Date: 14 May 1998 18:50:38 GMT
From: Ruthsleuth 
Subject: MOTHER'S DAY 1/1 by Alexa Foxx


TITLE:  MOTHER'S DAY
AUTHOR:  ALEXA FOXX
CATEGORY:  MSR;  MULDER AND SCULLY ANGST
RATING:  NC-17 FOR STRONG LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL CONTENT
SPOILERS:  CHRISTMAS CAROL, EMILY, MINOR FOR ALL STORIES AFTER MEMENTO MORI
THORUGH REDUX 2 and ANSAZI, BLESSING WAY AND PAPER CLIP
SUMMARY:  Mulder visits Scully on Mother's Day determined to help her face her
grief over Emily's death and begin to heal
E-MAIL: Ruthsleuth@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: May arhive anywhere as long as it remains intact, author name,
e-mail address and disclaimers remain attached and you let me know where it
will be :-)
DISCLAIMER:  We all know they don't belong to me but to CC and FOX TV.  No
copywrite infringement intended.

THANKS to some incredibly generous and patient Beta Readers--Angela, Mary, Deb,
Irini, Lisby and Yonada and of course Paula G and Alanna B, 2 truly great Beta
Readers and inspirational writers

MOTHER'S DAY

	I know this is a mistake.  At best, she will turn away, shut down, and tell me
she's fine.  Worst case, she will hate me for seeing her vulnerable and
hurting.  It doesn't matter.  I'm not exactly known for my discretion, for
holding back or thinking about consequences before I burn a bridge.  And the
bridge between Scully and me is already on the verge of collapse.  Sagging
under the strain of silence, rotting under weight of grief unexpressed, it has
lain in disrepair too long.  First Melissa's death, then Scully's cancer have
driven her from me.  With each new case, I have seen Scully's enthusiasm and
faith in me wane until I find myself staring at her from the opposite side of
this shaky crossing.  Five years ago I would have given anything to hear her
say she believed as I do.  Now, I am the one who no is no longer willing to
open myself to the extreme possibilities Scully is finally willing to explore. 
And she is the one running off  in the middle of the night prepared to face a
fiery death alone rather than risk my censure at her new found beliefs.  
	But today I will reach across that bridge.  By the end of the day it will
either be mended, stronger, more solid or lay in ruins between us.
	Dangerous and as uncertain as I know this path to be, I find myself knocking
on her door.
	She opens the door a few moments later.  "Mulder?"
	"Hey Scully."
	"What are you doing here?"
	"I need...  Can I come in?"  I see the uncertainty in her eyes and I don't
wait for permission.  I push gently past her and wait for her to join me
inside.
	"Mulder, this really isn't a good time."
	Oh yeah, before noon on a Sunday.  Her list of competing priorities must be a
mile long.  I ignore her lie and press on.  "I'm surprised to find you here."
	"Where else would I be?"
	"At Mass maybe?"
	"I didn't feel up to it," she answers, then adds more quietly,  "Not this
Sunday."
	"No, I didn't think so."  The pain in her eyes is so open and raw,  no matter
that she is trying her best to mask its true depth.  As usual, she has barred
the doors and windows to her soul, refusing to share her grief or let me help
her heal.  I make a silent vow that today will be different.  Even if it means
severing the few strained bonds that remain between us, I will not let her be
alone.  I love her too much to allow her to hurt in isolation today of all
days.
	"Look Mulder, I'm kind of busy here..."
	"Oh really?  Doing what?"  It's a stupid question.  I can see exactly what she
is doing.  But if she is determined to play this game, I will humor her.  
	"I've got expense reports to finish.  Field notes I want to go over and a
stack of journals I need to catch up on--"
	"Bullshit."
	"I beg your pardon?"
	My Scully doesn't beg,  At least not so that anyone can see.  And today she
doesn't have to.  I've come to give her that which she will not allow herself
to admit she needs.
	"I said, bullshit.  You're sitting here in your robe and fuzzy slippers,
nursing a mug of--"  I cross to her end table and sniff the mug.  "Hot
chocolate.  Sound more like brooding to me."
	"Think what you want Mulder."  She turns away quickly and settles back into a
tight corner of the couch.
	"Brooding, or bleeding slowly inside."
	"Mulder, I can't talk about this."
	"Can't talk to me or can't talk today?  Because I can call your mom for you to
talk to or come back tomorrow..."
	"My mother is in San Diego with Bill and Tara.  You know that."
	"Right.  The new Grandmom with baby Matthew."
	"Mulder don't do this today, please?"  Tears glisten at the corners of her
fiery blue eyes and I know I have drawn first blood.  
	"Why not today Scully, huh?"
	I can see the anger forcing her pain aside.  The anger I know I'm eventually
have to chisel through to get to the root of that pain and I am ready for it.
	'Why not, Scully?   Because it's Mothers Day?"
	"Damn you."  She says it quietly, coldly.  "Damn you," she repeats with a
ferocity that might have scared some of the human felons we've collared, but in
this moment terrifies me.  Especially when she punctuates her words with a well
swung slap across my left cheek..  It stings, burning my flesh, but I am not
deterred.  If this is the only heat I'm going to get from my attempt to help
her through her first Mother's Day without her daughter, then this will be one
quick job.  Her expression, eyes boring into my chest like twin blue laser
beams, tells me the only way this will be quick is if she picks up her Smith
and Wesson and puts a bullet through my other shoulder.  A thought that has
crossed my mind more than once since I started out on this necessary, but
heartbreaking mission.
	"What gives you the right, huh?" she shouts at me.
	Christ, this is insanity.  What made me think I could possibly help her with
her loss?  Help her to let go of her guilt and face living again?  What do I
know of healing?  But where I've failed myself for twenty odd years, I know I
must succeed for her or she will be even more lost to me.  And herself.
	"Because you're my partner and I..."  I stop short of the words I so
desperately want to say.  I know if I tell her of my love for her now, it will
only make things worse, force her even further from me.  I can't bear the
thought of one more centimeter of distance between us and I will do whatever it
takes to reach her, lay my past and soul bare at her feet if it will get her to
do the same.  "I'm not leaving you to grieve alone, Scully.
	"I'm fine, Mulder."
	"The hell you are and I'm staying until...  Until I think it's time, so deal
with it."
                                                       *     *     *
	Damn him,  Damn him. Damn him.  The phrase runs over and over in my mind in an
endless loop.  Why did I have to get paired with the bureau's Spooky-est
partner?  A man who can see through me like a piece of cracked crystal.  A man
so damaged he may never find enough truth and love to mend his heart and
psyche, but feels duty bound to take on even more pain in an effort to heal a
hole so deep in my heart, I may never see the bottom of it.
	He joins me on the couch.  His intensity drives me back and I retreat further
into my lair.  Huddled in a ball on my nice chintz sofa, that's just what I
feel like--a wounded animal, frightened and bleeding.  All I want to do is lick
my wounds and hide.  Mulder's tightly wound presence tells me that is not going
to acceptable Sunday morning behavior today.
	I wipe my damp eyes and turn to him stoic and prepared.  "What do you want
from me?"  Even I can hear how raw my voice has become from the hours of tears,
shed and unshed, before his arrival.
	"To talk."
	"We do that everyday Mulder.  We can do that in the office tomorrow--"
	"Uh uh, here.  Now."
	I remain silent.  Cold and empty.  Nothing to say, nothing in my heart.
	"No?  Okay then, I'll start.  I never really thought much about having a child
myself.  I mean you know my Mom--not exactly June Cleaver.  And of course
there's duplicitous old Dad.  Not the best of role models."   A wry smile
curves his full lips.  "Let's face it--what would I know about being a parent? 
I decided to never risk putting any child through that kind of hell to find
out."
	I have no answers for him.  This is not what I expected.  And for a moment I
delude myself that maybe we can just talk about his dysfunctional family and
he'll be satisfied.  I wonder if he's even called his mother today.  Somehow
after the last debacle in Rhode Island, I doubt it.  And today, I have no
emotional reserves to deal with it. 
	"But you, Scully.  You know about family, loving parents.   How to receive
love as a child.  How to give love as mother."
	Mulder can be a bastard.  It's usually when he's off in self-absorbed mode. 
Closed off to everyone and everything, so focused he tramples other's hearts
and feelings without even noticing the wreckage.  This is different, though--an
intentional surgical strike on my heart.  Only instead of using a scalpel, 
it's like he's stripping tiny pieces of my flesh with a dull, rusty razor and
leaving the wounds to hemorrhage unchecked.  And he knows it.
	"You son of a bitch."  I slap him again, hard this time.  Again.  And still it
is not enough.  I strike out at his chest, fists flying.  When one clips his
jaw, he grips my wrists.
	"We're going to talk about Emily."
	As much as I knew what was coming, had steeled myself against his words, I
crumple just a bit.  "What do you want me to do, Mulder?  Say I love her and go
lay flowers on her grave?  It's a continent away."
	He keeps my wrists fisted in one hand and loops the other around my waist,
drawing me near.  His hazel eyes, dark with sympathy and shared pain, hold mine
and I start to tremble.
	"Say that she was my baby girl?  The only child I will ever have?"  My voice
is cracking now.   My rage returns.  I latch onto it like a lifeline and I
struggle free from his grip.  Staggering to my desk, I rip open a drawer and
its contents litter the floor.  I kneel, tossing pens, papers, other fragments
of my life aside until I find that one precious memory.  I remain crouched on
the floor, cradling her photo in my hands and continue railing.  "What would
you have me do Mulder, stare at her picture and cry?   Beg God over and over
again to tell me why?"
	I drop my head in my hands, no longer able to hold back the tears.   Of rage,
I tell myself.  Only of rage.
                                                        *     *     *
	Well, this is what you came for, my Oxford-doctorate-in-psychology mind
reminds me.  Break through her defenses, demolish all her walls.  Too bad those
scholarly textbooks didn't mention anything about leaving the woman you love
broken and sobbing in a heap on the floor.  I am off the couch in a shot.  I
try to take her in my arms and she pulls away, pounding on my chest again,
clawing at my arms to release her.  But I pull her closer, wrap her in my arms.
 She dumps me back on my ass and we roll on the floor.  Still I hold on to her.
 For dear life--hers, and now my own.  Because if I let her go, if I don't
finish this and finish this right, I will have destroyed her.  And God forgive
me, I would rather destroy what is left of myself than break the toughest woman
I know.  A woman who has survived mutants, abductions and necrophiliacs, but
who may not survive my fucked up attempt at love.
	"Oh, Scully," I murmur and tenderly brush my cheek against her hair.
	She finally tires and collapses against me.  God, how I wish I could have done
this any other way.
	"Talk to me," I beg.  "Please."
	"Oh God, Mulder, I want her."   She drops her head onto my chest, her tears
soaking through my t-shirt.  "I miss her and I never even knew her.  I never
carried her in my womb, held her to my breast to feed her, changed her diapers
or saw her first step."
	She stops for a minute catching her breath in a strangled wheeze.  I want to
struggle and curse, now.  Not at Scully.  I have asked for this catharsis and I
will deal with it.  But to kill and damn to hell those who have done this to my
Scully.  Who have taken so much from her that she didn't even know she wanted
until she'd lost it.  Later, I silently promise myself and her, I will make
them bleed as she is bleeding now.  She has finally let me in and I will not
leave her.  Not now, maybe never.
	"And I never will.   Not Emily--not any child."  She stiffens and pulls away. 
	"Don't, Scully please.  Don't shut me out."
	"Mulder, I--"
	"Shush, I know."
	"No, you don't.  You can't."
	Her words bite, tear at my heart because she is right.  I can't know.  As much
as I would like to absorb her pain and make it mine, I cannot feel the totality
of her loss.  Only the breaking of my own heart at having to watch it and my
guilt at knowing that because she trusted so completely in my beliefs, she is
now alone on this day.
	I could tell her that may not always be the case.  Finally confess to my
"light fingered Louie" routine in the egg store.  But this is not the time. 
Not the year.  Even as oblivious as I can be at times like this, I know that I
cannot mitigate Scully's grief over Emily by dangling the carrot of fertility
and those future Uber Scully's before her now.  That revelation, its
repercussions and recriminations will have to wait for another day.  Always
nice to have something to look forward to, Mulder.
	We are on the floor, contorted into a position more appropriate to the main
event at Wrestlemania than a Mother's Day mourning ritual.  I try to untangle
our limbs without losing that vital contact I know I must maintain to keep with
her with me now. 
	"Come on, let me help you up."
	We get to our knees, facing one another.  Inches separate our damp, flushed
faces and we inhale each other's breath.  My hands circle her slender waist,
fingers slinking around her back steadying her.  In that moment our eyes lock,
hazel captured by brilliant blue.  I know it is wrong.  Too much and the wrong
time and place, but I can't help it.  I bridge those last six inches, rushing
headlong through this gaping crevice in her emotional walls.  I brush my lips
across hers softly, once, twice and draw back a hairbreadth.  I look to her
eyes.  They are red and swollen.  Sadder but clearer, more purposeful.
	"Mulder?"  This time it is not an admonishment born of anger or frustration. 
I know that tone and had all but given up on ever hearing it come from Scully's
mouth. "Please?"
	There is no mistaking her meaning. I pull her against me, chest to chest,
thigh to thigh, wanting as much of her body touching mine as I can possibly
get.  My lips melt against hers and she responds.  Her kiss is anything but
gentle or tentative.  It is passionate, wild.  And I can feel it straight down
through every inch of me she is caressing and some places she has yet to reach.
                                                    *     *     *
	My pain, my grief, my world are distilled down to this one kiss.  This one man
who is here on the second Sunday in May to cry at my side and then pick up the
pieces as only he knows how to do.  In the only way he knows how.  Funny,  it
is a way we have never tried to mend our shattered lives.  I trace that
beautiful lower lip with the tip of my tongue.  It is as soft as I have
fantasized, as warm and pliant as I have imagined in my dreams.  As I tug
greedily on it and hear his moan, I wonder if maybe we should have before now. 
Then I remember why we are willing to take this risk today.  What brought us to
this point, and I force it from my mind.  I will myself to let the painful
memories go for just a bit.  For this.  Only for this.  I thrust my tongue deep
in his mouth, stroking his teeth, the roof of his mouth and finally his tongue,
which I suckle with a dire need.  God he tastes wonderful.  Coffee, Listerine,
and oops, that one cigarette he stole from somewhere on the way over because he
was so nervous.  And a flavor I can only describe as sweet, luscious Mulder.
	He is right.  I do not want to feel the cold and silence today.  I want to
feel more than pain and loss.  And I want to feel it with him..
	"Mulder, make love to me.  I want to feel you...  Make me feel something
instead of this aching empty--"
	He does not force me to finish.  Does not make me beg.  He moves his lips to
my ear, slips his hand inside my robe and caresses my breast and whispers, "I'm
here."
	He takes my hand and draws me to my feet.  Once standing, he lifts me into his
arms and carries me to my bedroom.  For once I am grateful to relinquish my
iron clad control.
	For all his pent up rage, Mulder is an incredibly tender man.  I see him on
his hands and knees in a play room in San Diego, making that ridiculous Mr.
Potato head face to put Emily at ease, and the tears draw dangerously near
again.  But not for long.  He lays me gently a top my mussed sheets, standing
at the side of my bed staring, waiting.
	"Scully, I don't want to..." he stammers when he finally speaks.
	He doesn't want me.  Vanity, insanity, whatever, something has obviously short
circuited  my logical mind for I have rushed blindly forward, never even
considered that he might not feel the same as I do.  And the famous Scully
pride can't stomach a pity fuck, even if it is to take my mind off of my dead
daughter.  Waves of nausea roll over me and I fear I may actually lose the
cocoa and toast I'd managed to get down before his rude arrival.
	"It's okay, Mulder.  You don't have to do this."  I roll away from him and
face the wall.  How can it so damn cold in here in May, I wonder?  Grabbing the
covers from beneath my body, I pull them to my chin.  "Lock the door on your
way out."
                                                  *      *     *
	Her words, coupled with the barely perceptible shaking of her shoulders assure
me I've fucked up yet again. How is it no matter how I try to comfort this
woman, I only hurt her more?  I sit on the edge of the bed and try to draw the
covers from her shoulder.  She keeps them in a strangle hold and jerks further
away from me.
	"Oh no, not this time FBI woman," I say and strip them from her.  "Look at me,
Scully."
	"It's alright Mulder."
	"The hell it is."  I grip her shoulders and force her to face me.  I take her
head in my hands and press my lips to hers.  Her lips remain closed tight.  As
closed off as she has been all these months.  No more, I vow and press harder,
working my mouth against hers, capturing her lower lip with mine.  I nibble,
suckle, struggling for each inch, until I feel her give in.  It is enough and I
am inside, my tongue seeking and taking full possession of her mouth.  I find
her tongue at last and seduce it until this wall shatters too and she is
kissing me back, caressing my tongue with her own. 
	But I want more.  And I know deep inside that she does as well, even if she is
too afraid to admit it.  I find the belt to her robe and slip the tie, parting
the satin.  She raises her hands quickly in an attempt to cover her bare breast
and I grab her wrists to stop her.
	"No Scully, no more barriers.  Nothing between us."
	I trail my hand across her hairline brushing tousled pieces of copper silk
from her face, down her throat and across the swell of each perfect breast.  My
chest is now as tight as my jeans.   I manage a breath and dust kisses over the
trail my fingers have just tread.  She moans softly as I dip my tongue between
her breasts and draw one pure rosy nipple between my lips.
	She arches against my mouth and I can feel another wall crumble.
	"All the way, Scully," I whisper.  "Let me in all the way."
                                                     *     *     *
	He stops his onslaught long enough to strip off his shirt.  Naked to the waist
he is back upon me.  I always suspected Mulder to be hot blooded, especially if
the office gossip is to be believed.  Most times I have touched his flesh, it
has been burning with fever.  Now it is afire with the heat of desire.  And I
can't fight any longer.  I want him against me, every inch of him against every
inch of me.  I wrap my arms around him and just let him warm me.  He slithers
lower, kissing my abdomen, lower still caressing my thighs with his lips.  I am
melting.  The icy pain I have hoarded like a treasure to be shared with no one
finally melting and running from my core.
	"Don't stop," I plead.
	He eases my panties down my legs and looks up briefly to meet my gaze. 
Desire, need, love.  They are all right there on the face I've come to know as
well as my own.  He leaves me only  long enough to remove his jeans and boxers.
 And it is still too long.
	When he returns he covers my body with own and pins me with a demanding stare.
 I wiggle and writhe beneath him, reaching, striving for more.  
	"Tell me," he demands.  He will be satisfied with nothing less than my entire
heart, complete victory, my all.
	 "Touch me."  I take his hand and guide it.  "I need to feel you inside me." 
	He eases my legs apart and strokes me gently, barely grazing my center.  Oh,
those fingers.  Mulder's fingers have always fascinated me.  Long, elegant,
they are the fingers of an artist or a musician.  And I have wondered what they
would feel like caressing me,  filling me.  I do not have to wonder any longer.
 He slides one beautifully tapered finger inside me and my hips leap off the
bed.
                                                    *     *     *
	She is on fire.  So wet, so ready.  But her acquiescence is more than
physical.  It is of the heart and spirit as well.  As such, I will not rush
this.  I want to make her burn.  I need to know that I can do this for her.  I
cover her with my mouth, tasting her surrender, her desire.  She bucks wildly
as I thrust my tongue deep inside her and I grab her hips in mid air, pinning
them to the bed.  There will be no escape this time.  No masks and no mercy. 
In and out.  On and on I drive her, capturing her clit with my lips.  She
releases a strangled cry as she comes, thrusting her hands through my hair and
grinding against my mouth.
	Wave after wave rolls over her body and I feel each one in my painfully
swollen cock.  As long as it's been since I've  found release in mixed company,
I can't believe I am hanging on.  But I am and I do.  I am not done.
	She lies back, eyes closed, breathing in more controlled gasps now and I slide
slowly up her body, making sure to rub against every inch of her hyper
sensitive skin as I go.
	"Open your eyes," I whisper and swipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb.  I
need to see her desire, that this is what she still wants.  Her eyes a murky
blue, unfocused.  I kiss her again.  Long and hard, sharing with her that which
she has finally shared with me.
	Her hand slips between us and she wraps her fingers around my hard shaft.  I
am leaking in anticipation and she slicks her thumb with my juices, spreading
them over me before her hand glides further down cupping my balls.
	"Oh yeah, Scully..." I moan.
	"Tell me," she echoes.  Turn about is fair play, I suppose and I will find the
words because she has asked me to.
	"I want to feel you around me, gripping me as you come..."
	She guides me between her folds and I thrust hard and deep within her.  We
both gasp from the sensation.  For a moment I can't move.  She is gripping me
like a wet satin fist and I know, one twitch and it will be all over.
	"Wait..."
	"No Mulder, no more waiting."  With that she clamps her heels high on my
waist.  She crushes me to her at the same time she bucks against me.  Again and
again.  I am so deep inside her.  In a matter of seconds I feel her muscles
clench around me.  She digs her nails into my back and screams my name as the
last barriers between us shatter.
	"Sculleee," I scream, shooting into her again and again.
	When my mind clears, I move to roll from on top of her so as not to crush her,
but she refuses to let go
	"Not yet, Mulder.  Please, not yet."
	Tears again fill her eyes, but they are joined by love and the beginning of a
smile.  I roll to my side, keeping that vital connection between us and tuck
her against me.  My Scully, small, yet so strong.  I cradle her in my arms and
for the first time since I left her next to that tiny sand filled coffin in
California, I think that just maybe she will be alright.  No today and not all
at once, but I know I have finally touched her soul and that her healing has
truly begun.  I have felt her come alive beneath me. 
	"I'm sorry I hurt you," I whisper.
	"You didn't.  That's was wonderful, beautiful."
	"I did hurt you...  The things I said..."  I am babbling and I curse softly. 
The words I needed to hurt her were so easy to find.  Why I can't I find the
words to soothe as easily?
	"You said them because you love me."
	Any lingering doubts I may have had are gone as she finds the words for me. 
We are of one mind again, one thought.
	"I do love you, Scully."
	"I know."  She threads her fingers through mine, drawing our joined hands to
her heart.  "As much as I love you."
Text file Source (historic): geocities.com/xfanfic1013/stories/NC17

geocities.com/xfanfic1013/stories
geocities.com/xfanfic1013

(to report bad content: archivehelp @ gmail)