From: Elli Meacham Date: Tue, 17 Jun 2008 16:54:36 +0000 Subject: Passenger Seat by Lilprincess8584 Source: direct TITLE: Passenger Seat AUTHOR: Lilprincess8584 E-MAIL: Lilprincess8584@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just let me know and keep my name attached. Rating: G Catergories: V Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Post-episode Spoilers: The Truth Summary: The darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen from the passenger seat as you are driving me home. Death Cab for Cutie: Passenger Seat. Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the song are mine. Thank you CC for creating such malleable characters and thank you Death Cab for Cutie for the beautiful lyrics of Passenger Seat from the Transatlantism album. Author's Notes: Ok, I think you could call this a songfic, but with a difference. Each of the paragraphs begins with a line from the above song by Death Cab for Cutie. I thought it described the constant travelling that Scully bemoans in All Things perfectly, but that the characters needed to be out of their FBI roles to be in tune with the relaxed idea behind the song. Hope you like. **************** Passenger seat I roll the window down, and then begin to breathe in. The bitter-sweet scent of your masculinity assaults my nostrils, and I revel in it. I roll my tongue over my lips, wishing to taste yours instead. I shift in my seat, turning to gaze at the world speeding by, to distract myself from my forbidden thoughts as the blush creeps through my capillaries. Another road, another night, so similar to every other over the last nine years, and yet so different. This time there is no discernable end to this road, and yet I am at my most content. The darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen from the passenger seat as you are driving me home. Home? This path leads to my home, hidden, shadowed, and unknown to me. I don't care about the all American town in which we disappear, which European country we flee to, which tiny English village we settle in. These places are home by virtue of your presence, your over-whelming and all consuming existence. With you, there is a home everywhere for me. I inhale again, feeling my lungs expand with the life in this journey. These experiences are sharpened, deepened. My senses live through the air, leaping, singing as the fear that resided in me hides, shaking, in the darkest point in my heart, to be confronted another time, another place, with your arms around me. As I take in the air around me, you incline your head a touch, diverting your gaze from the road to take in my profile. I cannot see you, but I can feel the heat in your gaze, the worry shrouding your beautiful eyes. I pretend not to feel you studying me, enjoying your quiet contemplation of my features before you turn back to the road. Then, looking upward, I feel the sure, heavy touch of your hand on my thigh, resting, utterly at home against the cotton of my slacks. My skin burns at your touch and I am thrown back to the night before, lying together in another faceless, nameless motel. Your chin rested on my head as you circled my legs with yours. Your long fingers knotted themselves in my hair, reassuring yourself of my presence. I pulled you closer, marvelling at the feel of your ribs, xylophone-like beneath my fingertips. I could count them, write my name on them, brand you as mine forever. When you left you were still strong, but seemingly older, fuller round the middle and softer to the touch. When you cradled William between us, I could feel the effects of the years on your body, the comforting paunch of your belly resting against my own, looser from the birth of our son. And yet, on that bed in the darkness that echoed our first night together, so long ago, I could feel the bones in your hips, your long strong calves mirroring mine, entangled on top of the comforter. They kept you lean, made you suffer. They make us all suffer. William. Flitting in and out of my thoughts, as if he was nothing more than a spring butterfly, waiting to land on blossoming buddleia. He is so much more, and yet just as elusive. You haven't questioned me about him, accepting that I did what was necessary. I don't know how that makes me feel but I tell myself it is self- preservation for us both, a topic that can wait until we are less fragile, less china- like. I feel my breath hitch as our son fills my senses momentarily, the suppressed sob wrenching at my windpipe. I deepen my gaze at the sky, willing this hurt to fade. I strain my eyes and try to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites, from the passenger seat as you are driving me home. Lights in the sky. How often do we chase them? Your 'quest', our work, they are one and the same now. Our flight just another part of this never- ending race to the end of the world. I know we'll return for him, know we will fight tooth and nail for him. I just hope he can feel our minds, our souls reaching out to him until then. I change my train of thought, willing the light, youthful feeling of moments ago to return. I point to the sky. 'Do they collide?' I ask and you smile, your lean slender fingers tracing patterns on my leg. I imagine they are leaving indelible marks on my skin, searing my flesh in a lover's tattoo. A rush of laughter flees your mouth and I fancy I can see the swirls of your mirth filling the car, mixing and invading the sorrowful thoughts of minutes earlier. 'Imagine the light shower, a proper X-File' you say, a dreamy look filling your countenance. You fiddle with the radio and the distinctive sounds of Death Cab fill the car. I settle back, the music washing over me as I close my eyes. With my feet on dash the world doesn't matter. When I first settled in this position you looked at me, confused and unsure of our new roles. I have travelled for miles in seats identical to this, always suited and booted, always playing the part of the professional G-Woman. She is no longer needed, her relaxed, trusting counterpart taking over. My suppressed and misguided teenage personality rears her head and she likes this feeling of the wind in her hair, the adoration of a beautiful man, the excitement of a road trip to nowhere. She now knows what it means to be one half of a perfect whole, the female half of a consummate ying and yang, to be everything to someone and nothing without them. When you feel embarrassed, I'll be your pride, when you need directions then I'll be the guide. My whispered homage to the song on the CD doesn't escape you and your grip tightens for a moment before your hand moves. For a fraction of a second the cool air from the window hits the still burning place where your hand rested, sending a chill down my leg and I miss your touch already. Then your fingers entwine with mine and raise my hand to your lips, tracing the path of my knuckles with your full mouth, your tongue tapping at the sensitive skin between my thumb and forefinger. I inhale once more, taking in the moment and storing it. For all time, all time.