TITLE: The Storm
AUTHOR: Bonetree
RATING: R/NC-17
CATEGORY: MSR, Post-Ep for "The Truth", Vignette
SPOILERS: Up through "The Truth."
This is a post-episode fic.
SUMMARY: An ending, and a beginning.
FEEDBACK: Welcomed and responded to at Bonetree@gmail.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: My first post-ep! Thanks to dtg, Shari and csw for
encouragement. I just couldn't help myself. :O) Thanks to Shari, too,
for the beta, as always.


**********


ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO


The rain on the window washed their bodies in shadows of rivulets.
Mulder watched the water stream down the white of her robe beneath
his hands, across the skin of his arm around her, looking like it was
bathing them both in tears.

Their faces were still touching, his nose against her cheek. She had
closed her eyes, but her hand on his waist was moving, her fingers
smoothing across the fabric of the T-shirt he wore, the waist of his
jeans beneath it. His leg was still across her thigh, but he had
pulled her upper body closer, close enough to smell the faint scent
of her, perfume he hadn't smelled in what seemed like a lifetime. He
sought it out, moving his face down to the white of her throat.

For the first time since he'd joined her in the bed, he kissed her,
his mouth open against her skin. Her hand tightened against him, the
other going to his hair now, pressing his face down.

A faint roll of thunder somewhere in the distance, another faint
sound, coming up through her, a warm sound from her throat. He pulled
back to look into her face, her eyes now open, watching him.

"Scully, I..."

"Yes." She didn't hesitate as she leaned forward to his lips,
whispered it against them.

He let her free enough to reach between them and open the thin
fabric of the robe, easing out the knot that closed it, and he
reached his hand inside to her waist, pushing back slowly.

What covered her fell away. She was naked beneath it, curve of her
hip now washed with the shadows, her nipple dark against her pale
skin. His eyes ran over her as sure as his hands. He reached around
to the small of her back and pressed her close again, leaning his
face down to her shoulder, the curve of it exposed from where he'd
pushed the robe away. He grazed her skin with his teeth and felt her
lips against him where she could reach.

The ball of her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone. His lips
travelling up over her chin to her lips, and, as he'd done in the
cell, he pressed his lips to hers, and this time, her lips opened as
they met his. A soft sound that seemed like it was coming up from his
chest now, his hand moving around and cupping her breast.

They were picking up speed, things falling away from them. The
defeat that had clung to him like cobwebs, like chains. The hope he'd
spoken of was there between them, held in their bodies now, spoken in
the language of touch and breath.

"Take this off," she whispered, fingering his T-shirt, and he
nodded, kissed her again, then rolled onto his back, rising slightly,
and pulled the crisp shirt over his head. He stroked her bare calf
with his bare foot as her hands went to his chest, smoothing over
him. He closed his eyes against the warmth of her hands, against her
touch.

For a year, he had only felt it in his dreams, dreams he awoke from,
alone in on a cot in a trailer in the desert, harsh sun coming in the
windows beneath flimsy drapes. He'd lain in the bed, his own hand on
his chest, trying to feel her hand there as he stared up at the
ceiling. He could not.

So to feel it now... He nuzzled her, breathing her in, his hands
still playing over her skin.

Could they, even for a moment, for the night, leave it all behind?

His hand slipped down the front of her body, over her belly, down
between her legs, brushing with the gentlest touch. Her leg slipped
up between his, opening more of her to him, but her hands on his
chest had stilled.

His cheek against her cheek, and he felt tears.

"Scully, what is it?" he whispered. His hand moved to her hip and he
squeezed. He leaned back to look at her face.

"I'm..." Her eyes were large and blue and wet. "I'm...afraid."

He nodded, reached up to push her hair further back behind her ear.
"We have a lot to be afraid of right now, Scully."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid...of us. Of this."

This pricked him, the idea of the one haven he had thought they had
being frightening to her making him tense inside.

"Why?" he whispered.

She rolled out of his grasp, toward the night stand, and opened the
drawer, fumbling for something. Then she rolled back around and held
a small box in her hands. They'd stopped at a Walgreen's on the way
into the tiny town, and he'd wondered what she'd bought.

He recognized the sillouetted figures on the front, and looked from
it into her eyes.

"I'm afraid of our bodies," she murmured, her voice breaking a
little. "Of what they could do. I'm afraid to be with you like this."

"I don't want you to be afraid of that," he said quietly.

She reached for his face, held it between her hands, the box between
them on the sheets. Her eyes looked desperate and somehow fierce.

"I don't want another baby," she said, her voice quivering. "Not
ever."

He swallowed at the vehemence, searching her eyes. He nodded, not
knowing what to say.

Then she met his gaze. "I want him back," she whispered.

He nodded again, kissed her lips softly. "I know you do, Scully.
You'll see him again. We both will."

He didn't know how to make true what he'd said, but somewhere in
him, he did believe it.

He had to believe it. For her, and for himself.

He reached the box, slid it open, fingered a tiny round packet.
"We'll be careful," he whispered. "So careful..." He kissed her again.

She nodded, reached down, the back of her hand sliding down his
belly, into the waist of his jeans. He sucked his stomach in to give
her more room, feeling his body begin to quicken at the boldness of
her, her fingers inside his boxers now, stroking through the dense
hair she found there. His hands cradled her face.

He rolled, her onto his back and him over her, her fingers coming
out to open the button of his fly, then his zipper, pushing his pants
down, her body covered in the shadows of the storm now, rain coming
down harder, his lips on hers and her hands moving to his buttocks as
she freed him from his clothing. He slipped them down and away,
moving back over her when he was naked at last. He handed her the
packet.

Hands on his body, gentle touches, gentle stroking. There in the
darkness it felt so right to be with her, so good. As if, for a
moment, this was all that mattered, all that could ever matter.

He knew it would be different in the light. But for now, he lost
himself in touch, and softness, and breath.

He entered her slowly, watching her face. Her eyes did not close,
but her head pushed back, a soft moan, her hands on his back, urging
him down, urging them together.

A thousand worlds, he thought, losing himself in the feel of her as
he began to move, her chest rising and falling beneath his.

There were a thousand worlds, a thousand possibilities. One strand
holding them together. Hope. A kind of love.

Like this.

2012, and a world ending, a sun going low on the horizon.

2002, and another world, their world, dawning.

Beginning in what was between them. In their bodies, their minds,
their hearts.

Beginning, despite everything, again.



******

END