From: Amy Mahn To: Subject: [XFNC17ff] New: Darkest Before Dawn Date: Thursday, August 23, 2001 3:17 AM Title: Darkest Before Dawn Author: Amy Mahn (sorry, no witty pseudonym!) Rating: Hard R, for sexual situations Keywords: MSR, Angst Spoilers: If you've ever watched the show, you're safe. Archive: Sure. Just let me know. Summary: I'm not telling! :) Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't want to. Too much responsibility trying to please all the rabid fans out there. (And yes, I happily include myself in this statement!) I'm a professional Mommy, so suing me is pointless. All you'll get is a year's supply of Pampers, a closet full of Barbies, and a constant headache. Author's Notes: This story is the first I've ever posted. It sort of wrote itself one dark, stormy night... that probably explains the overall feel of the piece. I guess I tend to favor Scully POV, so you'll have to let me know how I did with my characterization. Constructive criticism can only improve an author's performance. Special thanks go to my beta goddess, Kara, for moving all the stumbling blocks for me. Her suggestions and comments made a fanfic virgin feel like a literary genius, and gave me the courage to post this baby. Here's to a long and fruitful working relationship! ;) Feedback will be covered in chocolate sauce and eaten for dessert. Send it to: amymahn@hotmail.com (Flames, on the other hand, will be chained in my basement and fed creamed peas on toast.) ------- In the darkest part of the night, you come to me. It's always the same story - fear, anger, frustration - they boil and seethe until there is no emotion left but the raw, burning desire. This is where we meet in the silence, no words spoken, none needed. I open my arms to you, and you pour yourself, body and soul, into the release that we both crave so desperately. Tonight the pattern is repeated. Another anonymous motel room, another nameless town. As much as the scene is eerily familiar, the tale is slightly different. You steal into my room under cover of darkness, breathless and craving. I do not speak, just shift in the bed to make room for you. You pull me into your arms all fire and fury and claim my body. In this time and place, we are not the same; the night changes us. Here, we are two strangers whose paths have merged and filled us with the need for comfort, and for contact. In no time at all, the gentle man that you are burns away in the heat of base desires, leaving behind a primal sort of hunger that consumes us with its ferocity. Hands push and pull at me as if I were a rag doll, boneless, lifeless. I can feel the rage and fear that forces us to this place, a meeting of passions and emotions. I allow this trespass of my body and soul because it completes me, too, in that secret place inside that has been wholly corrupted. We are a fitting pair, you and I. My clothes are shed, and yours follow quickly; we rush toward the inevitable. The heat of your skin always surprises me, as if there were a bonfire burning just beneath the surface. I know I must feel like my infamous Ice Queen persona, for my skin is so cold pressed up against yours. But I know that's not how you perceive me, because you know me better than any other living soul. We are fire and ice, black and white, yin and yang. Perfectly matched in our imperfections, and somehow that makes us all the stronger. You caress my skin; touching, tasting, tormenting me in ways that I had never imagined possible before. Any attempts I make at touching you are halted. I have learned from past experience to let you take control, to allow you complete possession of my body, no questions asked. I feel the beat of your heart, rapid and thready, as I pull you down to kiss you. My own pulse is quickened, and the heat at my core is spreading like molten lava. Your fingers plunder and ravage, and your mouth marks me as yours. For one surreal moment I consider which blouse I own will be able to cover the bruised, purple flesh of my throat. You seem to sense my distance and double your efforts to please me, though I am content just to be used by you. In a twisted, damaged part of my psyche, I enjoy playing the martyr to your convictions; the vessel that you pour all your spent emotions into. I am not weak, not a fragile woman. Yet somehow I receive pleasure just from being owned by you, even for a moment or two. The woman I am during the bright light of day would rail furiously at the notion that you own any part of her. But that woman is not me, here in the dark with you, feeding off of your hunger and frustration. I am past the point of caring about that other woman, the one with the buttoned-down suits and perfect hair; the one who shies away from any talk of personal matters or emotions. I am burning now with borrowed fire, feeling the kinetic energy flowing from your fingertips into my body. Sparks fly, and we are luminescent in this black night. You pull me down beneath you, and then you are there, in the deepest, darkest part of me, and I am complete for one moment. You are slow at first, drawing out the pleasure of these first few seconds. But then the fires within take over, and you buffet me like the fiercest gale of a hurricane, tossed about on the waves of your passion. You whisper meaningless words to me, and I can never quite make out what you are saying. But I never really care, either. Your possession of me is complete in its ferocity, and I know instinctively that I will be sore in the morning. You never apologize for taking me in such a way, and I never expect you to. It is just the way we are. I know you are nearing completion, and I focus on my own release. I slide a hand down between our burning, sweating bodies to help myself reach satisfaction, but you slap my hand away and do it for me. Your fingers massage and press in just the right way, and in moments I am writhing beneath you, allowing the waves to carry me away. You follow closely behind me, and we fall together in this necessary ecstasy, salvation and damnation. As we lay here, feeling the sweat cooling on our bare bodies, I feel once again the crushing sense of loss that I felt on that first night when you came to me. We are so different now, and I long for the people we were before we came to this place. But this addiction we have for each other brings us back here time and time again, and we feed it with the drug that we found to take away the pain, the bitterness. I try to push these thoughts away. For now I am content to just lie here next to you, feeling the cool rush of your breath on my skin, and pretend that things are different. But as I drift off to sleep, I'm helpless to stop the hot tears that slide out from the corners of my eyes. --- Morning sees us packed and ready to move on, to another town, another truth, another night. Your eyes meet mine for a moment, and I see the sadness and exhaustion shadowed there. However, in the instant I recognize it, it's gone. Your stoic façade is back in place. But for the first time I wonder if you feel the desolation, the destruction of everything that we are, everything that we were. You are the picture of chivalry, as you always are in the daytime... opening my car door, guiding me into a room with your hand on the small of my back. But this time is different; this time I feel the sadness radiating out from you like rays from the sun. I pause for a moment and question you with a single raised eyebrow. You shake your head, indicating either you don't want to talk about it, or now isn't the right time. I shrug, and turn away. But you catch my hand for a moment, and as I turn back to you, you draw a deep breath. "It's ending, isn't it?" I know exactly what you are referring to. It isn't over for us, but the passion for the Truth is wearing thin. We have no fight left in us. We cling to each other in the night in hopes that it will make us feel alive again; that we will find the strength to keep going. But it never does. It just draws us tighter into the web of pain and self-destruction that we have spun for ourselves. I nod to you, and you heave a sigh. I want to comfort you, somehow, but I know it will not be received well right now. Then, to my surprise, you lift my hand, still held in yours, and press a gentle kiss to the center of my palm. I am struck speechless; you rarely ever show affection in public, and then only in extreme circumstances. I look at you, and for the first time in what seems like years, I see the faintest trace of a smile tug at your lips. Your eyes meet mine, and for a brief second I can see clearly the emotions inside you now. No bitterness, no anger, no fear. An overwhelming affection shines from their hazel depths. I feel tears sting my eyes, and have to bite my lip to keep the sound of surprise inside. But I can't hide my reaction to your next words. "It's about time," you whisper. End Love it? Hate it? Let me know. amymahn@hotmail.com