From: Vger Subject: Post-ep. story Date sent: Fri, 12 Jun 1998 20:09:02 -0500 From: Vger Date: 6/12/98 Subject: MSR/Post Episode Vignette Title: The Sacrifice Author: Vger Reply to: Vger@colint.com Rated: NC-17 for sexual content Spoilers: The End Summary: Scully's view after the fire Archive: Post episodes/anywhere. The Sacrifice My eyes only reach the middle of his shoulders as I walk behind him, reminding me again of how small I am in his presence. I forget sometimes how I draw strength from him because of his size, although I used to feel ashamed that I was beginning to rely on him this way. He's not just a tall man, though. He's strong inside, and it's his command and personal presence that make him seem big. I love that about him, but struggle with it, too, especially if it begins to overshadow my own strength. Now he walks in front of me with a slight sag of defeat hanging on those shoulders, and his strength seems drained from him. I think that mine must be equally weighed down with the grief of our loss, although I can only imagine the magnitude he feels at the demise of his life's work. It's more than that for him, of course. It's the resurrection of so many losses in his life. If I were honest I should admit that it represents only one core loss for me. I may lose him now. We are not likely to be allowed another chance to work together. They have seen our alliance and believe me to be misled in my professional judgement. I don't care what they think about me, though. They have more than shown their duplicity. I only care about what he thinks, and, in a flash of pain, I wonder if he thinks about her. I am numbly following him out of the building, half aware he is leading me to the car. In my mind I am only aware of him standing with Diana, their hands touching. Was this the reason he stood unresponsive to me as I hugged him in the basement? My chest hurts. That crushing feeling must be from the smoke downstairs. He unlocks my door and I slide in, wishing I had learned more honesty in my family. With a gun in my hand I am courageous to some, but I know the truth about my cowardice. I am too paralyzed with fear to ask him how he feels about her, or, for that matter, about me. So I sit silently awaiting his words - waiting for him to move us in a direction. The modern woman is brought to her knees by the strength of her desire for one man. I chastise myself for weakness. I call myself dependent with contempt. Naturally, the tears sting my eyes, my affect betraying me. I can control my words from slipping out but my tears mock me with their insubordination. They hear my thoughts and go rushing outward, suffocating me as I try to restrain them. One by one they spill out in hot splashes on my hands, as I hang my head in shame for them. Like prayers in a string of beads I offer up my despair, still fighting the urge to collapse and draw his full attention. One by one my heart names off those hurts that come to me in waves. Perhaps he's still in love with her they say. Perhaps I have been a fool and read too much into his smiles, his touch. Was I just so lonely, so full of desire that I imagined his love for me? And when they split us up can I bear to look into anyone else's eyes who cannot join me heart and soul in the work that I attempt to do? How does one work in complete union of mind and soul and ever come back to the commonplace again? I feel something collapsing deep within my chest, again. I can't breath and I hurt. He has stopped the car and I suddenly realize we are at my home already. I feel his eyes on me in the darkness and I feel afraid that he will ask me why I'm crying. I don't think I will be able to resist the question this time. But instead of speaking he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. I wipe my eyes hastily hoping he won't see me, and force myself to step out. With one hand he shoves the door closed while firmly grasping my elbow with his other. We walk side by side to the doorway in our familiar way, and I feel another surge of tears at the pain of this recognition. He is opening the door with his own key before I can fumble with mine in my coat pocket. Once again his hand is on me, guiding me through the door into the dark hallway. Before I can grope for the light switch I feel him pulling me around by my shoulders as he pushes the door closed with his foot. One arm has pressed me up against him while the other touches my face with incredible gentleness, brushing away the tears. I suddenly realize that I am holding my breath, and let it go with a tiny sob. His lips are hot and soft as they touch my cheek moving slowly to my eyes and then my other cheek. My last shred of resolve falls away as I collapse against him, feeling his hand slip behind my head and tilt it upward. His mouth finds mine with deadly accuracy, and a tremor runs through me with wild excitement. The kiss is hot and searching, melting my grief into something more primal. I wrap my arms around his neck and press into him hungrily, thinking that I can't remember the last time I felt the thrill of a man's hard erection pressing against my belly. It is not a time to think I tell my analytical brain. I have spent years thinking about this moment already. It is a magical, spiritual moment to be lived. He slides his hands inside my coat and cups the sides of my breasts, thrusting his tongue into my mouth deeply. I am betrayed by my moan as his thumbs brush over my tight nipples, and I long to feel them on my bare skin. As if he heard my thoughts he begins pushing my coat off my shoulders and I move to let it drop away, only to be caught up again by his hands thrusting under my shirt. I am dying. If he touches me anymore I will die from the pure pleasure of the sensation, and the force of his apparent desire as he leaves hot kisses along my neck. I am throbbing between my legs with anticipation of more. Oh God, I hope there will be more! He sweeps me up in his arms like a child and carries me swiftly to the bedroom before settling me on my feet again. The blind is open and I realize that the full moon is streaming in on us, illuminating his face clearly before me. He looks at me with a solemn gaze, eyes burning with passion, and I suddenly feel like the maiden about to offer herself up at the ritual of Beltane to the High King. Perhaps my Celtic roots are embedded deeply in my collective unconscious, as I strip off my shirt and stand before him bare breasted. His eyes rest on me, and he smiles slightly, reaching to undo my pants as well. Gently he eases them down, dropping to his knees to taste my wetness. In ecstasy I close my eyes and throw back my head lacing my fingers in his hair. It only takes a moment to drive me to the brink of control before he abruptly moves me onto the bed. He has pulled the remainder of my clothes from me. I am laying fully naked in the moonlight for his eyes to travel over me as he stands next to the bed. The maiden has been placed on the altar, and I watch in stillness while he undresses before me, about to claim his sacrifice. It is a moment of reverence, and I study his beautiful body filled with desire of him, ready to join him in this world and the next. I suddenly realize that our lovemaking this first time will be brief but powerful, as he touches his mouth to my breast and spreads my legs apart with his hands. This is about joining. It is about mind, body, and soul eclipsing into one, untouchable by conspiracies and treachery. He thrusts into me greedily and I rise up to meet him with a gasp. They cannot separate us. She cannot separate us. I am he and he is me my mind cries out. It is ancient. It is mystical. I have moved between worlds in his arms. The old world has disappeared into flames yet what is between us remains eternal. As I lay spent in his arms I no longer care about the details of tomorrow. "Scully?" he quietly breathes as he caresses my bare back. "Hmm?" "I'm sorry we've waited so long," he says hugging me to him tightly. "I've been careful so I wouldn't lose you, but it seemed like it might happen anyway. My life would be pretty empty without you." I feel pleased and tearful. I bless this man for speaking his heart to me. "I've been afraid of losing you, too. My life has become you." He sighs as if a heavy burden falls from him and rolls over to kiss me again. I know we will make love again tonight. This time it will be slow and thorough, and I will please him. It is a beginning born out of the end. The end