TITLE: Release
AUTHOR: Annette Gisby
EMAIL: penguin2@cableinet.co.uk
RATING: NC-17 (MSR)Vignette
SPOILERS: Irresistible and Orison
SUMMARY: Can Mulder help Scully through her ordeal?
ARCHIVE: Spooky's, Gossamer, Ephemeral and anywhere else as long as
name and email stay attached.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Fox, 1013.
I'm just having a little bit of fun with them!
 
RELEASE
I don't sleep anymore, but I do spend most of the night tossing
and turning on the couch, my one concession to rest. Scully lies
in my bed, she does enough sleeping for both of us. But when she
sleeps, she dreams, terrible dreams that leave her crying and
screaming in the night, at monsters who are no longer there.
Pfaster's dead now, but his hold over Scully is still there. She
killed him and now she carries the guilt around with her like a
shroud. I wish it was me who killed him, but I'm not sorry he's
dead, I'm sorry it had to be at Scully's hand. She who took an oath
to save life, not take it.
We've both been suspended while the investigation into the monster's
death is carried out. I don't think there should be a problem, but
Scully's worried all the same. He would have killed her, like all
the others if she hadn't shot him. And then I would have killed him.
Scully has been staying in my apartment ever since, she refuses to
go back there. I can't blame her for that. There are too many memories
there, awful memories that no-one should have to deal with. My bed
is usually going spare as I lie on the couch, I can't seem to get
comfortable on a bed.
It's like sharing my apartment with a wraith, she's so frail and white
looking. If she doesn't eat something soon, I'm afraid she'll waste
away in front of me. She has little enough meat on her bones as it is.
I return from my run, bearing a box of gifts from the bakery, hoping
to tempt her to eat something, even it is only a doughnut and a cup
of coffee. She's no longer in bed, but lying asleep on the couch.
One arm is tucked under a pillow, which has been squashed beyond all
recognition and the only thing covering her is a thin cotton sheet.
One hand has the sheet bunched into a fist and is holding the
sheet close to her body. Her naked body. I didn't know she slept naked.
I file that thought away for future reference. Her feet peek out under
the sheet at the edge of the couch and as I watch, they twitch, as
though she's trying to run away from something in her sleep.
I leave the bakery box on the coffee table and look at her. Really
look at her. The lines on her face are smoothed out in repose and
there isn't a worried frown on her brow, it makes her seem younger.
There's s fine sheen of perspiration on her face and her hair is
stuck to her forehead in clumps. I can feel the heat coming off her
in waves. Scully, my own personal radiator.
Her eyelids move rapidly and she begins to thrash about the couch,
whimpering.
"Scully," I say softly, to try and wake her. I don't touch her, not
after the last time. I've still got the bruises from where she hit
me, thinking I was him in the throes of her nightmare. "Scully," I
say again, louder this time. I'm sweaty and I stink after my run.
I need a shower, but Scully has to go in there first. She doesn't
like going into the bathroom if there is a smell of a man there,
even if that man is me.
She opens one eye and looks at me groggily. "Mulder? What time is it?"
"After seven," I say and nod towards the bathroom. "I need a shower.
What are you doing on the couch?"
"I don't like your bed. It isn't you. I can't smell you in bed. Your
scent is on the couch."
Smell me? She wants to smell me?
"Have you checked it yet?" she asks, a squeak in her voice.
"Not yet," I walk to the bathroom, feeling like a parent looking
underneath the bed for monsters, but in Scully's case the monsters
were real. "All clear," I say as I come out. She's standing up now,
the sheet draped around her toga fashion. The sunlight streaming
through the window behind her illuminates every curve of her body and
I feel a stirring in my loins at the sight.
She brushes past me, leaving a trail of Scully scent in her wake. 
Scully unwashed and unperfumed is the sweetest thing I have ever
smelled.
"I won't be long," she says to me, stepping into the bathroom. I follow
her and close the door behind me.
"Scully," I begin. "I think it's time you had a bath."
The look she gives me is full of anger and fear, and a little bit of
hatred that I should even suggest such a thing.
"Please, Mulder. Don't make me do this."
"I won't make you do anything you don't want to do, Scully. I just
think you ought to." She has to do something to get over this fear.
I know what worries her, what upsets her. Pfaster had bathed his
victims before killing them. It's what she dreams about. Her limp
body floating in a tub full of red water.
"Don't worry, Scully. I'm here, I won't let anything happen to you.
I'll be here the whole time."
There is nothing sexual in the offer, I just want her to feel safe,
but her cheeks flush slightly as she digests that bit of information.
It's not as if I haven't seen a naked woman before, but this is
Scully, this is different.
I head towards the taps, but she stops me with a forceful shout.
"No!"
I back away, understanding. He'd done that, drawn his victims their
last bath, what would have been Scully's last bath if she hadn't
killed him first. I know Scully needs to do this herself, needs to
get back some control. The control that he took from her.
As she leans over to turn on the taps, and pour in some bubble bath,
(a thoughtless present from my mother, who didn't know me well enough
to buy anything personal) the sheet slips down off her back and I feel
a catch in my throat. The marks on her back are worse than I'd even
imagined, she'd never shown them to me before. Welts, cuts, bruises
of every hue from yellow to purple.
I'd kill the bastard if he wasn't already dead for what he did to her.
I bend over and gently kiss her shoulder, the site of the worst marks,
hoping to replace the memory with something better. She jumps and the
bottle of bubble bath falls into the water, half of its contents
spilling until I have the presence of mind to scoop it out.
She turns, sitting on the edge of the bath, trailing one hand through
the soapy water. I think there are more bubbles than water now. Scully
is shivering, trembling with fear.
"I don't think I can do this, Mulder." She's almost crying and I
can imagine her berating herself for this weakness. I want her to
cry, she needs to cry, to let it all out. To release all the feelings
she keeps locked away inside.
I help her to stand up and disentangle her from the sheet. It's like
unwrapping a birthday present, the one you save to last because you
know it's going to be the best one. She stands there naked before me,
like a pagan goddess with her red hair and pale skin. One arm is across
her breasts, obscuring a view I'd dearly love to see. Her other hand
covers the triangle of hair between her legs, but I can see a few
ringlets of red gold peeping between her fingers. A few inches of
flesh are all that stands between me and her modesty.
"Shall I lift you in?" I ask tactfully, realising that the side of
my tub is rather high. She would have to climb in rather awkwardly,
and would reveal a lot more of herself to me in the process. Not that
I would object, mind you, but I know she feels vulnerable enough
already.
She nods slowly, her face the colour of chalk, and I scoop her up in
my arms. I know she's small but I'm unprepared for how light she is,
it's like lifting silk. She's trembling like a leaf and she clutches
desperately at my t-shirt, as though by holding onto something of me
the fear will go away. I don't think it's going to be that easy as
I lower her into the bath.
She sits in the middle, her knees bunched up against her chest, her
arms wrapped around them, the defensive posture I've seen her in more
times than I care to recall. I have to get her to relax, but how?
"Is the water okay? Too hot? Too cold?"
"It's fine," she says absently and rocks back and forth, a wake of
suds decorating her back. She isn't here, I have to bring her back.
"Scully? Would you like me to wash you?"
In answer she hands me a bar of soap and a blue flannel. I lather up
the washcloth and I start with her back, the only part of her which
is accessible to me. I touch her gently, but still she shudders,
remembering another touch, a touch which wasn't so gentle and I have
to bite my tongue. He did this to her, made her afraid of a man's
touch, made her afraid of my touch.
I bathe her slowly, the cloth going in circle over her skin, which is
tense and knotted. I knead her shoulders softly through the cloth until
I feel her taut muscles loosen and relax. She sighs and leans her head
against the back of the tub.
"I think my back is clean now, Mulder."
"Okay," I croak. I can hardly take my eyes off the swell of her breasts
beneath the water line, two pink nipples just peeking out of the
water. They rise and fall in time with her breathing, which is deep
and even. Her face is flushed and there's a pink rash across her neck
and chest.
I lift one her right arm and soap it, discarding the cloth and 
rubbing her with my bare hands. My soapy hands slide over her skin
easily and as I reach the top of her arm, my hand brushes accidentally
against her breast and she shifts, so that my hand can touch it
even more. Her face may be flushed, but I don't think it's from the
heat of the water.
I start doing her other arm, this time avoiding her breast completely,
but feeling a pang of disappointment. I wonder if she is feeling it
too.
"You haven't done my front, Mulder," she points out, pouting those
luscious lips of hers. I swallow the golf ball which has decided to
fill my throat, and lather up the cloth.
"No," says Scully. "Use your hands. I want to feel your hands on me."
I couldn't have been more surprised if she'd said she was an alien.
The cloth discarded, I rub a good deal of soap between my hands
until they are covered in white bubbles and I am tingling all over
with anticipation. I get to touch Scully. Feel her soft skin through
mine.
It is sensual and wonderful, as my skin glides over hers, the soap
smoothing the way. She's so soft, velvet. At first, I avoid touching
her too much, my hands just skimming over the surface of her skin, but
even with that feathery touch I can see her nipples harden into little
pints. I glance at her, her eyes are closed and she's breathing heavy.
As I watch, a pink tongue darts out and licks her lips. This is
arousing her, this feather touch I am using, to avoid exciting her.
I hadn't wanted to leave her frustrated.
It's so erotic, watching her arousal from my touch and my groin
tightens uncomfortably. I move my hand lower, washing (caressing?) her
belly. It's as soft as a feather pillow and I want to lie there,
always. She's moaning now, a low whimper in her throat. I don't know
what I should do. I don't want her to do this if she isn't ready.
"Scully?" I whisper hoarsely. Does she want me to stop before things
get even further out of hand? It would be so easy to slip my hand
lower, into her, but is that what she really wants?
"Touch me, Mulder. Make the pain go away."
"I don't think that's the answer, Scully."
"At this moment, it is. Touch me, Mulder. Please." Her legs, bent
at the knees, part wider so that I am in no doubt as to what she
means. She wants this. I realise she may be right, if only for the
physical release. Is that what I am? Am I just a substitute for her
own hand? I realise I don't care, I want to touch her too.
She laughs a little. "Stop psychoanalysing, Mulder and just do it. Or
do I have to do everything myself?" She reaches a hand towards herself,
but I grab it in mid-air and begin kissing her fingers, one by one.
"How did you know?" I ask between kisses.
"You- you," she's gasping now. "You had that far away look in your
eyes."
I take her thumb in my mouth and suck on it, long and hard. Her
heads moves from side to side, splashing water onto the floor and me.
Her other hand, the one I'm not kissing is gripping onto the side
of the bath for dear life.
"Oh, God! Mulder! You're killing me! Please!"
The rash on her chest and neck has deepened, it's almost purple
now. Scully aroused is one of the most beautiful things I have
ever seen. I shift, trying to ease the pressure between my own legs
as I watch her writhe in the water.
Still sucking on her right thumb, I kneel down and part her legs a
little further with my right hand, tracing a fine line up her inner
thigh towards her core. The heat coming form her is like a furnace.
I stroke her folds gently, not wanting to hurt her if she isn't ready
yet. But she's already open and waiting, I slide a finger inside her
and there's a sticky wetness, different from the water.
It's difficult to start a rhythm, Scully keeps wriggling like an
eel, so I relinquish her thumb to use both hands to steady her. I
don't know whether she's trying to get close or away from me. My
other hand caresses her breast, she moans and thrusts her lower
half against me, hard. I don't think her climax is going to be long
and I think I may embarrass myself.
Her arms have wrapped themselves around my shoulders, and she's almost
kneeling in the bath now, my fingers penetrating deeper. Suddenly I
feel it, feel her, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers.
"Mulder!" she groans. "Oh, God, MULDER!" she screams my name as she
comes, a final spasm almost breaking my finger. She is sobbing and
shaking with the force of her release, but still she clings to my
neck, almost choking me. I can hardly breathe, but I'll die a happy
man. I've seen Dana Scully, the Ice Queen, come. Heck, I've made her
come.
She's sobbing in earnest now, her tears falling down my neck, mingling
with my own. I crush her against me.
"Ssh, Scully. It's okay, I'm here. You're safe." I kiss her hair.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry," she hiccups.
"For what?"
"For losing control like that. For asking you to touch me. I should
never have asked that of you."
"Why?" I'm confused, but then Scully was never anything less than
enigmatic. I've been her partner for seven years and I still don't 
know her.
"I'm ashamed."
"Did you want me to touch you, Scully?"
"Yes," here eyes are glassy with tears and I want to do everything
in my power to stop her from ever having to cry again.
"Scully, don't ever feel ashamed for asking what you want, not of me."
"But how could I like it, after what he did to me?"
"That was totally different, Scully, and you know it. Love is 
different. I wanted to touch you."
"You did?" she sounds genuinely surprised and I pull her towards me,
so she can feel my erection pressing into the curve of her hip.
"I did." I cup her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes, down
into her soul. There are scars there, lots of them, but we can
heal them together. I don't say anything, my eyes tell her everything
she needs to know.
"Thank you, Mulder."
"For what?"
"Releasing me."
THE END
feedback appreciated at penguin2@cableinet.co.uk