From: "Lisa Peers" Date: Fri, 28 Jan 2000 00:15:56 -0800 Subject: New Submission: "What Now -- Now What?" by Lisa Peers Source: direct Title: "What Now - Now What?" Author: Lisa Peers Feedback: lpeers@mindspring.com Classification: MSR Rating: Spoilers: "Milagro" Archive: Please do, just let me know where and keep my name on it. Disclaimers: Couldn't own 'em if I wanted to ... and boy, do I want to. Author's Note: Feedback, please -- I need to know if this appeals to anyone other than me Summary: Post "Milagro." "MULDER!" The man in the hood pinned Scully to the floor with his knees. His eyes were like death and his jaw set open like a shark's, cold and inhuman. She fired her gun. Bullets did no damage. She could feel her ribs cracking open. The pain was unbearable. It was as if he reaching into her chest with his bare hands. Shock overcame her. All went black. Then her eyes opened, and she was in his grip. Not the killer's. Mulder's. Scully wildly clutched at his shoulders, scrambling into his embrace as if he was pulling up from the pit of hell. She was sobbing, panicked beyond coherence. Mulder held her tightly, and she urged him to hold her tighter still. She needed him to surround her, to feel him within her bones, before she would believe she was safe. Mulder collected her into his lap and rocked her until her breathing slowed and became even. She gave him her full weight to hold in his arms, granting him silent permission to draw her close to him and smooth her hair from her tear-streaked face. Her nose dipped to his chest, and she breathed his rich scent deep into her lungs as he murmured words of comfort close to her ear. "Shh, now. It's over. He's gone. It's me." As her fear subsided, fatigue took its place. She didn't even bother trying to make sense of what had just occurred; she had no energy for logic. She wanted nothing more than to stay cradled in Mulder's embrace forever. He was so gentle, fulfilling her every unbidden wish ... stroking her tenderly, crooning to her, soothing her body and soul. Scully pulled away abruptly from Mulder's care. "Okay, I'm back," she said, briefly attempting to smile. She placed her hands flat on his chest to separate them further. She caught his puzzled expression, then remembered her manners. "Thank you. For saving me. Again." How awful and formal those words sounded, but she needed her distance from him now. "Any time, partner," he responded as he let her go, mystified. She disentangled herself from his legs and shakily stood up. She was dizzy and her chest hurt, as if someone had used a rib spreader on her. She was covered in her own blood, which splashed red against her white blouse. The sight of it made her want to throw up, but she didn't want to endure the wracking pain in her chest if she did. Mulder intuited her distress. "Scully, are you okay? Let me get you to the bathroom, all right?" He scrambled up and put a guiding hand at the small of her back. Scully swallowed hard, tamping down her nausea. "I need to use your shower. Is that okay?" "Sure," Mulder said, quickly, "not a problem." He stepped away from her, and she took a few staggering steps toward the door of the bathroom on her own. She closed the door and locked it for good measure. Scully stripped the sodden clothes off her body. Her blouse was ruined. Her bra was torn and soaked. Her jacket had deep stains at the lapels; even her pants and underwear were spattered. She heaped them all near the door. She looked at the pile as if it were crawling with maggots. She quickly unlocked the door and kicked them out into the hallway, then shut the door and bolted herself in again. "Mulder," she yelled through the door. "Burn those, would you?" She still felt sick. Blood was caked to her skin and the smell of it made her ill. She had to get clean. She ran the water until the shower steamed like a boiler room, then got under the full force of the spray. She inhaled the heavy air as the hot water beat against her chest, pounding away the bloodstains, hissing along with her thoughts. It was that small exchange in the prison that played her into the hands of that madman, she realized. Mulder had let his emotions get away from him as he grilled Padgett. She had automatically calmed him as she had done dozens of times before, saying all she needed to with a small squeeze of his arm and the low mention of his name. That had left Padgett to fill in the words that were not to be spoken. "I thought she could love me. But I was mistaken. Agent Scully is already in love." She froze. Her mind raced in a thousand directions at once. Naked under the shower's spray, the past few days came into ugly focus. She winced as she realized why she had been drawn to such a peculiar man as Phillip Padgett. Why didn't her warning bells go off? Padgett exhibited all the classic traits of a stalker. He had tracked her so thoroughly, he knew about her job, her running club, even where she parked her car. For Christ's sake, he had moved next door to Mulder to be close to her after checking for space in her own building. Yet she recast this disturbing behavior as something hauntingly romantic, more spiritual and less threatening than her common sense should have allowed her to believe. It was all because ... because Mulder didn't love her in *that* way. When she was fourteen, Scully fell headlong into a extreme, unrequited crush on Mark, one of her brother Bill's friends. The fact he was so much older than her, over twenty, made him all the more appealing. Each time he spoke to her in passing, each accidental touch, left her suffering for hours. The three of them had gone swimming together one summer day in San Diego. She had splashed and played all afternoon, and her gawky flirtation seemed to please him. Late in the afternoon, without warning, she sank under the waves as an undertow knocked her legs out from under her. All went black. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the beach. Mark's face was hovering over hers, one hand stroking her hair back from her forehead, the other supporting her neck as his mouth lowering to hers. When she coughed and came to, she was certain that Mark was in love with her. Why else would he act this way? She called him daily, leaving a message each time because he was never available to come to the phone. She purposefully inserted herself between him and Bill when they were playing basketball until Bill kicked her off the court. After a few days of this, Mark's patience waned and he lashed out. "Dana, I know you're grateful, but Jesus, I'm not going to marry you. You're acting like a freak. Leave me alone!" Her humiliation was complete and total. For years afterward, any boy willing to date her was entitled to take whatever he wanted from her. Then there was Mulder. She had gotten so wrapped up in this man, her partner. She couldn't have created a more perfect man in a lab than this one, with a lightning brain and light touch, a jock's physique and a nerd's self-doubt, awesome convictions and bottomless loyalty. His eyes had branded her the first day they met. Days grew into years. And while she knew he cared deeply, that he did love her, he had shown no signs of any desire to go further than an intimate friendship. There was one moment. In the hallway, Mulder's hands cupped her head and his agonized expression told her not to go. His lips tried to follow the path his eyes had made between them, but then ... well, everything happened. And he never traveled that path again, and she never dared to forge ahead herself. Each day of the past year, Scully walked a wounded and lonely path of her own, from her empty apartment to her airless office in the basement and back again. She pined for him constantly, that near-kiss warping her thoughts. In some ways, she had stalked Mulder just as Padgett had her. She was thirty-four years old. In a lot of ways, she still felt fourteen. <*Padgett* wants me. Fuck you, Mulder. Better yet, go fuck yourself.> As a result, she almost died of spite. Her skin was red and stinging from the hot water. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Scully knew she should stop. She shut off the shower and stood in the tub facing the mirror on Mulder's medicine cabinet. She shook her head, out of disgust as well as the more practical need to clear the water from her eyes, then reached for the towel. There wasn't one. With thudding steps, she got out of the tub and opened the bathroom door a crack. "Mulder?" He responded immediately, bounding to the other side of the door, peppering her with concern. "What is it? Are you okay? You've been in there forever. God, the steam is pouring out of there." "I need a towel." "Oh. Hold on." She could hear him open the linen closet door then slide it shut. Quick footsteps brought him back. "Here." His hand snaked inside bearing a towel, making no attempt to come in. She took the towel, and his arm disappeared. She closed the door but didn't lock it this time. By now, the mirror had fogged over and she couldn't see herself anymore. She wiped at her hair, then half-heartedly dabbed herself dry. She wrapped the towel around herself and sat on the toilet, staring vacantly at the floor. She soon became aware that Mulder hadn't left the hallway. He was waiting for her. She could hear his silence. Knowing him, he'd stand there all night. His nattering attention was getting on her nerves. What nerves she had left, anyway. "I'm fine, Mulder, really," she said loudly, trying to shoo him away so she could suffer by herself. It didn't work. "Hey, Scully, you must be exhausted. Do you want to lie down for a while? Just go in my room." A blip of reality flashed across her radar screen. "Mulder, I don't have any clothes." After a beat, he responded. "I won't look." Scully yelled through the door, "I have my gym bag with a change of clothes in the car. Could you go down and get it for me, please? My keys are on your coffee table." "Sure. Not a problem." She heard him move away from the door . Then he stopped. "Scully, are you going to be okay if I leave you alone for a minute?" "I'm naked, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere." She was surprised that he left that comment hanging in the air, and soon Scully heard his front door open and close. She sat stock still on the toilet, waist-deep in self-pity. After less time than she had imagined possible, Mulder was back outside the bathroom door. "I put your bag in my room. Go on in. I'll leave you alone so you can sleep. I'll be watching TV if you need anything." His voice was soft, his words careful. It sounded as if he was trying to talk her down from a ledge. That only made her feel more pathetic. Scully waited until she heard the drone of the television in the other room. Then she opened the door a crack and peered out. She saw his big feet propped on one arm of the couch. The coast was clear. Wrapped in his towel, she scooted into his bedroom and shut the door. As promised, placed at the foot of his bed was her gym bag. Next to it were her shoes. He had cleaned them for her, removing any and all traces of blood. Hell, he had even shined them. She remembered buying them on a lunch hour a couple of months ago. They were square-toed and taller in the heel than what she usually wore. They made her look great in a skirt, her hips rolling as she strode down the hallways of the Hoover building. When Scully put them on, she felt strong, tall, and sexy. Strong enough to walk by his side. Tall enough to gaze levelly into his hazel eyes. Sexy enough to make him ... Scully had had enough. The drain of adrenaline after the attack had weakened her resolve anyway, and worn down by her self-loathing and Mulder's ruthless attentiveness, she had no protection from her own misery. She sat on the floor hard. The towel was coming undone and she didn't care. She started to cry, then keen, taking long sniggering gulps of air between sobs, cradling one shoe to her chest. Mulder practically broke the door down to rush to her side. "Jesus, are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?" Scully dropped the shoe and scrambled to rewrap the towel strategically, desperately attempting to hide her tears at the same time. She wanted to conserve what little pride she had left. "Go away, Mulder," she hissed, turning away. He ignored her, kneeling beside her and drawing her forward. "Tell me." There were his eyes, gray and soft as mourning doves. There were his slender fingers, brushing her damp hair off her forehead. There were his large hands, holding the weight of her head and cupping her face toward his own. There were his generous lips, lightly parted and so close to hers. She could even feel the heat off his skin rippling toward her, warming the flesh of her neck and bare shoulders. How could he do this to her? She needed a tissue. Badly. She was shivering cold. She no longer cared. She had to know. "Mulder, why don't you love me?" "Scully, I do love you." There, the words were said. They didn't surprise her as much as she thought they should. Then again, there were many meanings to the word "love." Scully let another shuddering sob escape before she spoke. "Then why don't you ... why can't we ..." Mulder absorbed her words, then smiled. She had seen that smile before, when she told him her cancer was in remission. Scully even faintly remembered seeing that smile when she came to earlier that afternoon. He was overflowing with relief and hope. And now, a new flame flickered behind his smile, warming him as she basked in its glow. Desire. He brought his lips close to her ear. "I'd love to." In her depleted state, Scully had inadequate mental means to comprehend his kiss. The first word to ride the crest of her brainwaves was "tender." It wasn't the same as "gentle." No, he wasn't being gentle; in fact, he was becoming more insistent, pulling her into his lap to draw her body into deeper connection with his own. It was that his very being was infused with tenderness - tender passion - that soothed as it electrified her. Scully's apprehensions were washed away in a flush of hormones. As his mouth dipped into the bowl of her neck, she threaded her fingers deep into his hair, urging him to explore there as long as he liked. Her head fell back to give him better access. His lips strayed down her collarbone and brushed against her gold cross floating over her sternum. She felt heavy, like ripe fruit, bending low for his arms to gather her up. He laid her down on the bed, hovering over her like an angel as he rolled her to one side so he could turn down the covers. Then he rolled her back and wrapped her in blankets up to her neck. She looked up at him, surprised that he wasn't joining her. He read her disappointment and answered it. "I'd love to, and we will, Scully, when you've had some sleep. We both need to put the last few days behind us." He extended his hand to her. "Why don't you give me the towel?" he said. From under the covers, her hand appeared with the sodden piece of terry cloth. He bent down to take it from her and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Now rest up. Dinner will be waiting for you when you come to." Scully smiled. His being a gentleman didn't irk her as much as it had earlier, knowing full well that it was one part of the whole of his love for her. She yawned and snuggled between the sheets, enjoying the warm weight of the down comforter. "Mulder, you were right. I have never been warmer than I am now, sleeping naked." He chuckled. "None of that talk, missy. You need your rest, and I need to keep my hands off you, for now anyway. Sleep well." He carefully shut the door behind him. Scully was surprised by how soon sleep overtook her. She was no longer in pain. she wondered. As she dozed off, she realized it was no mystery. Mulder had repaired the damage Padgett and his henchman had done. He had slipped her heart back into place, and sealed it with a kiss. END Comments? Coaching? Send them to lpeers@mindspring.com