From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Tue,  5 Jan 2010 16:08:15 -0600 (CST)
Subject: Sang, Sacré et Chaud by X-A-Sketch
Source: direct

Reply To: x.a.sketch@gmail.com


Title: Sang, Sacre et Chaud
Author: X-A-Sketch
Feedback: x.a.sketch@gmail.com 
Distribution: Anywhere is fine, just let me know first, 
please. 

Rating: G
Categories: VRA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully
Spoilers: Tithonus and Monday 

Summary: "His heart slowed as the beats of hers grew stronger."


***

The warmth of the thick liquid stung her hands. Not for its 
heat. Nor the carefully crafted balance of acidity and 
alkalinity that nature had selected. It burnt for the life it 
contained. Stung for the life that coursed through her hands, 
hands applying useless pressure. Essence that soaked his shirt 
and passion that pooled into a puddle on the floor. A cold tile 
floor appreciated only by the janitor who cleaned it. And 
forgotten by the all the rest. 

It filled the cracks between the standard floor coverings. 
Transferring its holy warmth back into the ground from which it 
came. A last remaining spark of life. And she was helpless to 
stop it. 

It was perversely ironic. His heart slowed as the beats of hers 
grew stronger. Was it as Alfred Fellig had suggested? Were life 
and death merely exchangeable products? Could she close his 
eyes and steal death from him? Had he not done the same thing 
for her?

Blood. Sang. Sangre. 

It carries life to the body, nourishing where the soul cannot. 
Oxygen and nutrients. It sustains him, but has yet to give him 
what is so deeply integral. When it flows from the body, taking 
life, will it also take the loss? Along the excesses of a cell, 
does there run the pain that defined him?  

And if that bomb goes off, can I let go of the pain that has 
defined me? My blood will spill out onto that proud janitor's 
floor. Mixing with his. Passions and essences finally meeting 
in the most tragic conceivable way. 

Perhaps in another life.

***


http://x-a-sketch.livejournal.com/