From: Rachel Anton Date: 18 Apr 2000 01:44:06 GMT Subject: Two Fish Swimming (1/1) by Rachel Anton Title: Two Fish Swimming Author: Rachel Anton E-Mail: RAnton1013@aol.com Spoilers: all things (yes, it's the obligatory all things fic) Category: V Keywords: MSR Rating: NC-17 Summary: Mulder thinks about astrology and other things Distribution: Yep. Just let me know where it's going. Disclaimer: Uh, yeah. Not mine. Feedback: Yum. Thanks: To Cynthia for a top notch beta (as usual) and Laura for terrific suggestions and encouragment. xxxxxx The strange thing about astrology, he thinks, tracing the circles on his partner's back, is that it's usually right. Compared to what he knows about other similarly paranormal pseudo-sciences, his knowledge of this particular art of divination is relatively limited. It isn't lack of belief that's kept him from research, but rather a profound lack of interest. He's seen the darkness that lives in the human heart and has no desire to attribute horrible, senseless acts to the stars. He fears that delving too deeply into this way of viewing the universe might destroy his perceptions, distort his thinking, upset his belief in ultimate free will. Still, he knows enough to understand what his being a Libra means, to recognize the Pisces in Scully. Libra is an air sign. Pisces- water. It was raining when she told him the story. Just a light drizzle at first, begun when she put the teapot on his stove, but by the time she started talking, it was a constant, heavy, dull thrumming on the windows and roof. He was tired, so tired from his trip. Pointless. Boring. God, what a waste of time it had been. He wondered why he'd even gone. It was supposed to be a vacation, a chance, in what he recognizes now as a subtle bit of irony, to share something of his past with her. But she hadn't come along and he'd missed her so profoundly that it exhausted him. He was ready to sink into a deep and dreamless sleep, but he couldn't have ever been so tired that he'd send her away. Not when she was talking the way she was. It wasn't the story itself that pricked his heart like a candy-coated dagger. It was the fact that she was telling it to him at all. He's often wondered what she was, is, would be, without him. Tonight he thinks he has learned all of these things, and more. What she was- this has been shrouded in mystery for so very long, he can scarcely believe that he's been given so many answers in so few minutes. Before, he'd only had snapshots. Brief moments in time that she'd shared with him, doled out through the years with the same frequency as her smiles. He kept them in a scrapbook in his mind, tried to piece them together into a cohesive image of a person, but it was always difficult. Never clear. Now he has it. Has her. He can see her, young, fresh, plump little face and long mousy hair, but beautiful. Always beautiful. She is sitting, squirming inside although no one can see it, taking careful notes and watching the words fall out of her professor's mouth, wishing she could kiss those lips. If only she were older. If only he didn't have that damn ring. She's smart enough, interesting enough, everything enough to hold his interest. But he'd never give her a second look. Or would he? There she is again, hair pulled up into a professional looking bun, studying as if her life depended on it, but still waiting. She knows he comes here, to this coffee shop, when he needs to get away. At least that's what she assumes he's doing. He's talking to her. Not as a teacher, but as a man. And she is a woman. Just like she's always known in her heart. Hours pass and the conversation grows deeper, more intimate. He tells her things he hasn't ever told another living soul, pours his desperate heart out to her and she takes it all in, absorbing his pain and making it her own just as she always does. Pisces women have a penchant for falling in love with the wrong men, for drowning themselves in the sorrows of another. He tries not to ponder that too extensively. A meeting place is set and many evenings pass in this fashion. She feels pangs of guilt the first time she takes him to her bed. This is another woman's husband and she is not- shouldn't be- the kind of person she is becoming. But she loves him, he loves her, it's fate. She's as sure of the rightness of their relationship as she's ever been of anything. He's willing to sacrifice everything for her. Surely that must be worth something. She plays it cool with her friends, keeps her secret life to herself. She's thrilled to have secrets. She loves secrets. Finally the day she's been waiting for has arrived. He's come to her empty, without. He's left his family and he needs her to fill him, to take the place of his wife and child. He stands on her doorstep, car keys in hand, wanting to take her away to- where? She doesn't even know. Earlier that week an unexpected option had presented itself. The FBI. Quantico. Washington DC. She is frightened, but excited. She thinks she might enjoy this, might find her passion here. She tells him of her plans. They do not fit within the parameters of his vision of their life together. They argue. She wonders why she wanted another father, what was lacking in the first one. Her life flashes before her eyes. She tells him to go home. She spends the night hunched over the toilet, vomiting and crying for the lives she's ruined with her stupidity, her childishness and nativity. She vows to never love again. Not like this. This hurts too much. She will close her heart and she will run at the first sign of need. "Do you think less of me as a person, Mulder?" she'd asked him. "No. More." Has been his answer. More, not just because she'd been through this hell and made the right decision in the end, but because she had the strength to tell him. He wished he had her bravery. Is- what she is. What is she when he is not with her? This too has become startlingly clear. He's often wondered how much of him she carries with her, how much of herself is for his benefit only. He knows that there are patterns between people, when one half of a partnership reacts to a given situation in a certain way, the other half will often react in the opposite fashion whether or not the reaction is genuine. Balance. He knows a great deal about maintaining balance. The visual symbol for his sign is Justice, the scales. He's wondered how much of her stubborn skepticism, her unwillingness to accept certain ways of thought, certain approaches to a problem, is merely a reaction to his action. He's wondered how much of his insistence on a certain way of thought is a reaction to her stubbornness. He's wondered if he's expanded her viewpoint more than she's been willing to let him know, and she his. If she says the things she does out of pattern, habit, and to keep him tethered to the Earth and reality. Now he knows. When he is absent, she is willing, open, extreme in her thinking. When she is absent, he is closed, skeptical, bored. Crop circles, cmop shmirkles. He doesn't even know if anything happened because he never checked it out. As soon as she was gone, he realized that she was right. And what would she be? If he'd never known her, never been a part of her life. Or if she'd walked away from him before he had the chance to change her. This is the question that has haunted him the most, twisted up the darkest parts of his soul. Would she be better? He knows that she wouldn't be with Daniel, despite the brief temptation she revealed to him. He is too weak for her to withstand, too needy and selfish. Too arrogant. To stand idly by for ten years, waiting for her to happen upon him and recognize her rightful place beside him, it is too foolish for her to comprehend. Pisces is a romantic at heart. She'd never admit it to anyone, perhaps even herself, but she needs a man who is not afraid to come for her, who would follow her to the ends of the Earth and let her know that he's done so. Who'll stand in front of her and hand over his heart without expectation, bitterness, or condition. No, she would not be with a man like Daniel, but where would she be? Happy perhaps? No, he knows now. He knows better. He wasn't surprised when she fell asleep listening to him talk. It certainly wasn't the first time. And the days she'd just endured had been hellish and long. He left her on the couch, determined to let her rest and not disrupt her peace with more talk of destiny and choosing paths, despite the fact that he was itching to continue the conversation, to dig even deeper. He found himself restless despite his fatigue. His bed was a welcome refuge, but it held no sleep for him. His pajama pants and sheets became a hopeless tangle within an hour and he decided to watch a movie. Distraction. She found him halfway through the original King Kong, sprawled out on top of his blanket, head resting on his palm at the foot of the bed. She sat on the bed without a word and watched the rest of the film with him. He thought he saw a tear trickle down the side of her face when the giant ape fell to Earth, but he couldn't be sure. As the credits on the screen gave way to silent snow she asked, "Do you think I would have found you, no matter what choices I made?" The question evoked a violent reaction in his stomach, almost like he'd eaten some bad Mexican food, but less focused. "I...I'd like to think that," he stammered, not daring to look at her. "I believe that," she told him with such conviction, such absolute confidence, that he was utterly floored. "I believe in free will, Mulder. I believe that we are responsible for all of our choices and that the decisions we make have the power to change our paths, but...but I also believe that some things are inevitable. Some things are meant for us to experience and there's very little we can do to avoid experiencing them. There are certain things that we will do, certain people that we will know, no matter what. We don't usually recognize them, but they are there. If we take the time to pay attention, it becomes obvious." He tilted his head to the side, looking up at her finally, and saw the calm in her face. She was staring straight ahead, gazing at a point past his television set, perhaps even past his apartment, somewhere distant and secret. "And you think that we are one of those things?" She nodded and met his gaze. "I think that you are my destiny, Mulder." There was no arguing that statement. "Does that frighten you?" he asked. It frightened him. To his very core. Even as it thrilled him. "Not any more." So there it was. The answer to his question was that his question was invalid. There was no way to know what she would be without him because she wouldn't be without him. No matter what. She rose to her feet and he was afraid she was going to leave him then, as she so often did after revealing herself. Instead, she revealed more. Watching her undress for him, her gaze steady and calm and never moving from his face, reminded him, strangely enough, of puppies. When Mulder was five years old, he asked his parents for a puppy. Not just once, but every single day for close to six months. Every time they told him no. Puppies are messy. Puppies are difficult to care for. Puppies require an emotional and spiritual investment that is too much to ask of a five year old. Maybe when you're older, they told him. Maybe. Six months seems like a very short time to him now, but to a boy that age, it's an eternity. It's years. Eventually he grew impatient and distracted and discouraged. He gave up. Two months later he returned home from a play date with his cousin to find the living room swimming with puppies. A neighbor's German Shepherd had given birth to eight pups the night before and his mother had agreed to keep one and help find homes for the other seven. It wasn't his birthday. Nor was it Christmas or Easter or his first day of school, or even Flag Day for crying out loud. It was just an ordinary day when ordinary things were supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to get puppies. But there they were. Mulder had been so overwhelmed and surprised and excited that he'd peed in his pants. Watching Scully disrobe for him, he prayed he wouldn't make the same mistake. She stopped when she reached her bra and panties, leaving a bit for him to unwrap himself, and smiled at him with her eyes and her mouth. Libras have a profound love of beauty, a love so vast it could even be called worship. When faced with the choice between what is beautiful and what is right, Libra will almost always choose what is beautiful. Fortunately for Mulder, Scully was both the most beautiful and the most right thing he'd ever seen. "You look shocked," she said and he was amazed to find that she still had the same voice. That this small act hadn't altered her entirely. "Wu- well...Scully...this...I guess I am. Shocked. I suppose." He ducked his head and laughed quietly, nervously. "Haven't you expected this? Don't you think it's time?" "I...I thought it was time a long time ago." He didn't mean for the words to come out the way that they did. He feared she would read them as an accusation. She didn't. "I know that you did, Mulder, that you have...I suppose I just needed to stop for a minute and let time catch up with me." He was suddenly struck with her vulnerability, the fact that she was standing before him, stripped of the remnants of her armor and her clothing, simply waiting. Waiting for him. Outside, the rain continued. A flash of lightening lit the contours of her body, the shadow of the valley between her breasts. He moved so that he was sitting upright on the edge of his bed and she stood between his legs. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he let his head drop into that valley and stifled a groan when her nails pricked his scalp. He allowed himself to rest there, nestled in the comfort of her chest, enveloped in her scent and her warmth. Moments passed, but for Mulder, time stood still. When he pulled back there were tears in his eyes. She took his face in her hands, tickled his skin with small butterfly kisses. When their lips met, it was much like the first time, but also very different. Tender and sweet, yes, but not without the promise of something more. Something now. He remembers the feel of her tongue, pressing gently on his lips, requesting entrance, and the way he parted his own lips, that first contact. Freedom. It was dizzying freedom. To touch and to taste and to feel all of it, all of her. His elation and arousal grew to devastating levels and he found himself groping almost blindly, wanting everything at once. "Mulder, Mulder..." She stroked his hair, looked down at him with passion and compassion. "Slow down. We've got forever." "I need you, Scully," he whined, pulling desperately at her underwear. "I need you, too. I'm right here. Just enjoy it, Mulder. I want you to savor this, to really feel it. Hold on to every moment of it as if it were our last." He is very glad that she reminded him. Had he allowed his eagerness to overwhelm his consciousness he might not remember now. His hands slipping under the straps of her bra, the smooth satin between his skin and hers giving way to hot flesh on flesh, the catch in her voice as she sighed his name when he caught her bare nipple with his fingers; all of this might be a blur of recollection had she not reminded him to pay attention. Now he will never forget...her bare chest against his, lying together on the bed, his first grip of her soft, round, perfect ass, her smile as she stroked him through his pajama bottoms, her sigh when he kissed her stomach, licked her belly button, her hand clenched in his hair when he pressed his lips against the wet spot on her panties, the sweet, hot moisture of her when he took those panties off, her thighs wrapped around his neck as he buried his tongue as deep inside of her as it could go, trying to remember how to lick a woman properly because it's been so painfully long, remembering hearing somewhere, sometime, that you're supposed to trace the alphabet on her flesh, but she only seems to like I, I I I, faster and faster against her clit, her whole body trembling and writhing against him, calling his name three times in a row as she came for him, she came for him, oh God how she came for him. Burned into his memory now, more vivid than anything he can recall...her hands in his as she moved on top of him and then down, the first few seconds in her mouth lasting an eternity because he let them last, let the sensations wash over him like warm water, feeling her tongue all the way in his spine, seeing tiny white lights as she brought him closer and closer, her fingers tracing patterns on his thighs as he told himself first to hold it back and then to let it go, let it go, we have forever, and then bucking into her mouth with the loudest sound he could ever remember making and feeling her take it all, drink him down, her crawling back up his body, kissing like she told him to, like it was their last, curling himself around her from behind and her peace as she allowed herself to fall asleep in his arms. The visual symbol for Pisces is two fish swimming in different directions, he thinks as he runs his finger over the outline of her tattoo. She swam towards him tonight. He wonders if she will swim away before the sun comes up, when the rain stops. He trusts the strength of her convictions and the certainty and calm she displayed in making this decision, but he knows that some things are beyond her control, a portrait drawn in the stars. If she still holds some doubt, some inner conflict, he will not blame her for it. He sleeps. When he opens his eyes again, she is gone. The sun is halfway risen and he is holding his blanket with love and care. Libra is patient, but also insecure. He reaches for the phone beside the bed, dials a number without having to look. He's memorized the pattern his fingers make on the keypad. Her voice is calm and warm when she answers. "Scully." "It's a little cold this morning," he says, knowing she'll catch his multiple meanings. "Would you like me to bring you some hot chocolate?" Her tone is so similar to the one she'd used during their most intimate moments that he is suddenly aroused once again. "Scully, where are you?" "I'm in my car." "Where are you going?" "I'm going home, Mulder. It's almost six already. You don't want me showing up for work in yesterday's clothes, smelling like...well, do you?" That sounds like something he could live with if it meant her staying with him a while longer. But he can also live with this. She still smells him. She didn't need to say goodbye because he is still with her. And this is her. She is still Scully, still practical and neat and professional. "What was that about cocoa?" She laughs softly, a smooth, sensual sound. "I'm stopping at Joe's for coffee and bagels on my way to work. Did you want some cocoa?" "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I would." "Everything bagel with veggie cream cheese?" "I love you, Scully." "I love you too, Mulder." He hadn't expected her to say it back. Hadn't even expected her to take his own proclamation seriously. She hangs up the phone, the sound of a horn blaring in the background. Seamless, he thinks. Perfect. Perhaps the fish are not swimming in different directions. Perhaps they are swimming towards each other. He thinks that maybe he has become a fish. xxxxxx