter of sisters. And I'm living up to my reputation. The front door slams. A hollow galloping sound swells in our direction. "Auntie Dana!" an excited voice squeals just as a flying projectile lands on the bed with a bounce. A sandy-haired girl squirms into the space between Scully and I, unfazed by the strange man who sits naked in bed next to her aunt, unfazed by her equally- naked aunt hiding beneath the covers. "Auntie Dana, there's a boat out there. Did you see it? It's in the water. The sail is so pretty! Can we ride on it? Please. I wanna go on the boat. Please." Her words pour out in a flood of enthusiasm. "It's a catamaran, Diana," Scully pronounces the word carefully, with all the syllables, "not a boat." Apparently all Scullys must be able to identify common recreational craft correctly from an early age. "Cat-a-mer-an," Diana dutifully repeats, flashing a gap-toothed grin at both Scully and I. Her nose and cheeks are liberally sprinkled with freckles and her bright blue eyes twinkle with excitement. "So, can we go?" A new voice, from the doorway. An older boy, cut from the same genetic cloth, lurks just outside the room. Christopher. Behind him stands a woman I recognize from Scully family pictures as Charlie's wife Laura. Charlie and Laura, Diana and Christopher, Mrs. Scully--we're really holding court here. Who's missing? Bill and Tara and Matthew. Bill. I wince mentally and count my blessings. "Who's he?" Diana finally figures out there's a naked stranger in the bed. She turns and looks up at me, eyes wide and innocent. "Fox." "Uncle Fox!" Diana rolls into my lap and hugs me sweetly, her head burrowed against my chest. "Well, no, not exactly...." I pet her curly head, feeling something strange and paternal swell around my heart as her hair slips through my fingers, fine as silk. I attempt a reasonable explanation of my relationship to Auntie Dana but it's cut short by Diana's exuberant "Let's go! Let's go!" She tumbles from the bed and, tugging at her brother's hand, drags him from the room. "Come on, Auntie Dana!" The front door closes behind them with a bang and, for a moment, the only sound in the room is my breath strangling in my throat. Laura discretely steers her husband from the room. After a moment, the front door sounds again, more quietly this time. Mrs. Scully lifts an eyebrow--so that's where Scully gets it--then turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Finally. We are alone again. Scully rolls her eyes and dives into the pillow, burying her face there. A muffled groan leaks from the feathers. "Take me now, Lord." I rub her back sympathetically. "It could have been worse. We could have been doing the wild thing when they walked in." Another muffled groan, louder this time. "Come on, Scully," I feel her shaking beneath my hand. "We had to tell them sometime." She rolls onto her back, the sheet slipping from her shoulders, and bursts into laughter. "You should have seen your face," she howls. "It was priceless!" "My face? What about those deer-in-the-headlights eyes I saw barely peeping over the edge of the sheet?" Scully snickers and stretches; the sheet creeps farther down, exposing what she nearly flashed at her mother and brother. They beg for my attention and I give it to them. "Mulder, don't!" Scully giggles. I love it when I make her giggle. It's so un-Scully. It's special. "Mulder!" she gasps as I pull at a nipple again with my lips. "My mother..." her voice breaks as I swirl my tongue over the tight nubbin and gently suckle her "...is in the living room." "Ah, come on, Scully." I shift my attention to the other breast, savoring the sweet morsel with my mouth. "Didn't you ever make out with boys while your parents were watching TV in the next room?" "How...could...I..." she threads her fingers through my hair and pulls me close against her "with Bill and Charlie policing the house like the Junior Shore Patrol?" She throws her head back against the pillow. "Ahhhhh." The delicate skin on her neck distracts me and I travel upward, tasting her chest, the small hollow at the base of her throat, the skin behind her ear, the fine line of her jaw. At long last I find her lips and sink into them. She rises to meet me, matching my passion with her lips and her tongue. Dana Scully of the dark suits and impeccable grooming and the tight composure is also Dana Scully, passionate hellcat, a redhead in every sense of the metaphor. I am one lucky man. I throb with needing her. I need to bury myself in her, lose myself in her, and find myself again and again in her. Instead, I rest my forehead against hers and open my eyes. As Scully reminded me, her mother is in the living room. "We should get dressed." "Yeah." I could drown myself gladly in her eyes when she looks at me like that. "Later," I promise. "It's a deal." With a kiss, she seals the agreement. A few moments later, she's dressed and out the door, leaving me to compose myself. When I pad into the living room, smoothing my bed-mussed hair with both hands, Scully is head-to-head with her mother. The rest of the family is nowhere to be seen. On the sofa, Mrs. Scully leans toward her daughter, her head tipped, listening. Scully speaks earnestly into her mother's eyes, now and then patting Mrs. Scully's arm for emphasis. I sense a positive vibe here and perch on the edge of the wicker armchair, waiting for judgement. After a moment, Mrs. Scully turns to me, immediately noting my anxious expression. "It's OK, Fox. Relax." She pats my arm gently. "Really." She opens her mouth to say more but is cut short by the whirlwind that blows back onto the porch and bursts through the front door. "Grandma! Daddy found life per...preser...preservants..." "Preservers," Christopher corrects his sister. "...preservers in the barn. Grandma! Come see. We can go sailing now." Diana pulls at Grandma's hand, towing her onto the porch. Scully and I follow, just to see the show. "No, Diana." Mrs. Scully Grandma says, "Auntie Dana and...Uncle...Fox are going to stay home today and fix our lunch." She turns and gives us The Eyebrow. "That's right," I say. "But I want them to come!" "Diana, there's no room on the Cat," Scully ruffles Diana's hair affectionately. Diana pouts for a few seconds then excitement quickly overwhelms her again. She bounds down the steps, skipping across the grass in the direction of the dock. "Bye-bye Auntie Dana. See you later, Uncle Fox" her voice trails behind her as she breaks into a full run. Mrs. Scully turns to me as she follows Diana down the stairs. "She's really taken with you." "Kids and puppies," I shrug. The rest of the morning passes quickly. Scully and I manage to get into a bit of mischief with whipped cream, some body paint, and a bar of lavender soap, but we are clean and smiling--broadly--by the time the rest of the family ties up at the dock again. Later that afternoon, I sit at the end of the dock, thinking. Scully and her brother have gone into town for more groceries--without me. I declined to join them because it's obvious they need time to talk, sibling-to-sibling. Mrs. Scully and Laura are hard at work in the kitchen baking cookies and preparing for dinner; occasional laughter and cooking sounds drift from the house. Diana and Christopher are off doing what kids do best on a warm fall day. In the barn. Loudly. The geese that have flocked south all afternoon continue to fly noisily overhead in small groups. I sit alone on the wooden planks, basking in the sunshine, listening to the happy sounds all around me, daring to feel part of it from where I sit a safe distance away at the water's edge. A breath of cool wind rolls off the bay and washes over me, making me shiver for a moment before it drains away again. Something tickles my arm. Diana. Wild curls frame her face; her cheeks shine pink with sunburn. Somehow, in my reverie, she has crept up on me. Without a word, she stretches out across the wooden boards, unpacking a sketchpad and a box of crayons. With much fanfare, she turns to an unmarked sheet and selects a crayon from the box, carefully considering the blank paper in front of her. Then she starts. A brown rectangle appears on the page, drawn with heavy vertical strokes. The brown crayon is exchanged for a green one and loops of bright green swirl around the brown object. Ahah. A tree. She changes crayons again, this time taking a bright orange one, and applies liberal dollops of color across the green canopy. She sits back and admires her handiwork. "Nice," I say, looking first at her drawing then at the trees just across the water from us. "You draw." She thrusts the sketchpad at me. "Diana, I can't draw." "You draw." She drops the pad into my lap and offers the crayons to me. Determined blue eyes look into mine, reminding me of someone else. I know that look and I know I can't resist it. Her obedient servant, I accept the crayons and balance the pad on my lap, turning to a fresh page. Diana stops me with a feather light touch of her little hand. "No, Uncle Fox. Draw on mine." "I don't want to ruin your pretty picture." "You won't ruin it. Draw." Stubborn. A chip off the old Scully. I search through the crayons for a nice blue. Cerulean. A bad memory scorches my fingers and I quickly drop it back into the box. No. Not that one. I select another--blue, plain blue. I sketch a few lines of water on the pad. Chesapeake Bay. I resist the urge to add a sea monster or two--purple mountain majesty blended with cornflower would bring Big Blue back to life right here in Maryand--but there are no monsters in this bay. Diana nestles against my side, resting her soft cheek against my shoulder. With raw sienna, I add the shore, sketching up to the base of her trees, drawn with a darker brown. Diana chafes my arm affectionately with her hand as she watches me work; the unselfconscious gesture sends a thrill running through me. I start my trees with granny smith apple and add detail with asparagus. While considering where to add splashes of goldenrod, I tap the crayon against my chin. One whiff of the familiar waxy aroma takes me back to the past where I smell warm summer days, see Samantha's awkward baby hands coloring both inside and outside the lines, feel utter security in my parents' ability to protect me, and have an unwritten future filled only with possibility. Heady stuff. "Smell." I hold goldenrod out for Diana to sample. She sniffs the tube thoughtfully and nods, understanding some of what I smell in it. "And purple," she advises me as I replace the gold crayon and examine my handiwork. "Purple? I don't see purple on those trees." "Yes there is. Look!" Diana points at the tree line across our little inlet of bay. Sure enough, the blaze of colored leaves melts into a purpling sky. Nature is a strange and wonderful place when seen by a child's eye, wide open and unfiltered. Newly enlightened, I select a violet crayon from the box and hold it up for her approval. "Good," Diana murmurs. As I add purple to the tips of her tree and mine, I feel Diana's head droop on her tired neck. She pushes the pad from my lap and climbs into its place, turning to nestle her sunburned nose against my sweater. She falls asleep, boneless, within seconds. I tuck the open edges of my jacket around her body to protect her from the night and from all bad things. A few minutes or a few hours later, Scully crouches behind me on the dock; her breath gusts warm against my ear and her hand falls lightly on my shoulder. "Hey, are you two going to sit out here all night?" "Shhhh," I caution her, nodding at Diana. I'm numb from the waist down, stunned into immobility by the child sleeping so innocently in my arms. "Mulder, you can carry her like a sack of potatoes and she won't wake up. Don't you remember anything about being a child?" Vague memories of surreal trips between house and car, of sideways furniture and upside-down lamps, flit through my brain. I struggle to my feet with the precious cargo still wrapped warmly in my jacket. Diana shifts in my arms, muttering in her sleep, but does not wake--just as Scully predicted. Scully collects the artwork and crayons from the dock and follows me as I stagger toward land, working the kinks from my legs and my back with each step that I take. Tonight, the house glows dandelion yellow from the inside out; laughter and happy voices spill from the open door. As I move up the steps, something catches my eye from the blue violet sky over the barn. The evening star twinkles back at me, simple in silver. Simple, but perfect. *** END (1/1) Author's End Note: I have no idea how I produced this so rapidly. Part III will be along presently kate.rickman@mindspring.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ http://kate.rickman.home.mindspring.com