Subject: NEW: Surfacing (1/1) by Leyla Harrison **NC-17** From: "the *enigmatic* Dr. Scully" Date: Fri, 07 Nov 1997 20:15:02 -0800 Surfacing by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: For once, I can't think of a witty thing to say about Chris Carter, so I'll just say that he created these characters and I didn't. Classification: V, A, MSR Rating: NC-17 Important Spoilers: Gethsemane and Redux. AND -- for those of you who have read spoilers for Redux II and know what's going to happen, this story is for you. If you have *no* idea what happens in Redux II and don't want to know, you should STOP reading right now. Or at least save this story for after the episode. Summary: Not summarized at author's request. Thank yous: to my editors, Madeleine Partous and Miki Akimoto. Without the two of them, you'd be reading a little vignette that was grammatically and stylistically awkward. This story is dedicated, however, to my best friend Jen. She's been like a sister to me and gone above and beyond the call of duty. I've never been luckier to have someone who cares about me and supports me as much as she does. Thanks, kiddo. This little piece of mind candy is for you. ****** "I'm sorry. There's nothing more we can do for her." An anguished cry comes from across the room. I vaguely recognize it as coming from my mother's mouth, but I am unable to comfort her. I am unable even to turn to her. I am too weak, too tired, too sick. The end is near. I know that. "Can't you do something? Chemotherapy?" "I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully. I've already discussed this with Dana. We can give her narcotics to lessen the pain, but beyond that, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do." I can't explain to my mother that I understand this. That I accept it. I know that I am dying. I can't speak. The cancer has robbed me of many things. Speech is one of them. Movement is another. Sight. When did my sight begin to fade? I no longer remember. Days and nights have become one and the same. I am no longer aware of the passage of time. I will never get up from this bed again. I am strangely resolute about this. About all of it. All I can do is sit and think and pray. My mind still functions. For now. That will go too, I'm sure. It's only a matter of time. Why is it that I am so calm? Is it the fact that I have no choice? I have no choice but to be calm, quiet and attentive. And the fact that I can no longer speak my mind, state my peace, or utilize whatever other euphemism might apply to this situation is quickly beginning to wear on me. There are things that I lost the opportunity to say to my mother when I had the chance. I can no longer tell her to take care of my plants, to nurture them as well as she does her own. I can no longer tell her that I would like her to donate all my belongings to charity. I can no longer tell her that I love her. I can't even tell her to look after Mulder once I'm gone. Mulder. I hear a noise from across the room. A primitive, animal cry of pain. It is not my mother making that noise. It's Mulder. I can't see him. Can't reach out my hands to him. Can't touch him. "Scully..." I have never truly contemplated what my death would do to Mulder. I have been angry with him. I have pushed him aside. Worst of all, I placed blame on him for the cancer that is rapidly stealing my life. And by lashing out at him in that way, I have placed a death sentence on him as well. He will have to live with my blame, with my anger, with his own guilt, until the day he dies. Which, I'm sure, he's hoping will happen soon. I can only pray he won't do anything to help it along. I can feel his hands on mine, his heat infusing my body beneath the skin of my hands and arms as he touches me. God. I'm already so cold. Oh, Mulder. I have so much to say to him. But I realize that even if I could speak, that at this point, I wouldn't even be able to get the words out. At this point, there are no words left. Another cry, softer this time. It tears at me. My resolute acceptance of my death is suddenly gone. I refuse to die. I refuse to leave, not yet. Not until I've said the things I need to say. To my mother. To my family. To Mulder. I want to fight. I want to get up out of this bed and scream and fight and live, damn it. I try to move. Nothing. God. God, help me. Help me live. Help me fight. There's no answer from God, nor from anyone else, for that matter. Mulder's tears are mine, since I have none of my own. ******** I jerk my body upright. I'm trembling, breathing hard, and my forehead is beaded with sweat. Cold sweat. Another nightmare. Jesus. Will it ever end? Will they never cease? I came so close to death. So very close. And although I am not facing it anymore, it still haunts me. It still follows me into the dark night, into my dreams. My sudden movements have woken Mulder, who stirs next to me and then also sits up. He studies me, squinting, and puts an arm around me. "Scully?" "I'm fine, Mulder." The words are automatic. "Another nightmare?" he asks, and I nod my head. There is a long silence while we regard each other there in our darkened bedroom. It has been a month since my miraculous recovery from the cancer that threatened my life. It only took two weeks more for my relationship with Mulder to... evolve. It was inevitable. My journey back to the land of the living included finding a new life with Mulder. The gravitational pull to him was something that I was unable and unwilling to deny. The only thing that eludes me is why we didn't become lovers sooner. So now I sit here, looking at him, at his beautiful face etched with concern. Concern for me. "I'm really fine, Mulder," I insist, running a hand through my sleep-tousled hair. "Sure, Scully," he chuckles, the sound a low deep rumble in his chest. He pulls me back down and spoons himself around my body. It's the perfect position for us. He is tall and I am short and my entire body fits snugly into his muscular frame. He nuzzles the back of my neck with his nose and I can feel his warm breath on my skin. One of his arms is underneath me and the other is around my waist, holding me close to him, close enough so that I can feel his heart beating against my back. I close my eyes and pray for sleep, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. Mulder's hand is stroking my stomach softly, soothingly. I am gently lulled into the rhythm of it and I relax, my thoughts drifting away from the dream I had, from all the dreams I've had since my cure. My eyes slip close and I feel myself drifting into a light sleep. And then my eyes snap open as I feel Mulder's fingers grazing the patches of skin towards the insides of my thighs. I start in his arms but he whispers softly in my ear. "Shhh, Scully. Shhh." He has mistaken my startled reaction for fear. It's not fear. It's arousal. Instant, complete arousal. My nipples are already hard. I part my legs just very slightly to allow his fingers better access and he gets the message; he slips his hand under the elastic waistband of my panties and inside. I arch my back against his body and sigh. The noise arouses him. He breathes into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He plants a small kiss onto the sensitive skin behind my ear while his hand moves lower. I squirm against his body, but he has me anchored with his arms and I can barely move. I can feel the wetness seeping from my inner lips, soaking the cotton panel of my panties, and I close my eyes, not from shame but from amazement. I still cannot believe the effect Mulder has on me; the ability to turn me into a wanton woman wanting nothing more than his touch, his hands on me, his body against mine. Mulder's fingers have sought and found the core of me, and he lets out a gasp of pleasure. "Scully..." he breathes. "You're so wet. So wet." I writhe in his embrace, his arm holding me in place. I'm unable to move, unable to resist. I don't want to resist. Mulder has never truly trapped me. Instead, he simply holds me firmly in the place where I want to be. I can feel his fingertips drawing small circles around the area that has become the only thing I can concentrate on. I moan as his thumb joins his fingers and it too grazes over the tiny bundle of nerves. "Oh, for God's sake, Mulder," I gasp. His reply is wordless. Instead, he slips two fingers deep inside me without any warning, and I push up against his groin. His erection presses into the crease of my ass and I press harder, hearing his groan of approval. His fingers force their way inside me deeper, his thumb circling my clitoris, and I moan, bowing my head down so that my chin is practically touching my chest. I know my body. So does Mulder. He's already brought me to such a fever pitch that I know I won't last much longer. Just the pressure from the pad of his thumb is pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Not to mention the smooth in and out of his fingers. So smooth. So fluid. God. It's like having his cock inside me. Mulder does many things well. Making love is high on the list. I twist and moan softly, my breaths coming faster now, and he whispers in my ear. "That's it, Scully. Come on." God. He has no idea what his words do to me. I whimper just hearing them. "I want to see you come, Scully. I know you're close." God, Mulder. Yes. So close. I can't speak. Can't form words. Not coherent ones, anyhow. My body is tightening, the muscles in my thighs tensing, all in preparation of what I know is going to happen any minute. Just another few strokes with his fingers, and a flick of his thumb over my clit, and I know it's there, I know it's going to happen. I can feel it. "Mulder, please," I rasp, my words coming out in short little gasps, my chest heaving. "Yes, Scully. Yes." And with one final stroke of his fingers and a last flicker of his thumb, I shatter. I cry out, my body jerking in his arms, my cries escalating. Mulder's fingers stay with me until the last spasm has left my body. We are both silent as Mulder removes his hand and pulls me tighter against him. "It's real, Scully, what we have. It's stronger than your nightmares." His voice is low. I believe him. But I am unable to answer him. The lump in my throat is blocking my speech, and I am still trying to get my breathing back to normal. "Mulder," I finally whisper, "I..." "Just sleep, Scully. No more nightmares tonight. I promise." I believe him. In fact, I feel safe for the first time in months. Sleep claims me before I know it. END -- "You take me in, no questions asked; you strip away the ugliness that surrounds me... Who are you? Are you an angel?" --Sarah McLachlan