From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Sun,  9 Jan 2011 10:02:43 -0600 (CST)
Subject: Time is the Fire in Which We Burn by LiLx
Source: direct

Reply To: abbitha7@gmail.com


Title:  Time is the Fire in Which We Burn
Author: LiLx (a_is4Addiction)
Rating: NC-17 for sad times sex
Character/Pairing: Mulder/Scully
Summary: She knew then that she would never get away, even if 
she ever thought she wanted to. Post-The Truth.

The title is from Delmore Schwartz' poem, Calmly We Walk Through 
This April's Day. It's also quoted in Star Trek: Generations, 
which is where I heard it first and promptly fell in love with 
it.

Written for XF Santa 2010 for Pukajen. Feedback is appreciated 
at abbitha7@gmail.com.




--
Mulder: There has to be an end.(7x22, Requiem)
--

Scully returns at midnight, later than she'd planned. When they 
started out on this journey, or whatever they're calling it now, 
they agreed that if they split up during the day, they would each 
return by dusk, and she's now broken that agreement by several hours. 
Once, during the first few weeks out of Roswell, Mulder had 
ventured away from their motel room to find a newspaper while 
she was asleep on the thin mattress. She'd woken to a room empty 
of Mulder and filled with suffocating panic. Her mind had run down 
every horror she could imagine- Mulder taken down by the FBI, 
murdered by bounty hunters, or just gone, having decided to leave 
her behind for her own safety. When he had returned, after what 
seemed like eons but were actually a mere 6 minutes, Scully had 
given him hell. When her fist made a hard connection with his 
zygomatic bone, she'd shocked even herself. 

They didn't speak for several days after.

Now, months later, she worries about his reaction to her arrival, 
what he'll say when she walks through the door. If he reacts how 
she did that night, it definitely won't be pleasant. For a moment 
she allows herself to think that he could be sleeping, or maybe 
he isn't there at all, and she'll have more time to think. But 
even before she opens the door, she knows she's dead wrong. 

Scully tries to be quiet coming in, but the latch betrays her 
silence, its click seeming to echo in the dark. Thin beams of light 
make their way through the curtains in the window, giving the room 
a sickly tint, and she sees Mulder. Of course he's waiting in the 
crappy hotel room chair; he's probably been sitting there since she 
left to call her mother this afternoon, just watching, waiting for 
her to come back. The thought is unexpectedly saddening, that he 
has nothing else better to do without her there. Yet she's not 
entirely surprised.

Somehow she's known from the beginning that he needed her, 
that his love is a desperate and beautiful thing, coming to her like a 
wild animal seeking refuge from those who hunted him.  She knew 
when she came to him during the Bellefleur case in nothing but her 
underwear, terrified beyond belief, and he told her about 
Samantha, that in some twisted, fucked-up way he needed her that 
night as much or more than she needed him. She knew then that 
she would never get away, even if she ever thought she wanted to. 
Pitiful in its co-dependency, frightening in its dark depths, but 
astounding in its devotion. She's found she can drown in him. Go 
down to explore and forget to come back up for air.  And she's 
always felt strangely comfortable with that, until tonight, because 
the news she has to bear isn't going to make things any better for 
the two of them. 

But before she can ask him why he's just sitting alone in the dark, 
he bolts up out of the chair and makes his way toward her. "Where 
were you?"

Suddenly she's more nervous than she was before, and once 
Mulder backs her up against the door she can see how dark his eyes 
have become, perhaps even darker than that day in 
Quonochontaug when he almost killed them both. He grips her 
forearms and she can feel his thumping pulse through his thumbs, 
pounding in time with her heart. She wonders what he's going to 
do, now that he has the upper hand. Mulder has never been 
known for being predictable.

Mulder shakes her once, harshly, leaving her disoriented. He did it 
because of his fear, that has to be it, much like her panic 
manifesting itself as a right hook to the cheekbone. She starts to 
stumble forward but he holds her back up.

"Where were you?" His face is so close to hers that she can smell 
the aftershave on his skin, feel his shallow, ragged breaths on the 
tip of her nose. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she likes the 
anxiety that comes with not knowing what he's going to do to her. 
"Don't you know you could have been kidnapped, or killed? What 
would I have done then?" 

She can't answer his questions, not now, because even in anger his 
closeness is intoxicating. She has the sudden urge to fuck him until 
he can't remember why he's angry, until they're back in his 
bedroom in Alexandria, until she can close her eyes and forget that 
they ever had to run away from anything.

Mulder's grip on her tightens and she knows that somehow he's 
already sensed everything she's thinking. Hell, maybe he thought it 
first and passed it on to her. He swallows hard and mutters, "God 
damnit, Scully." 

She kisses him then, hard, biting down on his lip until she's sure 
there will be a bruise. For a few seconds, he just stands there, 
letting her do this to him. She nips at his dormant tongue with her 
teeth and then he comes to life, responds with a groan, his hands 
coming up to brace himself as he pushes his hips into her, pinning 
her against the door. When she tries to push back, he growls low in 
his throat and lifts her up as her legs wrap around him involuntarily. 
Maybe she won't be the one in control tonight.  

Mulder finds her neck with his mouth and god, it feels too perfect. 
She needs him now, maybe more than she ever has. He turns and 
carries her to the bed, where he lays her down almost too gently. 
She sits up and removes her clothes, as does he, rushing like they 
don't have all the time in the world to do this. Mulder whimpers 
softly when she grasps him, and his hips move to meet her hand. 
When he pushes Scully back down to the bed, flat on her back, she 
takes him with her. His body comes down to meet hers with little 
finesse, and it takes him less than a second to slip inside of her.

They move together quickly, desperately, and when passing 
headlights illuminate the room she can see the wetness on his 
cheeks. She's oh so close already, and so is he, and she pulls him 
deeper into her until there is no telling where her body begins and 
his ends. He's panting in her ear now, and when he latches on to 
her earlobe she has to clench her eyes shut because she's coming 
hard, and then he's coming, and her heart's almost beating out of 
her chest with excitement and dread.  

He stays inside of her for a few long moments, and she feels more 
than literally empty when he rolls away. Mulder sticks to his side 
of the bed, facing the window, and she knows he's waiting for her, 
always waiting, to tell him what she wasn't able to a few minutes 
ago. 

Scully exhales slowly as her breathing returns to normal. Mulder's 
back to her gives her precious time to think again, and she lets 
herself imagine what she would do if given the chance to take the 
last several months back. Before, the thought would never have 
crossed her mind, but after the phone call today, that's all 
changed. 

Her mother would hug her again, and maybe after all this time she 
will have forgiven her daughter for everything she's done. They'd 
sit down for coffee and Scully would explain herself and her 
decisions and her mother would hold her hand and say -It's alright, 
I understand.- 

She can picture the halls of the Hoover building, inviting, providing a 
security that she can't provide herself. She could work with the FBI 
again, without having to watch her back. Skinner would tell her -You 
did what you had to do in your situation.- Agents Doggett and 
Reyes would certainly appreciate her help. She could solve cases, or 
go back to teaching at Quantico, or more importantly, do her best to 
keep them from getting to Mulder.

Mulder. As the years have passed, they've reached the point 
where they are no longer individuals, and each one is nothing but 
part of the other. Maybe it happened long ago, at Bellefluer or 
Skyland Mountain or in one of thousands of nameless hotels, and 
she's lost a part of herself that she can't realize is gone. No 
matter how she tries to convince herself otherwise, it is always 
about him.

Her mother vanishes. Skinner turns and walks away. And Mulder 
still lies on the other side of the bed.

Against her better judgment she moves closer, pressing herself 
against him from behind. Her hand finds his in the dark, twining 
their fingers together. And then she says what she has to, because 
it's what she's feeling and there's no other way to start this 
conversation. 

 "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

He doesn't move, doesn't turn to face her, and she has a feeling 
it's better that way. She can almost hear him thinking of what 
he should say, how he's going to start his argument. But she's 
not going to let him, not this time.

"Scully-"

"Skinner contacted me." The words come out more shaky than she 
expected, and she hopes to hell that she doesn't start crying.

He stops, his fingers twitching around hers. Several seconds of 
silence, and then, "When?"

"After I got off the phone with my mom. He said, um..." Her voice 
cracks and she shudders even though the sticky heat is keeping her 
warm. 

He still hasn't turned to face her, although he brings his other 
hand up to hold on to hers. He squeezes her fingers rhythmically, 
and she feels herself begin to calm.

"He said it's safe for me to come back."

Mulder swallows hard. "And what about me?"

"That's just it, Mulder," she says in a low voice. "He can't say for 
sure."

Mulder keeps mysteriously quiet, and she babbles on.

"I was thinking about what I should do. That's why I didn't come 
back when it got dark. We've been doing this for too long, Mulder. I 
mean, I see people, normal people, living their lives while we do 
this. I want to be with you, but we can't do this anymore. I want us 
to be okay..." 

Before he can interject, she continues, "Just tell me you don't want 
me to go back without you." It's not a command, but a plea. Right 
now, she just wants to hear something. Whether it's -go- or -stay-, 
she isn't sure.

Scully waits in silence so that if Mulder wants to get a word in, he 
can go right ahead. For long minutes he breathes, slow and 
controlled until she thinks he's not going to answer her. When he 
does speak, his voice is so small that she might have imagined the 
words -I need you.-

Years ago, he would have told her to leave without even taking 
another breath. In Bellefleur, he'd said to her -there has to be an 
end.- But they're not in Bellefleur and she's not pregnant and it's 
now, not then. They've been through too much to think that way 
now, and without the mask of the FBI they're just two people 
whose paths are too twisted together to ever separate. She's 
always known that he needed her. She didn't count on so 
desperately needing him in return. She'll do whatever she can, no, 
whatever it takes not to go back alone. Tomorrow will be just 
another day.

She holds him tightly, and waits for the sun to come up.