MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE 
SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS 
* MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE 
SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS 
* MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * MOVIE SPOILERS * 

And a healthy dose of MSR, from a *very* happy 'shipper.

Rated, ummm...  R, I think.  Sexual content, but not what I'd consider
explicit.

Here we go.

-------

I Have Seen...
by Imajiru


-------

I was cold.  I was paralyzed.  I was frozen.

But I was conscious.

Conscious of my nakedness, the ice crystallizing on my 
flesh.  Conscious of the umbilical, the alien tentacle down 
my throat.  Conscious of my helplessness as something 
gathered within me: forming, coalescing, a silent malevolent 
presence.

I'd thought cancer to be the ultimate invasion, the worst 
possible violation.  I'd been wrong.

My eyes were frozen open, yet all I could see was the miasma 
of slime, the green ice... so finally my mind was forced by 
sensory deprivation to imagery, to waking dreams.  Horrors, 
mostly.  The knowledge that all I'd seen and learned was for 
naught.  I would die here, alone, without ever having made a 
difference.

And when I saw Mulder's face before me, vague and murky 
through the ice, I thought: how wonderful it is, and how 
fitting, that his should be the image I take with me into 
the darkness.  Mulder...  We never did get to kiss, but our 
souls have touched a thousand times, melding and bonding to 
become one being.  And now the bond will be broken: I will 
die alone, and he will never know what has happened to me, 
will never know...

I'm sorry I told you I was leaving you, Mulder.  I'm sorry I 
left you with that lingering ache.  If that damned bee had 
to sting me, I'm sorry it couldn't have been just a few 
moments later...  Mulder, I'm so sorry.

It did not occur to me, as I felt the world around me 
shudder, that the specter before my eyes was real.  It never 
crossed my mind that it was anything more than a 
hallucination.

But then I felt the short, sharp pain in my shoulder, and 
the paralysis leaving me, as the malevolent thing inside me 
drained away -- and I came to know that I was being rescued.

At first, rescue was no boon; physical discomfort followed.  
I coughed, fighting to expel the horrid-tasting fluid in my 
throat, feeling the cold lance into me even more strongly 
than it had in my prison...  Then Mulder's arms were around 
me, warming me, hands fumbling to wrap me in his clothes, 
lifting me and carrying me away from the nightmare.

Mulder.

The world around me shook, in violent spasms of chaos, yet 
all my mind registered was Mulder, Mulder, Mulder...  I 
fought to make my limbs work, knowing that he would not 
leave without me, propelled more by my fear for his safety 
than self-preservation, and struggling to keep the 
encroaching darkness at bay...

And when finally it overwhelmed me, I came out of it to the 
unmistakeable feel of CPR compressions, and his tense, 
worried voice urging me to breathe...  When I tell him I'm 
fine, he knows I'm not; so I made a joke so he'd know I was 
all right, and treasured the sight of his smile.  Then we 
were fleeing: crawling, climbing, running, falling, being 
lifted aloft by a huge, inexorable force...

The ice was cold against my face, and I was so tired, and 
the noise -- "Scully, you gotta see this!" I heard him say, 
above the sound that filled the world like a tangible force.

So I looked.  And I saw.

No more evading belief.  No more refuge in scientific 
plausibilities.  There it was: Mulder's holy grail, larger 
than life and twice as impressive.  His ultimate truth.

It had indeed been out there.  And he'd found it.

"I saw it," I managed to croak, and his face relaxed into a 
smile, as if it was all he'd ever wanted: for me to see his 
truth, and believe.  In it.  In him.

But I believed in him already.  Didn't he know that?

With my last ounce of strength, I pulled his semiconscious 
form into my arms, kissed his cold forehead and held him as 
tightly as I could.  "I owe you everything, Mulder," I 
murmured into his hair.  "Everything."

And I held him like that until the cavalry came to get us.

I knew them on sight, despite the hooded parkas concealing 
their faces.  There was no conversation, just two pairs of 
arms carrying me to the vehicle, as the other two helped 
Mulder -- it occurred to me to wonder just how it had 
happened that the Terrible Trio had joined forces with my 
erstwhile boss, but I was too tired to question the 
providence that was removing us from this frozen hell.  
They dumped us in the back of the vehicle, and Mulder 
regained consciousness just enough, and just long enough, to 
crawl across the seat and into my arms -- it wasn't 
coordinated enough to be considered a proper embrace; we 
just clung to each other, holding on for dear life.  I could 
almost feel the others pointedly ignoring us, leaving us 
with our privacy... it didn't matter.  Nothing mattered.

Nothing except Mulder.  Being alive, and being with Mulder.  
And finally -- finally, knowing the truth.

-------

We're waiting for a plane back to civilization.  Antarctica 
isn't Dulles; there isn't exactly a busy schedule of flights 
hither and yon.  Skinner's pulled rank, and we should be on 
our way home by tomorrow morning, weather permitting.

There was a debriefing, of sorts.  If you can call three 
eager faces and one carefully nonchalant one demanding to 
know what happened to us.  We told them what we could, in 
bits and pieces -- I wasn't very helpful; Mulder knew far 
more of the story than I did.

But when I told them what had been done to me, about having 
been prepped and placed in that ice-cell, when Mulder 
realized for the first time that I had been aware throughout 
it all...  his eyes widened in something like shock and 
pain, and his hand wrapped around mine and squeezed tightly, 
and didn't -- wouldn't, couldn't -- let go.

The medical staff has given us the once-over, and the twice-
over, and finally left us alone.  We've eaten -- Mulder was 
ravenous; I felt vaguely nauseous at first, but once I 
started eating, I couldn't get enough.  We've been shown to 
the guest accommodations, which are strongly reminiscent of 
any of the cheap motels we've stayed in.  I've showered, 
wonderful hot water, and the feeling of being clean and dry 
and warm is incredible.

Now I am sitting on the sole double bed in our room, waiting 
for Mulder to finish showering, wondering what will happen 
next.

Things have changed.  Everything has changed.  I never 
knew...  Often, I'd thought that Mulder would be better off 
with a more sympatico partner.  Someone who believed the 
same things he did, who shared the same tendency to think 
outside the box, who could follow his leaps of logic and 
flights of fancy.  Even though I knew that I was the only 
thing that kept him tethered to reality sometimes, no matter 
how close we became, I always thought...  I never knew how 
much I meant to him.  How much he valued me.  I knew he 
cared, but... I'd never realized how much.

And for all the times he's saved me -- this time was 
different.  This time, I had known, beyond any shadow of 
doubt, that I was going to die.  I had known that my number 
was up, that my life was over.  And then, Mulder was 
there...

And now that I have seen...  I can't go back to being the 
person I used to be.  I can't remain smugly secure in the 
scientific certainties I used to take as givens.  I have 
*seen*, and I cannot shut my eyes to the sight, or to the 
knowledge I have gained.


In so many ways, Mulder and I are closer than we have ever 
been.

Things have changed.  Everything has changed.

And what will happen next, when we go back to Washington, 
and they send me in one direction and him in another?  How 
can we be separated now?

Mulder emerges from the small bathroom, wrapped in the plain 
bathrobe that was among the wardrobe the base's staff 
supplied for us, toweling his wet hair dry.  He doesn't say 
a word, merely crosses the room toward me, seats himself 
cross-legged at the end of the bed, and begins massaging my 
left foot.

God, I love this man.

"Mulder," I say, because something has to be said; the 
silence between us is a comfortable, companionable one, 
neither tense nor awkward, but it is *silence*, and I need 
to break it.

He looks up, raises his eyebrows at me, inviting me to 
continue.

"Thanks," I tell him -- a most inadequate word, but all I 
can manage.

And he shrugs.  As if it were nothing.  As if he hasn't just 
traipsed to the end of the earth to save my life.

The silence takes over again, and still he is massaging my 
foot, fingers kneading small circles, devoting careful 
attention to each toe in turn.  "You don't owe me anything, 
Scully," he says at last, his voice quiet and a little 
hoarse from the rigors of the frozen air he's gulped into 
his lungs throughout the ordeal.

I open my mouth to make a reflex reply, then think about it 
for a moment.  "Perhaps 'owe' is the wrong word," I admit.  
"'Owe' makes it sound like a debt, and that's not..."  I 
pause for a moment, to collect my thoughts; it's vital that 
I phrase this properly.  "A relationship like ours isn't 
based on debts."

He considers this for a moment, then nods; having finished 
with my left foot, he carefully moves it aside, then takes 
my right foot into his lap and begins working his magic upon 
it.

"How do you feel?" he asks me, glancing up from his task for 
just a moment.

"Tired," I tell him.  "I'm tired, and I hurt all over."

He nods sympathetically, continuing to rub my aching foot.

I draw a deep, deep breath, and finish the sentence.  "And I 
want to make love to you."

At this, he looks up, startled.

Our eyes meet.  His are like velvet, soft and enveloping; I 
could fall into his gaze and never surface... and for the 
first time, I allow myself to do exactly that.  Time slows 
to a honey-crawl, and nothing exists except for Mulder and 
myself...

His lips part, tongue darting to moisten them in a swift, 
nearly indiscernable motion.  "I feel the same way," he 
says, so quietly that I can barely hear him.  "On all 
counts."

He smiles a little, a smile that is more a softening of his 
usual non-expression than anything else, and I smile back -- 
and his face melts into an outright grin: the warmest I have 
ever witnessed.  His arm stretches across the bed toward me, 
and I reach back, and our hands clasp and hold on tight.

Then we are moving toward each other, both of us pulling the 
other closer until we meet in the middle of the bed... 
closer and closer, so close... his arms enfold me, and I 
slide mine around him, and then -- finally -- he is kissing 
me.  I am kissing him.  We are kissing each other.

Finally.

And it is more than a kiss.  It is the culmination of 
everything we are, everything we have become.  It is the 
final step in the lengthy process of union that began five 
years ago and has been growing steadily more intense ever 
since.  It is completion.

In a sense, we have been making love for five years; and 
with this, our first kiss, the lovemaking process that is 
our partnership has reached its climax.

Now, we get to do it for real.

I didn't lie to Mulder, when he asked me how I felt.  I am 
bone-weary, and my entire body aches.  But this is not about 
sex: it's about intimacy -- I *need* to be close to him, as 
close to him as I can possibly get.  And as his hands glide 
over my skin, caressing and possessing, I know that he feels 
the same way -- on all counts -- and that it doesn't matter 
that neither of us are in any sort of physical condition for 
recreational exercise: this is going to be incredible.

And it is.

"Just remember, we *are* in Antarctica," he says 
whimsically, as my hands strip off his bathrobe; and I 
laugh, at the patently ludicrous notion that I might somehow 
think less of this man based on the dimensions of his 
genitalia.  He is my knight in shining armor, my best 
friend, my partner -- now and forever, no matter where the 
FBI might see fit to send either of us.  At any rate, when 
the robe comes off, I note that he has nothing to be ashamed 
of, in any geographical locality -- and tell him so, in just 
those words; which makes *him* laugh.

Laughter is, I discover, a wonderful way to begin a sexual 
encounter.  Provided, of course, that it is the right sort 
of laughter.  Ours is affirmation: that we know each other 
well enough to be able to laugh together, and to know that 
the laughter isn't taunting or cruel, but born of our 
rapport, our mutual affection.

We snuggle under the covers together, and... cuddle.  
Holding each other, touching with soft caresses, getting 
used to the idea of being naked together in a situation that 
doesn't involve danger.  Being close, luxuriating in the 
closeness, in the knowledge that for this enchanted bit of 
time we needn't rush.  We've escaped from inescapable doom; 
nothing can touch us now.

Slowly, the caresses grow more intimate, and more urgent.  
Slowly, our kisses become deeper, more passionate.  Slowly, 
we move from cuddling into lovemaking; so slowly that it is 
impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.  The 
pleasure builds, an infinite cascade, emotional and physical 
and sensual pleasure tumbling together in freefall inside 
me.

And throughout it all, we talk.  No rambling technobabble, 
of the sort we routinely rattle off at each other in an 
informal competition to see who can use the longest words 
without pausing for breath.  Just small sentences, random 
bits of communication:  "That feels so good."  "You taste 
wonderful."  "Oh, is that a bruise?  Sorry."  "You saved 
me."  "You've always saved me."  "I missed you."  "I was 
afraid."  Things that don't need words, really, to be 
shared.  And things that aren't words at all -- sounds, 
sighs and cries and gasps and moans and subvocalizations of 
pleasure.  Random communication, punctuating the process of 
getting closer.

It is a natural, inexorable progression that seems to last 
forever and, paradoxially, not long enough -- but finally he 
is entering me; inside me.  I look up into his eyes and 
become lost in them again, become lost in him even as he is 
losing himself in me... and the loss is our gain: as 
pleasure spikes into the red zone of ecstasy, it is as if we 
are one person, a single unit, irretrievably joined in a way 
that has nothing to do with intercourse.

So attuned are we that we explode together, in the same 
heartbeat -- not two orgasms, but a single climax that 
encompasses both of us.  And as he collapses onto me, sweaty 
and exhausted and happy, I know... that this ending is a 
beginning, and the best is yet to come.

The act of finding a comfortable snuggle-sleeping position 
afterwards takes the last bits of energy we have left.  And 
yet he rallies to stay awake for one more moment, long 
enough to force three more words past his sleepy lips...  I 
know, of course.  I've always known.  But I say the words 
back to him, completing the ritual; and he smiles, and is 
instantly asleep.

And I fall asleep in his arms, utterly content...

Only a short while ago, I was so cold, and so alone.

And now there is nothing but warmth.

-------

He is on the verge of giving up.

Reality has set in, as has fear.  I know what is motivating 
him: his terror of losing me.  And he will sacrifice 
everything he cares about -- his quest, and his love -- 
simply to keep me safe.

My knight in shining armor.  An unlikely champion, Mulder 
is; but my hero all the same.

And I will not let him do it.  I have seen too much; I know 
too much now, about the threat that faces us all.  About 
him, and how he feels: how desperately he needs me in his 
life, as partner and friend and lover.

As well, I have come to know myself.

I have seen the truth.  I have felt the terrifying presence 
of an alien organism within me.  I have witnessed a 
spacecraft unexplainable by human science and technology, 
and irrefutably real.  I have felt Mulder's love and loyalty 
and body wrapped around me like a cloak, protecting and 
warming me in ways I hadn't ever imagined.  And I know, now, 
that Dana Scully is a person shaped by all of these things -
- and not the same Dana Scully who stood in a hallway of FBI 
Headquarters just a few scant days ago, determined to leave 
them all behind.

I tell him this, in words that he will understand.  I take 
his hand in mine, and remind him that we are one, now: 
beyond separation.

Our future lies ahead; and we will fight for it, together.

And we walk off, hand in hand, to do precisely that.

------/end







                           *******
        Imajiru Mackenzie - ICQ:#11984862 - AIM: Imajiru
  imajiru@mindspring.com -- http://imajiru.home.mindspring.com/
            COMING SOON:  http://scully.mulder.com/
                           *******
Fan Fiction: Where Copyright Infringement is a Sign of Affection.
               Practice Safe Sex - Read Erotica

    Source: geocities.com/msr_xf/fanfic

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