From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 21 Mar 2006 00:27:19 -0000
Subject: Rain by Evaluating Rae
Source: direct

Reply To: rae_aurora@yahoo.com


Title: Rain
Author: Evaluating Rae
email: rae_aurora@yahoo.com
Summary: Scully's upset because she's acted on her feelings and 
when she tried to get away, guess who shows up at her door?
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Category: UST, A
Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder and Scully, or any of the X-files
characters, and though I'd like too, I don't have that kind of 
dough. They belong to CC and company and all the hubs at the Fox 
Network. I just use them for fun.


Rain


Shifting in bed, I press my back deeper into the firm mattress. 
My pajamas have risen in my struggle to get comfortable, and 
though I'm aggravated at my lack of sleep, I cherish the feel of
stain sheets on my skin. It's smooth, cool fabric that's a calm 
contrast to the pounding hammer in my head. I'm becoming 
increasingly aggravated at my unrest and agitated that I can do
nothing but lie here.

Retaining its rhythm my chest compresses and I let air escape my
lips in a sigh while the rain pounds on the cracked windowpane.

Constant tapping is making me aware of its sure and steady 
presence.

I've always loved the rain. I love the feel of the drops of cool
liquid on my warm flesh and I love the smell of the atmosphere 
after the rainfall has ceased its downward spiral.

The scent of the earth after a rainstorm awakens me. It's the 
scent of cleanliness and purity that brings promise and 
refreshment, with a seemingly new beginning. Rain is healthy, 
alive. Rain is beautiful and electric. Rain is essential.

On any other night, I would bask in these feelings. I would 
welcome them, tonight, however, I can't.

Tonight, I hate the rain.

The sound of the water pouring from the heavens is nothing more 
than another howling occupant inside my already screaming mind. 
The scent isn't refreshing, but musky and dank. It's an aroma 
I've grown accustom to in old and worn hotel rooms such as this
one.

I turn to face the window on my right and prickly feathers from 
my pillow tickle the skin of my cheek. Closing my eyes, I try 
desperately to forget where I am and why I'm here. I can't and I
 blame myself for this present state of misery.

I didn't have to be alone tonight, just as I didn't have to run.
I didn't have to escape him. I didn't have to escape reality and 
now I'm regretful I did. I've made a tremendous mess of things.

I laugh at my stupidity. I could be lying in a cherry, 
four-poster wooden bed with blue cotton sheets and a soft 
mattress. Instead I'm in this musty motel room, with a rock for 
a bed and walls well over their life span.

And wouldn't you know...my irrevocable rationalizing is the cause
of it. Go figure.

I was finally letting him in and sooner then I let him, I shut 
him out again. I closed the door and I ran.

I ran from the most fulfilling thing in my life. I ran from Fox 
Mulder, my partner, my best friend and the only thing I live for.

When I first met him, I was weary. I didn't understand him. As 
an F.B.I agent, you're trained to read people, to understand 
their character. I read him to be nothing more then stubborn, 
paranoid, and fanatical. I thought he was crazy because of his 
belief in the fantastic as a plausible possibility for evil in 
the world.

I understood him to be a rogue, a rule-breaker and a thrill 
seeker. I hadn't thought him to care about anyone but himself 
and his quest for 'truths'.

I laughed at him then, thinking he was a nut. He was a poor man 
who had nothing better to do than degrade all meaning in the 
universe to little green men, with huge beady eyes.

When getting to know him my impression changed.

In my mind he was no longer a rogue who damned anyone who got in 
the way of his quest. Instead, he was a desperate man, searching 
for something to give his life meaning. He was passionate, 
understanding and caring. In my eyes, his character became 
outstandingly proficient in every aspect of life.

He's a brilliant man, with a beautiful mind and an intellect 
that's breached the impassable boundaries of the criminal 
psyche a countless number of times. His ability to 
psychologically profile the illicit mind surpasses all common 
understanding. He's saved a number of lives through his gift of 
perception. Yet, he still believes his victories haven't 
mattered. He refuses to believe he's as brilliant as he is.

He refuses to believe he's as beautiful as I see him to be.

Mulder's saved me more times than I can recall. Not only in the 
literal sense as my partner, but he's saved me from falling into 
my own world of delusion. Whenever I would feel vulnerable or 
weak, he would always be there for me. He would take my hand 
and help me on my feet. By granting me his strength, he would 
allow me to soar.

He's shown me the true meaning of trust. He's shown me the true 
meaning of compassion and loyal friendship. More than anything 
he's shown me the true meaning of love and he doesn't even know 
it.

I guess I've been waiting for him to notice me. For seven years, 
I've always been here by his side. But I'm only 'Dana Scully, 
his skeptical, forensic pathologist partner at the F.B.I, who 
debunks his irrational theories and watches his back on the 
field'. For a while I believed this, but I was lying telling 
myself that's all I am. In my mind, I'm more than that. I'm...
'Dana Scully, his best friend who happens to be his partner. 
Who'll follow him to the ends of the earth on his quest for the 
Truth with a capital 'T'.'

Why? Because he's everything to me. He's my breath and he's my 
life. To this Dana Scully, Fox Mulder is her soul.

Beyond my expectation, today my subconscious felt it was time I 
clued him in on this fact.

He had come to my apartment. We were assessing our latest 
venture, going over case reports, comparing notions. He made a 
joke about our current caseload, and after seeing the sparkle 
in his hazel eyes and his beautiful smile above his strong jaw, 
it was as if I lost all sense of time. I lost all sense of 
reasoning and judgment. I must've been content on staring at 
his eminent features when he asked me if I was all right.

The next thing I know my lips had found his. For a beautiful 
second, the sensation of kissing him overcame me. Of course at 
this time my mind had decided to kick into rational mode. I'd 
pulled away before he could respond to my sudden burst of 
spontaneity.

I had mumbled apologetically to him before rushing out of my 
apartment embarrassed and distraught. I didn't even think about 
grabbing a jacket to shield me from the precipitating weather 
pattern. Fortunately, I had my overnight bag in the car. As an 
employee of the government, making unexpected overnight visits 
to various places is territorial to the job. Having a change of 
clothes handy is mandatory.

In this case, it wasn't my job that absently left me needing 
extra attire.

When I left him, I had driven for miles. I passed intersections 
and highways. I didn't even know where I was running too. All I 
knew was I had to get away. All the while the investigatory 
ration of my mind was convincing my conscience, of why I had 
chosen to act on my feelings.

Like always, my mind searched for some excuse, some false 
conception to base my spontaneous act. Logically, it told me I 
had acted irrationally on a momentary lapse of lucidity, due to 
sleep depravation.

Yeah...sure...that's what happened. I kissed him because I 
hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours. Yeah, that theory holds 
water. 

Ugh...god, I'm so stupid. I don't know what was more stupid, 
kissing him or running.

My laugh is bitter at the thought and I feel unshed tears come 
to my eyes.

He must be so confused and upset. I left him there with nothing, 
not an explanation, not a reason for my action or my sudden 
upheaval of the situation. I left him cold from my warm embrace
and it hurts like hell.

Sighing, I pull the velour comforter off my torso. My thick 
pajamas are not holding to their promise of keeping me warm 
when a cool breeze sends a chill through my body.

It hurts my head to sit up, but I do it anyway. I swing my legs
off the bed to feel the rough carpet below my socked feet. I 
blow out air and fiery hair sways from my temples. Trying to 
alleviate my conscious, I dry wash the warm flesh of my face to 
no avail. My arms are heavy from lack of rest and my biceps are 
starting to ache.

Great...just great.

I watch drops of diamond liquid crawl down the window and listen 
to the rainfall, tap, tap, tap, against the glass. The sound 
coincides with my breath and causes a steady rhythm that's 
usually reassuring.

Yeah, tonight I hate rain.

I hate this sound it's making. I hate its obtrusive interruption 
of the quiet in the room, yet having a physical object to blame 
my current quandary of confliction upon is a little comforting...
but then it isn't.

Exhaling heavily, I stand and my joints scream from the motion. 
I moan again and rub my aching neck.

Morbidity from the nostalgic scent of mold is callous to my 
nostrils as I see rainwater has begun to leak through the yellow 
ceiling tiles. Waterfall hitting the roof is increasing 
three-fold and it's doubtful my sense of hearing will listen to 
my plea and drown out the incisive sound.

Closing my eyes I realize all of my senses have betrayed me 
here. None of this is what I want to be experiencing.

Now, sporty after-shave mingled with fabric softener is a scent 
that would be fervently accepted by my sense of smell. It's an 
invigorating smell embedded in my subconscious as 'Mulder'. I 
want to see his strong features in his boyishly contrite 
complexion and hear raspy whispers flowing beautiful words, at 
the sound of his voice. I want to feel the warm skin of his palm 
on the back of my hand, but more than anything...

God... that sounds horrible, like a pectoral from one of the 
worlds cheesiest romance novels. What is wrong with me? I'm not 
in high school anymore. I'm not eighteen and Mulder's not Marcus 
Zimmer. 

No, Mulder's not the twelfth grade love of my life. He's the 
thirty-something love of my life. 

I need an Aspirin. Scratch that, I need a whole bottle of 
Aspirin.

Pounding of hollow wood interrupts my reverie. Between the rain
hitting the window and my screaming mind the sound is faint, but
distinguishable none-the-less. I know where the sound is coming 
from and I have a pretty good idea why.

Time to face the music. Zipidee-do-dah.

The oak frame of the door shakes from the force wafting against 
its backside. Dragging my feet lazily I watch as white paint 
chips off the door with every pound.

The knocking starts to digress to soft hammering. Might as well 
get this over with. Sucking in dense air, I turn the knob. The 
door opens and brings with it a fierce breeze of cool, damp 
wind. It's scented from the rain and mingles with a vitalizing, 
tantalizing aroma. The aroma is musky and masculine, an 
enticing tang. Mulder.

"Hey..."

His voice is soft, hushed as he stands only a foot from me.

The sound of the shower behind him is deafening. It beats 
against the steel gutters of the narrow ledge above us, causing 
it to echo. The sound is a painful strum to my eardrums.

He slips pass me into the room, conveying the scent of 
masculinity into the once impenetrable air. I blink my eyes 
slowly and bite my bottom lip and try to expel my sense of smell 
from stirring the rest of my senses into the mindless haze his 
being creates.

As I close the door the sound of the downpour instantly decreases 
and the cool, pure air leaves no trace of its abidance in the 
room.

I exhale deeply before removing my clammy hold on the doorknob 
and walk to the center of the room. My eyes find their way to 
his form standing and staring idly out the window to my left.

His figure is engrossed in the white of the moonlight that shines 
through the thin, streaked glass. The light carries the 
reflection of the raindrops and makes his skin seem specked with 
dark freckles.

I search his features for anger or hurt. Oddly his demeanor is 
cool and collected.

Huh...

His eyes are a brilliant shade of white green in the moonlight 
and his hands are content in his jeans pocket. He shifts 
lightly and his black leather jacket gleams with prismatic 
colors, while his usually composed chestnut hair is spiked and 
rigid from rainwater.

His eyes tear from their position out the window, and find mine.
My breath catches in my throat at the intensity of his gaze and 
I turn away to stare at my feet.

I can feel his gaze on me. I know his beautiful mind is trying 
to read me. He's trying to understand my uncharacteristic state.
By reading my stance, he's trying to depict the reason for my 
feat towards him earlier. It terrifies me to think he might be 
able to correctly analyze me. Especially, when I have a hard 
enough time trying to analyze myself ninety-nine point nine 
percent of the time.

I can hear his steady breathing. I can feel his movements when 
he shifts and the tension hanging in the air is making me uneasy.
My socks are still a welcoming sight when I finally decide to 
cut the profound tension.

"How did you find me?"

I shiver at my own voice vibrating through my already demoralized 
body and I wrap my arms around my chest for needed warmth.

"I'll always find you."

My ears welcome his husky voice and looking at him, I find his 
eyes have progressed back to the window.

"Why did you come here?"

I had expected anger when he voiced that question, but his 
words are soft and calm.

My mind still hasn't made up a valid excuse. I could always tell 
him the truth.

Yeah, no thank you...next option please.

But then again, won't he figure it out anyway? Doesn't he 
already have his own pre-suppositions, his assumptions? So, if 
he knows, and I lie to him...well, that's not a scenario I want 
to think about right now.

At times like this I wish I knew how much his beautiful mind 
already has figured out.

My teeth dig into the flesh of my bottom lip and the feel is 
painfully stimulating.

I wish I knew what he wanted to hear. This would be so much 
easier.

I swallow the lump in my throat and brave the fear of his 
impending resentment towards me.

"I had to get away."

"Why?"

"I guess I was afraid-"

"Of what?"

My throat still burns and swallowing my saliva doesn't seem to 
be helping. I pray he'll say something before I have to answer 
him.

The seconds pass in remote silence and sharp tension once again 
begins to fill the room.

I let my eyelids fall as my chest expands.

I suppose half the truth is better than none.

"I was afraid of you, of how you were going to react to my 
sudden...lapse of judgment...and to be honest I feel ashamed."

My eyes move from him to the wall. I really do feel horrible 
for what I did to him. I think I'm more ashamed of abruptly 
leaving then I am of the reason for my swift departure.

"Scully..."

At mention of my name, I look to him. Biting his top lip he 
hastily looks to the floor and then back at me.

"Are you ashamed of what you did, or why you did it?"

The look in his eyes tells me we've moved beyond the substantial 
boundary of my reason for running. His question lies not in the 
truth of humiliation towards my escape, but the truth in my 
possible shame in kissing him, and my true basis for doing so.

Did I mention the man has a brilliant knack for reading people 
and discerning truths through actions?

In that case, I really, really, don't want to be having this 
discussion.

Maybe I can bypass his question and feed him the 'sleep 
deprivation' theory. Though it doesn't take a degree in 
psychology to know the validity of that excuse is small. Does it?

Why, oh, why, did I have to run? 

I could've feigned...something... and my advancement could've 
been overlooked. I could've brushed it off and pretended as 
though it didn't happen.

Yeah, just like every other, -electric touch-, -longing gaze- and 
-time passing like breaking glass- moment he's caused me in the 
past.

Maybe I just can't pretend anymore. Maybe I don't want to and 
now it's left me here, desperate for words.

"Whatever it is you're ashamed of...whatever it is you're afraid 
of, you don't have to be."

His voice is soft, and confident. If only he knew all of these 
thoughts in my head, he'd understand why I'd feel this way.

Maybe it's best that he does know.

"Mulder, what I did...the reason I did it..."

Why can't I just say it?

Say what?

"Mulder, I'm sorry you had to track me all the way down to this 
hole in the wall only to find out I'm ashamed of being in love 
with you. And I know I'm not suppose to feel this way because 
you're my partner and we work together and inner-office 
relationships burn out in the end, so let's pretend like I 
didn't kiss you and I don't love you, cause it would be a hell 
of a lot less complicated for you and I and our 'per 
functionary dance' of teamwork and did you know when you 
squeeze a lemon you make lemonade?" 

I'll take 'Stupid Excuses Not To Admit How You Feel' for one 
hundred Alex! 

If I've been fighting it for years, what's one more day?

"Mulder, I...I'm sorry."

I tell him honestly.

"Don't be, I'm not."

Breathe catches in my throat at his words. I can feel my pulse 
pounding in my chest and my lungs gravitationally stalling.

It would be best if I don't ask. Less complicated that way.

"So, you're not angry with me?"

Well that's obvious isn't it?

I bite my lip and laugh inwardly at the stupidity of the 
question. He frowns at me.

"Of course not. I couldn't...Scully why would you think that?"

To be honest... because I would be.

Shrugging, I blink.

"I guess I thought you would be upset...I mean, I left you with 
nothing. I came here without telling you. I..."

My voice isn't loud, but strong enough for him to hear.

Confusion and emotional upheaval are sending blood rushing to 
my head. If our places were switched and had it been he who 
ran, not only would I've been considerably confused, I'd be 
angry that he'd felt the need to escape in the first place. Not 
to mention the fact he would've made it close to impossible for 
me to find him, he would've tried anyway.

I swallow hard and bite my tongue.

He's so lenient towards me that it makes me angry. It shouldn't, 
I know, but it does. Not because I wanted an argument, or a 
falling out, but because if it was me, standing there in his 
shoes, knowing close to nothing, and understanding less, I 
wouldn't be so quick to forgive and maybe that's why I can feel 
my temper rising.

If he pulled what I did, I would at least want the simplest of 
explanations. When he cops up some feat, I'm always asking him 
what he was thinking and why. Close to never he asks this of me, 
instead he respects my reasoning and life goes on.

He's too forgiving towards me, and it's interesting I'm finding 
now a perfect time to know why that is.

"I don't understand how you can forgive me without even an 
explanation."

I lick my lips as he runs his hand through short damp hair.

"You don't need one. I'll always forgive you Scully."

I just don't understand why he doesn't even hesitate.

"Why?"

Grinning slightly, he looks to the floor and then at me. There's
a gleam in his eyes when he turns back to the window. He chews 
on his bottom lip and I'm anxious to hear his answer.

"I like rain..."

What?

"I like the complexity of it and the density of its existence..."

What does this have to do with-

"The logicality that it has two sides has always peaked my 
interest. In one sense, it's confusing, completely perplexing. 
It can be violent, an undesired constituent of destruction, 
crashing to earth and waking the ground. Or it can become a 
massive pool, flooding as it runs its course and causing damage 
in its wake. In this sense rain is a rival to the earth, 
fighting its steady composition and turning it against itself 
through the power of the elements."

He situates his right forearm on top of the windowpane and his 
T-shirt stresses his abdominal muscles when stretching across 
his torso.

I'm apprehensive to know what this has to do with what I've 
asked of him.

I watch in contrite silence as he rests his forehead on his arm.

"In another sense, it's a vitally habitual necessity, giving 
life to nature and making it flourish into a beautiful panorama 
of green. In that sense, the earth beckons the rain. It calls 
for it, anticipates its touch to give it needed refreshment and 
makes it alive. Without rain, the earth wouldn't have life; it 
would be dead and inert."

Condensation is apparent as the warm air of his words meets the 
cool surface of glass in the windowpane. His eyes are glazed in 
thought and I'm curious and engrossed by his words when he 
chews on his bottom lip again.

He lifts his forehead and places his arm back to his side. His 
jeans pocket claims his hand once again and he turns fully to 
face me. His eyes are deep now, as if he's just been awoken 
from some trance.

"Scully, I will always forgive you...because you're my rain."

Wait...What?

"Like rain, you confuse me, Scully. It's enchantingly perplexing
trying to decipher where and when you're going to let your 
consistent rationalizing descend upon our relationship. When 
you do this you drown out all the possible outcomes of the 
actions you see as being irrational or unconceivable...take t
onight for instance."

I'm flustered and undoubtedly embarrassed to be pegged as 
'consistently rational'.

Well it led me here didn't it?

"When you kissed me, you saw it as inconceivable and irrational 
so you ran. Again, leaving me confused and unsure of your 
intention. Just like rain."

Biting my bottom lip I ponder that intention as well.

His gaze progresses back to an entity outside of the casement.

"Yet, whenever I feel desiccated you're there to hydrate me. 
You awaken me, like the rain awakens the earth with its touch. 
I need your touch. You're beautiful, tranquil and invigorating. 
You're my rain Scully. You're my vitally habitual necessity for 
existence. You're my lifeline and my needed reassuring. With out
you, I fear for my existence. You grant me life. You are my 
life, and I think that basis overpowers my need for any 
explanation."

Tears are stinging my cheeks in abundance now. This is 
defiantly not what I had expected to hear from him. The man can 
make something as trivial as rain seem as momentous as Vatican 
City. God, he's perfect in every way. What is wrong with me?

He turns back to me, with the most beautiful smile, shy and 
humble. Damn him for jumbling my conscience so profusely. I 
can't think save for the one dangerous question his words have 
relayed in my mind.

"Mulder if I hadn't left-"

I can't do it. I can't ask him. Why does that not surprise me? 
My lack of restraint and courage to follow, are really starting 
to peeve me. It doesn't help that my nerves are stirring my 
system to the core.

"Would I have what?"

He frowns curiously.

I don't know why I drive myself down these roads when they only 
lead to a dead end.

"Never mind. It's nothing."

He nods his head.

The distance between us is slowly decreasing as he stops to 
stand only a few inches from me. I can hear the steady rhythm 
of his breath and I can feel his resonating heat in the cool of 
the air.

What's he doing?

His index finger is warm against my chin as he lifts my eyes to 
meet his.

"How does it feel when I do this?"

His right thumb grazes the flesh of my left cheek and my breath 
catches at the intensity of his touch. My chest heaves and the 
sound of the rain falling is becoming non-existent.

"Or how about this? When I'm this close...how does it feel?"

He nears his face to mine. His breath is hot and his eyes 
hypnotic. I'm becoming lost in seas of green and my brain is 
voluntarily telling my lungs to keep pumping oxygen.

His voice is hushed and soft. I have yet to find my own.

"It's scary isn't it? Breath is coming to your lungs but 
painfully."

Agonizingly... God, why is he doing this to me? 

My whole body is becoming numb.

"You can't move. You want to but you're paralyzed. Your heart is
racing and it's taking every ounce of your physical strength to 
remain standing. Am I right?"

I want to fall. I can feel my heart racing and my swift pulse is
deafening to my ears through quick, exasperated breaths and my 
body jumps in un-expectation when his hand touches the bare skin
of my shoulder.

He traces my collarbone and my eyelids shutter from the 
sensation.

Mulder...

"You're vastly losing the sense to question."

My lungs have just given way, as well as any coherent thought. 
Vibrations run rapidly through my veins and my head is feeling 
light. I can't feel my legs and wonder if I'm even standing 
anymore.

"Time is breaking like glass and you only know this moment. You 
only hear. You only know how I'm making you feel."

Oh, god...

"And inevitably now you've fallen. Every sense in your body, 
every breath you're desperately trying to grasp and every loud 
beat of your racing pulse has long been forgotten."

How does he know this? Why is he doing this? I don't understand.
You have to breathe Dana...

"You've fallen captive to your senses. Hesitation is killing 
you as anticipation is overcoming you. You're lost in me and 
you want more. You need more."

His touch still graces my neck and his eyes bear into mine. 
Painful, needed breath escapes me as he nears his face even 
closer. My eyes flutter closed and I can almost feel his lips 
on mine.

Suddenly his warmth leaves my body. His touch dissipates and 
his close proximity to me declines.

He's left me speechless now, impaired to move. Breath heaves in 
my chest as I try and steady my racing pulse. Chills are running
rapidly through my body. His omitted touch has left me cold as 
my blood tries to dispense needed oxygen through my system. I 
couldn't be more confused than I am now.

"I know what you're scared of. You're afraid of how I make you 
feel and you're terrified of wanting more."

Turning his back to me, he paces towards the door. He stops in 
front of it. Chewing on his lip again his intense eyes capture 
mine.

"So am I. Scully, how you make me feel, terrifies me. But it's 
enchanting and incredibly enticing at the same time. It scares
me because I know what it is I feel. I know how to explain it. 
I know what that feeling is, but when I try and put it into 
words, it doesn't feel like it's enough. You mean so much to me."

Tears are escaping their confines and burning my cheeks. The 
pain in my head is pounding from incoherence and adds shame to 
the unbearable regret I feel.

"Scully, it hurts to feel this much."

His voice is almost a whisper.

Choking back tears I nod and close my eyes.

"I know."

God, what is wrong with me? I didn't even consider how he felt, 
or what he felt. I'm a horrible person.

The consistent pounding on the roof is starting to decrease as 
the rain begins to diminish.

Clearing his throat he breaks our silence.

"I, uh, I just came tonight to make sure you were okay."

I feel the carpet shift underneath me as I try to dissolve 
tears with my palm. I can almost feel him grasping the knob on 
the door.

So this is it. I suppose this is far as we ever get, like 
always. Maybe we can pretend none of this happened. But you 
know what, ignorance isn't always bliss.

Placing my wet hand back to my side, I try and clear my
peripheral vision. The heavy density of the air is beginning to 
get heavier.

My body convulses and he lets out a faint laugh because he made 
me jump. I hadn't expected him to be standing so close.

His hands are soft against my cheeks as he robs my face of 
stray hairs. His smile is wide and his eyes deep.

"Are you okay, Scully?"

I'll have to be won't I?

Feigning contriteness, I smile meekly and nod as he wipes away 
the burning liquid from my cheeks. With that smile, he can get 
away with murder.

"That's all I needed to know."

My eyelids close at the feel of his lips on my forehead. They 
don't linger long enough and I open my eyes to find his hand is 
now on the door.

I sigh; tired of this game we play. If I hadn't kissed him, I'd 
say I was ignorantly happy. But I'm not. At least now I can say 
I'm content. For now.

"Mulder."

My voice is quick but hushed. He turns to me with a lopsided 
grin.

"Yeah?"

"You're my rain, too."

He grins wider and nods.

"I know Scully. I know."

Not again with the tears. At times such as this, I could swear 
I'm emotionally unstable.

I want to say something, anything to stop him from leaving but 
I can't.

Turning from me he opens the door, basking us in white 
moonlight as wind once again fills the room with its 
invigorating presence. The rain has dissipated now. The only 
proof it had life are the deep puddles on the gravel sidewalk 
and the liquid dripping from the gutters.

His scent leaves the air as he walks out of the room. Stepping 
outside onto the glossy pavement he turns to me. His smile is 
wide and the look in his eyes sends shivers down my spine. His 
instant uplifting charisma forces me to smile in earnest.

"By the way, I would have."

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion

"You would have what?"

His eyes are fiercely intense and send my nerve ends tingling 
and my head racing. He moves closer to me.

Feeling his breath on my face, inhaling is once again painful. 
My pulse is quickening and my body's going numb.

Not again. I can't take anymore of this. Hesitation is a 
killer, but foolish anticipation is murder. I'm going to die of 
oxygen deprivation.

"I would have done this."

His hand is warm on the back of my neck and sooner than I'm 
pulled into him his soft lips meet mine. My eyes flutter closed 
as the taste of velvet overcomes me and paralyzes my every cell.
Before the kiss can deepen, before we pass the boundary we're 
already treading, he pulls away from me.

I feel my cheeks become heated immensely and turn my head to 
the ground trying to hide my embarrassment. I honestly didn't 
think he caught on to my earlier question. Though I should know 
by now his brilliant mind can't be fooled by a speedy dismissal 
of issue.

He lifts my chin before cupping my face in his hands. When I 
open my eyes he smiles radiantly at me and I do the same.

His hands claim mine and his thumb grazes my palm.

"When you come home, you know where to find me."

He brings my right hand to his lips and kisses it. It sends a 
shiver down my spine and he smiles. His fingers graze my cheek 
and then he turns toward the parking lot. I want to follow him,
but his sentimentality has given me led feet.

"Scully..."

His voice is loud from having to yell across the car lot.

"I love rain."

He winks at me before opening the driver's door of his red Ford 
Taurus. 

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks and a genuine smile curving 
my mouth.

I watch as he slides into the gray upholstery and shuts the 
door. The engine revs to life before the car speeds from the 
blacktop into the endless world of night.

Leaning my weight against the door, I step back into the dreaded 
hotel room. The dense air, the omnipresent look of extinction
and the fading walls, can't fade my smile.

Among my world of rationalization and illicit delusion, he 
always reaches out for me. He brings me back, makes me believe 
I'm better than this. He makes me believe we'll make it okay, 
no matter what.

I don't know if anything can wake me from this high. I don't 
know what tomorrow's going to bring for me, for us. But I have 
an outstanding urge to go home.

Looking out the window I watch the last of the raindrops 
trickle down the glass.

I do love rain, especially on this night.