From: "jesse bee" Date: Sun, 14 Mar 1999 05:58:41 -0000 Subject: NEW SUB "World Enough, And Time" Title: WORLD ENOUGH, AND TIME (1/1) Author: jesse (jesse.bee@mailcity.com) Rating: R (language) Category: V, mild A, UST; MS friendship or MSR? You decide... Spoilers: none really, references to "Ghosts", "The Beginning" Summary: Post-"Ghosties" vignette Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox, Chris Carter, and 1013 Productions own the rights to THE X-FILES. No copyright infringement is intended. Archive: If you like the thing that much--sure! Go for it. But let me know where and when, please. Feedback: I shall cherish every single word. If you're gonna flame me, though, make it a good one. Dedication: **M--you got me seriously thinkin' about that leather jacket and this is where it led...* ___________________________________ WORLD ENOUGH, AND TIME (1/1) jesse022799 Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. -Andrew Marvell- ----------------------------------------------- "Scully...! She could hear him but she couldn't see him. Couldn't find the door back into that hallway nothing would open for her now and the house just seemed to get bigger and bigger and... "SCULLY!" His voice was hoarse and ragged, shot with pain, terror, desperation. Where was he? Why couldn't she get to him? He's fighting something there's something in there with him he's just right here on the other side of this wall but *there's no door!* Gunfire and screaming and his voice is weaker and now there's nothing... And then the door was there, and she was through it. Silence. Sunlight. Streaming through from what must have been skylights above, lighting the hallway with cheerful radiance. Glowing off the pretty ceramic floor of the foyer. Glimmering off the blood that painted the tiles, dripped down the wall. Mulder lay on his side with his back to her, in a pool of crimson. His black leather jacket was matte against the glossy surface, eating the light then leaking it back in the rents where his shirt peeped through, shining it back from the streaks of blood. The wall and the floor around him were scored and gouged, as if some powerful something had clawed them. She ran to him, skidding in the gore, dropped to her knees. Her eyes stung and someone had wrapped barbed wire around her chest and pulled tight. She grabbed his shoulder, touched his cheek; his hair was wet with blood...felt under his jaw for a pulse...Mulder Mulder please oh *please*! NO! NOnononononono... She pulled him over onto his back, his head lolling into her lap. Hazel-green stared sightlessly wide-eyed up into the bright light. His expression was one of surprise, as if right up to the last moment he really hadn't believed that she wouldn't reach him in time. His face was nearly unmarked. One arm flung out over his head, fingers curled gently as if beckoning, enticing: 'Hey Scully, come here look at this come see what I've found...' Long legs in a tangle, old jeans making note of his muscular runner's thighs. The remains of his white teeshirt, soaking wet red from the hideous deep parallel gashes that laid open his chest, framed in black leather like a nightmare Pollock painting. The broken bit of claw embedded in the gleaming white of his sternum bone, mocking souvenir of the reality of the horror that had killed him. "...your dirty little secret...your only joy in life is proving him wrong"... Agony punched her in the gut, folding her in two. She clutched the arm which would never again surround her shoulders to gather her in or guide her through. Brushed down the his coat sleeve to touch the hand which would never again press gently at the small of her back in that little gesture that was his alone. Grief consumed her, rising through her like molten lava and searing her ribs. Her lungs were on fire, she couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't move, can't move... Sunlight. Warmth under her and across her back. The smell of leather. A low drone from the...TV set? Breathe, Dana, breathe. Deep, even... She got her eyes open. The world just beyond her nose was black and white and sunlight and moving. A curving plane of warm white under her, ending in a textured jumble of black on black. Worn black leather. White cotton. A heartbeat under her ear. She was...with somebody; she... She was lying very very comfortably across the hip and atop the broad chest of her partner. It was Mulder's soft teeshirt under her cheek, the edges of his leather jacket inches from her face, his chest rising and falling evenly, his strong heartbeat in her ear. Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent alive and kicking. The warmth across her lower back was his arm draped around her, holding her loosely. Her vision blurred as relief roared through, drowning and washing away the earlier pain and grief. *Dream.* It had been a dream, a nightmare. Mulder was fine, he was completely unhurt, he was lying right here with her. With her, on his couch, in his apartment...oh. Oh yes. Must have fallen asleep watching the video I gave him for Christmas. She remembered now: the smell and feel of his jacket as she curled against his arm, only half-aware of what she'd been doing as the tension and exhaustion of the long, bizarre, sleepless Christmas Eve had caught up with her. Remembered soft leather being replaced by warm cotton knit as he'd rearranged her more comfortably against him, remembered thinking that maybe she shouldn't be doing this. Remembered his gravelly voice murmuring that she was tired and have a nap before you get going, the roads are slick. Remembered the world going tilt and then horizontal as Mulder lay back, taking her with him, wrapping her in a warm embrace that was just absolutely the best thing she'd ever felt in her life. A few tears broke free as the reality of his body beneath her seeped through her skin. Scully inhaled, fighting to draw a steady breath and reveling in the living smell of him. A faint tang of sweat, and soap and aftershave, and the spicy male musk that was just Mulder. He was warm and solid under her fingers, her torso and belly where she lay against him. She blinked rapidly until her vision finally cleared, tamping down the remarkable riot of emotion and sensation. When she was sure she had a grip, she let her eyes run downward to assess the situation. Mulder was flat on his back, one long leg on the cushions and the other hanging off at mid thigh, and she lay on and between him and the couch back. A curious, interesting warmth began to curl in her abdomen at the sight of her leg thrown over his. His teeshirt was very white in the sunlight, slightly molded into the contours of his ribs and belly. Hiked up in one place, it revealed the waistband of his jeans and a slice of golden skin. It hit her how the worn blue denim of those jeans gloved him across the landscape of hip and groin. Mulder was an easy dresser, she had noticed that early on; he wore his clothes with a rather careless grace. He was comfortable in his own skin--he wasn't unaware of his body, but he didn't make a show, either. The jeans weren't particularly tight. They just...fit. Why was she suddenly evaluating the fit of her partner's pants? 'Fess up, Dana. It may not exactly be the pants you're...stop. She deliberately closed her eyes and took another deep, even breath; opened them again. Gingerly she raised her head just a little and surveyed the upper half of the terrain. That long jacket she loved was inky black against his shirt. The supple leather fit him much as his arms cradled her; gently, comfortingly. Like most things he wore it wasn't fancy, but it was quality. Simple and elegant. Well-made; well-tailored. Working clothes for a serious man, a coat that stated: 'I don't do James Dean--I don't pretend. This is simply me.' 'I look dark and dangerous because I *am*.' It had to be about the sexiest thing she'd ever seen him wear. Oh God. Lay your head back down, Dana--that's it. Nice and easy. Breathe deeply--and GET A GRIP. Inhale. Exhale. Good--that's good. And again... The phone rang. Shit. Now what? Fabric and muscle moved as her pillow put an arm over his head and picked up the reciever. "Mulder." His voice was only a little huskier than normal. It did not sound like the voice of someone who'd just been jarred awake. Not at all. "Merry Christmas to you too, Mrs. Scully." Shit, shit, *shit*. "As a matter of fact, I do. She's here at my place, asleep." *What!?* Mulder, I am going to strangle you... "No, it's my fault, actually. I had some...case information that really couldn't wait and I'm afraid we were up all night with it, and when the weather changed for the worse I was able to persuade her that she really shouldn't drive anywhere without getting some sleep first..." All right, that doesn't sound *too* bad, I may let you live...no, don't joke about that right now. "...and I'm sorry that I didn't think to call you...ah. Five? All right. Yeah, I'll certainly have her give you a ring before she leaves. Um-hmm...yeah. Sure thing, Mrs. Scully; you too. Bye." Muscle flexed again under her as he replaced the phone, his hand resuming its previous position at her waist. She waited, wondering, but he was quiet. It seemed that Mulder was quite content to lie there, evidently completely relaxed, and be her pillow. Time to bite the bullet. "Mulder." "Shhhh." Huh? "Mul-der..." "Shhhh. Relax, Scully, you're asleep. Didn't you hear me telling your mom you're asleep? Don't make a liar out of me, now." She grinned despite herself at his impish tone, and decided that if he could handle this with aplomb, so could she. They were partners, after all; adults. They'd napped on each other on more than a few stakeouts. "Ah, but it's that need I have to prove you wrong, remember?" Yes, dammit, I *can* joke about that because it's *not* my 'only joy in life'... "I repeat--when have you?" The rumble under her ear sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "In any case, your mom said dinner's at five and I don't have to wake you up for another couple of hours. Sooo--you're asleep." The lazy, gentle laughter in his voice was adorable and tickled her insides with warmth. He didn't seem at all uncomfortable or embarrassed or...smug...about their tangled position, and frankly he really did make such a damn good pillow that Scully was sorely tempted to close her eyes again, drift off and let him win. But... "Umm...Scully, y'know..." His voice was different, and his hand was lightly on her hair as though he was hoping she wouldn't raise her head. "...you do have a few hours and you really *do* need the sleep, and I...don't have anywhere I need to go..." Scully discovered a sudden, crazy urge to hold her breath, and reminded herself to inhale, exhale. Mulder's tone was oddly hesitant, almost...pleading? I think we're on the brink of something here... ...her mind's eye replayed their conversation of early a.m., did a freezeframe on the look of his face after she allowed that maybe she *had* wanted to be out there with him... ...and she *was* tired. And if she dreamed again, he'd be there. You know something, Dana? Maybe it's time. Christmas Day. New beginnings. "Actually, Mulder, you might possibly be making some sense for once." She felt a huge yawn coming on, didn't try to smother it, and let herself relax against him. "Be quiet for a while and let me think about it." Leather whispered as his arm tightened just a little around her waist, and all his air seemed to expel in one long sigh. "Sure, Scully," his voice a few notes deeper and warmer than she'd ever heard it. "Take your time." finis