Waiting In Motion (7/10) by mountainphile mountainphile@yahoo.com MSR, NC-17 Header and Disclaimer info in Part 1 ******************** The flash of lightning at the window was Scully's undoing. It shamed her. The invisible, unspoken secret she carried within her body had been hidden long and well since her mysterious return to the hospital over five years ago. The severity of the bouts were fading over time through sheer force of will and a fierce longing to eradicate their power over her. Lightning was the principle catalyst. Its invisible force pulled a switch in her subconscious, and the effects sparked a reversal of energy along the delicate nerves of her body like livewire... and she reacted, like all the other times before -- Immobile, she was unable to speak... and They came again. The indistinct figures that murmured, that crowded around her exposed, sprawled body. Helpless before them, the ruthless machinery punching into her soft flesh. Then came the pumping and unnatural distension of her abdomen, the resulting white-hot agony. Face bared to the searing brightness, the shrill, nerve-shattering probe, drilled deep, sucking from within... Frozen at the window, she was forced to endure another terrifying episode -- then was left to collect the scattered shards of her poise and dignity. Focus, dammit, focus, she scolded herself. Closed eyes, heavy, controlled breaths, parted lips. Fingers grasping the windowsill to hide her trembling hands lest Mulder notice anything amiss. No one was supposed to know this secret... including her partner, who stood this night as fate would have it, only a few arm lengths away. It had worked in the past, her pathetic stabs at deception, but he'd never been this close before. And the petrifying wave hadn't engulfed her with such severity for a very, very long time. If only the curtain had been closed. Breathe, focus... If only she had urged Mulder to pull it shut and not assumed the responsibility. She could kick herself for that, falling prey once again to an obsessive desire for order and neatness, when modesty alone should have been the more logical and practical motivation. She moved with exaggerated care to the bed, automaton-like. Slipping back the covers, easing her head softly onto the pillow, she sank onto her side, knees bent into a loose fetal tuck. Only when she heard Mulder's rustle as he shed his clothing in anticipation of their lovemaking, did she realize that she still wore pajamas. She shut her eyes and groaned inwardly. The bedside lamp extinguished and the mattress gave and sank with his weight. It was still so new -- the sudden darkness coinciding with his nearness and the enveloping warmth of his long body. She battled the after-effects of the lightning, willing herself to relax and breathe, demanding her body to overlook its trauma. To be receptive and ready for him. Moving behind her on the bed, Mulder slipped his arm around her ribs, pulling her more snugly against him. He wore no tee shirt or pajama bottoms this time, just his warm upper- body skin and a pair of boxers over the softening bulge pressed to her backside. Her mind raced, wondering what he thought of her state of dress, whether he would question her intentions or simply move to undress her as part of the seduction. The furious pounding of her heart must also be evident. In the still, quiet darkness she waited... for a sign, even a caress. None came. After a full minute's silence, she felt his arm slide away, his torso twist. The small table lamp snapped on behind her, spilling weak yellow light across the bed and flooding her with trepidation. "You think I don't know something's wrong, Scully?" She froze at the words. By now his inflections were so familiar, she could detect low tones of concern overlaid by more strident notes of accusation. Heart lurching, she realized he'd noticed and said nothing until now, pressed up against her back. The enormity of the hand she'd tipped panicked her, suffusing the heat of humiliation into her cheeks. With no time to think, she slid behind a protective wall of numbing, defensive anger. "Don't be ridiculous," she muttered into the pillow, eyes shut. "What was it? The lightning?" Like an arrow to the heart, Mulder's unerring accuracy hit home and she found herself cursing his aim. He seemed to ignore the stiffening of her body in his efforts to comfort. His arm eased into place around her waist, urging her backward and against him in a tender, cajoling way. "Hey, gotta play fair... " His insistent voice and presence, smooth and honeyed, surrounded her like an inescapable aura. "Buddies share, Scully. Remember? I told you my secret... now you tell me yours." This was not about fairness, she fumed, but about overwhelming shame and intrusion, violation and survival. For a brief moment his voice cut through the sickening miasma and almost succeeded in gaining a foothold, in soothing away the phantom obstacle between them. His strong, regular breathing continued at her back, gentle puffs exhaled across the tender skin of her neck. He bent his head and ruffled the wisps of her hair with his nose, tickling behind her ear. The sensation, instead of comforting, tossed her back to the surface, a plaything trapped in the roiling backwash of fear and denial. The last thing she wanted to feel was manipulated, corseted within his control like a stuffed toy. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." She swallowed, choking down the lie at his disbelieving grunt. How futile, attempting to hide the truth from a crack profiler, able to identify any vocal nuance, spot any deception, who knew her better than anyone else alive. But she made the foolish, desperate attempt anyway. "Sounds like incomplete disclosure to me, Scully. Where have I heard that accusation recently?" His breath blew hot as he whispered, his lips almost scorching the velvet rim of her ear. She bristled back, her voice sharp. "Are you challenging me?" "Damn straight." "Well, don't concern yourself." "I am concerned. And you're bound and determined to keep me guessing." "So, take the hint, Mulder." Even in the dim lamplight, without seeing his face, she could sense the change in his demeanor. A surprised gasp erupted from her lips as he took her shoulder and pressed her backward onto the sheet beneath him. "Look at me, Scully -- *Now,* damn it... " Their stormy eyes met, inches apart; her chin rose toward him, pointed and stubborn. "You're not an island anymore," he reasoned. "We're past the point where you can turn around and hide something from me that's been this debilitating to you... not to mention the dangerous compromise it creates for us in the field. You never told me what you're dealing with, never shared word one about the damage. For our own safety you've got to tell me. It's non-negotiable." "No, it's none of your business," she corrected vehemently. "You being my partner makes it my business. *This* makes it my business," he hissed back, pushing his flagging erection and hipbone against her. "Things have changed; it's a whole new ball game, whether you want to play by the rules or not." "Damn you, Mulder... " Her squirms only accentuated his contours and fed her indignation. "Just... get the hell off me. Now!" she commanded, blue eyes wide for emphasis. "You had no right to hide this --" "I've got every right in the world to privacy and respect!" "Respect -- never a question about that. But by your own choice, you've made privacy negotiable." Without waiting for a response, he pushed off from her and the mattress with muscled arms and fluid grace. One hand rubbed at the shadowed stubble on his chin and he paced beside the bed, movements taut in the shallow lamplight. Muted flashes from outside the window gilded his body in neon outline; the prominent shape of his nose, his face set in stone, lips tight, jaw squared. Angry frustration and fearful concern personified. "I'm not going away, Scully. Understand? I'm playing for keeps here. Invested like you wouldn't believe." She sat up in a daze of emotion, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed to get her bearings. "'Don't sugar-coat it... Don't hold back, no matter how I react, no matter the circumstances'," he recited. "Your words, spoken just minutes ago." When he came to a halt beside her, his eyes were dark and unreadable, his mouth a tight puckered seam across his face. She felt buffeted from the intensity of his presence. "Taking them back now, Scully?" It was something she'd dreaded... the inevitable stripping away of her emotional safety net and the resultant lack of privacy, of anonymity. When she mused in the basement office several days ago, contemplating the lens of his eyeglasses, she knew that opening herself up to scrutiny and allowing him in would mean leaving denial and delusion far behind. If she ever gave herself over to her desire for Mulder, it would mean relinquishing some degree of control. She felt small and vulnerable, perched on the bed beneath his glare. Standing, she put some distance between them and turned away. "I'm handling it in my own way, Mulder." "That's not what I asked. I'm looking for reciprocity from you that goes beyond the simple dynamic of partnership. That we already had -- now we share something more intimate. Let me in, Scully. But... maybe getting inside your body is as far as you'll let me go, in that respect." The frustrated barb struck home. She ground her teeth, unwilling to be coerced, though stirred to justify herself. "You don't understand," she flung at him in quiet desperation, voice choked. "You can't know how it's made me feel." He took a hesitant step toward her. "Let me guess. Helpless? Without control? Frozen, with no ability to function or move a muscle? No way to prevent what you see happening with your own eyes?" "Stop --" she gasped, forehead a furrowed map of anguish. "Yeah, it's painful. And there's shame and guilt and anger, because there's nothing you can do to prevent what's happening to you. I experienced something similar while you were in Africa trying to find the answers that ended up saving my life. Manipulated mentally and surgically by that cigarette smoking son-of-a-bitch. As for residuals... " He drew closer to where she stood, feet bare, small toes clenched with tension. "I can imagine what you've been dealing with since your abduction. To a lesser degree, I felt that way the night Samantha was taken -- and the trauma was enough to make me block out the incident for decades, until regression hypnosis went deep enough to find it and pull it back into conscious memory. Scully..." Her head hung, chin against chest, arms wrapped tightly around her body. A sob lodged in her throat and she swallowed it down yet again as his voice drew nearer. "The same feelings came back to me those weeks you were missing. Yes, really," he affirmed when her head rose and her glittering eyes challenged him. "Helpless, out-of- control. Angry as hell. Then, all over again, when you battled your cancer and it looked like you might not beat it. But you did..." "Mulder, I was taken against my will... robbed... they ran tests on me like a lab rat. I was powerless to stop it--" "Shhhh... I know." Through a liquid haze she drank in his face, a mirror of her emotion. "If there's anyone who can understand what you're dealing with," he vowed, "it's me, Scully. Me." His hands settled around her slumped shoulders, squeezing once, then twice for emphasis. She felt the firm caress of his thumbs on each clavicle, kneading them, seeking to soothe her, then the warm slide of his hands up and down the chilled satin sleeves cloaking her arms. "I didn't want to admit the truth," she confessed in a strained, breathy whisper. "I wanted to believe that it was all behind me. That I could cope and stay on top of it. Not let it get to me." A sob blossomed, battled for control and she choked it back. "So much has already been taken away." Images swam through her head, snapshots of bereavement and inexpressible loss... Missy's porcelain face in the hospital morgue. Emily's soft little body relaxed, peaceful in death. Mulder spread-eagled and strapped to a maniac's table, his head bandaged and bleeding, his life slipping away from her. "My dignity, Mulder... and the chance for me to have a baby... " Her voice broke and he groaned in response, urging her closer against him. His mouth was soft over her forehead, his hands a strong brace at her back. She clung to him, salvaging control. "Mulder?" "Right here," he breathed, rubbing her back, her neck. "Do you remember when you were little... when bad dreams woke you up during night?" She waited until she felt him nod. "Someone -- usually Mom or Missy -- would ask me about the dream, but I didn't dare tell them right away. If I verbalized it too soon, I felt it would somehow become real, especially in the dark. Speaking of it, acknowledging what had frightened me, would give it a life of its own. The right to exist --" "So by denying its existence, you could escape it, prevent it from ever happening again. Applicable to the present situation," he murmured in explanation when she lifted a startled glance to his face. "That's why you kept this secret, isn't it? Even from the therapist... " She closed her eyes to forestall a fresh surge of tears and he hugged her again. "But look on the bright side... You're remembering something that's real enough to affect your waking hours. With help you can nail this thing to the wall. It's not buried where you can't find it, like it was for me... and that's half the battle right there. That's a good thing." "Only you, Mulder. Only you could see something good in this," she scolded in tearful self-defense. "Only me," he affirmed again. "In time you'll beat this, too. I know it." Ragged edges of emotion appeased, she welcomed the comforting weight of his head on her shoulder, tilted down so his mouth rested against the curve of her neck. He rocked her from side to side like he would a frightened child and she found it curiously soothing, almost pleasant, to be so protected. Huddled within his arms, she loosed a deep, tremulous sigh of relief. "Thank you... for being here." He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss behind her ear, rubbing his nose into her scent. "No other place I'd rather be," he murmured. "Don't forget, I love you... " It was the third time he'd spoken the words aloud. At the hot springs he'd clutched her tightly against him, murmuring feverish avowals against her flesh, whispered through a fog of spent desire. Earlier this evening, in the soft lamplight, he'd breathed the same words, juggling them lovingly between playful nips and sucks over her body as they explored one another. "... don't shut me out." The gentle persistence in his voice made her eyes burn. She opened them and bit her lip in the silence that followed, oblivious to the hot slip of tears tracing the curves of her cheekbones, cooling on the skin of her neck and the soft hairs of his chest. How simple it would be, in the safe harbor of a lover's arms, to acquiesce to such a reasonable request, giving no thought to past or future. But that would be a denial of who she was and how she'd learned to confront the demons in her life. The curtains were closed. Mulder must have drawn them before coming to bed, after observing her reaction and realizing the depth of trauma they plumbed. Holding herself with death-like stillness against him, she felt something hard and unyielding soften within her as she watched the pulsing lightshow on the other side of the thinly-masked window. "Mulder, I can't promise." "It's okay. I just had to understand. Now we both know what we're dealing with... " His voice continued, soothing and rhythmic, as he kissed her forehead and then led her back to the bed. With quick, deft hands he fluffed her pillow, helped her under the sheet and blanket before clicking off the light and re-joining her. No expectations for more. Her heart ached with gratitude as he resumed his position against her back, non- confrontational now and sensitive to her need for privacy. Above the covers he shifted a loose hand around her hip. "Sleep tight," he muttered, bending over her cheek to steal a final kiss before sinking behind her into the dark. He cleared his throat several times, comforting rumbles along her spine that faded into a steady swell, the hypnotic rising and falling of his chest. An ebb and flow, like bobbing with effortless ease on the ocean. He reminded her of tides and waves and the soft sway of a ship at anchor, his breath a Chinook's warm caress on her cheek. With Mulder at her back it was possible she'd find her sea legs after all... Sleep came slowly, smoothing the dark, ruffled water at the shoreline of consciousness. She heard the pound of distant thunder, saw the muted flashes behind the curtain. With eyelids moist and heavy, she listened as Mulder's slow, patient breathing eased her toward slumber... ... It felt like a dream unfolding. Submerged again in the hot, steaming water of the spring, wrapped in Mulder's arms. Floating, weightless, held against him beneath the stars. His lips tickled her jaw, his mouth, hot and wet like the water, sucked the fleshy pearl of her earlobe. No smell of sulfur -- instead, the rich earthy musk of his hair and skin and breath, filling her nostrils. His low, seductive hum in her ear... "Scully... you awake?" There was no difference between sleep and wakefulness. Just the mesmerizing rumble of his voice, and then the glide of long tentative fingers sweeping beneath her pajama top along her ribs, her breast gathered like a treasure into his warm hand. The nipple brushed with the flat of his palm, then teased by his fingers, awakened... She moaned and turned toward him. His body, naked now, felt like a furnace against her pajamas and she met his mouth with hers, lips trembling. His erection pulsed like a living thing between them, swollen and hard. "Mulder?" Their mouths opened again and melted, became bottomless. He began a wet, burning trail over her throat and neck. "God," he breathed, lips crushed against her, "you're so beautiful... " She felt the cool air seize her front as buttons pulled free, then the warm convergence of his mouth on her breast, worrying over the taut nipple, still tender from his previous attentions. He groaned with abandon as he sucked first one, then the other, and her head fell back into the pillow, hands clutching his shoulders. The sharp edges of his teeth tugged her flesh between the circle of his lips, his tongue rough over the sensitive tips. Deep, sleepy currents of desire roused her, erupting in waves of pleasure between her legs and she arched her back in response. She had forgotten the utter sensuousness of being awakened by sex. Always intuitive, he remembered the secret, sensitive places of her body, stroking her as if she were something precious and breakable. His tongue and fingers flicked and bathed and explored. Moving with hypnotic surety, he played over her skin like he would a fine instrument, lips never halting in their incessant forage of firm swell and softer hollow. Slipping silky pajamas down, he kissed over her tightened stomach, then her navel and the small scooped curves of her hipbones. Knowing hands slid between her thighs, tracing the wet outer lips of her sex, then penetrated the tender inner folds, opening her as her pelvis undulated beneath him. Her legs turned boneless, knees falling to either side. He sank several fingers to the knuckle into her soft depths, then bowed his head lower, to brush his tongue over the tiny throbbing clitoris... Her body exploded in an instant, sparking like wildfire. She jerked and climaxed hard against his hand, writhing, gasping into the darkness, before he could do more than twitch his fingers inside her or take another breath. No words were spoken between them other than her name, poured from his lips like a comforting balm. While spasms still rocked her, he spread her straining thighs farther apart and entered her on the slick, pooled tide of arousal. She felt him expand and harden within her body, stretching and filling the tight channel to repletion. Braced above her, his grunts and body like a canopy, he pumped slowly, deeply, powerfully toward his own shuddering release. Finally, sated and perspiring, he slid down between her opened thighs, cradled and at peace. The heavy musk of sex saturated the air as they lay listening to the quiet. There was no rain now, no sound except the muffled dripping of the trees onto the roof and the rough panting of his body on hers. He rested head and cheek against her chest, recovering, and she browsed one hand deeply through his damp ruffled hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her regret was not for the hair-trigger orgasm, but for the abominable revelation hours before. Awake to memory now, she felt a pall, an insidious cloud of oppression that lingered over her perceptions. In her throat the lump remained and she battled the stoniness she felt in her soul, despising her own weakness as much as the deception she'd wrought. Like a comforting blanket of warmth, he shifted in her arms. "Leave it, Scully." "You know that's not possible." "Shhh... " She felt his sigh against her skin, then the prickle of whiskers and the heated brand of his kiss between her breasts, like a promise. "Let it go. We have time to work on it," he murmured. She nodded and blinked, felt one renegade tear creep and trickle back across her temple to burrow into her hair. Her fingers clutched his head like a buoy, breasts heaving anew with stifled emotion. "I love you," she enunciated slowly, her voice a whisper in the silence. He rose on an elbow over her, one hand gentle along the curve of her cheek, checking for signs of grief as he would for fever. Wiping away the evidence with the ball of his thumb, his lips sank, full and warm and needy, over her trembling mouth. ******************** END (7/10) Waiting In Motion by mountainphile